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Thread: Richard Sachs Cycles

  1. #1781
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    Default Re: Richard Sachs Cycles

    A file stroke is conversation. I pick up the tool. One of them. And try to talk to the metal. The metal always talks back. This much I learned early on. My job is to listen. To talk back. To ask the metal for more time to make my point. To convince the metal that what I have in mind is best for all. The metal hears me. Some times the metal listens. Often it shows me why I'm wrong. And should stop talking. And move on to other areas of the bicycle frame. The conversation is a process. An adult life full of conversations has convinced me that the frame I began making isn't the frame I finished making.

    All This By Hand





  2. #1782
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    Default Re: Richard Sachs Cycles

    The pages turn at the same rate of speed no matter how many words are on them or how slowly one reads. In the time it takes a heart to beat, we're looking at so little sand that counting the grains as they pass almost seems possible.

    There was the day in 1971 I sought redemption. That job that would hold my attention until Goddard College could teach me - I didn't get it. To right my self-esteem, I journeyed to London. And ended up at the Witcomb family's front door.

    It was never my plan to do this. Until it was. The first decade was about denial. I can leave anytime. And in a heartbeat, I began to accept my place. Did I ever get even? Has anything been redeemed? I didn't want to be a bicycle maker. I became one.

    Fate is a word I can't define. Is it like the wind, taking us from the left all the way over to the right? What say do we have? If we stand around long enough, will our names be called? We get a turn. The lucky ones may get a few. And then it's up to the next in line.

    We're not born with a playbook. If we stay light enough the wind can catch us and blow us around a bit. We never land. Because the wind is ever-present. And before long, we have stories to share. Advice to parse out. And a life lived.

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  3. #1783
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    Default Re: Richard Sachs Cycles

    Fantasy Gene

    And in the time it takes to press Send I feel better about myself. Knowing that others too are keeping entropy at the forefront. Despite a life long (so far) desire for order I seldom get close. Thatís why God gave me a fantasy gene. And I use it. Maybe not daily. I close my eyes and see white walls (wait Ė I DO have these) and a surgical approach to surfaces, materials, and tools. And a systematic way to cull the unnecessary. My eyes canít stay shut long enough. What I have are piles and layers and old magazines that should have been tossed. I make bicycles with open eyes. And then close them. Share the fantasy. Arrange disorder.

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  4. #1784
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    Default Re: Richard Sachs Cycles

    My Devilís Tower

    That scene in Close Encounters of the Third Kind. Richard Dreyfusís character is obsessed with what he saw what he thinks he saw what he imagined Ė it doesnít matter. He goes deep into his dinner and begins to construct a mound on the plate that resembles the Devilís Tower in Wyoming.

    We all have our Mashed Potato Mountain. Or should. Mine. There are parts of the whole that take me away. If a frame is the product of three days labor, a good several hours are spent on smaller details that grab me and bring the process to a halt. Maybe five times between start and completion. Areas of detail. My Devilís Tower.

    The seat lug confluence is among my focal points. The parts are joined. The flux is rinsed. I begin to carve the shapes onto the left and right stay tops. Often the two sides donít match. But they donít match close enough that I care. Or donít. The area looks at me and I look back at it tenfold. And then move forward. Time. Is. Money.

    I spend a LOT time holding metal and tools. In many ways itís like me touching myself. When thereís an itch within reach, I scratch it. Then people pay me for this. If thereís a lesson for other makers and people in the personal service industries itís this: If youíre not fascinated with your own work, be surprised if anyone else is.

    All This By Hand





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