Richard Sachs Cycles

[e-RICHIE]

There’s one line to gas and another to oxygen. And two worn out knobs on the side. The tips I use are older than some of the riders on RSCX. Come to think of it, everything on my torch is.

I never really learned how to braze. Or was shown. I stood there for months, many of them, watching Barry, Jim, and Charles turn on their torches and simply get to work. I stared a lot.

By way of osmosis I began to notice things. Their body movements. Where the starts and stops were. The time taken. I watched as men juggled heat, metal, filler materials, and expectations.

Joining a pile of parts to create a bicycle frame is technique. It’s a process that’s never the same twice. I’ve certainly never been able to duplicate anything. But the goal is to get (to the) there.

The there is a place that doesn’t exist. It’s a line that moves. A sound you can hear once, but never again. It’s a shape you might carve easily and then wonder how your tool lost its edge.

First you have to want it. Then go to a place that has it. But they don’t give it to you. You steal it. And when the intensity you spend a lifetime chasing starts to dull, you begin again.

All This By Hand

[Peter Polack]

Before my four hours on Sunday.

I rarely know which direction I’ll turn when I hit the driveway, much less the destination. I just go, but with an abstract idea of for how long rather than how far.

Today I moseyed over to the other side of Guilford, almost to Stony Creek. On the way back I took my customary jaunt to the end of Whitfield Street to pause.

The shoreline is beautiful. I never take it for granted. For a Jersey kid, it ain’t the Atlantic or, more specifically, Belmar. But it’s coastline, and it always delivers.

On the return I found Neck Road in Madison, a turn I’ve never taken. As I was exploring it I wondered why. One stretch is more beautiful than the next. I’ll be back.

This is me. It’s what contentment looks like in 2020. Riding just to ride. Simply to ride. No intervals. No goals. No finish lines. And no safety pin holes in my kit.

All This By Hand

Somebody give that man a set of weights for Hanukkuh!

[Ras72]

Jedi Master stuff right there. With the tool to prove it.

[Diablo de Acero]

No truer words ever spoken! Save preciousness for the after hours. Opps! I just realized that I am responding to Rick's tag line.

[Mark Walberg]

There’s one line to gas and another to oxygen. And two worn out knobs on the side. The tips I use are older than some of the riders on RSCX. Come to think of it, everything on my torch is.

I never really learned how to braze. Or was shown. I stood there for months, many of them, watching Barry, Jim, and Charles turn on their torches and simply get to work. I stared a lot.

By way of osmosis I began to notice things. Their body movements. Where the starts and stops were. The time taken. I watched as men juggled heat, metal, filler materials, and expectations.

Joining a pile of parts to create a bicycle frame is technique. It’s a process that’s never the same twice. I’ve certainly never been able to duplicate anything. But the goal is to get (to the) there.

The there is a place that doesn’t exist. It’s a line that moves. A sound you can hear once, but never again. It’s a shape you might carve easily and then wonder how your tool lost its edge.

First you have to want it. Then go to a place that has it. But they don’t give it to you. You steal it. And when the intensity you spend a lifetime chasing starts to dull, you begin again.

All This By Hand

So. Richard, I learned how to braze from you - and from 10 minutes from the guy at the local welding shop. i learned from you that it was possible to make a living building bike frames, from those ads in Competitive Cycling and Velonews and BikeWorld, or where ever you put them. I knew from those ads that it was possible. One could do this.
You and those Italians, who were already doing it then.

I taught myself, starting with the 10 minutes of instruction from the guy at the welding shop (Hey, you guys should see what this schmo wants to do. (I still have the lug he brazed to a tube.)).

Richard, you were an inspiration even back then in the 1970s, when you least suspected it.

[e-RICHIE]

I spend a lot of time wondering. And without an attention span it’s no easy task taking a thought to its exponential end. I try. And convince myself I have when I haven’t. Faking it is in my blood. Not by intention. It’s a survival mechanism.

I’ve pondered away at least half my life (so far.) The work that needs to get done, does. But around and through it I daydream and fantasize. I project. And whatever bubble I’m in at a given time is the construct designed to keep me in a safe space.

If I’m pulled from my self-absorption, it gets awkward. When it’s not about me, I just nod. I’m an adult with a body of work to be proud of. If I’m not immersed, reading from my own script, I’m lost. Sometimes I makes bicycles. I always make believe.

All This By Hand

[Wisco]

Digging through some boxes of bike stuff and found a hand written letter from Richard in response to my inquiry (late 1990's?), along with a photocopy from Bicycle Guide describing his frames.

I should have placed an order then, but alas I never did and sadly probably can't place an order now. I can thank Richard however for introducing me to Chris Kvale, from whom I have owned two frames. The circle is unbroken.

Sachs by shenoi, on Flickr

Sachs by shenoi, on Flickr

[e-RICHIE]

I don’t remember feeling anything but alone, and different. Forget the crooked lines that connect some of my dots. We all have these. It’s inside that I wonder what normal is. Is it the ability to filter out friction, and anything I disagree with?

