Elefantino
07-21-2013, 07:34 PM
That I am posting this indicates that I survived a fortnight in The Cycle Hostel with a bunch of other guys also attending United Bicycle Institute's Pro Mechanic and Shop Operations class in Ashland, Ore.
It was an interesting experience, one that I'd recommend heartily to any of you, provided you don't mind the hostel part, which included sleeping in bunk beds designed for Smurfs with mattresses from The Flintstones. (Note to all: There's a Walmart in Medford, 15 minutes away. Egg crates for $10. You've been warned.)
The UBI end was fabulous, and more draining than I'd imagined. It's been a while since I was in a school setting, and the pace is constant: 8 a.m. to 5 p.m., lectures and hands-on things, all day. The lecture instructors -- Nathan Riddle, Matt Eames and Rich Arvizo -- all have tons of varied knowledge about the industry and really dig passing it on. And they never made you feel foolish for asking dumb questions or demonstrating your lack of (or incorrect) hands-on knowledge. You learn tons. Your brain becomes very full, but you learn tons. Beforehand, the idea of building a wheelset on the second day of class, or of bleeding hydraulic brake lines, or of changing oil-dampered forks, all seemed daunting but by the end were just things you did, armed with the knowledge of what and why. Chapeau to UBI.
Then there's Ashland. Funky town, full of Shakespeare fans and those whose recreation is more, well, home-grown. Good riding, though. Managed some sweet ride time in the hills (mountains?) and around lakes and such. And everywhere, people are courteous with cyclists. I mean OVERLY courteous. When you're used to the outright anger of Floridians, or the hurried indifference of Bay Areans, the bike-car interplay in southern Oregon is almost surreal.
Finally, the hostel. I'm sure I made no friends by getting up at 4-4:30 every morning on the creaky wooden floor to sneak out to the great room with my computer to watch the Tour, but what the hell. Priorities. Made dinner for myself all but two nights (pasta and salads, exclusively) and ate breakfast and lunch there, too. Kept the costs down. I have to say that at the end of each week the dirty laundry made the place, um, aromatic, but at least there was a washer and dryer there to help. (I bagged my two weeks of laundry in the car and did it when I got home.)
I start work in the business on Tuesday, fresh off my UBI graduation and hoping that I can continue to learn apace. For although I know a hell of a lot more than I did two weeks ago, I've just scratched the surface. But what UBI has rekindled is a thirst for knowledge, and the knowledge that practice makes perfect. And, dammit, I will get better at adjusting hubs, I promise.
If you ever get the hankering to take your bike knowledge to the next level, I highly recommend the experience. You'll be better for it.
Just remember earplugs. And the egg crate.
It was an interesting experience, one that I'd recommend heartily to any of you, provided you don't mind the hostel part, which included sleeping in bunk beds designed for Smurfs with mattresses from The Flintstones. (Note to all: There's a Walmart in Medford, 15 minutes away. Egg crates for $10. You've been warned.)
The UBI end was fabulous, and more draining than I'd imagined. It's been a while since I was in a school setting, and the pace is constant: 8 a.m. to 5 p.m., lectures and hands-on things, all day. The lecture instructors -- Nathan Riddle, Matt Eames and Rich Arvizo -- all have tons of varied knowledge about the industry and really dig passing it on. And they never made you feel foolish for asking dumb questions or demonstrating your lack of (or incorrect) hands-on knowledge. You learn tons. Your brain becomes very full, but you learn tons. Beforehand, the idea of building a wheelset on the second day of class, or of bleeding hydraulic brake lines, or of changing oil-dampered forks, all seemed daunting but by the end were just things you did, armed with the knowledge of what and why. Chapeau to UBI.
Then there's Ashland. Funky town, full of Shakespeare fans and those whose recreation is more, well, home-grown. Good riding, though. Managed some sweet ride time in the hills (mountains?) and around lakes and such. And everywhere, people are courteous with cyclists. I mean OVERLY courteous. When you're used to the outright anger of Floridians, or the hurried indifference of Bay Areans, the bike-car interplay in southern Oregon is almost surreal.
Finally, the hostel. I'm sure I made no friends by getting up at 4-4:30 every morning on the creaky wooden floor to sneak out to the great room with my computer to watch the Tour, but what the hell. Priorities. Made dinner for myself all but two nights (pasta and salads, exclusively) and ate breakfast and lunch there, too. Kept the costs down. I have to say that at the end of each week the dirty laundry made the place, um, aromatic, but at least there was a washer and dryer there to help. (I bagged my two weeks of laundry in the car and did it when I got home.)
I start work in the business on Tuesday, fresh off my UBI graduation and hoping that I can continue to learn apace. For although I know a hell of a lot more than I did two weeks ago, I've just scratched the surface. But what UBI has rekindled is a thirst for knowledge, and the knowledge that practice makes perfect. And, dammit, I will get better at adjusting hubs, I promise.
If you ever get the hankering to take your bike knowledge to the next level, I highly recommend the experience. You'll be better for it.
Just remember earplugs. And the egg crate.