The Christmas Bike - Cycling Mob: Road Cycling, Mountain Biking and More

12-25-2004, 04:28 PM

This Christmas letter was read last night on CBC radio.
(approximately, from memory)

There was a bike shop in small Quebec town that was usually busy in
the run-up to Christmas however this year business was slow because
the local mill had been shut down. There were far more repairs than
new sales. One day, a young boy wandered in, dirty-faced, poorly
dressed and obviously from a not very well-to-do family. Although at
first the staff were worried about shoplifting, it soon became clear
that the child was harmless enough - he would just come in, look
closely, one at a time, at all the new bikes that were being brought
in for the Christmas sales, and then stand out of the way in the
corner of the room and watch the men work. Whole mornings would pass
this way: the staff wheeling old and new bikes in and out, doing
repairs, joking, having coffee, laughing, working - all the while the
young boy watching silently and intently. And then, without warning,
the kid would just walk out and away to wherever he was from. But the
next day he'd always be back.

This went on for some time. He seemed to spend more and more time
watching the repair part of the shop. And then, one day, after a large
group of customers had just left, the young child made a beeline over
to where some of the men were working. He laid a rusty old bolt on the
counter in front of them.

'Excuse me,' he said politely, 'would you be able to put a bike on
this bolt?'

The men laughed. It took a child - a bike on a bolt instead of a bolt
on a bike! They hadn't realised how young the kid was. The boy wasn't
yet skilled at instrumental thinking. He'd grasped the thinking that
connected two objects, but didn't yet know the proper progression
between them.

Their laughter, even though it was not intended to be mean, stung the
boy. He didn't understand, but he knew something he had said must be
wrong. He backed away, looking up. They caught themselves and felt
badly but by that time the kid was gone. The men ran outside after
him. But he had disappeared like a flash and didn't return.

About a week later, with as little explanation as always, he was back.
This time, however, he was even more reluctant to make contact with
anyone at the store. He looked carefully at every new bike on display,
as always, carefully scrutinising each in turn. But this time he kept
his head down whenever anyone else came near. Then he took up his
accustomed place at the wall of the repair area, as if he'd never
left. But now his head was down, as if he were embarrassed, or had
done something wrong, and he kept fingering the hole in his pants.

One of the men repairing bikes called to him: 'hey kid!'

He looked up. The men and women who staffed the store were all there.

'You forgot your bolt,'

And with that one of the staff wheeled out and presented to the poor
child a freshly painted red bicycle made entirely from salvaged parts
that the mechanics had assembled on their own time.

(I've no reason to doubt the veracity of this story)

