re: Triple Shooting, Two Dead in Shenandoah

OK, I have a Brent DeLoach story.

First of all, you have to know, Brent was a guy that owned two bike shops and didn't know shite about bikes. He didn't ride, didn't follow the race scene, none of it. He was just a guy who bought a bike shop outside of Shenandoah and sold kids bikes and marked them up a shite ton. Then he saw an opportunity to buy Tuffy's when the previous owner fell on hard times. So he was NOT immersed in the cycling culture, and was NOT a trained bicycle mechanic.

When he bought out Tuffy, he inherited the guys that already worked there. That consisted of Richard, a 6'6" guy who also bartended at The Bengal. He was SUPER nice, layed back, and an all around good human. And, Jim, a crusty 60's hippy who knew European bike stuff like Encyclopedia Brown, played drums in a band that was always at The Bayou, and pretty much hated everyone. And I got hired about 2 weeks after the shop was bought.

The only thing worse than having Brent on the sales floor was when he decided to "help out" the mechanics. I would come in and my work bench was a disaster. All my tools were scattered and there was no clue as to what had and had not been done to the bike on the workstand. He NEVER put the tools back in their place. I actually confronted him on it one day. His response was "You are the type of guy that will make a PB&J and rinse the knife and put it in the dishwasher before you sit down to eat. I'll leave it on the counter in case I want to make another sandwich."

Also, He would accept every rusted out, spiderweb covered, dirt dobber caked, neglected POS hooptie bike anyone brought in for a "tune up".

One day he is "helping" and he's working on this extra shitty bike that had clearly spent its life leaning against the side of a house outside, exposed to the elements. The other mechanics had refused to work on it so he was back there. The bottom bracket was rusted to frick and WAS NOT coming out. So Brent grabs a bigass monkey wrench and starts torquing on it, trying to break it free. He's putting so much in to it that the bike is sliding around in the work stand.

Jim and I are just sitting there watching him. He finally decides he needs more leverage so he takes the bike out of the stand, puts it on the floor, STANDS on the frame, and starts pulling on the monkey wrench. As Brent grunted and pulled on this "lever" I looked at Jim in fear, clearly seeing what was coming. Jim waved me off with a "shush".

Right about then the wrench slipped, flew backwards, and peened Brent right in the forehead. It knocked him out cold like one of those air hammers they kill cows with in the slaughter house. He fell like a bag of gravel.

I was too scared to laugh, but Jim BURST out laughing. Brent lay there and I SWEAR I could see birds and stars circling his head! He was motionless for a second or two, then twitched twice, and came to.

Groaning, he got up and looked at us. His eyes were slightly askew, I swear it. He handed me the wrench and said "OK, you take it from here, I have a headache". Then walked out of the store.

There few occasions where I've laughed that hard.

I miss those days. College life, no money but racing bikes and riding every free moment. Very little cares in the world.