I
learned to ride a bicycle late in my childhood,
but once I did, it became a passion. From my early coaster brake bikes, to my
3 speed Rudge (a division of Raleigh Bicycles), to my first 10 speed. I
still recall the thrill of ordering it - a Sierra Brown Schwinn Continental.
It was my equivalent experience to my father ordering a new car - going to the
showroom, selecting the color and accessories, etc. As luck would
have it, due to the tremendous popularity of that model and a parts shortage
at the time, it took a little longer than expected for the bike to arrive at
the shop from the factory. I recall receiving a handwritten postcard
from the Port Washington Bicycle Shop, apologizing for the delay, even though
I knew it was not their fault. I learned something about the art of
genuine "customer service" with that gesture.
I
can still recall the excitement of picking up the bike when the call came.
Walking into the back of the shop felt like walking into a car dealer.
The aroma of the new bicycles had that new car smell.
Anyway,
that bike didn't last long. It was taken from my garage one August night in
1973, while my family was with guests in the backyard. I was crushed,
and my father knew it. Not many kids waxed their bicycles. The
next day, he took me to the bike shop, unhesitatingly plopped down a check,
and I had a new bike. Some of my friends were astonished that I
got a replacement so quickly, wondering why not wait to see if it might be
found - but my father and the bike shop owner, Vincent Bandoian, knew
instinctively that the chances of recovery were slim. Vincent was very
empathetic, and just as angry as my Dad that some creep took my bike. He
assembled the new one for me in record time.
If
you happen to see this bike, serial # JH572011 pictured below, let me know!
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enlarge...
My new Schwinn Continental, in Sunset Orange, cheered
me right up.
I found a paperback book entitled "The Clear
Creek Bike Book" that had guidance and illustrations of mechanics and
repairs, using pictures of a similar model to my bicycle. I
was hooked. I had a
natural curiosity in mechanical workings, and after exploring first by taking off the crank,
I began experimenting - taking the bike completely apart, cleaning and re-greasing the cage
bearings on the crank and the loose bearings on the wheels, pedals and derailleur
sprockets. At
the slightest sign of wear, I'd replace the parts, and I'd adjust the cones and
the bearings until they had the perfect amount of freedom, with no play from
side to side. Twice a year I'd take everything off the
frame, and hang the frame in the garage like it was a car on a lift to touch up
the paint. All parts
were cleaned and polished, and put back together like new. A neighbor got me
into washing cars, so I had to make do with my bike at that age. I
would wash and wax the bike weekly. I was proud of that bike - it
was the tightest, smoothest, cleanest and fastest 10-speed in the neighborhood.
At one point, one of the decals on the
frame became a little chipped. I decided to write to the Schwinn company
in Chicago to request replacements, along with a self-addressed stamped
envelope and an offer to send payment. I received a very nice
letter in a folder, along with several sets of decals. Being a decal
novice, I went through all of them without successfully applying them to the
frame as good as the factory did. I wrote back, and the same Consumer
Relations rep Jeff Smith sent another packet, and kind letter. Although
my skills in applying the decals improved greatly, and being a perfectionist, I
was still unhappy that there were a couple of air bubbles showing. I wrote
once again to Jeff. I received another letter - but this time from
Ignaz Schwinn III. I was thrilled at age 13 to receive a personal
letter from someone named "Schwinn". I had no idea at the time
that he was the grandson of the founder, Ignaz Schwinn. That kind of
personal attention is rare these days, and I still believe that no email
can replace the impact of receiving a traditional paper letter - that you can
hold and look at for years to come:
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In 1976, Vincent got a hold of me and offered me a
job in the bike shop, and I worked there for a few summers. It was my
first real job, and I was thrilled to have the opportunity to work in the
shop. I earned the nickname "eyes" for my skill in truing a
wheel by adjusting the spokes. Working there felt just as thrilling as
working in an auto shop, with all of the parts and tools to fix anything.
I learned quite a bit from Vincent on how to run a business and work with
customers.
It is fitting that he took pleasure in providing the latest
overhaul of the bike in 2011, shortly before he semi-retired, and the shop moved
to its new location in Port Washington under new ownership.
1973
2011
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In 1976, my friends and I got the idea to take a long distance bike trip, after taking
a local trek to Sagamore Hill, the "Summer White House" of Teddy
Roosevelt. We knew
we wanted to head somewhere far, so we decided to ride to Massachusetts.
All we carried were maps, camping supplies, some cash, and first aid and tube repair kits.
Cell phones and GPS didn't exist yet. I later realized the enormous trust and confidence our parents
must have had with this
group of 16 year olds. When we arrived home, they could not have been prouder of us and what we had accomplished. It was quite a feeling to have
friends and neighbors cheer us as we returned. I think I kept the gear on
the bike for days to live
the moment a bit longer.
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enlarge...
July, 1976 - 6 AM - Alex Rekow, Jon DeMeo, Glenn McDonald, Carl LaCapria and Jim
Cunningham
start out from Port Washington Blvd and Neulist Avenue.
We rode east on Northern Blvd (25A) to Port
Jefferson. We enjoyed a
downhill run hill that was 3/4 mile long.
A cop stopped to escort us.
We made it to the Port Jeff Ferry just in time, and Carl's father Rocco and
step-father Len saw us off as we sailed to Bridgeport. Jon got seasick.
The
first night we camped on the side of the road, about halfway up Connecticut.
A severe storm hit that night, and a few of us started to wonder what we were
thinking....
We rode as many quiet roads as we could, but did have to
share the road with cars and trucks.
That was interesting in the windy
rain.
By the second day, we crossed into Sheffield Massachusetts, and treated ourselves
to
a no-frills hotel and a steak dinner.
On the third day, we headed back, cycling though upstate
New York,
staying overnight in Brewster NY (not this hotel).
On the fourth day, we made our way back to Bridgeport to catch
the ferry back to Long Island.
All told, about 279 miles, or 70 miles/day, according to this bike odometer,
which I keep on my home office desk as a reminder of my trip. A small pin
attached to the spokes turned the sprocket on the odometer wheel with each
revolution.
No batteries, electronics or wires. Just pure genius.
We survived with no helmets, no flat tires, only a couple of spills,
and an
experience that all of us shall never forget.
Vincent Bandoian & Glenn McDonald in the old shop
Vincent Bandoian, John Pappas, Mike Black