Fixing bikes for a living

Every bike that comes in tells you how it was ridden. Worn brake pads on one side, a chain that's never been cleaned. I can read a bike like a diary.

This is Room Tone. I'm Tomás Reyes. My guest today is Jonah Pike, a bike mechanic who has run his own workshop for eleven years.

Twelve in March. Who's counting.

How did it start?

In a garage behind my mother's house. I fixed bikes for friends in exchange for beer, and then for money, and then the neighbours started leaving bikes outside the door with notes taped to the handlebars.

Notes saying what?

Things like, it makes a noise. Which noise? They never say. So the first skill you learn is asking good questions. When does it click? Under load or freewheeling? Uphill? In the rain?

When did it become a real shop?

When the garage couldn't hold the queue. I rented a narrow room with a big window, bought a proper stand and a truing wheel, and painted the prices on the wall so nobody would have to ask.

Let's talk about those prices. How do you decide what a repair costs?

Time, parts, and honesty. A basic service is a fixed price, because I know it takes me fifty minutes. Anything else, I look at the bike with the owner standing there, and I tell them the number before I touch a spanner.

Do people argue?

Sometimes. And sometimes the right answer is, this bike isn't worth fixing. If the repair costs more than the bike, I say so. I lose the job, but I keep the customer. They come back when they buy something better.

Is there a repair you refuse to do?

Cheap suspension forks. You can't really service them, and you can't make them safe. I'll swap one for a rigid fork, which is lighter and never breaks.

What's the most common repair you see?

Punctures, by a mile. Then brakes that rub, gears that skip, and chains so dry they squeak. Almost all of it comes from the same place. Nobody looks at their bike until it stops working.

What should people do once a month?

Pump the tyres, wipe the chain, oil it, and squeeze both brakes before you ride. Five minutes. It would halve my business, and I'd be happy about it.

What does winter look like for a bike shop?

Quiet. Fewer riders, more salt, more rust. I use the slow months to build wheels by hand and to teach. On Tuesday evenings I run a class where people learn to fix a puncture and adjust their own brakes.

Isn't that teaching people not to need you?

The people who learn to fix a puncture become the people who notice a cracked rim early. They come in sooner, with better questions. Teaching is the best marketing I've ever done, and it's free.

Do you ever want a bigger shop?

Sometimes, on a Saturday, when the queue goes out of the door. Then I remember that a bigger shop means a manager, and a manager means I fix fewer bikes. I like fixing bikes.

Jonah Pike, thank you.

Thanks for having me. Oil your chain.

That's Room Tone. Links are in the show notes. Next week, Ada visits a letterpress printer.