I take strength from the pals I know, or knew. Alliances are a moving target. Circumstances change. Environments too. There’s a flow to relationships. I haven’t figured it out. How can I know others when I’m busy trying to know myself?

The holidays do this to me. More so as an adult. I’ve spent a lifetime wondering if I should accept normal, or just create my own. A man hears what he wants to hear and disregards the rest. That’s the path I walk in a single lyric.

All This By Hand

[e-RICHIE]

This is my bicycle. It hasn't moved an inch in six weeks. But I have. I'm walking again. Most days for two hours. The tracks are down the street. I leave the driveway, make a right turn onto the rails, and head south. In less than ten minutes I'm in the woods.

Whatever I get from riding I also get from walking. The pace isn't important. The decision to get up and go is. On wheels or by foot, I'm easily transformed out of a routine and into a place where I have a moment to ponder. I'll put the day under a lens. Or, I won't.

Like the rides, some walks are exercise, some are therapy. They give me the tools I use to tighten some thoughts, or disassemble others. I can talk to myself or just rearrange an idea. Or rethink an opinion. Getting away from myself also brings me closer to myself.

All This By Hand

[e-RICHIE]

there are days when the only thing right is how much actual wrong i remove before nothing is left. the days when sideways should be a movie but not about wine but about these days. these days of making when steel and precision fixtures and hand tools laugh out loud. in a language that doesn't need google translate.

i get it. the metal doesn't wanna be what i have in mind. and then i live in that time window when i scrape away the wrong, and the wrong before it. so much wrong. and make a decision about how many letters from my name to paste on this thing before wrapping it up. there are twelve. maybe i’ll use seven. or none.

All This By Hand

[e-RICHIE]

-

Social Insecurity

In a life that doesn't know the word “routine”, one thing comes close. Sundays. They arrive faster with each passing month. I look forward to them. When the pace is more settled. TLD and I have breakfast together. And in my head, as I do every seventh day, I make plans.

This is the Sunday I feng shui my life. Forget all that's come before. Today rather than simply pick up a section of the NYT I'll actually read something. I don't process well. I understand words. But when they're strung together in sentences, my mind wanders. And wanders.

I also want to eliminate clutter. Wait. I wanted to do that last week. Though I fantasize about a John Pawson-y workspace, my mind keeps saying “tomorrow.” I can knoll and self-edit until the cows come home. I will, tomorrow. And tomorrow never comes.

I need something to cling to. To look forward to. I want my life to mirror the ideals I zoom in on when I open a page in the glossy magazines I take. That clean and seamless look that stylists create before the image is shot. I keep trying to get that here.

I talk to Deb about this often. The anxieties I harbor thinking my life should be "that" rather than "this." The wrestling match continues. Do I want what I think others have? Would I be me if I suddenly became them? It gnaws at me every seventh day.

All This By Hand

[rccardr]

To my way of thinking, cluttered organization is a highly recommended lifestyle choice.

Frees the mind to wander through those creative woods, so to speak.

[e-RICHIE]

To my way of thinking, cluttered organization is a highly recommended lifestyle choice.

Frees the mind to wander through those creative woods, so to speak.

The die is cast.
But the mind wanders.
I look there, and return here.

[Moke]

The conundrum of the Fung Shui minimalism and the comfort of things. Before I had ever heard of Fung Shui or minimalism, I knew there was a continuum of happiness and distortion in my world. Even when I was a little kid, sometimes you just had to clean up your toys. I think there is a spectrum of clutter tolerance in which every person has their range. At some point when I am reaching the upper limit of my range, I get uncomfortable. In my bedroom there is a minimalist order that would make Mr. Pawson proud, always. Lots of empty space, never varies. For there I sleep and order prevails. My bike room is usually fairly organized, but over a period of time doing a project or projects it becomes intolerable. Bikes, skiis, wax, skates, boots and tools and tools. Then it is time to restore order, and comfort is attained. My wife likes cleanliness, but always has a room where chaos thrives. "Her" room is so clogged with stuff that I can barely go in there. She is comfortable with her stuff and not making a decision where to put it is a decision in its own way.

I love looking at pictures of workspace. Yours Richard is usually very orderly, but sometimes I laugh and can see when your chi is getting blocked. Later, you post a very orderly shop with all the little files lined up in a row. Alas the struggle along the continuum.

On the other end of the spectrum is Mr. Nagasawa. I have never met the man but one of his NJS bikes hangs in my bike room. To me his frame is the essence of simplicity and a perfect example of everything needed and nothing that isn't. I view it all Winter and ride the heck out of it in Summer. In my mind his shop is a disaster. I am sure he is very comfortable around all of his old friends hanging on the ceiling, piled on the floor and loaded on his workbenches. I could never work in a space like his. But he has produced thousands of NJS machines over a long period of time in his shop I knew a guy once that had a bike shop. No items had a price tag attached to them and were to be found in piles, shelves and stacks about the store. I once went in and asked him if he had a rubber washer for a Silca floor pump with a brass head. He paused a moment and said yes. Then he went to a pile of new and used components on the floor and rooted for a bit and pulled up the rubber piece in a little bag. I would have never guessed its place was in that particular pile, but he knew right where it was and told me a price exactly what they retailed for at the time. How did he do that? It would be interesting to experience his brain just to see what was going on in there. He closed his shop due to health reasons, but if ever you wanted something new or used that no-one would have in stock. He usually had it in his piles of stuff.
Thank you Richard for sharing your thoughts with us in the peanut gallery. It is always interesting to get a peek into someones workspace and thoughts. It is a bit like tandem surfing on someone else board.

