Project pedal

I have a policy for e-mail that does not allow me to publish the

contents without the permission of the author. I adapted the policy

from one used by a local editor. Most of the time, the policy works

in the favor of the e-mail’s author because, as you may already have

guessed, the people who write to columnists usually have some, well,

let’s call it “constructive criticism,” and their choice of words is

not always the best.

But I am sorry to report that I have not asked for an OK to print

some e-mail notes from some very special people, and I therefore

can’t print their names here.

My communication with these angels began a week ago when I related

the story of the 30-year-old Schwinn Suburban bicycle I picked up for

$20 at a local garage sale. Two weeks later, the chrome was sparkling

again, the paint on the fenders was polished and all of the gears and

brakes had been lubricated. The tires and tubes on both wheels are

brand new.

The bike is, to use a friend’s term, “cherry.”

As good as it looked and as smooth as it rode, I didn’t need

another bike, nor did anyone else in my family. So I offered last

week to give it away to someone who needed a bike but could not

afford one. In that column, I also asked for donations of more bikes

so I could fix them up and give them away.

I am very pleased to report that not only do I have a new home for

the Schwinn, but several other bikes are waiting for me to pick them

up. One of them also has a home as soon as I can get it ready.

The bike exchange was not something I initiated because I figured

that there were a lot of people who needed bikes. I cleaned up the

first one because it looked like a fun project.

It was more than fun. Cleaning up the bike and finding a home for

it was one of the most gratifying things I have ever done. If it is

possible to create endorphins while scraping rust off of a bike

wheel, I was doing it. And all it made me want to do was find another

bike and start the process all over again.

The next bike I worked on was my wife’s beach cruiser. It, too,

was rusty, so I cleaned up every bit that I could, stripped off some

old, cracked decals and put on a new kickstand. I even used Armor All

to polish the whitewalls on the fat tires. That bike is hot.

Fixing up my wife’s bike was a tactical move. I figured that if I

cleaned up another old junker while I let hers sit I might not get

the support I need when I show up with a half a dozen rusty bikes

this weekend.

Clever, huh? I’ll let you know if she falls for it.

The short story on the Schwinn is that it’s going to a boy in

Santa Ana who has trouble getting to and from school and whose

parents cannot afford a good bicycle for him.

I had planned on delivering it yesterday, but as I pulled it out

of the garage, I noticed that the bike no longer had a chain.

At 7 a.m. yesterday morning, I called the kids out of the house

and into the garage.

“I’m having a Twilight Zone moment,” I said. “I know that there

was a chain on this bike yesterday, but now, not only is it not on

the bike, it’s not on the floor of the garage or anywhere else in

sight. Do either of you know what happened to it?”

“I know,” said my son Roy. “I was riding back from the market

yesterday and it fell off.”

That comment was a milestone. First, Roy knows how much I adore

that bike, yet he did not hesitate to tell me that he was there when

it broke. Second, he didn’t preface his answer with the words, “Do

you promise you won’t get mad?” What a breakthrough.

Roy did not break the chain. It was more than 30 years old and

probably ready to go at any time. I’m only sorry that Roy had to walk

it home from the market.

So I will deliver the bike this weekend. The next bike is going

down to Mexico to a man who walks too far to work and cannot afford a

bicycle.

The opportunity to reach out to you and get the response I did has

been a great perk of this job. By this time next week, I hope to have

permission to identify the very generous locals who are giving me

bikes.

And in order to make sure I don’t violate any policies, I think

I’ll call them.

* STEVE SMITH is a Costa Mesa resident and a freelance writer.

Readers may leave a message for him on the Daily Pilot hotline at

(714) 966-4664 or send story ideas to [email protected].

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