Broken Bikes Find Home in Engineer's Basement
by Josh Herman
Michael Connell reaches toward the overturned garbage can in his basement where his old radio is resting and turns up the volume. The song playing is “In My Life” by the Beatles and it’s one of his favorites. His buddy Tim tosses him a wrench from a few feet away and Connnell’s attention returns to his bike.
“Music is essential when you’re working on bikes,” Connell says with a wry smile.
The music might not be a necessity, but it's part of his process. Connell, 27, of Connellsville, spends a lot of his free time repairing bikes, but it isn’t his primary job. He has been employed by Rockwood Manufacturing, in Rockwood as an engineer for almost four years. The company specializes in doors, door handles, and hinges that are shipped all over the world.
“I love my job, but I miss actually working with my hands," Connell said.
"I do a lot of design work on the computer, but automated assembly machines and 3D printers do all of the actual constructing. That is why I started to work on bikes, I guess," he said.
See how to change a bike tire here.
The work isn’t just for fun, though. Fixing bikes is a great skill for a serious cyclist like Connell. Last year, he made the trek from Pennsylvania to Washington D.C., a trip that’s a little over 330 miles, and his skills came in handy when minor problems popped up with the bike.
His tools were among the most vital items he took with him. Water can be attained along the trail, but Allen wrenches, screwdrivers, patches, and chains are a little scarcer. The trip took five days, so the bike stuff got packed with the tent and other camping equipment. After some sleep, Connell would resume peddling at sun up.
When it's winter, the tuning, turning, and tightening in Connell’s basement persists. The engineer continues to come home and spend his down time doing what most people would call work.
Connell's basement is filled with bikes. There are 11 right now, but he’s had as many as 20 at a time. Many of the bikes are his, but he does work for friends and family, too. Two of the bikes belong to his uncles. Those have been in storage for years and need a little work. Four of the bikes belong to Connell. Those are high-end and only need some slight tweaking before the weather allows for their usage.
The five others are what Connell refers to as "drop-offs"; he tells people that he will take old bikes, no matter what kind. He fixes them and either keeps them or gives them away. He doesn’t necessarily need more bikes, but without them, there wouldn’t be enough work to keep him occupied.
“I have always loved building things and working with my hands," Connell said.
"It’s just part of who I am. My dad was a carpenter and I used to watch him, so I think that’s where my interest comes from."
Tim Andyjohn is a longtime friend of Connell’s who went to kindergarten with him. Connell got him interested in bike riding and eventually got him interested in the repair business as well.
“A couple of years ago, he said he needed a hand fixing a bike,” Andyjohn said.
"We had always ridden together, but I didn’t mess around too much with the fixing part. He just needed an extra set of hands, but I saw the way he did it and asked him to teach me a few things."
Now Andyjohn is a regular in the basement, and the two usually work on separate bikes.
“I’ve actually gotten better than he is," said Andyjohn, loudly enough for Connell to hear. "Mike is too slow; the apprentice has become the master."
“No. You go too fast," Connell quipped. "I will have to finish this one up and then do that derailleur over again because you won’t take your time enough to do it right."
The work isn’t done for any monetary profit. The cost of parts is all Connell ever asks of anyone. He is willing to spend his time working to break even, but he’s not prepared to take a loss.
The same Beatles song begins to play and Connell begins to look for another CD.
“I do it because it’s what I like to do,” Connell said. He grabs a Coors Light out of a mini fridge and raises it in an imaginary toast. “Plus they don’t let me drink beer while I’m at the office.”
Josh Herman is is a California University of Pennsylvania English major.
Michael Connell reaches toward the overturned garbage can in his basement where his old radio is resting and turns up the volume. The song playing is “In My Life” by the Beatles and it’s one of his favorites. His buddy Tim tosses him a wrench from a few feet away and Connnell’s attention returns to his bike.
“Music is essential when you’re working on bikes,” Connell says with a wry smile.
The music might not be a necessity, but it's part of his process. Connell, 27, of Connellsville, spends a lot of his free time repairing bikes, but it isn’t his primary job. He has been employed by Rockwood Manufacturing, in Rockwood as an engineer for almost four years. The company specializes in doors, door handles, and hinges that are shipped all over the world.
“I love my job, but I miss actually working with my hands," Connell said.
"I do a lot of design work on the computer, but automated assembly machines and 3D printers do all of the actual constructing. That is why I started to work on bikes, I guess," he said.
See how to change a bike tire here.
The work isn’t just for fun, though. Fixing bikes is a great skill for a serious cyclist like Connell. Last year, he made the trek from Pennsylvania to Washington D.C., a trip that’s a little over 330 miles, and his skills came in handy when minor problems popped up with the bike.
His tools were among the most vital items he took with him. Water can be attained along the trail, but Allen wrenches, screwdrivers, patches, and chains are a little scarcer. The trip took five days, so the bike stuff got packed with the tent and other camping equipment. After some sleep, Connell would resume peddling at sun up.
When it's winter, the tuning, turning, and tightening in Connell’s basement persists. The engineer continues to come home and spend his down time doing what most people would call work.
Connell's basement is filled with bikes. There are 11 right now, but he’s had as many as 20 at a time. Many of the bikes are his, but he does work for friends and family, too. Two of the bikes belong to his uncles. Those have been in storage for years and need a little work. Four of the bikes belong to Connell. Those are high-end and only need some slight tweaking before the weather allows for their usage.
The five others are what Connell refers to as "drop-offs"; he tells people that he will take old bikes, no matter what kind. He fixes them and either keeps them or gives them away. He doesn’t necessarily need more bikes, but without them, there wouldn’t be enough work to keep him occupied.
“I have always loved building things and working with my hands," Connell said.
"It’s just part of who I am. My dad was a carpenter and I used to watch him, so I think that’s where my interest comes from."
Tim Andyjohn is a longtime friend of Connell’s who went to kindergarten with him. Connell got him interested in bike riding and eventually got him interested in the repair business as well.
“A couple of years ago, he said he needed a hand fixing a bike,” Andyjohn said.
"We had always ridden together, but I didn’t mess around too much with the fixing part. He just needed an extra set of hands, but I saw the way he did it and asked him to teach me a few things."
Now Andyjohn is a regular in the basement, and the two usually work on separate bikes.
“I’ve actually gotten better than he is," said Andyjohn, loudly enough for Connell to hear. "Mike is too slow; the apprentice has become the master."
“No. You go too fast," Connell quipped. "I will have to finish this one up and then do that derailleur over again because you won’t take your time enough to do it right."
The work isn’t done for any monetary profit. The cost of parts is all Connell ever asks of anyone. He is willing to spend his time working to break even, but he’s not prepared to take a loss.
The same Beatles song begins to play and Connell begins to look for another CD.
“I do it because it’s what I like to do,” Connell said. He grabs a Coors Light out of a mini fridge and raises it in an imaginary toast. “Plus they don’t let me drink beer while I’m at the office.”
Josh Herman is is a California University of Pennsylvania English major.