[e-RICHIE]

Hey thank you.
I missed seeing a notification that you commented.
Appreciated!

The conundrum of the Fung Shui minimalism and the comfort of things. Before I had ever heard of Fung Shui or minimalism, I knew there was a continuum of happiness and distortion in my world. Even when I was a little kid, sometimes you just had to clean up your toys. I think there is a spectrum of clutter tolerance in which every person has their range. At some point when I am reaching the upper limit of my range, I get uncomfortable. In my bedroom there is a minimalist order that would make Mr. Pawson proud, always. Lots of empty space, never varies. For there I sleep and order prevails. My bike room is usually fairly organized, but over a period of time doing a project or projects it becomes intolerable. Bikes, skiis, wax, skates, boots and tools and tools. Then it is time to restore order, and comfort is attained. My wife likes cleanliness, but always has a room where chaos thrives. "Her" room is so clogged with stuff that I can barely go in there. She is comfortable with her stuff and not making a decision where to put it is a decision in its own way.

I love looking at pictures of workspace. Yours Richard is usually very orderly, but sometimes I laugh and can see when your chi is getting blocked. Later, you post a very orderly shop with all the little files lined up in a row. Alas the struggle along the continuum.

On the other end of the spectrum is Mr. Nagasawa. I have never met the man but one of his NJS bikes hangs in my bike room. To me his frame is the essence of simplicity and a perfect example of everything needed and nothing that isn't. I view it all Winter and ride the heck out of it in Summer. In my mind his shop is a disaster. I am sure he is very comfortable around all of his old friends hanging on the ceiling, piled on the floor and loaded on his workbenches. I could never work in a space like his. But he has produced thousands of NJS machines over a long period of time in his shop I knew a guy once that had a bike shop. No items had a price tag attached to them and were to be found in piles, shelves and stacks about the store. I once went in and asked him if he had a rubber washer for a Silca floor pump with a brass head. He paused a moment and said yes. Then he went to a pile of new and used components on the floor and rooted for a bit and pulled up the rubber piece in a little bag. I would have never guessed its place was in that particular pile, but he knew right where it was and told me a price exactly what they retailed for at the time. How did he do that? It would be interesting to experience his brain just to see what was going on in there. He closed his shop due to health reasons, but if ever you wanted something new or used that no-one would have in stock. He usually had it in his piles of stuff.
Thank you Richard for sharing your thoughts with us in the peanut gallery. It is always interesting to get a peek into someones workspace and thoughts. It is a bit like tandem surfing on someone else board.

[e-RICHIE]

My first bicycle. Well, not my first. But my first that was higher than a foot off the ground. It’s an Atala Gran Prix. Bobbe bought it for me from SDS Bicycle Shop on Palisades Avenue. That’s up in The Heights, a section of Jersey City.

Story is I didn’t want a bicycle. I wanted a car. But ended up with a bicycle. I had this friend in Bayonne, Jim Farmer. He rode his bicycle around all the time. It was a one-speed coaster brake thingy with a basket on the front.

There was an air of cool that enveloped the space he occupied. No matter where we were, at the park, or at a St. Andrews dance, or the diner. No one else I knew then rode a bicycle, or was so cool. Maybe if I rode one I could be cool too.

In 1970 there were no Dettos. No Gianni or Sergal. No deer skin chamois. My uniforms came from places like Hudson Army & Navy at 13th and Third. Adidas sneakers. I wore a smirk often. Always trying to be cooler than the day before. That hasn’t changed.

All This By Hand

[bertiewhang]

Have you written an autobiography? I would buy a paper one.

[e-RICHIE]

The season begins. Last March I was doing three hour rides several times a week. This year my bicycle hasn’t moved an inch for at least three months. It rolled forward today.

When I say season I don't mean racing. That chapter of my life is done and dusted. I've embraced the Slow Food equivalent of riding. No cadence checks. No distance logs.

I like looking around. Seeing everything I missed before that fateful day in October 2019. It's all about paying attention. Stopping when I want. Not caring when I'm passed.

The first pedal of 2021 was to the liquor store. I grabbed a six pack of Long Trail. The Angry Gnome IPA. In bottles. I'll be a glass guy until there's no more glass around.

I won't drink beer from a can unless it's offered up by a pal. I only do it to be polite. It's getting difficulter and difficulter to stick to my guns. I don't like unsticking my guns.

All This By Hand

[Lionel]

Cool Richard, I hope all is well.

[rccardr]

It's nice to live in the moment.

Better than having the moment dictate living.