Crafting Freedom

Don't think, just do: Oliver's journey into frame building

The bicycle presents itself as an industrial object. It is not the most natural of things; you don't grow a bicycle, you manufacture it. Yet despite its artificial qualities, a bicycle gives access to the most natural of places. And so it was that I made the climb up to a small village called Bischofsgrün, nestled in the mountains of the Fichtelgebirge. I left the city behind to visit my good friend Ralf and take a tour of his frame building workshop. Ralf had been trying to convince me to build my own frame, and in that very moment his persistence had worked.

There I stood, operating a machine to cut and miter my first tube, wearing my cycling kit, not exactly the most appropriate clothing for frame building, but somehow fitting. That was the HUHN style: take it or leave it. The workshop tour lasted much longer than planned, but at the end of the day I rode back to the city with half a front triangle of cut tubes and the beginnings of my very first handmade bike.

The beginning is always the hardest part in life, but Ralf's "don't think, just do" attitude made the first steps easier. The real challenge was keeping up the momentum. I had to learn many new skills: how to use a file, how to read a mechanical caliper, how to braze a joint. Beyond that, there was the specialized frame building knowledge: understanding tube types, their wall thicknesses, and the specific standards required to fit the frame with all its components. It was overwhelming at times, but Ralf's expertise guided me through. Often our most productive sessions were late at night, beer in hand, fighting through exhaustion and finding joy in the craft.

Along the way I was joined by another frame building novice, Pietro, an Italian cameraman. What began as a solo endeavour soon turned into a mini apprenticeship, with Pietro and me making regular pilgrimages to Ralf's workshop. With every visit we expanded our growing knowledge, developed our competence and slowly put together something that was starting to resemble a hardtail mountain bike.

As the months went by, the project began to take shape, both literally and figuratively. What started as a stack of steel tubes was now turning into the mountain bike frame I had envisioned. Every late-night session in the workshop, no matter how many mistakes were made, brought a deeper sense of satisfaction. The raw materials evolved into something that felt truly mine in a way no store-bought bike ever could.

Before I knew it, the tubes became more than just tubes. They had transformed into a front triangle, a rear triangle, seat stays and chainstays, all coming together as a coherent whole. I had built something. Every curve, every joint, every centimetre of the frame reminded me of the hours of hard work, the moments of doubt and the satisfaction of learning by doing.

As the build neared completion, there were still details to consider: the paint, the components and the final tuning. But the essence of the project was complete. What began with Ralf's simple phrase "don't think, just do" had become something far more meaningful. It wasn't just a bike. It was an experience that taught me to accept imperfection, to be patient and to find joy in the process of making.

The first ride was still ahead, but in many ways the real journey had already begun. It began in the quiet hours of the workshop, with the hum of the machines, the clinking of tools and the shared laughter with friends. And that, I realised, was only the beginning of many more kilometres to come.

"Don't think, just do."
Ralf Holleis