I’ve spent the better part of a few hours, a couple days a week, for the last many months stood across from a beaut. of an English bloke named Brixton-Jim. Just to clear up any confusion – don’t worry, it happened to me too – Jim isn’t actually from Brixton, UK. You don’t want to make that mistake.
No, he’s from waaaaaaaaay down in the south, a full six miles (six miles!) from Brixton. At the time I’m typing this that’s 18 minutes in a car or a 30-minute meander on a bicycle. Practically a different country, never mind a different county or even a virtually adjacent suburb in Londinium. His nickname is derived from a bike shop he worked in some years ago. It’s called Rat Race Cycles, and it’s located in Nunhead.
If you feel like you just walked into a low-hanging inside joke, well, you should have ducked. But I swear that he worked at Rat Race as well.
Anyway, at some point I’m still going to do my series on bike folks called ‘Cogs In The Machine’ but for now I wanted to write a few words about Jim. We have a couple short shifts left together before I leave the shop due to a parental leave (it’s not mine!) and, as with so many wrenches who I’ve worked in shops with, he’s had an obvious impact on my life and thinking.
Lots of shared wisdom and shared laughs and I think we both leave each other better at the craft, which is how it should be in a job that’s all about blending tricks, knowledge, and experience. No conflicts. Okay, maybe a few minor conflicts. Nothing that couldn’t be resolved with a beer or a bike ride, or just talking about what a nice guy is Austin at United Strangers, or about the time The Clairebarian took the piss out of Jim on our 7th Secret ride.
Jim is a shit-bike wizard, which, for the record, is absolutely not the same thing as a shitty-bike wizard. Which is to say, if your bike is a modern masterpiece that just happens to be in such shitty condition that your friends are thinking of calling the SPCB (Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Bicycles) then Jim’s not sporting any magic you haven’t seen before in a good bicycle shop.
But, if your bike is a rat-bagged steel commuter with everything fused together and a bottom bracket standard that was lost to time two decades ago then he knows its secret name and the power that comes with it. We’ve unstuck some things. Holy crap. We’ve also team-lifted over-weight eebs into work stands and upstairs, and trusted each other’s aim with a f*ck-off big hammer.
Plus he doesn’t mind at all when I sing my Barbie-parody song “He’s Just Jim” while I work.
Jim has a much, much kinder version of my 100% Attitude Back Guarantee, which is borrowed from his Brixton Cycles days – “No manners, no spanners” – and doesn’t seem to keep track of all the favours he’s owed or begrudge anyone for asking for one. And even when there’s stress over health or wealth, he always has a bit of lightness left to share.
I love our mutual passion for well-used bikes, old Surly rigs with rim brakes, Knipex in all its forms, and the Yeti SB-150. And I appreciated how much better my wheel building has been getting with Jim’s open assistance. I’m sorry that the only concrete thing I’ve given him is to rekindle that curious love for one-speeds, hardtails, and rigid mountain biking.
Thanks for the job share, Jim! Let’s ride bikes.
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