Who Builds Good Bikes?: Blue Lug’s Tani Builds Good Bikes!
A serial series shining a spotlight on the people who “build” bicycles.
This time, we invited Tani—better known as “Tanifan” from the Blue Lug Kamiuma shop—to join us and share his thoughts.
Even within the globally renowned Blue Lug network, the Kamiuma store has carved out a unique niche for itself as a specialized shop dedicated to crafting a vast array of custom-ordered bicycles. We take a closer look at this shop—which handles everything from dream bikes to everyday riders, often involving intricate, full-custom builds—and explore the philosophy behind the bike-building expertise of its manager, Tani.
Hello! Today, I’d love to hear about the background behind your bike build, Tani-kun. Thanks for joining us!
Alright! Thanks for having me! Just like Shige-san last time, my career as a mechanic—and my time at Blue Lug—has now reached the 15-year mark. My previous job was at a denim shop, so I started out as a complete amateur.
From Jeans Shop to Mechanic—What Sparked the Change?
My entry point into the world of cycling was the fixed-gear bike. I’ve always had a fondness for tools—and I’m quite good at building plastic models—so among my friends, I naturally took on the role of the “go-to guy for fixing bikes.” We used to gather at someone’s place, spread newspapers across the kitchen floor, and assemble bikes together.
I also have a deep love for American culture; my admiration for things like messenger bags and fixed-gear bikes eventually led me directly into this line of work.
I imagine you assemble all sorts of bikes as part of your work—is there any particular bike that has really stuck in your mind recently?
There is quite a story behind it, but this FALCONER build began with the decision to commission a handmade frame from a custom builder. The client is a regular customer—someone for whom we have previously built up a bike using a mass-produced frame—but this time, the order was a complete “leave it all to you” request, starting right from the selection of the builder.
That’s quite a bold request! While receiving an “Omakase” order—where you leave everything up to me—is certainly gratifying, it also feels like the most challenging kind of request there is. So, where did you start when deciding how to approach it?
In my case—even when a client tells me to just “do whatever you think best”—I don’t start by focusing on the hardware itself. Instead, I begin with a concept—something along the lines of, “Let’s build a fun bike we can ride together in the mountains, and then go out and play!” Once we’ve established who you’ll be riding with, where you’ll be riding, and how you intend to ride, the inherent characteristics of the frame—and the specific type of bike required—naturally fall into place. It feels as though the answer—in this case, a Falconer—emerged precisely because the way we intended to play came first, rather than the “tool” itself.
I then presented Falconer with just the bare outlines of the concept and asked him to build it freely—a request I made because of the deep trust I place in this builder.
So, it’s a project centered on building the ultimate bike—one that both the client and the builder can enjoy riding together. That sounds fantastic. Once you decided on the Falconer concept, how did you proceed from there?
While fulfilling the owner’s wishes is, of course, the absolute prerequisite, I also place great value on the distinct “flavor”—the unique essence—of the frame builder or brand, as well as the sense of “connection” between the frame and its components.
For instance, this might involve pairing the frame with parts from a brand that shares a close rapport with its builder, or incorporating components that evoke the specific local atmosphere of the region where the frame was crafted.
Rather than simply assembling the bike according to my own personal aesthetic, my approach feels more like interpreting and curating the style that the builder holds dear, along with the atmosphere of the environment where the bike truly belongs. I refer to this method as being a “Possession-Style Mechanic.”
That’s fascinating. It feels as though the sensibility of the person who crafted the frame is somehow transferring over to you.
It’s not about self-expression; it’s about telling the story of the builders and the West Coast scene through the medium of the bike itself. That’s precisely what makes it so fascinating. This particular build is inspired by a 1979 PRO CRUISER owned by Paul of PAUL COMPONENTS. From the handlebars and cranks to the tires—every single component is tied into a cohesive, meaningful narrative.
Just as there are musicians who compose their own lyrics and music, there is also a form of creativity—much like that of a DJ—that involves crafting something new from existing materials. While there are many different types of mechanics, I hope to utilize this latter approach to convey the spirit and culture of motorcycles.
Of course, “assembling the bike properly” is a fundamental prerequisite. Building upon that foundation, the goal is to “assemble it stylishly.” The job isn’t truly complete if either of these elements is missing; however, it is in the realm of “assembling it stylishly” that a mechanic’s discretion is truly put to the test.
Is there a specific standard—either yours, Tani-kun, or Blue Lug’s—that lies behind that sense of “coolness”?