12-25-2004, 07:34 PM

Zoot Katz wrote:
> This Christmas letter was read last night on CBC radio.
> (approximately, from memory)
>
> There was a bike shop in small Quebec town that was usually busy in
> the run-up to Christmas however this year business was slow because
> the local mill had been shut down. There were far more repairs than
> new sales. One day, a young boy wandered in, dirty-faced, poorly
> dressed and obviously from a not very well-to-do family. Although at
> first the staff were worried about shoplifting, it soon became clear
> that the child was harmless enough - he would just come in, look
> closely, one at a time, at all the new bikes that were being brought
> in for the Christmas sales, and then stand out of the way in the
> corner of the room and watch the men work. Whole mornings would pass
> this way: the staff wheeling old and new bikes in and out, doing
> repairs, joking, having coffee, laughing, working - all the while the
> young boy watching silently and intently. And then, without warning,
> the kid would just walk out and away to wherever he was from. But the
> next day he'd always be back.
>
> This went on for some time. He seemed to spend more and more time
> watching the repair part of the shop. And then, one day, after a large
> group of customers had just left, the young child made a beeline over
> to where some of the men were working. He laid a rusty old bolt on the
> counter in front of them.
>
> 'Excuse me,' he said politely, 'would you be able to put a bike on
> this bolt?'
>
> The men laughed. It took a child - a bike on a bolt instead of a bolt
> on a bike! They hadn't realised how young the kid was. The boy wasn't
> yet skilled at instrumental thinking. He'd grasped the thinking that
> connected two objects, but didn't yet know the proper progression
> between them.
>
>
> Their laughter, even though it was not intended to be mean, stung the
> boy. He didn't understand, but he knew something he had said must be
> wrong. He backed away, looking up. They caught themselves and felt
> badly but by that time the kid was gone. The men ran outside after
> him. But he had disappeared like a flash and didn't return.
>
> About a week later, with as little explanation as always, he was back.
> This time, however, he was even more reluctant to make contact with
> anyone at the store. He looked carefully at every new bike on display,
> as always, carefully scrutinising each in turn. But this time he kept
> his head down whenever anyone else came near. Then he took up his
> accustomed place at the wall of the repair area, as if he'd never
> left. But now his head was down, as if he were embarrassed, or had
> done something wrong, and he kept fingering the hole in his pants.
>
> One of the men repairing bikes called to him: 'hey kid!'
>
> He looked up. The men and women who staffed the store were all there.
>
> 'You forgot your bolt,'
>
> And with that one of the staff wheeled out and presented to the poor
> child a freshly painted red bicycle made entirely from salvaged parts
> that the mechanics had assembled on their own time.
>
> (I've no reason to doubt the veracity of this story)

Dammit, Zoot, that was very nice.

Now cut it out!

--
BS (no, really)

12-25-2004, 07:34 PM

Zoot Katz wrote:
> This Christmas letter was read last night on CBC radio.
> (approximately, from memory)
>
> There was a bike shop in small Quebec town that was usually busy in
> the run-up to Christmas however this year business was slow because
> the local mill had been shut down. There were far more repairs than
> new sales. One day, a young boy wandered in, dirty-faced, poorly
> dressed and obviously from a not very well-to-do family. Although at
> first the staff were worried about shoplifting, it soon became clear
> that the child was harmless enough - he would just come in, look
> closely, one at a time, at all the new bikes that were being brought
> in for the Christmas sales, and then stand out of the way in the
> corner of the room and watch the men work. Whole mornings would pass
> this way: the staff wheeling old and new bikes in and out, doing
> repairs, joking, having coffee, laughing, working - all the while the
> young boy watching silently and intently. And then, without warning,
> the kid would just walk out and away to wherever he was from. But the
> next day he'd always be back.
>
> This went on for some time. He seemed to spend more and more time
> watching the repair part of the shop. And then, one day, after a large
> group of customers had just left, the young child made a beeline over
> to where some of the men were working. He laid a rusty old bolt on the
> counter in front of them.
>
> 'Excuse me,' he said politely, 'would you be able to put a bike on
> this bolt?'
>
> The men laughed. It took a child - a bike on a bolt instead of a bolt
> on a bike! They hadn't realised how young the kid was. The boy wasn't
> yet skilled at instrumental thinking. He'd grasped the thinking that
> connected two objects, but didn't yet know the proper progression
> between them.
>
>
> Their laughter, even though it was not intended to be mean, stung the
> boy. He didn't understand, but he knew something he had said must be
> wrong. He backed away, looking up. They caught themselves and felt
> badly but by that time the kid was gone. The men ran outside after
> him. But he had disappeared like a flash and didn't return.
>
> About a week later, with as little explanation as always, he was back.
> This time, however, he was even more reluctant to make contact with
> anyone at the store. He looked carefully at every new bike on display,
> as always, carefully scrutinising each in turn. But this time he kept
> his head down whenever anyone else came near. Then he took up his
> accustomed place at the wall of the repair area, as if he'd never
> left. But now his head was down, as if he were embarrassed, or had
> done something wrong, and he kept fingering the hole in his pants.
>
> One of the men repairing bikes called to him: 'hey kid!'
>
> He looked up. The men and women who staffed the store were all there.
>
> 'You forgot your bolt,'
>
> And with that one of the staff wheeled out and presented to the poor
> child a freshly painted red bicycle made entirely from salvaged parts
> that the mechanics had assembled on their own time.
>
> (I've no reason to doubt the veracity of this story)

Dammit, Zoot, that was very nice.

