Memories of Sheldon

Peter Cole

I have been a bit too shocked over the last 24 hours to add anything to
the expressions of sadness here. I've spent a few hours (re)reading his
blogs and the messages left by so many on lists and news groups. I was
struck by how few of us had actually known Sheldon in the "real world",
so I thought I might share a few of my experiences.

I first met Sheldon in the mid-90's after finding Harris Cyclery and his
articles on the Internet. The irony was that his home and shop were less
than a mile away. I wheeled my old 68cm Raleigh into the shop with 2
broken rear spokes. Little did I know what I had started. "Whoever built
this wheel *almost* knew what they were doing", he said after a lot of
scrutinizing and beard tugging. He went on to explain that I would
continue to break spokes and would be better off with a new wheel (which
he would be happy to build for me). I was only just getting back into
cycling, and hemmed and hawed as I wasn't sure how much I wanted to
invest in that well-used bike. He looked me square in the eye and said
"I can't sell you a bike that will fit you," (I'm 6'10") "but I can make
this one fit." From there, he went on to explain all the related issues
this would bring up -- cassette/freewheel, sprockets, frame spacing, 27"
to 700c conversion, etc. My head spun as I wondered what I had gotten into.

Over the next several months, I became a regular visitor to Sheldon's
shop as he replaced virtually every component on that bike. I began
calling it the "stone soup" bike after the fable where the sly fox
tricks a farmer by teaching him how to make soup with water and a stone
(plus just a few optional ingredients...). He got a big laugh from that
name. Often, during those visits, I would hang about his cluttered
basement workshop while he wrenched away, me peppering him with
questions all the while. I never knew whether he enjoyed my interest or
merely tolerated my pestering in a good natured way. I try to think he
liked the company, but he was such a gentleman that I'm not sure how
you'd know otherwise.

Sheldon could be very opinionated. He deflated me with an instant
verdict when he saw the new ($200) shoes I brought in for cleats: "These
are really terrible shoes!" (he was right, of course). He confided in me
that he toned things down on-line, not wanting to alienate any potential
customers, but in real life he didn't pull the punches. Despite his
strong tastes, I found him extremely tolerant and broad minded. As a
cycling newbie, I was always getting on various soapboxes, and he seemed
to be forever gently correcting me. When I scoffed at mountain bikes, he
waxed on about the joys of fat tire biking and clued me in on some of
the hidden gem trails in our area. I became a born-again mountain biker,
riding another Sheldon special. Fixed gear bicycling was his passion and
sideline, but I thought it was the dumbest thing. I held out for a year
or two, but when he replaced the stone soup Raleigh frame with a new
Cannondale, I let him talk me into making a fixer from the carcass (of
course it was stone soup again). Turned out that I loved it -- he knew I
would, of course.

Over several years, I kept going back to Sheldon as I brought my family
into bicycling. I loved the little touches he added, his meticulous
work, things that would make me chuckle when I discovered them -- color
matched cable ends, shiny dice cube valve caps on my son's bike, stuff
like that. Outside the shop, I would sometimes run into him at rides or
bike shows. I remember one sweltering August day, him clutching his
beloved Hetchins frame, which he had just scored, happy as a kid on
Christmas. On another day him driving me back with the bike I rode in on
and the one I had just bought, not knowing how I was going to get it
home. When I mentioned that I had come for a bike for my son, he swung
by his house and fished a frame from behind a pile of bikes in his
basement. I built that up and my son still rides it.

I had not seen Sheldon much in the last few years. As my skills matured,
I needed his services less. That's the way it goes, I guess. I'm afraid
I took him for granted a bit, knowing that if I ever had some odd bike
problem I could pop over and see him, get some help, maybe chat or have
a laugh. I worried when he became ill, as if there was a sudden crack,
the possibility, and now there's a hole.

They say the good always die too young. To some, 63 may not seem young,
but knowing Sheldon allowed me to see how young that could be. I will
miss his humor, curiosity, intelligence, infectious enthusiasm and his
generous and gentle spirit. I'm sure I'll not know another like him.

I'd like to keep writing, but words fail. I really don't want to say
goodbye.

All the best, Sheldon. All the best.

