Crash Course: How I Wrecked My Bike and Rolled Into the Auto Body Business

 




Long before I had a driver’s license, I got my start in the auto body business the same way a lot of great stories start: by crashing something.

I was a kid in a tiny upstate New York town—the kind of town where the bike squad was basically The Sandlot, if you subtracted the pool, Wendy Peffercorn, and added a lot more trespassing. There were maybe eight of us with bikes, and we rode everywhere: fishing rods strapped to handlebars, jumping off the roofs of abandoned school buses onto roofs of junk cars at the junkyard, and once even staging a full Royal Rumble using old mattresses stacked under a roof ledge. How any of us survived Gen X childhood is a miracle.

One day I decided to bomb down a washed-out trail where a railroad trestle used to be. Abandoned tracks were everywhere back then, and this one had a big, eroded drop-off with ruts from dirt bikes. I wasn't trying to impress anybody—I was alone, just a kid entertaining himself in a world without Candy Crush or cell phones.

I hit the gravel shoulder hard. Shorts, bare knees, full yard sale. I skidded right in front of a small garage at the edge of a driveway. I’d bent a handlebar on my bike and embedded gravel in both hands, my elbows, and both legs. One of those spots on my shin still won’t grow hair.

That little two-car garage belonged to a guy named Rob, who ran a tiny body shop behind his house. Either out of concern or because he didn’t want a kid bleeding out near his homeowners insurance, he came over. His wife ended up helping dig gravel out of my limbs—just like one of those old cowboy movies where they pick shotgun pellets out of you, BB by BB, into a metal bowl.

Then Rob fixed my bike.

The next day, I showed up after school and waited for him to get home. He worked a regular job and repaired and painted cars after hours. I offered to help him around the shop—my way of saying thanks and paying him back. He politely declined. I came back the next day. And the day after that.

Eventually, I wore him down. Its been amazing looking back how far being persistent and stubborn has gotten me. Unfortunately, its gotten me plenty of things  should have never wanted in the first place, but we will visit some of those things in later posts

He told me I could haul trash to his pickup and sweep the shop before he painted. Now, painting cars back then wasn’t like the high-tech downdraft booths of today. You wet the floor, covered anything you didn’t want painted, turned on a fan that vented outside, and hoped your neighbor didn’t call the EPA.

I learned a lot. For starters, I didn’t know how to sweep a shop. Or wrap an air hose. Or roll up  extension cords. I thought I did, but Rob told and showed me the right way to complete these tasks. One day Rob looked at me and said, “Is there anything you do know how to do?”

I thought about it. “Well… I can do some pretty sweet BMX tricks.”

Actually, NO I couldn’t. This story already proves that.


But I kept showing up. I was terrible at washing cars. Worse at wet-sanding primer. Once I tried to burn a whole barrel of masking paper by dumping in an entire cup of lacquer thinner. It went up like a Michael Bay movie. Rob yelled because I used new thinner instead of some old stuff that was sitting in an open container on a bench with spray gun parts soaking in it ( Again Please Don't call the EPA)

And then, one day, out of nowhere, Rob offered me a job:
$4 an hour. After school. A list of things to do waiting for me every day.

Just like that, I was in the auto body business.

Thanks for riding through memory lane with me—gravel, scars, bad decisions and all. From busted bikes to blending paint, that little shop was where I learned what real work felt like and where I started building a life that still smells faintly like lacquer thinner and primer dust.

If you’ve ever taken a hard fall and gotten back up (with or without someone picking gravel out of you), then you know what I mean.

Until next time—keep your handlebars straight, your head up, and your heart in the work.

— Nate

P.S once my friend Greg jumped off the bus onto a Volkswagen Sirocco while it was raining  and when he hit the roof he bounced off like he was shot out of a cannon and managed to put an entire car antenna through his hand.. I'm pretty sure hair doesn't grow there anymore either

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

The Bernie Story (How I Kicked Bondo Dust at a Mentor and Still Got Life Advice)

Image
There’s a saying: when the student is ready, the teacher appears. I was ready. And Bernie Obry appeared—with a red pen, a calm demeanor, and an uncanny ability to turn damage estimates into life lessons. I met Bernie in Poughkeepsie, back when the shop was bursting at the seams with talent, sarcasm, and Olympic-level dysfunction. Bernie managed the GEICO account and oversaw the overall flow of the shop. I handled State Farm, a rotating cast of misfit insurance companies, and cash-paying customers who “knew a guy” and wanted to settle up in quarters. From the jump, I was told to run my estimates by Bernie before finalizing them. He didn’t just review them. He graded them—like a junior high English teacher burning through a stack of overdue Huckleberry Finn essays. Out came the red pen. Lines were slashed, totals adjusted, margins filled with comments like SEE ME AFTER CLASS. It was humbling. But it made me better. We were opposites. Bernie read GQ . I read invoices I dropped mu...
Read more

10 Pounds of Vacation in a 5-Pound Bag: The Art of Overpacking With Kids, Dogs, and Boogie Boards

Image
Packing for vacation is easy. Said no one with a big family, five dogs, and a 3-row SUV ever. There’s an art to it. A science. A delicate balance between geometry, physics, hope, and delusion. And in our case, just enough chaos to keep things spicy. Let me paint the picture: we had seven passengers. Five dogs minimum. A Ford Expedition that, despite its name, was not designed for actual expeditions. And a family that couldn’t travel light if their lives depended on it. Let’s start with the girls. Now, I love my daughters. I would do anything for them. But these women pack like they’re fleeing a war zone and heading into a five-season reality show. Alida once packed two full suitcases, a duffle bag, and a backpack for a five-day trip. Five. Days. I asked her what was in there. She said, “Options.” I said, “What are you, a pop star on tour?” Meanwhile, Jamie’s trying to fit the dogs’ food, treats, travel crates, blankies, and “special bowls” because God forbid they drink out of ...
Read more

Where the Water Falls (Because Even Small Ripples Can Reach Far Places.)

Image
I graduated today. No cap, no gown. No champagne pop or emotional slideshow. Just a cheesy little Teams ceremony, a few Little jokes, with the team that went through so much together in short time, and a quiet moment when they said we were done. Cohort training complete. They released us into the wild. So here I am—on the porch, watching the water drop from Jamie Lee’s little waterfall. There’s sunlight on my feet. No Team pings. No breakout rooms. No scripted claim scenarios to run through one more time. I thought I’d feel something bigger. A spark, a fire, some kind of “next chapter” energy. But what I feel instead is stillness—and maybe that’s the point. We’re all so conditioned to chase the next thing. The hustle. The grind. But maybe this little moment—graduated, unplugged, sitting in the sun with a homemade DIY waterfall and a fake diploma—is the actual reward. A couple months ago, after more than a decade away, I started blogging again. Not because I’m building a brand or...
Read more