[DVBC] [Fwd: [sbbike] Sheldon remembered]

[Larry Green]

Sheldon #2

-------- Original Message --------
Subject: 	[sbbike] Sheldon remembered
Date: 	Tue, 05 Feb 2008 19:05:21 -0800
From: 	Tideslider <r.rainwater at cox.net>
To: 	gbike <gbike at googlegroups.com>, SB Bicycle Coalition 
<sbbike at lists.riseup.net>, echelon-santa-barbara at googlegroups.com, 
bicicentro at googlegroups.com



>From Peter Cole:
I have been a bit too shocked over the last 24 hours to add anything to
the expressions of sadness here. I've spent a few hours (re)reading his
blogs and the messages left by so many on lists and news groups. I was
struck by how few of us had actually known Sheldon in the "real world",
so I thought I might share a few of my experiences.

I first met Sheldon in the mid-90's after finding Harris Cyclery and his
articles on the Internet. The irony was that his home and shop were less
than a mile away. I wheeled my old 68cm Raleigh into the shop with 2
broken rear spokes. Little did I know what I had started. "Whoever built
this wheel *almost* knew what they were doing", he said after a lot of
scrutinizing and beard tugging. He went on to explain that I would
continue to break spokes and would be better off with a new wheel (which
he would be happy to build for me). I was only just getting back into
cycling, and hemmed and hawed as I wasn't sure how much I wanted to
invest in that well-used bike. He looked me square in the eye and said
"I can't sell you a bike that will fit you," (I'm 6'10") "but I can make
this one fit." From there, he went on to explain all the related issues
this would bring up -- cassette/freewheel, sprockets, frame spacing, 27"
to 700c conversion, etc. My head spun as I wondered what I had gotten into.

Over the next several months, I became a regular visitor to Sheldon's
shop as he replaced virtually every component on that bike. I began
calling it the "stone soup" bike after the fable where the sly fox
tricks a farmer by teaching him how to make soup with water and a stone
(plus just a few optional ingredients...). He got a big laugh from that
name. Often, during those visits, I would hang about his cluttered
basement workshop while he wrenched away, me peppering him with
questions all the while. I never knew whether he enjoyed my interest or
merely tolerated my pestering in a good natured way. I try to think he
liked the company, but he was such a gentleman that I'm not sure how
you'd know otherwise.

Sheldon could be very opinionated. He deflated me with an instant
verdict when he saw the new ($200) shoes I brought in for cleats: "These
are really terrible shoes!" (he was right, of course). He confided in me
that he toned things down on-line, not wanting to alienate any potential
customers, but in real life he didn't pull the punches. Despite his
strong tastes, I found him extremely tolerant and broad minded. As a
cycling newbie, I was always getting on various soapboxes, and he seemed
to be forever gently correcting me. When I scoffed at mountain bikes, he
waxed on about the joys of fat tire biking and clued me in on some of
the hidden gem trails in our area. I became a born-again mountain biker,
riding another Sheldon special. Fixed gear bicycling was his passion and
sideline, but I thought it was the dumbest thing. I held out for a year
or two, but when he replaced the stone soup Raleigh frame with a new
Cannondale, I let him talk me into making a fixer from the carcass (of
course it was stone soup again). Turned out that I loved it -- he knew I
would, of course.

Over several years, I kept going back to Sheldon as I brought my family
into bicycling. I loved the little touches he added, his meticulous
work, things that would make me chuckle when I discovered them -- color
matched cable ends, shiny dice cube valve caps on my son's bike, stuff
like that. Outside the shop, I would sometimes run into him at rides or
bike shows. I remember one sweltering August day, him clutching his
beloved Hetchins frame, which he had just scored, happy as a kid on
Christmas. On another day him driving me back with the bike I rode in on
and the one I had just bought, not knowing how I was going to get it
home. When I mentioned that I had come for a bike for my son, he swung
by his house and fished a frame from behind a pile of bikes in his
basement. I built that up and my son still rides it.

I had not seen Sheldon much in the last few years. As my skills matured,
I needed his services less. That's the way it goes, I guess. I'm afraid
I took him for granted a bit, knowing that if I ever had some odd bike
problem I could pop over and see him, get some help, maybe chat or have
a laugh. I worried when he became ill, as if there was a sudden crack,
the possibility, and now there's a hole.

They say the good always die too young. To some, 63 may not seem young,
but knowing Sheldon allowed me to see how young that could be. I will
miss his humor, curiosity, intelligence, infectious enthusiasm and his
generous and gentle spirit. I'm sure I'll not know another like him.

I'd like to keep writing, but words fail. I really don't want to say
goodbye.

All the best, Sheldon. All the best.

Peter
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