Each of us remembers how they became a Velominatus. For me, it was at Grimpeur Wielersport, in Zevenaar, The Netherlands. Its the perfect place: a small shop, on a small street, in a small town, in a small country, run by a Giant of the Sport, Herman van Meegen. I haven’t been back in years, not since my mentor and original owner was forced to retire due to a nagging back injury.
Despite it’s diminutive appearance, inside this small shop existed a world vast beyond my wildest imagination. The owner spoke with the soft ‘G’ – typical of the Dutch dialect in the region. Former head mechanic at Helvetia – La Suisse, and later for Team 7-Eleven, he had previously wielded a wrench at the world’s major events including Le Tour before opening this shop. He knew everyone. Pros strolled into his shop on a regular basis. Imagine the awe of a thirteen-year-old Velominatus Novus as Erik Breukink wandered into the shop and dallied about for a bit.
But it was the tales and experience from many years on the Pro circuit that made those visits to special to me. He explained in detail the way Steve Bauer preferred to ride a smaller frame than his contemporaries or how Pascal Richard liked the tension of the spokes “just so” as he laced a set of wheels for my dad. He showed me how he filed out the holes in the hub flange to cradle the spokes better and reduce the chance of breaking one. He built wheels on a truing stand he built himself and to which he affixed a micrometer. He told me that a perfectly true wheel will never go out of true, not even on the cobbles. “Maar het moet werkelijk perfect zijn.” But it has to be absolutely perfect. Sounds like something you need a custom truing stand and micrometer for. (That bike is now something like 20 years old, and has never seen a spoke wrench; the wheels are still perfectly true.)
He was personal friends with Eddy Merckx and picked up a frame my dad had ordered after dinner with The Man at the factory in Belgium. A prototype Campagnolo saddle with titanium rails and air bladder that never made it to production somehow found its way atop my dad’s seat post. I can’t imagine how his insides churned as my dad insisted on having a set of Scott Drop-Ins installed on that bike. He never uttered a word about it, opting instead to teach me how to seamlessly splice two rolls of bar tape together to accommodate the long bars – a skill he picked up wrapping the bars of riders who wanted double-wrapped bars on the tops but not the drops at Paris-Roubaix. He taught me to cut my cables short and solder them before cutting for the perfect, sleek finishing touch. He taught me how to “feel” a bolt to get it just the right amount of tight – where it holds but the soft aluminum doesn’t strip. He taught me to trim soda cans and tuck them in between the bars and stem of a handlebar that persistently slips. But most importantly, he showed me the intricate beauty of our machines.
He also stocked a backpack called the “Body Bag” which I always felt could have used a more sensible name and whose marketers perhaps missed a nuance in the language.
Apart from his poor choice in backpacks, this was a man who understood the finer things about bicycles, and I’m grateful he took the time to teach me even a tiny little bit of what he knew.
So, I leave you today with this question: if you could ask a pro bike mechanic – perhaps even one on the ProTour circuit – one, single question, what would it be?
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@frank: thanks for that info on the R3. I see one in my near future in my garage. I haven't heard a bad thing about them. The only thing is the new paint schemes, I will have to go into NOS and find a plain white and black one.
And the zipp clinchers, very practical.
@andy
That's a heartbreaking story. I went and googled Herman just to make sure he's alive and didn't come up with anything that makes me think he's dead.
The shop you talk about is exactly what Grimpeur was like. Such a cool place. I wish Herman had built frames so I could have watched that, too.
Anyway, great story, and thanks for sharing.
@Souleur
I kinda like the new paint scheme, but the white should be easy enough to find; I think they still made it last year. I went to NOS as well for the red and black; I bought it the year they switched to white and absolutely had to have the black. I don't know what size you need, but I'm sure Speedy Reedy in Seattle still has some - I saw a number of them still hanging on the wall the other day.
Just to add to the clean chain thing and this is not for every one - but I love blasting it with compressed air at 80-90 psi, hold a rag under the chain to catch the crud so it does not go on the tire and then lube and wipe down. Best is to take chain off and use a degreaser/cleaner first before the blow job but I save that for when it is extra dirty.
@Guy I love that ride but can you post a new image after the valve caps are off please??
Fantastic. That was a deliberate violation. Took ages for someone to spot that.
Sadly my LBS is run by cretins.
This is a shop that stocks Scott, Trek (inc. Project 1), Assos, Oakley et al. In the last 2 months I've stopped off twice on a ride to have a nose around. You'd think that a roadie walking in, riding a Madone, in full kit with shaved legs, would warrant a chat, a hello, a how's the riding today?
You'd be wrong.
On both occasions I've had precisely FUCK all response from the 4 people working there at the time. Not even any acknowledgement that I was there. I checked in a mirror to make sure I hadn't been knocked off and was actually dead. On both occasions I was the only 'customer'. I really can't work out why you'd bother running a shop when you're that miserable to people coming in.
Naturally I didn't buy anything on either visit.
@Guy
The key to a good LBS is the people. People people people. When I lived in Saint Paul, my number one was Grand Performance. They were awesome. Joined their team and raced for them. The owner, Dan, was #2 guy on the US Olympic team, second only to one Alexi Grewal (injury or illness kept him out of the race, can't remember which). His store lieutenant, Andy, was also awesome, and all the other employees were great, too. I'd come in and just kick around for hours, usually without spending a dime. But they kept letting us in, Dan kept telling stories. A good shop is never snooty or condescending, no matter the skill level or how many months you are from peaking.
I really struggled to find another good shop like that after I moved. Two states and 4 cities later, I still hadn't found one, and I kept calling GP every time I needed gear and ordered it from them.
Even moving to Seattle, where bike shops nearly outnumber pubs, I still couldn't find one with the right feel until I strolled into Speed Reedy. It's the people. From co-owners Brooke and Reed, the mechanics, down to the clerks, every single one of them is awesome without exception. And that's why I keep coming back. I've since found a Campy-specialist at Branford Bikes in Seattle (thanks to John), which is also an awesome place, but I've only window shopped there and chatted about rebuilding ergo levers should I find the right set for my Bianchi rebuild project that I've been planning. They have lots of potential, but I feel like I'm cheating on Speedy Reedy every time I go in there, so I only stop in after I'm pretty sure I've dropped the Private Investigator who I'm pretty sure is tailing me.
@Guy
A big part of my opting for a Cannondale last summer stemmed from the folks at the LBS. We have a high-end shop not far from here, but I went in twice to look at the Cervelos and other bikes they carried. A third time I actually had to interrupt them at the desk to test ride a couple of the bikes. The Cannondale was the better fit for me and, frankly, I thought better value for money: fast as hell. But the people played a big role. Nice folks, friendly, laid back, but they know their stuff. Good people.
Oops. Second sentence was supposed to finish with my being ignored twice. Clearly they have no love for aspiring Cognoscenti...
Frank, what the fuck are those things on your feet?