Sheldon Brown

I usually don’t cry in front of my computer, but I did yesterday when, on one of the websites I frequent, I found out that Sheldon Brown, a man I never met in person, but with whom I had a number of email exchanges and from whose expertise, generosity, and good humor I benefited greatly, had passed away suddenly from a heart attack.

Since then, hundreds of messages and numerous blog postings have attested to the vast number of people whose lives were also enriched by the famous “Captain Bike.”

Sheldon had a rare ability to reach across the virtual world to bring to bring forth an amazingly kind, wise, funny, individual with all sorts of quirks, interests, and abilities, all of which he was willing to share with perfect strangers for nothing more, as far as I could tell, than the sheer joy of discovery, interaction, and creative tinkering.

Over the years, I have referred to his Harris Cyclery website hundreds of times, often for much-needed information, but also, on loads of occasions, just to poke around and learn about some odd project Sheldon had undertaken, from building a 63-speed bicycle to performing Gilbert and Sullivan to reviewing films.

From across the country, Sheldon helped me acquire parts for my first serious bicycle project, a Waterford 1900 touring cycle; he built the wheels and gently explained to me why it made sense to go with an eight rather than seven-speed cassette on the modern hub I had chosen; and it was Sheldon who sold me the now lost Rambouillet; he commiserated with me in an email when I wrote to him that it had been stolen and asking if perchance he had record of its serial number two years after the fact.

I sorta think that bike is out there somewhere; if asked whether Sheldon is, I would respond as he did once, like the Three Stooges Curley, to an inquiry of mine: “Soitainly!”