Now cut it out!

--
BS (no, really)

12-25-2004, 07:34 PM

Zoot Katz wrote:
> This Christmas letter was read last night on CBC radio.
> (approximately, from memory)
>
> There was a bike shop in small Quebec town that was usually busy in
> the run-up to Christmas however this year business was slow because
> the local mill had been shut down. There were far more repairs than
> new sales. One day, a young boy wandered in, dirty-faced, poorly
> dressed and obviously from a not very well-to-do family. Although at
> first the staff were worried about shoplifting, it soon became clear
> that the child was harmless enough - he would just come in, look
> closely, one at a time, at all the new bikes that were being brought
> in for the Christmas sales, and then stand out of the way in the
> corner of the room and watch the men work. Whole mornings would pass
> this way: the staff wheeling old and new bikes in and out, doing
> repairs, joking, having coffee, laughing, working - all the while the
> young boy watching silently and intently. And then, without warning,
> the kid would just walk out and away to wherever he was from. But the
> next day he'd always be back.
>
> This went on for some time. He seemed to spend more and more time
> watching the repair part of the shop. And then, one day, after a large
> group of customers had just left, the young child made a beeline over
> to where some of the men were working. He laid a rusty old bolt on the
> counter in front of them.
>
> 'Excuse me,' he said politely, 'would you be able to put a bike on
> this bolt?'
>
> The men laughed. It took a child - a bike on a bolt instead of a bolt
> on a bike! They hadn't realised how young the kid was. The boy wasn't
> yet skilled at instrumental thinking. He'd grasped the thinking that
> connected two objects, but didn't yet know the proper progression
> between them.
>
>
> Their laughter, even though it was not intended to be mean, stung the
> boy. He didn't understand, but he knew something he had said must be
> wrong. He backed away, looking up. They caught themselves and felt
> badly but by that time the kid was gone. The men ran outside after
> him. But he had disappeared like a flash and didn't return.
>
> About a week later, with as little explanation as always, he was back.
> This time, however, he was even more reluctant to make contact with
> anyone at the store. He looked carefully at every new bike on display,
> as always, carefully scrutinising each in turn. But this time he kept
> his head down whenever anyone else came near. Then he took up his
> accustomed place at the wall of the repair area, as if he'd never
> left. But now his head was down, as if he were embarrassed, or had
> done something wrong, and he kept fingering the hole in his pants.
>
> One of the men repairing bikes called to him: 'hey kid!'
>
> He looked up. The men and women who staffed the store were all there.
>
> 'You forgot your bolt,'
>
> And with that one of the staff wheeled out and presented to the poor
> child a freshly painted red bicycle made entirely from salvaged parts
> that the mechanics had assembled on their own time.
>
> (I've no reason to doubt the veracity of this story)

Dammit, Zoot, that was very nice.

Now cut it out!

--
BS (no, really)

