1978 Schwinn Suburban
Everyone has to start somewhere. And in 2005, I began with the mighty Schwinn Suburban.
1978 Schwinn Suburban
Before the acclaimed food accolades began pouring into Portland, before the New York Times brought the crush of tourism, before the “America’s bicycle capital” mural (and subsequent removal two years later), before Portlandia and so many other Portland-centric creations there was… Portland. A gritty, quirky, wet, dark-in-the-winter-brilliant-in-the-summer, bookish, DIY city with a slew of bridges, lots of and a lot of people who opted to get around by bicycle.
I relocated to Portland in 2004, a twenty-something, fresh from Boulder, Colorado and eager to embrace life in a hectic, metropolitan city. I quickly discovered the way to get around, connect with my city and meet new people, was through the power of the bicycle.
I lived in a painfully hip yet constantly evolving area of Portland known as Alberta Street and somewhat near my house full of four other individuals who were not related was North Portland Bike Works (NPBW). The shop was unique, being a non-profit and built for the community, not looking squarely down the barrel of the profit gun sights. It was owned by mechanics, friendly, accessible and affordable for anyone who walked in the door. Most alluring, yet mysterious, to me was Monday’s Community Repair Night. An after-hours program that taught people how to work on their own bikes in a comfortable setting, with mechanics floating around so you had confidence knowing that likely whatever it was that you thought you just ruined could be made right again.
It’s difficult for me to recall exact details of everything that went on nearly twenty years ago, but at the time, I remember wanting a stately, upright bike that was elegant and had character to get around the city. Likely purchased on Craigslist, I picked up a 1978 Schwinn Suburban, in metallic copper (known as “chestnut”) and in dilapidated shape. I recall visiting NPBW week after week, learning more and more about its inner workings through any number of omnipresent mechanics. I loved that one could overhaul the entire bike with screwdrivers and adjustable wrenches. To me, this was bliss, not having any idea that really it was the sign of a low-end bike. Even if I was informed of this, I likely wouldn’t have cared about such inconsequential details! Nope. It didn’t matter because I had a copper metallic bike with sexy pinstripes on the fork that was shining like justice, more money into it than it was worth and the most stunning sight I could imagine. Also, I was proud. Proud of myself. I had brought a bike down to a frame then built it right back up again, potentially making it even better when it left the factory floor.
This was something I could really get into.
When I got to a point where I felt that the overhaul was complete, and the mechanics were weary of my continual visitations, I called it finished, brought out my battle-worn Canon AE-1 and a fresh roll of Fuji Velvia 100, 35mm film and snapped the images you see here. Back when a digital camera couldn’t capture images this good!
Looking back on these underexposed images and thinking about my time at NPBW is endearing. Total bicycle innocence… and ignorance. But, ignorance is bliss and I couldn’t be any more elated.
What ever became of the mighty Suburban? I remember riding it here and there and quickly become annoyed with all the chattering and clanging of the metal fenders. The parts looked so classic and elegant yet they performed terribly. I spent oodles of time trying to make it right and in the end, it was just a 39-pound boat anchor with cheap parts and steel wheels that wouldn’t stop in the rain. But, at the time, it was the best boat anchor on the streets of Portland! I recall practically giving it away to the next owner and chalking it up to a really fantastic learning experience. I didn’t realize it at the time but it also stirred something inside of me. Something that I couldn’t quite understand until 2007, when I was awakened with, to this day, one of the most lovely bikes I have had the pleasure of owning. But, that of course is for another post.
But, these days I like to ponder where the ‘ole Suburban is. I wonder what its story has been since our time together, who owns it and what it looks like nearly twenty years later.
I’m told that you know people for a reason, a season or a lifetime. This, obviously was not a person but I did bond with it in that human-like way known as friendship. And perhaps we both got what we needed, making our friendship “for a reason”. Then went our separate ways.
1978 Schwinn Product Catalog
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The Simplicity of Vintage Cycles 
Thanks for sharing your vintage bike story.
I like wrenching on these classic bikes from time to time. They come and go. Some i give away, some roll off on somebody else’s initiative. I find them cheep, at police auctions, thrift stores, yard sales. Its fun to bring them back from the rust bin. Glad to hear others bike stories. The modern bikes are technical marvels, but for me, well i’m kind of nostalgic for those 10 speed road bikes. Just finishing up an 82 SR. Hope you are still riding and wrenching.
Hi Jack,
Thanks for the comments. While digging through old photographs (how often do you hear that statement any longer?), and coming across the images of the Schwinn Suburban, I realized that when I began my website so many years ago, I didn’t technically start the site highlighting my first build. And that’s OK because I rather like how the story has eventually been told and how it fits into the grand scheme of the site. Plus, to me, it seemed like a bit more of an interesting, and introspective, post rather than simply *another* bike rebuild.
Over the life of the blog, I’ve documented some involved restorations that have literally taken years to finish. For someone just starting out, I’m guessing that seems daunting to try and grasp from their own standpoint of rebuilding bikes. So, to me, I’m trying to convey my humble roots, where I came from, and show just how simple the bike I first twisted a wrench on was. I’m hoping it helps speak to people on a deeper level.
I tip my had to your builds and wish you all the best as we both wrench, and ride, onward.
Well your first bike in bike city story truly hit the mark you were aiming for. I enjoyed it, and it reminded me of my first bike. And each bike after it. I hope someone who inherited one of these vintage machines takes your lead and starts a long and happy career of overcoming wrench fear, and repairing/reviving and riding bikes. The quality of the experience outweighs the quality of bike, imho.
Well said, Jack!
Hey! I drew that flyer. And rather than slap an ugly X on it, you should have gone with the flyer you would have seen at the time:
Anyways, Suburbans are boat anchors, but they look lovely. There’s something about Schwinn paint. They were definitely the hybrids of the day.
Thanks for the heads up on the illustration, Shawn. I’ve since replaced the 2022 version for the more, factually correct early 2000s version, which I actually prefer more. A win for everyone!
I unfortunately cannot add any caption below the illustration with your name/credit due to WordPress layouts constraints but I did link your website and you were wise to add contact information within the illustration, so hopefully you feel credit is appropriately given. Thank you for creating great illustrations!
I thought that illustration looked like a Shawn special! Nice Suburban Josh. My first true rebuild was a “Sky Blue” Schwinn Varsity 10 speed in 2011. Maybe a 1975? Also a boat anchor but I recall the 40 something lady who bought it came back from the test ride with a huge grin and said “that was like being 13 again”. That hooked me in to doing more rebuilds.
Pretty humorous how so many of us start with Schwinn as our gateway bikes!