Peter

Bill Sornson

Peter Cole wrote:
> I have been a bit too shocked over the last 24 hours to add anything
> to the expressions of sadness here. I've spent a few hours (re)reading
> his blogs and the messages left by so many on lists and news groups.
> I was struck by how few of us had actually known Sheldon in the "real
> world", so I thought I might share a few of my experiences.
>
> I first met Sheldon in the mid-90's after finding Harris Cyclery and
> his articles on the Internet. The irony was that his home and shop
> were less than a mile away. I wheeled my old 68cm Raleigh into the
> shop with 2 broken rear spokes. Little did I know what I had started.
> "Whoever built this wheel *almost* knew what they were doing", he
> said after a lot of scrutinizing and beard tugging. He went on to
> explain that I would continue to break spokes and would be better off
> with a new wheel (which he would be happy to build for me). I was
> only just getting back into cycling, and hemmed and hawed as I wasn't
> sure how much I wanted to invest in that well-used bike. He looked me
> square in the eye and said
> "I can't sell you a bike that will fit you," (I'm 6'10") "but I can
> make this one fit." From there, he went on to explain all the related
> issues this would bring up -- cassette/freewheel, sprockets, frame
> spacing, 27" to 700c conversion, etc. My head spun as I wondered what
> I had gotten into.
> Over the next several months, I became a regular visitor to Sheldon's
> shop as he replaced virtually every component on that bike. I began
> calling it the "stone soup" bike after the fable where the sly fox
> tricks a farmer by teaching him how to make soup with water and a
> stone (plus just a few optional ingredients...). He got a big laugh
> from that name. Often, during those visits, I would hang about his
> cluttered basement workshop while he wrenched away, me peppering him
> with questions all the while. I never knew whether he enjoyed my interest
> or merely tolerated my pestering in a good natured way. I try to
> think he liked the company, but he was such a gentleman that I'm not
> sure how you'd know otherwise.
>
> Sheldon could be very opinionated. He deflated me with an instant
> verdict when he saw the new ($200) shoes I brought in for cleats:
> "These are really terrible shoes!" (he was right, of course). He
> confided in me that he toned things down on-line, not wanting to
> alienate any potential customers, but in real life he didn't pull the
> punches. Despite his strong tastes, I found him extremely tolerant and
> broad minded. As a
> cycling newbie, I was always getting on various soapboxes, and he
> seemed to be forever gently correcting me. When I scoffed at mountain
> bikes, he waxed on about the joys of fat tire biking and clued me in
> on some of the hidden gem trails in our area. I became a born-again
> mountain
> biker, riding another Sheldon special. Fixed gear bicycling was his
> passion and sideline, but I thought it was the dumbest thing. I held
> out for a year or two, but when he replaced the stone soup Raleigh frame
> with a new
> Cannondale, I let him talk me into making a fixer from the carcass (of
> course it was stone soup again). Turned out that I loved it -- he
> knew I would, of course.
>
> Over several years, I kept going back to Sheldon as I brought my
> family into bicycling. I loved the little touches he added, his
> meticulous work, things that would make me chuckle when I discovered
> them --
> color matched cable ends, shiny dice cube valve caps on my son's
> bike, stuff like that. Outside the shop, I would sometimes run into
> him at rides or bike shows. I remember one sweltering August day, him
> clutching his beloved Hetchins frame, which he had just scored, happy
> as a kid on Christmas. On another day him driving me back with the
> bike I rode in on and the one I had just bought, not knowing how I
> was going to get it home. When I mentioned that I had come for a bike for
> my son, he swung
> by his house and fished a frame from behind a pile of bikes in his
> basement. I built that up and my son still rides it.
>
> I had not seen Sheldon much in the last few years. As my skills
> matured, I needed his services less. That's the way it goes, I guess. I'm
> afraid I took him for granted a bit, knowing that if I ever had some odd
> bike
> problem I could pop over and see him, get some help, maybe chat or
> have a laugh. I worried when he became ill, as if there was a sudden
> crack,
> the possibility, and now there's a hole.
>
> They say the good always die too young. To some, 63 may not seem
> young, but knowing Sheldon allowed me to see how young that could be.
> I will miss his humor, curiosity, intelligence, infectious enthusiasm and
> his
> generous and gentle spirit. I'm sure I'll not know another like him.
>
> I'd like to keep writing, but words fail. I really don't want to say
> goodbye.
>
> All the best, Sheldon. All the best.
>
> Peter

Absolutely beautiful, Peter. Bravo.

Chalo

Peter Cole wrote:
>
> I have been a bit too shocked over the last 24 hours to add anything to
> the expressions of sadness here. I've spent a few hours (re)reading his
> blogs and the messages left by so many on lists and news groups. I was
> struck by how few of us had actually known Sheldon in the "real world",
> so I thought I might share a few of my experiences.

Thanks for this, Peter.