12-25-2004, 07:34 PM

Zoot Katz wrote:
> This Christmas letter was read last night on CBC radio.
> (approximately, from memory)
>
> There was a bike shop in small Quebec town that was usually busy in
> the run-up to Christmas however this year business was slow because
> the local mill had been shut down. There were far more repairs than
> new sales. One day, a young boy wandered in, dirty-faced, poorly
> dressed and obviously from a not very well-to-do family. Although at
> first the staff were worried about shoplifting, it soon became clear
> that the child was harmless enough - he would just come in, look
> closely, one at a time, at all the new bikes that were being brought
> in for the Christmas sales, and then stand out of the way in the
> corner of the room and watch the men work. Whole mornings would pass
> this way: the staff wheeling old and new bikes in and out, doing
> repairs, joking, having coffee, laughing, working - all the while the
> young boy watching silently and intently. And then, without warning,
> the kid would just walk out and away to wherever he was from. But the
> next day he'd always be back.
>
> This went on for some time. He seemed to spend more and more time
> watching the repair part of the shop. And then, one day, after a large
> group of customers had just left, the young child made a beeline over
> to where some of the men were working. He laid a rusty old bolt on the
> counter in front of them.
>
> 'Excuse me,' he said politely, 'would you be able to put a bike on
> this bolt?'
>
> The men laughed. It took a child - a bike on a bolt instead of a bolt
> on a bike! They hadn't realised how young the kid was. The boy wasn't
> yet skilled at instrumental thinking. He'd grasped the thinking that
> connected two objects, but didn't yet know the proper progression
> between them.
>
>
> Their laughter, even though it was not intended to be mean, stung the
> boy. He didn't understand, but he knew something he had said must be
> wrong. He backed away, looking up. They caught themselves and felt
> badly but by that time the kid was gone. The men ran outside after
> him. But he had disappeared like a flash and didn't return.
>
> About a week later, with as little explanation as always, he was back.
> This time, however, he was even more reluctant to make contact with
> anyone at the store. He looked carefully at every new bike on display,
> as always, carefully scrutinising each in turn. But this time he kept
> his head down whenever anyone else came near. Then he took up his
> accustomed place at the wall of the repair area, as if he'd never
> left. But now his head was down, as if he were embarrassed, or had
> done something wrong, and he kept fingering the hole in his pants.
>
> One of the men repairing bikes called to him: 'hey kid!'
>
> He looked up. The men and women who staffed the store were all there.
>
> 'You forgot your bolt,'
>
> And with that one of the staff wheeled out and presented to the poor
> child a freshly painted red bicycle made entirely from salvaged parts
> that the mechanics had assembled on their own time.
>
> (I've no reason to doubt the veracity of this story)

Dammit, Zoot, that was very nice.

Now cut it out!

--
BS (no, really)

12-27-2004, 08:01 AM

Muhammad Ali was taught to box by a policeman in Louisville, Kentucky
named Joe Martin. Ali, then Cassius Clay, had lost his bicycle to a
thief. He told Joe that he was going to whup whoever stole his bike.
Joe told him he had better learn how to fight.

Joe was also a part time auctioneer who auctioned off the bicycles that
the Louisville police accumulated. One Saturday morning back in the
early sixties Dad and I went to the bicycle auction. There were two
little black kids in the front row who each bid $5 on every bike that
was brought out. It didn't matter if the bikes were their size or not.
It occurred to Joe that the boys had each been given five dollars to
buy a bike at the auction, but that they were not going to be
successful in buying anything worth having.

There were two almost new bikes that Joe kept until last. He brought
them out and announced that they would be sold as a pair. The boys
pooled their money and immediately bid $10. Before anyone else could
say anything, Joe slammed down the gavel and pronounced the bikes sold.
The two boys handed over their $5 each and hauled out of there as
happy as any two kids could be.

Dick Durbin

12-27-2004, 08:01 AM

Muhammad Ali was taught to box by a policeman in Louisville, Kentucky
named Joe Martin. Ali, then Cassius Clay, had lost his bicycle to a
thief. He told Joe that he was going to whup whoever stole his bike.
Joe told him he had better learn how to fight.

Joe was also a part time auctioneer who auctioned off the bicycles that
the Louisville police accumulated. One Saturday morning back in the
early sixties Dad and I went to the bicycle auction. There were two
little black kids in the front row who each bid $5 on every bike that
was brought out. It didn't matter if the bikes were their size or not.
It occurred to Joe that the boys had each been given five dollars to
buy a bike at the auction, but that they were not going to be
successful in buying anything worth having.

