Before we get to the good stuff, let’s get the calendar out of the way. 

SECOND THURSDAY OF EVERY MONTH (March 12th) - NIGHT MOVES COMMUNITY BIKE RIDE. Meet @ 7:00pm; roll @ 7:15

THIRD THURSDAY OF EVERY MONTH (March 19th, 7:00pm) - ROTATING MECHANIC’S CLASS, ALL ABOUT DERAILLEURS

LAST THURSDAY OF EVERY MONTH (March 26th, 7:00pm) - COMMUNITY NIGHT

LAST SUNDAY OF EVERY MONTH (March 29th) - DAY GROOVES COMMUNITY BIKE RIDE. Meet @ 10:45; roll @ 11:00

After that, we’ll see you in April for our Quercus Family Ride (first Sunday morning of every month), Flat Fix Classes (first Thursday evening of every month), and so much more. 

The days are getting longer and the sunshine is reviving our dreams of long rides and camping trips and unique opportunities to get our community together. We’ll be hosting a Wheel Building Series of classes this summer where you learn everything from spoke calcs to lacing to perfectly truing your wheel. We are still working out the details, but be on the lookout for a class sign up, and let us know if you have any questions! 

Alrighty, without further ado, let’s move on to the main attraction. This month, from a guest author and dear friend of the shop -

Greetings neighbors,

My name is Jesper, and I’ve been bestowed the honor of guest-writing this month’s newsletter.

The uninitiated might wonder why I feel honored to write a little email update for a bike shop, but as all who read this know: Slow News is more than a monthly newsletter, and Scenic Routes is no ordinary bike shop. 

I didn’t know that when I first showed up at the doorstep of Scenic Routes. It just happened to be the closest bike shop to my new home in this unfamiliar city. I walked in and stated my need for new tires and possibly some chain lube. Not that I knew what chain lube was; my roommate just said I needed it, and he was an engineer in college so therefore an expert on all mechanical matters. He would also be putting my new tires on for me, because if I tried I’d likely break something.

Needless to say, I didn’t understand tire sizing, which meant that the heavily-tattooed and sparsely-pierced owner had to come outside to inspect my bike and see what size I needed.

As we walked toward my bike, I braced myself for the inevitable upsell. Like every auto shop I’ve ever been to, this greying punk rockstar was surely going to prey on my mechanical ineptitude and prescribe me two new tires of the finest Italian rubber, the latest small-batch biodegradable chain lube, and strongly recommend I leave my bike at the shop for a month so they can decalcify the derailleur clog in my carburetor.

He kneeled down to scrutinize my neglected chain and slightly cracking tires. I could feel my wallet in my pocket getting lighter with each masterful crank and prod he administered. Oh god he’s going to tell me the whole bike is a piece of junk and I need to scrap it immediately and make me buy one of their shiny new ones with a warranty…

Instead he rose slowly and informed me that my tires and chain were just fine, but he’d be happy to throw on some chain lube if I really wanted some.

Huh?

For the first time in my life, I had been downsold as a customer. A phenomenon so rare in this capitalistic society that spellcheck is telling me it’s not even a word. I came in expecting to buy something, and was told I didn’t need it. That felt so astonishing and refreshing. What was this place?

I was at an unusual spot in my life when I stumbled upon Scenic Routes. Only a month prior, I had been cut at the end of NFL training camp, marking the first time in my six-year career that I was without a team and without a job. I still spent an hour or two training each day, because I fully expected to receive a call from a new team soon. But the remainder of my time was spent aimlessly killing hours alone while my five housemates (and only friends in this new city) went to their respective offices. Within weeks, I felt stagnant and knew I needed a reason to get out of the house, meet new people, and get my mind off football, so I decided to go back to the shop and see if they’d have me as a volunteer. 

I’d always harbored dreams of uncovering the mysteries behind my favorite form of transportation, but was simply too intimidated by the bicycle’s complexity to attempt anything. I came from a household that packed our bikes into the trunk of our SUV to bring to the bike shop when the tires were low. Better to leave it to the experts.

