A Semi Fictional Day

While this account is somewhat fictional, a mechanic will experience each of these things every day. From time to time, a day will include all of these situations. This story was submitted from another angry bike mechanic… somewhere far, far away.

Here we go, One Hell of a Day

Telephone rings…. “Hello. What time is packet pickup??”

Answer: “Between 4 and 6.”

“Okay. Thanks.” Click.

Customer walks through the door, has a tricycle from the 1960’s in her hand. I look at and am thinking deep down, “You’re not going to ask it.” I was proved wrong. “Do you still fix these? Can you get parts?”

Successfully ruining her day, “Nope. Sorry. All that stuff is so old you might find a collective of people hanging onto what you need on the internet.” We can’t fix everything.

Telephone rings…. “Hello. What time is packet pickup??”

Answer: “Between 4 and 6.”

“Okay. Where do we get the race t-shirt?”

“Packet pickup.”

“What kind of a race is this? Is it mountain or road?”




Everyone knows that there wasn’t even a dirt road on this course route, a route that wasn’t a race either. It was a century. Which means that you attract a bunch of recreational cyclists. Which means that you get a lot of seemingly stupid questions. “I’m sorry, what?”

“What kind of bike do I need?” As if to say, I am awesome, I have a mountain bike and a road bike, but I don’t know what either one is for…

“So it’s a road bike century. Bring your road bike.”

“Can I have someone bring my mountain bike for the road construction part, so I can switch??”

While the answer should have been “Certainly not” it was going to be hilarious for someone: “Yes, that’s fine but you’ll need to arrange it yourself. You still have to keep the course rules.”

Placated, “Thanks!!”

Customer pulls into the parking lot, and I swear this happens once a week, in a truck with a payload of junk bikes. Comes in the door, kind of distressed, “Hey man, you gotta help me out.” Not wanting to deal with it but reluctantly ask the question that feels like volunteering to test a shark bite suit, “What’s the matter?”

“I’ve got a couple of bikes with flat tires. They need fixin.”

“Bring em in..” exasperated.

“Can ya help me bring them in?”

“How many are there?”

“six..”

“Well, shit man. You can’t just bring in 6 bikes at a time in the back of your truck!” is what every mechanic wants to say. But the problem is shop or no shop, tires need to be fixed and money needs to be made.

“So how much am I looking at here… fix all them flats?”

“On average, each bike will be 23 dollars in parts and labor..”

“Can’t ya just see which one’s need to be replaced??” Phone rings..

“Hang on, sir..”

Looking flustered he watches me answer the phone.. “Hello, You’re awesome local bike shop. What can I do for you?”

“What time is packet pickup?”

“Did you find it on the website?”

“Yes, but I wanted to make sure it hadn’t changed.”

“Nope, that’d be really weird if it had. Anything else?”

“What kind of nutrition will be on the event?” A seriously tough question that I, the awesome local bike shop mechanic, had no answer for because I was not part of the event, or the organization of the event.

“It’s going to the best food you’ve ever had on course.”

“Really??”




“Yes.”

“What exactly?”

I had no idea how to handle these questions, looked back and hollered for Carol, the event coordinator. Told her I had a question on the line about the food for the century. She looked back, shrugged, “I don’t know.” I say, “Take the call.”

Carol: “Yes. Yes. Coke.”

The gentleman with the truck was patiently waiting.. “Sorry man, that’s something you should have done. We only charge minimum labor to replace tubes. We can’t go through and check 6 bikes to see if they’ll hold air. Either we replace all the tubes and you pick up the bikes tomorrow or we sell you some tubes and you do the job yourself… It’ll be 130 dollars.”

“What?!” shreiking a little.

“Six bikes sir.”

“Can ya give me a break?”

“If I give you a $45 break will that work?”

“Yeah man!”

Intolerant of swindlers: “Ok, then I can fix 4 of your 6 bikes.”

Telephone rings…. “Hello. What time is packet pickup??”

Answer: “Between 4 and 6.”

“Okay. Thanks. What should I wear?”

“Really??”

I glance at the guy with 12 flat tires.

“What?? I guess I’ll fix ’em.”

“12 tubes. Seventy-two dollars please.”