Last week I was asked to speak to an industrial design class at the art institute of Portland about framebuilding and bike design. The class is participating in the Oregon Manifest Builder’s Challenge, and I think they have one of the most exciting challenges of all. That is, they are starting as complete beginners to bike construction. And you can only be brand spankin’ new once.

I found myself wanting to impart equal parts pep talk, myth-busting, and practical advice.  Among these tidbits were:

• Keep your hands in check with your brain. Draw your construction drawings by hand, at scale. This keeps the thinking in check with the making, and helps you catch errors before they are rendered permanent in steel.
• Know where your bottom bracket is at all times.
• Bike building is a totally learnable craft – you don’t need a blessing or a blood transfusion of some ancient cranky framebuilder in order to get ‘er done.

Sometimes when you are talking about your work, a belief that you have held close but never articulated tumbles out of your mouth in word form for the first time. When the conversation turned to jigs and fixtures, I got up on a bit of a soapbox:

When your tools tell you that “it can’t be done” you need to dismantle them, use them in a new way, or throw them away and invent new ones.

Tools embody wisdom and working methods. They are useful guides for physical problem solving, but they can sometimes get downright didactic once you’ve got them in your head and in your hands. Whether it is the bike that is too small, too large, too awesome to fit in your standard frame jig or whether it is the tubing bender you need to hack in order to realize the beautiful curve in your mind, the better tool is the one you set aside when it gets in your way.

This class can learn the craft of frame building.
They can build a rad little bike in the five weeks they have left.

But their real challenge is to build something that has never been built before. From what I’ve seen they have all of the creativity and design thinking they need. But whether you are brand new or have been at it for years, one of the most important tools you can deploy is fearlessness.

At the bottom of our last major descent of the day, my tandem pilot Bob yelled back to me “Sprinkle water on the drum brake!” I watched a weak trickle from my water bottle sizzle and pop. Water turned to gas, and it was gone. Burned up by the accumulated heat of so much resistance. If I had been capable of poetry at that point, I would have understood this as our last physical sonnet to glory.

The Rapha Gentlemen’s Race prides itself on its brutality. It is unmarshalled, unsanctioned and takes as its battle cry “Glory through Suffering.” This route dispatched us to 123 miles of grinding climbs, false summits, dust and gravel. The day handed us searing heat.

Before the race I had questioned the necessity of hitching “glory” to “suffering.” With some cheeky Buddhist logic, I dismissed suffering as a matter of perspective or mental attitude. But by the time we hit Pittsburg Road, I was reminded of the noblest truth of all:

Suffering is as ordinary and inevitable as the next breath. Glory is a state of mind.

Only 7 of the 27 teams that started this race made it to the finish intact. Riders went down with one flat after the next on the steep gravel descents. Tires blew off of rims. Riders spun out and fell at 3 miles an hour. Chains dropped. Chains broke. Drivetrains derailed. Sunstroke and dehydration plucked off even the strongest riders.

At the bottom of that last major descent, our remaining team had nothing to race but the sunset. We’d been the first to start at 9 in the morning and we’d be the last to finish, 11 ½ hours later. At this point, I winced at every bump in the road. I had sunscreen in my eyes and my hands had gone numb. We all got quiet. I think we were looking inward for what was left. I poured my last drops of will and joy into the pedals to keep them turning. It all burned up, meeting the sun at the horizon.

As I rolled into the finish, I realized that glory wasn’t waiting for me. And that all I was left with were fleeting moments of beauty and hours of transition: Water into gas. Hurt into motion. Sun into darkness.

And maybe beer and a shower.

In years past, I might have been able to answer with confidence. You just do a gut-check: yup, feels like summer. So you take them off. Or you look to outside indicators: Fleet Week, Pedalpolooza, Rose Parade… and you take them off. But this spring it has rained like gangbusters, and it just keeps coming. It has soaked my intuition and drowned my faith. Times like these call for a new methodology. See if you qualify for fender removal below:

Travel Oregon along with the digital agency Substance just launched Ride Oregon which is one stop shopping for people who want to come to Oregon to experience it’s bike culture, awesome scenery, or perhaps buy a bike.  We were honored that they chose to include an image of JJ Fantastic’s Sweetpea complete with matching dress.

We are continually surprised by the number of people who would rather travel to Portland to get fit for a bike than handle things over the phone.  Ride Oregon just made that process a little easier and a lot more fun.

I was there.  Not in spirit, like someone sitting with coffee and a waffle at the kitchen table thinking cheerful thoughts for a hearty bundled-up peloton.  No, I was there in the wind-chapped flesh.  Only I was a half mile across the highway, a half hour late, and in an industrial park of misery.

