Another old VeloNews piece, circa '97

Nice Wheels

Bob turned the sign to CLOSED and clicked off the outside light. He went back to the bench and the stand and the half-trued wheel. Last one out of here as usual, he thought, turning the wheel a quarter-turn each way, not yet touching it with the tool.

He liked working after closing, without noise or distractions or people waiting for their stuff. He liked knowing he could think about whatever he wanted and could take his time with the work, no clock ticking.

He heard tapping at the door, saw it was Eric and motioned him to come in. "Not locked," he mouthed, nodding and making door-opening movements.

Eric came in looking puzzled. He had a Campagnolo box tucked under his arm. Hubs, maybe.

"I was rooting around in the dumpster for an old rim to stretch a sew-up on, and look what I found," Eric said.

And handed Bob a Chorus hubset, 9-sp, 32H scrawled on the top in black marker, Bob's writing, and one of Bob's pricetags stuck on the end. Eric shook his head, wearily waved goodnight and left.

Unwilling to believe what he saw, Bob stared at the box. He looked up at the shelf where the hubs SHOULD've been, and by golly they weren't there. No. Until a moment ago, they were in the dumpster.

Only someone working for me would leave this box in the dumpster after sneaking it out of the store. Anyone else would've taken these hubs right home. An employee might leave them out there, then come back after closing, after midnight maybe, and grab them when no one would see.

If someone found them out there, it could be an accident: WHY, THEY MUST'VE FALLEN INTO THE WASTEBASKET BY MISTAKE, AND ENDED UP IN THE DUMPSTER WITH THE REST OF THE JUNK. SURE LUCKY YOU FOUND THEM.

Jeez, Bob said out loud, someone's taking stuff. From the shop.

Whoever did this wouldn't leave this box out there longer than they had to, he thought; Must've been someone who worked today.

Imagining one of his guys stealing, having to play detective and figure out who it was, made Bob tired. I don't wanna do this, he thought.

I sell the guys stuff, 10% over cost. If they can't pay now, they pay little-by-little out of their checks. If they need to borrow something of mine, they know they just have to ask. If they need my help, whatever it is, they just have to ask.

Especially if they're riding their bikes a lot, riding every day or training and racing, I'll do about anything to help.

Still, here was serious evidence that one of his guys was stealing.

Bob opened the box and took out the rear hub. He turned the axle and felt the grease-slowed smoothness of the bearings, spun the cassette body and listened to the pawls ratchet inside.

He pulled his Sutherland's Manual down from the shelf above the bench and leafed through it, found the pages he wanted and did some arithmetic in pencil inside the lid of the Campy box.

He bent down to boxes under the bench and counted out butted stainless spokes in three lengths, dunked the threaded ends into a bottle of spoke prep. He tamped the wet ends on a rag and spread the spokes out on the bench to dry.

He scooped a handful of nipples out of another box, found two 32-hole Mavic aero clincher rims and unwrapped them, laying them gently on the bench. He laced spokes onto both of the Campy hubs, threaded the spokes into the holes in the rims and screwed on the nipples a few turns.

Once, while he was mindlessly starting nipples onto spokes, he found himself wondering who the hell had taken the hubs. He made himself stop thinking like that — STOP, BOB — and went on building up the wheels.

He took the customer's wheel out of the stand and hung it on a hook. He chucked the newly laced front wheel into the stand and took his time making it fine, tight and true. He took it out of the stand and squeezed the spokes together. He put the wheel on the floor to stress it out, then put it back in the stand and touched it up. Just right.

He got a Velox cotton rim strip and a phillips screwdriver. He put the phillips through the valve hole in a tape and the valve hole in the rim, then stretched the tape around the rim tight and straight.

He dusted the rim strip with talc, found two lightweight tubes and two light folding road clinchers. He sprinkled talc on the tube, put one of the tubes and one of the tires on the rim. He put in 40psi with a floor pump, checked the bead, and ran it up to 100.

He built the rear wheel in the same methodical way, installed the other rim strip, tube and tire and put in 110psi. He found a 12-23 Campy cogset, lightly greased the cassette body, slipped the cogs and spacers on and tightened the locknut.

Nice wheels, he said, and they were. Nice wheels.

He chucked the customer wheel back in the stand so he'd remember to work on it first thing. He turned off the flourescents above the shop and rechecked that the back door was locked.

He got his jacket and tidied up the bench, turned out lights, turned on other lights, walked to the front door and set the alarm. Carrying the fine new wheels out with him, he turned to lock the door within the seconds the alarm allowed.

He peered through the glass past the PowerBar sticker and the Oakley sticker and the GT sticker and saw that all was just as it should be.

As he passed the dumpster on the way to his old truck, he lifted the lid and gently put the wheels inside. As he lowered the lid, glare from a streetlight glinted off one of the hubs. Nice wheels, he thought, and they were.

Nice wheels.

END