ReCycling

by Shane Barnes

In a garage under a house and down perpendicular alleyways, there’s music, but the old rabbit-ear radio is breaking in and out so often that the instruments begin to stutter. With five people, the Athens Bike Co-Op is packed. Bike parts clutter the floor space: frames, chains, handlebars, derailers, stripped naked and ready for reassembly. Sixty-seven wheels, some bent like Dali clocks, hang from the ceiling. “Low flying cyclecraft,” a nearby sign reads. Then, another, hand-painted: “Be Patient, We’re Busy Trying To Save The World”—a lofty statement that captures the Co-Op’s mission perfectly.

The thing about the Co-Op is that all of the bikes, all of the dozens of rusted chains, broken pedals and crimped derailers, are donated or rescued. Operating under a basic, “build two, keep one” rule, the Co-Op encourages experimentation as a way of learning how to upkeep bikes, and every time someone learns to make a bike for themselves, the Co-Op gains the other working one, which it later sells or keeps as a spare to loan to anyone who needs a way to get around. And, for getting around, there’s no doubt that bikes have become more popular in Athens: recent numbers indicate that 46 percent of residents travel to work by some form other than automobile. But for a place that wants to change the world, 46 percent isn’t enough. The Co-Op’s ultimate goal is to promote a sort of sustainability, holding up an ethos along the lines of the “teach a man to fish” proverb, and these teachers are all volunteers.

There’s a definite intimidation factor in the world of bikes, but the Co-Op’s three regulars – Jon, Eric and Cusi (Ku-zay—it’s Incan) – are more than happy to extend a grease-stained hand and the knowledge of almost twenty collective years to even the most uninitiated, wannabe cyclists. These are the guys that make the Co-Op work.

“We don’t fix peoples’ bikes for them,” Cusi says. “We show them what to do, but they have to fix it themselves. Then they can come back and use the space and tools whenever they want.”

A Cincinnati native, Cusi Ballew has been back and forth between Athens and Anywhere Else for the past ten years—and he’s been at the Co-Op for nearly six, since way back when it was a facet of the now-defunct community center, The Wire. He’s a world-wary traveler, having learned most of what he knows about bikes in a co-op in Madison, Wisconsin. Since then, he’s made Athens his base, initially coming here to join his brother, who was a student at Ohio University. While Cusi has recently noticed that the Co-Op is concentrating more on selling bikes (both in-house for $30-50 and also in designated bike sales, often held on College Green, for roughly $30-100) than teaching bike skills to newcomers, he still sees knowledge as the Co-Op’s main product. “Speaking strictly numbers, there are more people. But there’s a big difference in the use of the space,” Cusi says. More and more people are coming to buy bikes rather than learn.

Eric Cornwell, Athens native and longtime Co-Op volunteer, is the perfect example of a successful bike convert. When he first came to the Co-Op he was barely able to change a tire, and now he’s improvising a grip-removal tool from a spare pipe. He measures the angle roughly, then saws at the pipe, showering the floor with sparks. He checks his work, measures again and then cuts some more. Rinse and repeat, until the small space smells like the Fourth of July and the stubborn yellow handlebar grips have been removed. Then Jon, who had been waiting in the wings, straddles the bicycle’s frame and shimmies the brake controls onto what is soon to be a BMX-ready bike. This teamwork, this cooperation, is what the Co-Op hopes to encourage others to do.

“We don’t just want to get people on bikes—we want to get them involved,” Eric says.

“The best thing about bikes is that generally everyone can at least maintain a bike pretty well,” Cusi says. “With modern cars you can’t even change the oil unless you’re a mechanic.”

Direct link: http://backdropmag.com/features/recycling/