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Workshop

How not to set up a home workshop

You don't have to be good at fixing bikes ... or at least that's what I keep telling myself.

Matt de Neef
by Matt de Neef 19.06.2024 Photography by
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Some people love tinkering with bikes. They love the process of building, rebuilding, cleaning, and repairing. They’ll happily spend long hours in their well-equipped home workshop, battling to seat a stubborn tubeless tire or replace a tricky section of internal cabling. They might even spend vast sums acquiring all the tools they need (and more) to fix any problem they might conceivably run into.

Put every cyclist’s wrenching ability on a spectrum and these people would be right down one end. Among them would be my brilliant colleague Dave Rome, a man known the bike world over for his technical knowledge and skills, and also for his tool obsession. Joining him would be many of our wonderful members, judging by the #projects-and-makers channel on the Escape Discord server.

Me, on the other hand; you’ll find me way down the other end of the spectrum, right at home amongst the luddites and the lazy. Where Dave is a poster child of the “this is how to fix it” mentality, I like to think of myself more as a champion of the “let the experts at your local bike shop handle it” approach.

Sure, I could watch some YouTube videos and learn how to complete some maintenance task. In all likelihood, though, I’ll do a terrible job, get annoyed at how badly I’ve done it, then take my bike to the LBS anyway. Why not save time, energy, and frustration, and just head straight there to begin with?

Two boxes of random bike stuff, in amongst a slew of other random items.

If you’re like Dave, with all the tools, the know-how, and the can-do attitude, I salute you. I’ve no doubt there’s great satisfaction in being good at wrenching. But if you’re a little more like me, well, I think that’s fine too. That’s one of the many great things about bikes: whether you enjoy riding them, fixing them, or both, all of us can appreciate bikes in our own way.

Me personally, I enjoy riding, putting my bike away, then doing the bare minimum of maintenance needed to ensure I can do the same again next time. And as you’re about to see, my “home workshop” very much reflects that approach.

Think of this as my answer to Dave’s fantastic Threaded newsletter – a chance to highlight some tools that aren’t so new and shiny, and a way to acknowledge those of us that maybe aren’t quite so good at fixing bikes.

A word of warning before we begin: if you’re from the Romeian school of neatness, thoroughness, and, dare I say, obsessiveness, the following might be a little upsetting.

***

Forget the spacious double garage, replete with vast workbenches, neatly organised tool walls, and all manner of bike-specific gadgets, each in their own place. My workshop is maybe half of a single garage that’s largely filled with packing boxes and other odds and ends, with a trio of bikes smooshed together haphazardly against one wall.

I don’t own a workstand – hanging a bike from a Hills Hoist by its saddle is the closest I’ve come – and my “collection” of “tools” exists almost entirely inside a single plastic container, crammed into a shelf filled with camping gear, garden equipment, and who knows what else.

The pink leopard-print rag, haphazardly tossed over my handlebars, really paints a picture of what we’re working with here. See that clear container top left? That’s where we’re headed now.

It’s when you pull my “toolbox” off the shelf and peer inside that the true horror of the situation presents itself. If there’s a more random, more depressing, and less useful collection of items in a cyclist’s toolbox anywhere, I’d love to see it.

Tossed mindlessly together are all manner of old parts and tools that speak to a troubled, off-again-on-again relationship with wrenching. Some of the tools still serve a function. Other items are in there for reasons that still aren’t clear to me.

Let’s break it down.

Two packets of wet wipes cover much of the horror beneath. I can tell without even opening them that they’ll be bone dry by now.
There’s a lot to unpack here. Let’s start with that box-within-a-box.
I was accidentally sent a bleed kit years ago, long before I even had a bike with disc brakes. I kept it intact for the longest time, but recently turfed out all the contents and it now holds all sorts of random things.
Just look at this mess. O-rings and mounts for various head units, plastic baggies of who knows what, and buried in there, its threads just poking out: a single, well-rusted bidon cage bolt.
To be honest, this is probably in better shape than most of the bolts on my bikes.
I have no idea what this is, and even less idea why I still have it.
I can tell you what this one is though. It’s a mount for a Bontrager rear light that I no longer have because it stopped working almost immediately after I bought it. It’s not clear to me why I haven’t thrown it out.
This is an old card I cut up at some point, probably to clean some gunk off a bike or something. I’ll be impressed if anyone can guess what the card was originally.
I do still ride a rim-brake bike, but do these fit? Who could say.
I feel that this image is quite representative of my wrenching journey. The grease on the far left is from when I attempted to rebuild my first road bike years ago. It’s the only time I’ve attempted something like that. The bike ran pretty poorly afterwards, and was ultimately stolen when I Ioaned it to someone.

The Muc-Off lube is something I actually do still use and it seems … fine? I’ve used eucalyptus oil at various times as a degreaser and it seems to be pretty effective in certain situations. And the WD-40? Ever since I saw this GCN video almost a decade ago, it’s been my go-to for chain degreasing. I’m sure there’s a better solution, but would that also help me fix squeaky doors inside the house?
If you’re looking for cable ties, I’ve got cable ties. I probably needed three or four at some point and ended up with about a thousand.
Another image that sums up my wrenching experience. I think this chain whip was designed for nine-speed cassettes and so using it on my 11-speed today isn’t optimal. And yet it works – just – and that’s enough for me to not want to shell out for something newer.
I borrowed these from my brother Brendan many years ago, when they were in much better condition. I’m not sure how they’ve ended up in this state, but I’m ashamed that they have.
Not ideal.
I think I’ve broken maybe one chain with the chainbreaker. The chain wear guide has also seen minimal use. The others have actually been useful at various times, especially the pedal spanner.
What toolbox would be complete without a stanley knife, a gunk-covered toothbrush, and a pair of cable-cutters that have barely been used.
This is probably from the old bike build I did years ago. It’s probably Brendan’s too. Sorry bro.
I don’t think these spokes are compatible with any of the wheels I currently run.
One of three multitools in the box. This one is more than 20 years old now and has seen better days.
This is almost certainly Brendan’s too, and will have been used once, for that old rebuild. At least it’s not covered in rust, right?
Until recently, my entire “tool collection” lived in an even smaller box, filled with even more random items. Yep: what you’ve seen so far is actually the bits and pieces that made the cut during a recent clean-out.

Why’d I go for a bigger box? I wanted something that would actually fit my can of WD-40 without having to lie it down. In this sense, the new container fails at its only real purpose, but did I have the energy or inclination to find anything bigger? I did not.
You might have noticed this box in the first image above. If it looks like it contains another random assortment of cycling-related stuff, you’re right. Among the junk: a handful of old pumps, an old handlebar that I’ll never use again, some used chainrings and cassettes I’ll also never use, some MTB shoes, a couple of saddles, bags full of new inner tubes, and a spider’s web of old tubes that I’ve promised myself I will patch up some day but probably won’t.
Look, I’ve even got patches ready to go. Assuming they’re still usable.

I’m not proud of what you’ve seen today. I’m also preparing myself for an absolute bollocking in the comments below (or from Dave via Slack). And yet, this whole process has been strangely therapeutic. There’s a confessional power in laying it all out like this, letting the whole world witness my shame.

Would I love to be better at fixing bikes? Yep, sure. Do I think I could save money if I was? Probably. Do I want to invest the time it would take to develop those skills? I do not.

And ultimately, that’s what it comes down to for me: I am not good at wrenching because learning those skills has never really been a priority. I’d rather pay someone to fix any issues I might have, and spend my time on stuff that I truly enjoy. And you know what? I reckon that’s OK.

Did we do a good job with this story?