Rat Bike without a motor: How to secure my bike
While my bike is at the mechanic, I think about a bike in the city and why I don't want a cheap bike and why I'm investing hundreds of francs in a bike when I could buy a new one.
I have made a mistake.
I realise my mistake the morning after. The sun woke me up a few minutes ago on a long weekend. I'm pleased, because nothing stands in the way of my plan for the day. "I'll grab my Sony a7s ii and my bike, go somewhere and... crap!"
My bike is at the mechanic. After a few years, it needs a general overhaul again. Where others buy a cheap bike and then replace it every few years, I've opted for the opposite, even though I live in a city where bikes are constantly being stolen or destroyed. In the days of Needle Park, the open drug scene on Zurich's Platzspitz, it was even a thriving industry for the junkies in the park. Today, I don't really understand the whole thing.
The logic of the idiots
I try to understand bike thieves and vandals, because thanks to them I have a bike lock that weighs two kilos and has been honoured with the Sold Secure Gold Award. Whatever a "Sold Secure Gold Award" might be. And anyway: I have time today, because while one of the employees at the bike workshop Velofix takes my bike apart, repairs it and puts it back together again, I'm making toast.
I've got to go.
Despite all the hassle and the new plans I have to make for the day: I understand bike thieves. You're a bit drunk and want to get home. Taxi too expensive, Uber would be one booking too many, public transport hasn't been running for a long time. There's a bike lying around without a lock, or with a small, cranky lock. It's the obvious choice.
But I don't understand the vandals at all. Every Monday I see another broken bike chained to a bike rack. Maybe the saddle is missing, maybe it's the front wheel. Rarely the handlebars or the rear wheel. The parts that are easy to remove are the ones that are usually missing. Why? Why does a drunk need a front wheel? Is he missing his bike saddle and he likes my saddle so much that he has to have it? Or do the parts just end up in the Limmat?
I don't care. But that's what made me decide to convert my bike.
My two wheels
I admit, my bike is not a typical city bike. It's actually a mountain bike. A mountain bike that used to be quite expensive. With really good parts and all that. It's ten years old, give or take, and has had one owner before me, but it's still a good bike. Especially if you need it the way I do: as a bike in the city and maybe sometimes outside at the weekend. No daring mountain tours or big off-road expeditions.
It's difficult to say exactly what my bike is. The brand is called "Arrow", a brand that no longer exists, as it was a subsidiary brand of the Swiss bicycle brand Villiger. Villiger, in turn, was a subsidiary brand of the international bike group Trek Bikes. In 2015, Trek Bikes was no longer interested in the brand, which will not be more than 35 years old, and discontinued it. Arrow was already discontinued as a brand in 2007. The bikes were only available as Villiger Bikes. That's all I know about my black/white/red/blue bike. Except that I really like it.
Since Arrows were quite expensive and my bike looked like this when I got it, I converted it.
The Rat Bike without a motor
I borrowed the idea behind all my conversions from the motorbike scene. There is the concept of the Rat Bike. A rat bike is a fully functional motorbike that looks like it's two kilometres from dying. They look charming, but if you're a thief who wants to steal a motorbike and then maybe make a few francs on it, the Rat Bike is not the bike you want to take.
Source: bobberbros.com
With a toolbox, I get to work:
- Hörnli: Away
- Pannier rack: Gone
- Mudguards: Gone
- Pedals: As uncomfortable as possible
- Lights: Gone, replaced by Knog Lights
- Saddle bag: Gone
This certainly doesn't make the bike look as sexy to thieves as it might. But it won't help much against vandals. So all moving parts must be removed. So, not the wheels or the entire derailleur gear system, but the little things.
The saddle is screwed on tightly. I'm the only one riding the bike and I'm fully grown. I don't need levers that I could simply twist open by hand and use to adjust the saddle continuously, as practical as they were back then as a teenager. The axles, also with hand-releasable levers, are also firmly bolted in place.
There is little left of the once glorious mountain bike. I consider covering up the Ritchey logo on the handlebars somehow, but discard the idea.
My bike is finished. I'm proud of my work. This setup has served me well for years. My bike is neither damaged nor stolen.
The future is near
Since I think a lot about my bike when I'm not just riding through the city at the weekend but repairing it or having it repaired, I'm curious. At Velofix I'm asked about the tyres. Obviously something has happened there, probably a long time ago. Because they suggest I take a closer look at the Schwalbe Marathon Plus MTB tyres.
At first glance, the tyres look just like tyres look. Black, round with tread. But according to the manufacturer, there is a five-millimetre-thick layer of rubber under the outer rubber layer to prevent the tyre from puncturing. Nails, broken glass and so on should not be a problem.
"Yes, of course," I say when I'm asked if I want the high-tech tyres.
The logic behind this is simple. I don't ride through piles of broken glass and piles of nails as a hobby, but if I do end up with a shard under my tyre, I'm happy if my bike stays intact. Even if it only happens once every five years or so, I allow myself that little bit of quality of life - the certainty that I don't have to worry about it.
I leave the bike workshop the day before I realise that I've ruined my whole weekend and can cancel my photo trip.
Back on the saddle
Four endlessly long days drag by. A quick cycle to the Coop? No. A quick trip to my business analyst colleague on the other side of town? No. Horrible. Even with my limited use of the bike, I feel trapped. My world is small.
The journey to Velofix the following Thursday drags on. Then I see my Arrow at the door. It has hardly changed outwardly and that's a good thing. But my trained eye can see that the tyres are wider.
"The suspension fork is a goner. It's got maybe another two good years ahead of it, then you can replace it," the mechanic tells me. I don't need to worry yet, but if the fork gets softer, then I'll have to take action.
I pay, get on the saddle and start pedalling.
Yes! That's how it should be. The tyres hold air. They are slightly wider than the old tyres, but that makes the ride much smoother. The brakes grip well again. The chain is well oiled and the bike still looks like it's been attacked by a vandal. It's a little too clean, but it'll be fine. A few dozen kilometres through the flower and road dust should fix that.
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Journalist. Author. Hacker. A storyteller searching for boundaries, secrets and taboos – putting the world to paper. Not because I can but because I can’t not.
