Schwinn Hollywood

A few months ago, my neighbor, Bobby, who lives down the alley a couple houses, dropped off in my backyard a rusty and broken-down green bike. People do this when they know you are into bicycles; it’s a regular occurrence in my life that someone tries to palm of their unwanted two-wheelers on me. Usually I happily take the offering, fix it up a bit, ride it for a while, and then donate it to BikeWorks when the novelty wears off.

But in this case, I was sorta annoyed. The bike, a 24-inch tire girl’s model, was utterly trashed. Coated in rust and mud, with wheels that were completely unsalvageable, it looked like a candidate for the dump rather than one that might be a viable restoration project. Plus, I had loaned Bobby some money and didn’t like the idea that he might think he was partially paying me back with this “gift.”

Nevertheless, I brought it down in the basement and put it up on the stand. And after it sat there a few days, and after I removed the offending wheels, I couldn’t help falling for the bike’s charms. The frame is just choice: curvy and swoopy, and the fat chrome fenders, cleaned up with rubbing compound, shine beautifully.

I was able to rebuild the headset and repack the one-piece crank’s bearings; once steering and pedaling were revived, the bike was reborn.

I bought a used front wheel and a brand-new rear with built-in coaster brake. Big fat whitewall tires complete the period-specific look.

Yesterday, I finished fitting a new chain and today, with a few odds and ends—axle bolts and rubberized pedals—it’s once again a bike.

It has kind of a bad-ass tough girl feel about it. The handlebars remind me of the shoulders of a girl who wears blue eye shadow.

And you can just feel how grateful it is to be back; rescued from the trash, ready to roll.