The Repair Shop

Have you seen a British telly program called ‘The Repair Shop’? You know the one - people bring in cherished items that have fallen into disrepair and get them repaired by an on-site team of expert restorers. On the face of it, it’s a pleasant concept about every day people getting things they love fixed. But it has a nasty streak. It’s not quite as nice as it would first seem. I’m not suggesting it’s deliberate, but one could come away with the impression that the programme producers prefer it when people cry. Overcome with emotion from seeing their item brought back to life. Well you would I suppose. 

Call me cynical, but I do have an issue with the premise. If the items were so cherished, as the emotions that play out would suggest, why did the owners let them get into such a state in the first place? And, assuming it was accidental damage, shouldn’t they have had the item repaired much sooner. Rather then wait to be asked onto the telly? But I’m perhaps one to talk…..

In September 2015 I decided to enjoy the early spring sunshine and take a ride along the coast on my mountain bike to Half Moon Bay. It was a beautiful day for a gentle ride, the paths and boardwalks a little tame for a full suspension mountain bike, but it didn’t really matter. Being out was what mattered and besides, at my destination there were cafés and with that cake and coffee! Oh and of course, a ferry back to the city.

Taking it all at a pace that being on a mountain bike on flat terrain requires, it took a few hours to travel the 30km or so to my destination. Even so, I was a bit early so had plenty of time to rest up and refuel before catching the next ferry back to the city.

And it was on the ferry where, unbeknownst to me, something untoward was happening. But I was happy. I had cake, coffee and a great view of the Auckland coast, my bike perched at the back of the boat.

40 minutes later, the ferry docked and I had a short ride up the hill back to Parnell. I got back to the house, put my bike in the garage and went to get a shower. What a great morning out!

A few weeks later, I went to get my bike out of the garage only to find the wheels wouldn’t turn - not without a great deal of effort anyway. My brakes had seized up and other parts that were supposed to move we’re decidedly static. What the? I’d only been on it a few weeks earlier and hadn’t been near any mud or water. Except for the ferry of course…..oh! I’d forgotten about the sea spray! I remember my bike being covered in it and I’d just plonked it back in the garage without washing it down! How could I have been so careless?

It’s okay though, I thought, I’d get it sorted next weekend….

That was nearly seven years ago. I hadn’t touched it and with each passing year it looked more and more disheveled and unloved. It got to the point where I needed to do something about. I felt increasingly guilty about letting get into such a state and concerned it would soon be a rusty unrecoverable heap. There was nothing for it - I took it to the experts at the local bike shop. No problem, they said, we’ll look at it and get back to you with a quote.

The call the next day was enlightening. Not only were they sure that it would be nearly $3,000 to get it sorted, they weren’t particularly keen on doing the work. ‘It’s too old and not really worth it. Besides, styles have changed and we’ll struggle to get the parts we need’ was the general gist. But they could sell me a new one for $6,000. Or course they could. The cheek of it. Old fashioned? How dare they? I suppose in the fashion fickle world of mountain biking, a twelve year old bike may as well have been a Penny Farthing. 

So if their heart wasn’t in it, mine would have to be. I didn’t want a new bike, I wanted to repair mine - I’d let it get into this state so it was me who needed to fix it. I mean, how hard could it be?

So I spent the next few weeks….okay maybe a month….perhaps two….holed up in the garage dismantling, inspecting, cleaning and rebuilding. In all honesty is was a cathartic experience. There was a bit of trial and error - pauses whilst waiting for parts to arrive from overseas and plenty of education by YouTube. Mostly to figure out what I’d done wrong. But bit by bit, and part by part, life was slowly brought back into the bike. 

It wasn’t a cheap exercise, but considerably less than the price I was quoted. As long as you don’t factor in the cost of my time!

Although I might still scoff at some of the people on The Repair Shop, it’s maybe more out of habit than genuine incredulity. And I’ll admit that last Sunday, when I got back on the saddle for the first time in nearly seven years, it was a little bit emotional. Crying? Of course not.  I’m sure it was just the wind in my eyes that was making them water….