My maternal grandfather died many years ago, but his bicycle legacy lives on through his collection of tools. Grandpa was a mechanical whiz, having worked for Shell Oil on Burlington's waterfront. Being too young, I do not recall his working years, except for the boxes of yellow Shell Oil pencils that he magically retrieved from his storage room in their home.
My wonderful memories are of my grandfather in his "retirement" as a bicycle mechanic. In a huge garage at the back of their property Grandpa amassed rooms of bicycles. Spray painted frames and wheels hung from the rafters; rows of bikes stood ready to be sold; a wheel stood at the truing stand; a wall of Maxwell House or Folgers coffee cans collected screws and bolts and washers. And the smell of oil permeated the entire place, as much from the workings of a bike shop as to the oil burner furnace that heated the garage in the winter.
I revered my grandfather. I spent countless hours perched on a red metal chair (the kind that has fold-out stairs) and watched the inner workings of his bicycle sanctum. After some time he let me hand him tools, locate screws, but mostly I watched or wandered among all the boxes of parts, fascinated with his world.
And so it was that after he went to bicycle heaven my husband and I went through his garage and collected his truing stand, wrenches, a rubber mallet that I recall him always using, but most especially his oil can - a Singer oil can - that he used to lubricate all his bikes.
But there is another facet to this man. My grandfather was not a bicycle rider, except for testing his work. He loved the mechanics of bikes and the extra income helped out in retirement for nearly 30 years. He provided bikes for each of his grandchildren throughout their childhood.
Here is one of the last photos of grandpa (and me) at about 86 years old. He lived to be almost 90. On his gravestone there is an etching of a bicycle.