Richard Sachs Cycles

[Ras72]

Well now, Stevie makes my heart go pitter-patter. Hopefully, he's settling in nicely and recognizing he's one lucky pup.

Richie, just saw your Instagram post…

Correction: Hopefully, she’s settling in nicely and recognizing she’s one lucky pup.

The pitter-patter of the heart is still applicable.

[e-RICHIE]

-
glitta'

[72gmc]

Ooooh a bass boat Sachs. What a good idea!

[e-RICHIE]

-
when i make a frame (and fork) nothing is finished until the paint dries. and when it does, the work i put into everything will look different depending on the color. there are colors that require more passes which means some visuals can appear heavier than others. opaques, particularly lighter ones, tend to look the heaviest. the thickest. lotta metal edges and curves and pointy points need to be buried. and, in turn, my metalwork can get lost.

there are moments when i unwrap a freshly painted frame (and fork) and wonder where all the labor went. these (moments) are few and far between. but they do come. they still come. after five decades of fussing and fitting and brazing and sculpting. i still look at a few of these, look at myself in the mirror (metaphorically) and think my skills are dropping off. that’s a different mindset than the one i have before i ship a frame (and fork) to the paint shop.

for me, the ideal is a moving target. if there’s a slight alignment gaffe i hope that the bicycle fits perfectly. if i err on a length measurement i hope that a millimeter is a dimension we can laugh about. if the design is a mirror image of my original plan but the workmanship raises an eyebrow i’ll use the term wabi-sabi in a sentence. the only time i don’t worry about my frames (and forks) is when i think of the ones i haven’t made yet.

All This By Hand

[Bob Ross]

Slight Digression: 17 or 18 years ago @lenj posted a pic of his white-with-red-accents Richard Sachs bike (he referred to that color combination as "reverse Richie") and I was instantly smitten. It is by far my favorite colorway [sic] for a Sachs frame. The only reason I didn't order mine that color is because I know how bad I am about keeping white stuff clean!

But shee-it ^^^that pic is gorgeous!

[rccardr]

To my untrained eye, the transition from head tube to lug looks sharper on mine. Can't help wondering whether that's because of actual paint thickness or color contrast.

Richie's discerning eye is much better than mine. Thankfully.

Also appreciate the little splooge of RichieLube on both fork crowns.

Regardless, once one is on board, that all disappears beneath.

Fork headtube closeup SACHS 22 by Doc Mertes, on Flickr

[72gmc]

rccardr, are you building it with downtube shifters?

[rccardr]

Yep, got it in February '23 and have been riding equipped thusly ever since:

IMG_7306 by Doc Mertes, on Flickr

It's an excellent example of handmade bicycle craftsmanship.

[72gmc]

Ah, yes. I knew about that bike. Glad I forgot long enough to require another picture of it.

[taz]

golden ticket

IMG_2174.jpg

[e-RICHIE]

-
Yeah. Out there in the other world I was known as an experienced maker who’d been delivering the goods for decades. In here (uses forefinger and points to temple) I was still some guy trying to find that last percentage point needed to feel as if I’d reached a level of mastery. That Imperfection Is Perfection song I’d been humming since the 1980s? It wasn’t more than a dry hand towel used to wipe the sweat from my brow. The perspiration and the doubting went hand in hand.

It wasn’t like it just happened, my arrival at middle ground. Like so many things, it’s a process. I’m not in this alone. I looked at the metal, the files, the torch, the coiled-up brazing rod – all of it – as having a heartbeat just like me. So. Many. Heartbeats. We’re there together to make a sound. On my bench, that sound is a bicycle frame after some four days of trying.

Picking up the materials and getting each one to make the sound I want is the goal. The goal, after so many years, included me letting the parts improvise a bit. Or maybe more than a bit. I could either force my way into getting the metal to do what I want OR I could work with it and hope the collaboration lifts all of us. That’s when I realized what this making thing is all about.

Framebuilding (for me) became a relationship I entered once a week. My partner was scattered around my bench and on various surfaces in the workshop. I wanted to woo everything so we’d all be in that happy place. Where everything on the bicycle frame is where it should be.

All This By Hand

[e-RICHIE]

-
in venus paradise

All This By Hand

@Ciclipucci��

[e-RICHIE]

Some images from last week.

[e-RICHIE]

-
I’ve carried my three years as a student at The Peddie School with me every day since I left in 1971. The experience transformed me, shaped me, and made me the person I am. No other single period in my life has had the same impact.

Though I remember my days there well, and will recount them at the drop of a dime for anyone interested in hearing about them, most of my memories are just that - part of a distant past. Heck. I graduated in 1971. That’s long ago, huh.

Boarding schools are often broad stroked as being bastions of the privileged. Peddie wasn’t like that. Sure, there were kids whose families were renowned. And or successful. Last names that many would recognize from the social register.

Some boys went to Peddie to learn. Some went to play sports. Others were there because their fathers or brothers before them were students. And still others went because their parents wanted to save them from spiraling down the wrong path.

I was in that last group. The one that included the ne’er-do-wells. The delinquents. The kids who couldn’t sit still in the classrooms they’d been in until they arrived in Hightstown. Some boys learned. Some of us just took up space.

I’ve been to a few class reunions. Meh. However, over the last decade some of my classmates have reconnected. Thank you, internet. And rather than emails or texting, a small group of us have actually gotten together.

Two years ago, several of us met in Lake George for a four day retreat. For me it was cathartic. And therapeutic. After not seeing some of my pals since (gulp) the Nixon years, we reunited and became the boys we once were, though older.

A small group of us met again last week. This time in coastal North Carolina at the home of one of our pals. We told the same stories we did in New York. We ate and drank well. We dredged up old memories and made some new ones.

We’ve all done well, despite the fact that we were once the troubled kids. I was the only boy in my class who never attended college. It’s a statistic that both haunts me and brands me. As does that I never learned to sit still either.

All This By Hand