We call it the “Everyday Bike”—it’s a term we coined ourselves. It’s about giving equal weight to two types of cycling: the bike you use for commuting and getting around town, and the bike you ride for sport and leisure. We built our shop on the premise that both are, fundamentally, equally enjoyable ways to ride. Our focus is simply this: What does it take to make you want to get on your bike every single day? In fact, I often tell my staff—half-jokingly—that they shouldn’t compete over mileage or speed, but rather over “who rode on the most days.”
So, it becomes a real favorite—the kind of bike you find yourself riding more and more often. I completely understand why looking cool is such a crucial factor in making that happen.
What I think makes Blue Lug so remarkable is their commitment to bringing a specific vision to life—even going so far as to manufacture original parts just to make it a reality.
It all really began, I believe, with the simple fact that the staff members themselves were once “customers.” They thought: “We want to be able to choose from a wider variety of options,” and “We want to find items that nobody else has.” I suspect that our current product lineup is the direct result of reflecting those very sentiments in our inventory.
There is also a distinct process in which ideas—born from the mechanics’ own experiences on the shop floor, such as “I really needed this, but couldn’t find it…” or “It would be great if something like this existed!”—are gathered and subsequently developed into actual products.
It’s that kind of feeling—that true affection resides in the details. Naturally, then, one can’t help but wonder whether or not it actually became the client’s favorite after delivery.
I’m incredibly curious about it. In fact, things get even more interesting after the bike has been delivered. A bike that has been well-used and shows the signs of aging is just incredibly cool—paint chipped away here and there, accumulating scratches over time. It’s far more beautiful than when it was brand new. I love seeing owners customize their bikes however they please, and I’m just as happy when they roll into the shop looking battered and worn. Ultimately, what matters most is that the owner feels free to ride it however they wish; I view the handover not as the finish line, but as the starting line. My thinking on this subject has been heavily influenced by the concept of “Beausage”—coined by Grant, the founder of Rivendell.
https://bluelug.com/blog/kamiuma/154339/
To shift gears a bit, I’d like to ask about the roots of your personal style, Tani-kun. Although you weren’t born there, you were raised in Tokyo from a young age. It strikes me that people from Tokyo tend to fall into one of two camps: those who, with a firm grasp of urban sensibilities, dive deep into the city’s more “core” elements; and those who become completely indifferent to trends. I have an appreciation for both types, but I get the sense that you belong to the former group.
That said—it’s really just “the countryside” by Tokyo standards, you know? [Laughs] My background in fashion might influence my bike-building work, but only in the most fundamental ways. Things like knowing exactly what happens—visually speaking—if you pair red trousers with a red shirt. [Laughs] It’s hard to put into words, but when I’m working on a bike—paying close attention to the overall color palette and balance—I think that’s where the influence of my favorite builders and West Coast American culture really comes through. It ties back to that sense of “possession” I mentioned earlier—that feeling of channeling a specific spirit.
After all, I believe that the bikes a builder creates are inextricably linked to the local atmosphere, music, and fashion of their surroundings—all weaving together to form a distinct culture.
What kind of information do you engage with in order to attain that sense of “possession”?
I used to spend a lot of time on the internet and social media, but I’ve cut back a bit lately—so I might be a little out of touch now! (Laughs)
But happily—and this applies to falconers as well—I’ve reached a point where I’m able to connect professionally with people I’ve long admired. We exchange photos of our rides, and if a particular component or style catches someone’s eye, a conversation naturally sparks up—something along the lines of, “Hey, what is that?” The same goes for Grant at Rivendell.
Human connections are becoming increasingly important.
That’s true. It might be the same with clothing or music, but I would be delighted if I could convey to our customers that distinct atmosphere from across the ocean—the kind of vibe I’ve always admired and found cool—and if they could feel even a little bit of a connection to it.
That sounds great! Finally, I’d like to ask you, Tani—what does a “Good Bike” mean to you?
There are two key factors.
The first is that—no matter how many bikes you own—it must be the one you invariably reach for; it must be your absolute favorite.
The second is that, through the passage of time and use, it becomes—even more than when it was brand new—a well-worn and cherished machine: what is known as a “beautifully aged” bike. This outcome occurs quite naturally, provided the first condition is met; after all, if it truly is your favorite, you will ride it constantly.
To achieve this, the ideal approach is to obsess over every last detail—even the non-material aspects, such as saddle height and handlebar angle—until the bike becomes so perfectly dialed in that it simply won’t let you ride anything else!
Chosen, driven, and bearing its scars—yet still beautiful. It all ties back to that idea: that delivery day is just the beginning.
As a mechanic, I actually rarely get the opportunity to talk about my work—though that’s started to change a bit lately, now that I’m being dragged onto the Blue Lug YouTube channel. So, I was truly grateful for the chance today to really talk my heart out.
Thank you so much for your time and perspective!
