Category: Conversations

Back to the bike shop

My English lesson was cancelled unexpectedly just as I was leaving work, so rather than going home or back to work, I took the opportunity to take my bike to the bike shop.

I hung up the phone at 17:11. The bike shop closes at 18:00. According to Google the shop is 38 bike-minutes away from where I work. Getting there before closing time was theoretically possible. Except that Google typically rides 50% faster than I do and turning up after closing time is uncool. On the other hand, if not now, then when? I have appointments next week that would be much easier to attend with a bike than with buses and trains. Time to pedal harder..

***

The BikeShopGuy was outside, moving bikes around when I arrived, panting*, 2 minutes before the bike shop was supposed to close. I rode onto the forecourt, past a man leading a little kid and a tiny bike out of the driveway, and leant on my handlebars, trying to remember how to breathe normally.  *(panting, here, is euphemistic for ‘just about to die of over-exertion ‘ 🤪😵 )

When he’d finished whatever he was doing with the bike he was holding, the BikeShopGuy walked over and looked at me, then my bike, then back to me. “You’re going to have to help me” he said. I guess I must have looked like I assumed he’d recognise the bike. I kind of did, but mostly I was too busy trying to breathe, to be able to talk.

After what felt like forever, but hopefully wasn’t, I started reeling off what I assumed I needed.

“Wait. I need something to write on.” He headed into the shop and came out armed with a biro and a narrow customer-wish-list pad. I got off the bike and leant it on its stand.

“Ok. Start again”

“New chain, new cassette, new chainrings, probably new brake pads, maybe new tyres…”

He stopped writing and crouched down briefly by the front wheel, “Yup.”

The back wheel was more of a ‘maybe’. “It’s up to you” he said, still crouching by the back wheel. “Look.” He pointed to the part where the tyre starts curving. Sure enough; hundreds of tiny but visible cracks. Apparently I’ve been riding without enough pressure. “Those tyres can take 4-5 bar…”

Guilty as charged.

There was more-or-less enough profile left, and if I wasn’t going to be cycling for 4-5 months, I think I’d leave it for a bit. As it is, I decided to [let him] change both tyres.

“So. Chain, cassette, rings, tyres, …..  brakes..” He looked at the brakepads and stood up to test the brakes. “Are they like that on purpose?”

“Uh? Sorry? Are they like what..?”

“That’s a no then.” He smiled as he took back his question.

It seems they’re the wrong way around. I’m not entirely sure why or how, but it seems strange that I hadn’t noticed, and even stranger that the other bikeshop guys have never said anything. (At least not that I can remember).

“Was that everything?”

“Yeah. Well, probably. I don’t know enough about the rest to know what to check. It would be good if it was rideable for the whole trip…”

I think he must internally despair at such bike-illiteracy, but he was kind enough not to say anything. Instead he looked and poked at various things. “The bottom bracket needs [?something?]. Look.” He showed me how much the pedals rocked in the wrong direction. “If I’ve got the chainrings off anyway I can replace that as well..”

“Great!” I was out of my depth, but he felt genuine, not like he was just trying to sell me something. “Please do that too.”

The bracket was added to the wish list, followed by my name and phone number. He tore the bottom section of the page off and handed it to me.

“Do you think I can pick it up at the beginning of next week?”

“Mm. I’ll phone when it’s ready.”

As I left, he was busy pumping up tyres for the next [later-than-me] customer.

***

I was on the bus back home at 18:08. Everything was said and sorted. So impressed 🙂

Slightly antisocial?

“You can put your tent here” she said, waving her arms in the general direction of a patch of grass.

“Here?” I asked, “in the middle?”

“Yeah. Just here somewhere” she sounded like she thought she was repeating herself. “You can come back to the reception when you’ve set up.”

She walked off, presumably back to reception.

I took my pizza and headed toward the water and a bench.

If I’m given a rock hard patch of slightly slopey, well driven over grass, I’ll choose the best bit and the best angle for my tent.

Does feel a bit antisocial to put it up right where people want to walk though..

(Did keep the guy ropes short)

…and they all handed their passports over and 3 fell out..

Having got through the Danish checks I assumed they wouldn’t check again in Sweden.

I was wrong.

The Swedish border controllers were stricter than the Danish, although they didn’t make us take our luggage out of the bus which was nice of them.

After a lot of to-ing and fro-ing, and a lot of hi vis people getting on and off the bus inspecting things and talking into their walkietalkies and/or phones, three people were told to get off the bus for unknown (to me) reasons.

I overheard one lady asking why she couldn’t continue on to Malmö, only to get this reply:

“I ask the questions here.”

And that was that. End of conversation.

They were eventually (~40 minutes later) taken to one of the rooms in the building on the right and the bus was allowed to finish the journey in peace.