Bicycle Repair in Toronto

In the winter of 2009, I began work as a bicycle mechanic at Urbane Cyclist on Queen Street West. The shop was one of those places that smelled of rubber and grease, with tools laid out on benches in the precise disorder of constant use. For five years, I repaired bicycles—commuter models, folding bicycles, the occasional recumbent. Later, I worked at Cycle Solutions for another two years.

There is a particular truth to bicycle repair that is absent in most work. A derailleur either shifts properly or it does not. A brake either stops the wheel or fails to do so. There is no political interpretation of a loose headset, no statistical model for a flat tire. The work is either done correctly or it is not.

One learns certain things repairing bicycles in a city. The winter commuter's machine arrives each spring encrusted with road salt, the components barely distinguishable beneath the white corrosion. The summer tourist's rental comes with derailleurs bent from improper handling. The wealthy enthusiast presents a carbon frame with components costing more than my monthly rent, expecting adjustments measured in millimeters.

The tools are simple: wrenches, screwdrivers, cable cutters. The truing stand for wheels, the chain wear indicator, the torque wrench for carbon components. One develops a relationship with these objects. They become extensions of the hands. The correct tool for each task, selected without thought.

There is a mathematics to bicycle repair. The gear ratios, the spoke tension, the bearing preload. One thinks in numbers: 6 Newton-meters for brake lever bolts, 8 for stem bolts, 40 for crank arms. The precision is not for its own sake but because a bicycle ridden in traffic must function reliably.

One sees the city differently from a repair stand. Not as architecture or politics but as topography and surface condition. The potholes on Bloor Street, the grated bridge crossings, the construction debris in bike lanes. The wear patterns on tires and chains tell stories of routes and habits.

The people who bring bicycles for repair represent a cross-section of the city. The daily commuter who rides through all weather. The weekend enthusiast with expensive components and limited mechanical understanding. The student with a department-store bicycle held together by zip ties and hope.

One learns to distinguish between those who want their bicycles repaired properly and those who want them repaired cheaply. The distinction is important. Proper repair takes time. Cheap repair is temporary. Most choose cheap, then return months later with the same problem.

There was a regular customer, an older man who rode a recumbent tricycle. He came every spring for a complete overhaul. We would disassemble the entire machine, clean each component, replace worn parts. He would watch the process, asking questions. He understood that maintenance is preventative, not reactive.

I left bicycle repair in 2015 to study statistics at the University of Ottawa. Later, I worked for the federal government as a data engineer. The work is different but the methodology is similar: identify the problem, gather the necessary tools, apply systematic thinking, verify the result.

There are fewer tangible results in data engineering. One builds systems that process information, creates models that predict outcomes. The satisfaction is more abstract. No one thanks you for a properly configured Kubernetes cluster in the way they thank you for a smoothly shifting bicycle.

Sometimes I miss the simplicity. The physical reality of a bicycle is undeniable. A statistical model can be debated, its assumptions questioned, its conclusions contested. A derailleur either works or it doesn't.

The skills transfer in unexpected ways. The patience required to adjust a finicky internal gear hub is similar to that needed to debug a distributed system. The systematic approach to diagnosing a braking problem resembles troubleshooting a data pipeline failure. The understanding that components interact within systems applies equally to bicycle drivetrains and software architecture.

The value of bicycle repair, I think, is in its directness. One sees the immediate effect of one's work. A customer rides away on a machine that functions better than when they arrived. There is satisfaction in that simplicity, in work whose quality is self-evident.