There’s one line to gas and another to oxygen. And two worn out knobs on the side. The tips I use are older than some of the riders on RSCX. Come to think of it, everything on my torch is.
I never really learned how to braze. Or was shown. I stood there for months, many of them, watching Barry, Jim, and Charles turn on their torches and simply get to work. I stared a lot.
By way of osmosis I began to notice things. Their body movements. Where the starts and stops were. The time taken. I watched as men juggled heat, metal, filler materials, and expectations.
Joining a pile of parts to create a bicycle frame is technique. It’s a process that’s never the same twice. I’ve certainly never been able to duplicate anything. But the goal is to get (to the) there.
The there is a place that doesn’t exist. It’s a line that moves. A sound you can hear once, but never again. It’s a shape you might carve easily and then wonder how your tool lost its edge.
First you have to want it. Then go to a place that has it. But they don’t give it to you. You steal it. And when the intensity you spend a lifetime chasing starts to dull, you begin again.
All This By Hand