They say you don’t know the value of something until it’s gone, and there may be some truth in that.
Halfway through the autumn semester, something freaky happened to my Brompton at work. I strongly suspect it was damaged by someone—accidentally, I assume—as it had been left somewhere safe, yet the chain inexplicably became jammed in my absence.
To free it, I had to dismantle the back end of the bike, which wasn’t easy without a full set of tools. I managed to put it back together well enough to make it rideable (to Euston and then home), but the folding mechanism and the gears were badly compromised as a result.
Getting it back to normal meant stripping it down all over again and reconstructing it with much greater care, guided by YouTube videos on drivetrain setup and the necessary re-wiring. I also needed to track down my full set of bike tools—no small feat in itself, as I haven’t done a major bike repair since moving to my current house. The tools are scattered everywhere; I’m not yet organised to that degree in the new place.
I therefore anticipated needing half a day to gather tools, set up a repair station, dismantle the bike’s rear end, and painstakingly put it back together through trial and error to factory specification. This was time I simply didn’t have during term, so I postponed it until now—the strange limbo between Christmas and New Year.
The good news is that I got the job done. My estimate was spot on: it took most of the afternoon, but it was time well spent. Brompton charge a small fortune for repairs and servicing, and I don’t learn much when someone else fixes it for me. Failure and trial-and-error weren’t time wasted; they were skills gained. Skill and knowledge development isn’t linear—it’s an iterative process of learning to succeed through failure.
What really struck me, though, was how much I hated being without my Brompton during the latter half of term. It meant taking the Northern Line at peak time and enduring the misery of forcing my way onto an already packed Tube. My Brompton isn’t just faster than the Tube—it facilitates a far less miserable and demeaning experience of the rat race.
On reflection, I didn’t realise quite how central my Brompton had become to my new way of life until I had to go without it. I’ll be zealously protecting it from now on to reduce the chance of future disruption. Next semester is my busiest, with overnight stays in Shoreditch alongside commutes, so I’ll need my Brompton to get around London as well as to work.
Dr Martin James 