My wheel building career owes its longevity to a few defining aha moments. This one is how I learned what is good enough.
1983 was near the start of my wheel building. At last I was feeling somewhat expert—hundreds of builds, a recent BICYCLING article published—helped me feel less a novice. I was ready for Angel Rodriguez (R&E Cycles, Seattle) to announce a National Wheelbuilding Contest as part of the LAW Rally he was hosting. Would I like to judge?
You bet! I flew to Seattle and made my way to Angel’s shop in a woodsy neighborhood near UW. He described that we would hold the contest on the broad sidewalk in front of the store.
There would be just one heat for all contestants. Winner would be the fastest build to meet basic criteria— quality enough to be fitted to a bike and ridden hard without issue. I’d organize the 15 or so builders—each got a chair, stool, truing stand, dishing tool, and spoke wrench; plus hub, rim, and spokes. I’d hold a stopwatch and note the fastest wheel that met the criteria.
As the start approached a crowd of spectators gathered and contestants signed in, received their parts, and took seats. We had contestants from as far away as Portland! A crowd of young men mechanics joking with each other got politely quiet as I raised my voice to explain the rules. One person however, caught my eye—someone in a hugely oversized sweatshirt with the hood pulled up and around his face, not interacting with anyone else.
I didn’t know that this was one of Angel’s mechanics. When she learned of the wheel building contest she told Angel she wanted to enter. He said NO, it was only a stunt for the larger event and they had a big repair backlog. Angel told her to stay at her station and do repairs for the day. Well, she had other ideas.
She made her plans and snuck out of the shop wearing a borrowed hoodie. Avoiding Angel was easy as he was distracted by loose ends related to events and meetings. She pulled up the hood and shuffled over to the contest area, entered, and took a seat.
As the moment to start approached, I saw the hooded contestant take out a small metal cup for spoke nipples. I noticed because no one else bothered. As I began the countdown, she pulled back her hood and slipped on a pair of noise blocking ear muffs. That caught the attention of a few. I yelled GO and started my stopwatch.
Things got hectic as building began. You heard clinking sounds as spokes were loaded into hubs. Now and then a grunt or mumbled curse, mostly the sight of hands moving as fast as possible. I watched the mystery woman work. Seemed in no rush, each movement deliberate, no wasted motion.
After a short while, she stood up, to ask a question. I was afraid she might have too few parts but she was holding her wheel. I walked over and realized she was finished and hit my stop watch. 7 minutes—her wheel was done. All the builders were allowed to finish. The next fastest was twice her time.
To put this in perspective, genarally a well built wheel takes 45min to 1 hour. A fast wheel—1/2hr. One can be laced 10 minutes but not tightened or trued. As everyone finished, all attention went to the first finisher. I inspected her wheel, it was tight and true enough to be raced. Not perfect but good. A few others checked it and I declared her the winner. First dead silence, then began a minor riot.
Guys were barking, “give me that wheel, hell if you’d said I could build this crummy, I would have won,” and so forth. I asked why they didn’t, since the wheel was more than good enough. The scene calmed down as everyone was reminded it was all for fun, no prizes, everyone got ribbons, and there was free beer.
I approached the winner and introduced myself. Learned her name was Sally. She was shy, I didn't know what to ask. I’d never heard of a 7 minute wheel. It seemed unreal. I managed to ask, “how did you do it?” She replied with a smirk, ”magic spokes!”
Two years later she opened The Magic Spoke, on Roosevelt, and for 14 years was known for some of the finest custom wheels and wrenching anywhere. Over the years, I saw Sally a few times at trade shows and events. Nearly always just a shy smirk and wave.
Here's some admiring text from a 1999 Bicycle Paper:
Sally started The Magic Spoke, her full-service repair shop, in May of 1984, and after fourteen plus years of running the business she needed a change, so she closed her shop and took a one-year sabbatical. In her career as owner/mechanic at The Magic Spoke, Sally generated quite a loyal following of bicycle enthusiasts. Actually, Sally has become a wheel-building legend in the Puget Sound region because of her friendly can-do attitude and her extensive knowledge of bicycles. When asked what she enjoys most about wheel building, Sally explained, “I get a real feeling of satisfaction and pride from building quality wheels, and it actually has a calming and relaxing effect on me.” Sally says the biggest advantage to ordering custom-made wheels is “flexibility,” explaining that the requirements for off-road mountain bike wheels are much different than for touring bike wheels. The main variants in wheel building are “spoke tension, placement of the spokes around the rim, and the number of spokes installed.” By using different combinations of rims, hubs, and spokes to build the wheels, Sally can create the ideal combination for the customer.She has built wheels for athletes such as 1992 Olympic team member David Nicholson, and it’s likely that David would have won a medal in Barcelona had he not suffered an injury shortly before the games. Such reputation and expertise has her building up to fifty wheels per month.When she’s not working, Sally likes to take her road bike for a spin - it sports a Fondriest frame, Campagnolo components, and Mavic rims. She also rides a mountain bike with road tires on it. She enjoys taking her Springer Spaniel Henrietta Wiggins (Retty for short) to dog agility events.
I later became involved teaching race mechanics, those who would support the next 5 Olympiads. Thanks to Sally, none had to wonder what was good enough. Good enough is when you do your best and know when to stop. Our heads are full of ideas but the world hands us opportunity that you take or miss.
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