Surviving Huffy:
A Guide to protecting your own
by Ben Tiffany
“Two hundred dollars for a pedal bike?” the farmer asked.
“I’m afraid that’s our cheapest bike, sir.” I
replied.
“Hell, if I’m gonna spend two
hundred dollars for a bike, it
sure’s hell better come with a engine.”
I scratched my head and looked to Brian for
support. But the
bastard headed back to the register to count pennies or something.
Selling
bikes was Brian’s job. Not mine. I’m a mechanic for Christ’s sake. But
like a fool
I came out of the shop to grab some tubes. That’s when the farmer
jumped me.
“Yeah I guess two hundred
dollars is a lot to spend for a
bike.”
“Goddamn right. I work hard for my money.”
“I know you.”
“And them fancy bike companies want every dime we
got.”
“I know they do.”
“I wake up at 5 a.m.
EVERY MORNING!”
“I know.”
“And come winter it’s colder ‘an Hell…”
“Sir,” I interrupted, “you know
you could always buy a
Huffy. They’re real nice.”
“A Huffy? They pretty good?”
“They’re great. Hand-built in Taiwan.
They’re hard to find. But you can get one for a hundred dollars or
less.”
“Where at?”
“There’s a bike shop on Highland
Drive. I think they have some.
“What’s the shop called?”
“Toys-R-Us,” I answered.
The farmer marched out to his pick-up with renewed
purpose.
He knew that if he researched properly, he’d find the good deal. He was
satisfied. I marched back to the shop with my tubes and a sense of
failure. I
knew he was getting the worst deal in town. And is new Huffy would be
in my
shop for a major tune within a week. I could already picture him coming
through
the front door. Him and his Huffy.
There was a time when Huffy was
the only real player in the
effort to create the world’s worst bikes. Sure, Murray
was always in the mix somewhere. But they were really only around to
feed off
of Huffy’s scraps. Huffy was the feared giant. And it was challenged by
no one.
I suppose it had its heyday in the ‘70s when America
had not yet endeared bottom feeder lawyers.
Everyone has a Huffy story from
his youth, right? My brother
was riding to town on his Huffy 10-speed when the weld of the top tube
and the
head tube suddenly failed. He lost a row of teeth and every shred of
skin from
nose to chin. He did look pretty tough. But seriously, dude could’ve
killed
himself. And who did he blame? No one. Suing major corporations wasn’t
en vogue
yet. So he sucked it up like a little gentleman and Huffy survived
another
decade.
Huffy is still the same fat, hungry giant it ever
was. In
fact, they manufacture more bikes than anyone, anywhere. And yes, their
frames
still break, so yes, Huffy’s still suck. But now they have company.
Several
importers have taken a shot at the market and they appear truly
committed to
creating the worst bikes money can buy. Roadmaster and MTN Tek have
proven
themselves as legitimate players. Chamelion and Scorpio have made great
strides
and are even reportedly built from the tubing of used Taiwanese lawn
furniture.
In fact, there are a slew of
companies shooting for a piece
of the action. They all must compete furiously by cutting costs
wherever they
can. And as a result, low-end bikes are worse than they’ve ever been.
But they
should not take full blame for the mess they’ve created. Interestingly,
the
steady progress of the high-end bikes is, at least partly, to blame.
What’s changed is that the high-end bikes are more
expensive
than ever. Dozens of dedicated frame builders are building masterpieces
by
hand. Rock Shox continues to outdo itself. And componentry becomes more
logical
every year.
This is fine for the working
professional or the
tech-wneenie who would rather buy gear than food. But the average consuers
are now convinced that they, too, need complicated bikes. They
absolutely must
have those sexy yellow shocks. And V-brakes, yes! Those are a must. And
“how
‘bout them grip shifts?...I reckon, I’ll need those too.”
What hasn’t changed is that
while the average consumers now
want complicated bikes, they still don’t
want to pay for them. Sure, the industry will give us all the gears and
accessories we want. But if we want a complicated bike at a rock bottom
price,
the industry is forced to greatly downgrade each and every part.
So if your uncle back in Omaha
is “researching” bikes and asks for advice, you can start by fetching a
2X4 and
cracking his skull. Let his brain slap around inside his dome until
you’ve got
his attention. It’s important to let a penny pincher know you mean
business
because they’re stubborn old fools.
So whack that fool again and
lead him to a couch where he
can pull himself together. Look him in the eye and tell him this: “It’s
still
true. You get what you pay for. And if you don’t want to pay 600 bucks
for a
mountain bike, you should probably begin looking at bikes with a much
more
simple design.”
Face it. He works in an antique shop. And at night
he slugs
it out in front of the T.V. He doesn’t need a trick bike. Homeboy needs
a
cruiser. Remember the Schwinn beach cruiser? No there’s a sturdy rig.
And
they’re cheap. Why? Because they’re simple.
I own a 1970 Schwinn Corvette.
And that thing is nails. With
its solid steel stem, non-butted tubes and a double pump of slime in
each tire,
it weighs in at a svelte 43 pounds. Sure, it’s a pig, but I could sky
that
thing off the roof. The drop would kill me. But the Schwinn would live.
If
Saddam pulls himself together and drops a bomb over your town, I
guarantee the
only survivors will be the cockroaches and a proud fleet
of Schwinns. True story.
I could bark all day but let’s face it. The world
will
always have its Huffys. And they’ll only grow stronger. So you needn’t
stockpile arms. And don’t bother writing your Senator. The guy’s
probably on
their payroll anyway.
But what we can do is take
measures to educate friends and
family. We can tell our loved ones about frames that break beneath us
and we
can tell them about components that can crumble in our hands. If they
don’t
want to pony up big bucks, we can steer them toward simpler bikes that
put a
premium on safety. And we can steer them away from bikes that strive
only to
look cool. If we educate our families, we can keep a world of hurt on
the other
side of the tracks. We can keep our crew safe.
So go ahead and catch the red-eye to Omaha.
Roll into town with a 12-pack and a good piece of lumber. Drink
heartily. When
your uncle stumbles out of the antique shop you can crack him just
above the
brow. Hold him close and tell him you haven’t given up on him. Drag him
to the
nearest bike shop and smear his bloodied faced against the glass. Point
to a
sensible bike and tell him you’ll split it…50/50. He’ll hate you for
it. He’ll
probably press charges. And why not? You’re a sick bastard.
But someday he’ll thank you. The
whole family will be
passing around some dead turkey and pouring too much wine. He’ll look
at you,
perhaps for the first time in years. But in those eyes you’ll see
understanding.
And you’ll see a man who understands tough love. You’ll see a man who
is
surviving Huffy.
...more Ben Tiffany articles here
|