But maybe this funky shop that downsold me could make it approachable? I had an abundance of free time and no shortage of passion for bicycling. I explained this at the counter to the same long-haired and heavily-tattooed person who I now learned was named Jay. He said maybe, and took my phone number.

A few weeks passed,with no calls from Scenic Routes nor any NFL teams. Feeling even more restless than before, I biked back to see if perhaps my handwritten phone number was illegible. Jay was nowhere to be found this time. Instead I was cheerfully greeted by a younger worker with bright eyes and big glasses. I explained the situation and she gracefully explained that unknowledgeable volunteers often did more harm than good in a crowded bike shop. There was a long period of learning required before they could actually be of assistance.

I hadn’t considered that. I viewed my free labor as a no-brainer for them, but the reality was that there wasn’t much I could do (yet) to be of use there. I accepted the soft rejection and began to head out the door when a voice stopped me: "if you’re willing to break down boxes for recycling and sweep the floor, we can always use the help, and as you learn more the work will get more interesting.”

So I came back next week to crush boxes and sweep. I graduated to sorting tires, illustrating gift certificates, and checking in orders. I changed my first flat,then my second,then my 21st. It took many refreshers from the endlessly patient team, but eventually things started to make sense. 

It was also becoming clear to me that bicycle knowledge was only a small portion of why I continued showing up. There is an inviting warmth to the shop that begins in the omnipresent genre-bending music; amplifies in the colorful, eclectic and maximalist decor; and culminates in the endless kind neighbors that stop by just to say hello or drop off some freshly-baked goods. When I was there, I wasn’t scrolling on my phone or stressing about football. I was discovering new music, learning new skills, and meeting new people, and even after a long day I’d ride home with an overwhelming sense of rejuvenation.

On one such ride, after spending a full Wednesday building a bike last December, I returned home so inspired that I decided to convert my unused Lake Street garage into a studio, and officially start a creative project I’d been pondering for months.

I possessed neither skills nor equipment yet, but I dreamed of finding places special to me, creating novel designs for them, screenprinting the designs onto quality second-hand shirts I thrifted, and then selling the merchandise to others who also love and want to support these local treasures.  Everything would be done by hand – embracing the quirky character that the uniqueness would inevitably bring. It was to be my rebellion against increasing automation and the characterless homogeneity it produces. 

I began with sketches in a notebook of designs for Scenic Routes and a few other local landmarks and businesses. With no background in illustration, I ended up with pages of drawings that weren’t quite right. After realizing that it would never be perfect, and I was going to have to accept that in order to move forward, I called the project 2 err, from the old adage “to err is human” – overtly claiming my lack of mastery, and the imperfections that would result.  

Can you tell that the Scenic Routes ethos was starting to rub off on me?

Well it was, and damn them. Because I’ve spent the last year making every possible mistake on this endeavor that I was woefully unprepared and unqualified for. Bringing the 2 err vision to life makes the time I rode a fully-loaded touring bike with commuter tires down Dias Ridge and then up over Bolinas Ridge (on Jay’s recommendation) look easy. 

Though I’d love nothing more than to give a detailed breakdown of the agony this project has caused this past year, I won’t. Because at the holiday party, someone was wearing a Scenic Routes sweatshirt that I thrifted, cleaned, repaired, and then adorned with a design that I illustrated, burned, printed, carved, printed again, and finally cured.  They said they loved it, and had a t-shirt at home, too. And that made it all worth it.

If you’re interested in sporting one of your own, there are plenty more shirts and hats available at 521 Balboa. I’d also be thrilled to print on one of your shirts that needs some new life;, just bring it in and fill out a form with whoever is working the front desk.

I’m also on the lookout for collaborations with kindred spirits, so if you have anything in mind don’t hesitate to reach out. Maybe your own small business needs shirts or bandanas to commemorate an event. Or your favorite nonprofit needs some creative visibility.

Meanwhile, I’m also proposing designs to some other beloved local businesses–like our cult-favorite croissant shop down the street--at a glacial pace.

It’s a good thing slow is forever.

To learn more about 2 err, you can visit the website (which I masochistically hand-drew and animated) or check out my Substack.

Thanks for sticking with me this far.  Hope to see you in the shop or out on the road!

-Jesper (jesper@2err.studio)