For brevity’s sake, let’s call that Hillsboro.

In retrospect, I can see I was ill-prepared.  It wasn’t what I didn’t bring – I brought my earnest intentions, a buttered muffin, and a Max ticket. . . It was what I failed to leave behind that did me in.  I deboarded at Orenco Station with the useless assumption that NW 231 st surely mustn’t be too far from NW 235th, where you were all waiting cozily to begin your ride.  I set out, at 13 minutes to nine, to find the next block, orient myself, and head your way.  After five minutes, it became clear that the street grid was pocked with condos in the way you might imagine a really rough patch of the space time continuum to be pocked with black holes.  I sought a native guide, a woman with an eager terrier and a snappy jogging outfit.  Her directions were confident, her hand gestures were vigorous, and she shouted over the sounds of wind and traffic “head that way, you’ll see signs!”

Yes I did.  I saw signs for HWY 26, a tile warehouse, Ocean Beaches, any number of likely contractors for the US Defense Department and the garage door opening industry.  I squinted into the sun, and like a dog circling three times before settling down for a nap, I circled around and around before settling down into a serious funk.

I wanted an urban planner.  I wanted an explanation.  I could have been dropped into the middle of Paris and gotten directions from a mime troupe with better results.  Or at least found my way to a cafe au lait, a pain au chocolate, a bon jour!

I pulled the phone from my jacket and called home.  Austin consulted the internet, and I was once again on my way.  But by the time I arrived at the Longbottom Coffee and Tea, it was 9:47 and you were gone.  The Portland Velo ten o’clock ride and a group of triathletes were milling about speaking breezily of recovery zones and electrolytes, so I pointed myself into the wind, and headed toward the hills.

It was too late in the game to trade up my patch kit for a suitcase of courage.  I would like to report a certain pluckiness or determination to make the best of the situation, but over the course of the next three hours, there were down trees and wrong turns.  And, as long as we are being honest here, there may have been a roadside tantrum of sorts, either the cause or the result of a pair of day-glo polar fleece mittens blown down the road like a pair of addled tumbleweeds.  But we don’t talk about that anymore.

At long last, Austin met my arrival with embraces, declarations of love, and a grilled cheese sandwich.  We took a trip to Stumptown Coffee just to be sure that both body and spirits were restored.  (Mocha, lots of whip.)

So this is just to say that I tried, and that I would still love to go for a ride.

Next Sunday?  Maybe someplace closer in perhaps?

From helmets, to media companies, to clothing, to custom builders, they did a really fantastic job of covering the whole bike ecosystem in Oregon, it’s challenges, and it’s opportunities.  

We really appreciate all of the vibrant and unique bike businesses that we have in town. It makes living here all the sweeter.  

The article can be found here.

sweetpea bicycles from daniel sharp on Vimeo.

A few months ago Nau approached us and said they wanted to do a video about us for their website. We were honored. This was a company that worked in bold stokes. They were ambitious, talented, and incredibly smart. They wove sustainability into everything that they did, and managed to make something truly beautiful. We are so sad to see them go. This video gives you an introduction to Sweetpea Bicycles, but it is really about Portland: why we ride, why we love it. One last thing: I am not sure if they got our Pant Spec, but they nailed the Skirt Spec. My denim skirt fits a U Lock in the back pocket and rides like a dream.

First up to bat was the Oregon Handmade Bicycle Show.  We had been involved with organizing this event for the last five months or so, and if you thought going to an event was hard – putting on the event and going to it is way harder.  But when you are involved with the planning, you get to do some neat things.  Like invite all the bike builders in the state to show their craft . . . all of them.  The response was incredible, and we were so busy the entire time, I only got to take one picture:

Next up was the third annual Bike Craft Fair put on by Jonathan from Bike Portland.  We had our “Wool for Steel” program in effect for a second year in a row an added a new Quick Release Mitten as well as recycled sweater arm warmers to the S’mitten line up.

We have a few pair left over, so if you are interested, drop us a line.  And the t-shirts will be up for sale in the next day or two.

Dearest Readers,

Taking place this Sunday is the first ever Oregon Handmade Bicycle Show.  Twenty five builders from all over the great state of Oregon will be showing their bikes.  We will be there showing a handful of bikes, selling caps and socks, and will be releasing our freshly minted Sweetpea Bicycles t-shirts into the wild.  (Check or cash only.  Available on the web come Monday.)

Its going to be an incredible show and we hope to see you there.

Details:

Oregon Handmade Bicycle Show

World Forestry Center

11 to 7

$5 at the door/kids under 12 free.

Created with Admarket’s flickrSLiDR.