Chalo

Scott Gordo

On Feb 5, 2:06*pm, Peter Cole <peter_c...@comcast.net> wrote:
> I have been a bit too shocked over the last 24 hours to add anything to
> the expressions of sadness here. I've spent a few hours (re)reading his
> blogs and the messages left by so many on lists and news groups. I was
> struck by how few of us had actually known Sheldon in the "real world",
> so I thought I might share a few of my experiences.
>
> I first met Sheldon in the mid-90's after finding Harris Cyclery and his
> articles on the Internet. The irony was that his home and shop were less
> than a mile away. I wheeled my old 68cm Raleigh into the shop with 2
> broken rear spokes. Little did I know what I had started. "Whoever built
> this wheel *almost* knew what they were doing", he said after a lot of
> scrutinizing and beard tugging. He went on to explain that I would
> continue to break spokes and would be better off with a new wheel (which
> he would be happy to build for me). I was only just getting back into
> cycling, and hemmed and hawed as I wasn't sure how much I wanted to
> invest in that well-used bike. He looked me square in the eye and said
> "I can't sell you a bike that will fit you," (I'm 6'10") "but I can make
> this one fit." From there, he went on to explain all the related issues
> this would bring up -- cassette/freewheel, sprockets, frame spacing, 27"
> to 700c conversion, etc. My head spun as I wondered what I had gotten into..
>
> Over the next several months, I became a regular visitor to Sheldon's
> shop as he replaced virtually every component on that bike. I began
> calling it the "stone soup" bike after the fable where the sly fox
> tricks a farmer by teaching him how to make soup with water and a stone
> (plus just a few optional ingredients...). He got a big laugh from that
> name. Often, during those visits, I would hang about his cluttered
> basement workshop while he wrenched away, me peppering him with
> questions all the while. I never knew whether he enjoyed my interest or
> merely tolerated my pestering in a good natured way. I try to think he
> liked the company, but he was such a gentleman that I'm not sure how
> you'd know otherwise.
>
> Sheldon could be very opinionated. He deflated me with an instant
> verdict when he saw the new ($200) shoes I brought in for cleats: "These
> are really terrible shoes!" (he was right, of course). He confided in me
> that he toned things down on-line, not wanting to alienate any potential
> customers, but in real life he didn't pull the punches. Despite his
> strong tastes, I found him extremely tolerant and broad minded. As a
> cycling newbie, I was always getting on various soapboxes, and he seemed
> to be forever gently correcting me. When I scoffed at mountain bikes, he
> waxed on about the joys of fat tire biking and clued me in on some of
> the hidden gem trails in our area. I became a born-again mountain biker,
> riding another Sheldon special. Fixed gear bicycling was his passion and
> sideline, but I thought it was the dumbest thing. I held out for a year
> or two, but when he replaced the stone soup Raleigh frame with a new
> Cannondale, I let him talk me into making a fixer from the carcass (of
> course it was stone soup again). Turned out that I loved it -- he knew I
> would, of course.
>
> Over several years, I kept going back to Sheldon as I brought my family
> into bicycling. I loved the little touches he added, his meticulous
> work, things that would make me chuckle when I discovered them -- color
> matched cable ends, shiny dice cube valve caps on my son's bike, stuff
> like that. Outside the shop, I would sometimes run into him at rides or
> bike shows. I remember one sweltering August day, him clutching his
> beloved Hetchins frame, which he had just scored, happy as a kid on
> Christmas. On another day him driving me back with the bike I rode in on
> and the one I had just bought, not knowing how I was going to get it
> home. When I mentioned that I had come for a bike for my son, he swung
> by his house and fished a frame from behind a pile of bikes in his
> basement. I built that up and my son still rides it.
>
> I had not seen Sheldon much in the last few years. As my skills matured,
> I needed his services less. That's the way it goes, I guess. I'm afraid
> I took him for granted a bit, knowing that if I ever had some odd bike
> problem I could pop over and see him, get some help, maybe chat or have
> a laugh. I worried when he became ill, as if there was a sudden crack,
> the possibility, and now there's a hole.
>
> They say the good always die too young. To some, 63 may not seem young,
> but knowing Sheldon allowed me to see how young that could be. I will
> miss his humor, curiosity, intelligence, infectious enthusiasm and his
> generous and gentle spirit. I'm sure I'll not know another like him.
>
> I'd like to keep writing, but words fail. I really don't want to say
> goodbye.
>
> All the best, Sheldon. All the best.
>
> Peter

Very touching.

s

Bill Taylor

Thanks for taking the time to write that, Peter. You fleshed out the
Sheldon I knew from a few emails (he advised me what to expect as a
cycling Merit Badge counselor), and the occasional foray into his web world.

Sad, yes, but think about his legacy: All the cycles and cyclists that
were touched by him! Personally, I have a wool jersey from Harris that
will remind me of him every time I wear it.

BT

Dan Burkhart

A great story and a nice tribute.

sergio

On 5 Feb, 20:06, Peter Cole <peter_c...@comcast.net> wrote:
> I have been a bit too shocked over the last 24 hours to add anything
....

A portrait to keep.

And, truly, something that each of us suspected even not having had
the priviledge to meet Captain Sheldon in person.
You were a lucky guy, Peter.

Sergio
Pisa