There were two almost new bikes that Joe kept until last. He brought
them out and announced that they would be sold as a pair. The boys
pooled their money and immediately bid $10. Before anyone else could
say anything, Joe slammed down the gavel and pronounced the bikes sold.
The two boys handed over their $5 each and hauled out of there as
happy as any two kids could be.

Dick Durbin

12-27-2004, 08:01 AM

Muhammad Ali was taught to box by a policeman in Louisville, Kentucky
named Joe Martin. Ali, then Cassius Clay, had lost his bicycle to a
thief. He told Joe that he was going to whup whoever stole his bike.
Joe told him he had better learn how to fight.

Joe was also a part time auctioneer who auctioned off the bicycles that
the Louisville police accumulated. One Saturday morning back in the
early sixties Dad and I went to the bicycle auction. There were two
little black kids in the front row who each bid $5 on every bike that
was brought out. It didn't matter if the bikes were their size or not.
It occurred to Joe that the boys had each been given five dollars to
buy a bike at the auction, but that they were not going to be
successful in buying anything worth having.

There were two almost new bikes that Joe kept until last. He brought
them out and announced that they would be sold as a pair. The boys
pooled their money and immediately bid $10. Before anyone else could
say anything, Joe slammed down the gavel and pronounced the bikes sold.
The two boys handed over their $5 each and hauled out of there as
happy as any two kids could be.

Dick Durbin

12-27-2004, 08:01 AM

Muhammad Ali was taught to box by a policeman in Louisville, Kentucky
named Joe Martin. Ali, then Cassius Clay, had lost his bicycle to a
thief. He told Joe that he was going to whup whoever stole his bike.
Joe told him he had better learn how to fight.

Joe was also a part time auctioneer who auctioned off the bicycles that
the Louisville police accumulated. One Saturday morning back in the
early sixties Dad and I went to the bicycle auction. There were two
little black kids in the front row who each bid $5 on every bike that
was brought out. It didn't matter if the bikes were their size or not.
It occurred to Joe that the boys had each been given five dollars to
buy a bike at the auction, but that they were not going to be
successful in buying anything worth having.

There were two almost new bikes that Joe kept until last. He brought
them out and announced that they would be sold as a pair. The boys
pooled their money and immediately bid $10. Before anyone else could
say anything, Joe slammed down the gavel and pronounced the bikes sold.
The two boys handed over their $5 each and hauled out of there as
happy as any two kids could be.

Dick Durbin

12-27-2004, 09:46 AM

"Olebiker" <[Only registered and activated users can see links. ]> wrote in message
news:1104163308.884428.144600@z14g2000cwz.googlegr oups.com...
> Muhammad Ali was taught to box by a policeman in Louisville, Kentucky
> named Joe Martin. Ali, then Cassius Clay, had lost his bicycle to a
> thief. He told Joe that he was going to whup whoever stole his bike.
> Joe told him he had better learn how to fight.
>
> Joe was also a part time auctioneer who auctioned off the bicycles that
> the Louisville police accumulated. One Saturday morning back in the
> early sixties Dad and I went to the bicycle auction. There were two
> little black kids in the front row who each bid $5 on every bike that
> was brought out. It didn't matter if the bikes were their size or not.
> It occurred to Joe that the boys had each been given five dollars to
> buy a bike at the auction, but that they were not going to be
> successful in buying anything worth having.
>
> There were two almost new bikes that Joe kept until last. He brought
> them out and announced that they would be sold as a pair. The boys
> pooled their money and immediately bid $10. Before anyone else could
> say anything, Joe slammed down the gavel and pronounced the bikes sold.
> The two boys handed over their $5 each and hauled out of there as
> happy as any two kids could be.
>
> Dick Durbin
>
I love hearing stories like this one.

We have a guy in our area who everyone calls 'the bike guy'. He's retired
and on disability but to keep himself busy he collects and restores old
bicycles. He works through churches and other organiazations to give the
bikes to kids who's parents can't afford to buy them. I know he's made
plenty of kids happy over the years.

Beverly