Est. 2026 · Plattsmouth, Nebraska
Spoke & Sprocket is a one-man shop. I buy old bikes — muscle bikes, cruisers, three-speeds, old-school BMX — strip them down to the frame, and build them back into something you'd ride tomorrow morning.
On the stands
Real bikes, real photos — every machine on this page is steel you can touch, shot clean with the background cut away. Every one of them is a one-of-one. First call holds it.
1970 Rollfast · Muscle · On the bench
Candy green, sparkle banana back up on the sissy bar, cream walls — and that's the bike, not a drawing. Rollfast really did name a kids' bike the 666; there won't be another one on your block.
On the bench
Shop example · Conversion · Rolling now
A rough '60s frame, apes up, seat laid back, teal hoops. This is the rolling proof — commission the next one in your color, built from the pile.
Rolling now
1990s · Mid school · In the pile
Chrome with the blue-and-gold script, wearing GT-family parts. Mid school gets preserved, not repainted — cleaned, re-greased, kept original. That's it in the photo — real chrome, background cut.
In the pile
1970s · Muscle · New York built
A New York–built muscle bike you don't see twice — blue over chrome fenders, white banana back up on the sissy. Rare enough that the Hunt found it before you asked. That's the actual bike in the photo.
In the pile
Real bike · Build to order
Geared tall on a genuine Schwinn Pixie donor — 52-tooth up front, rides like a 20, fits in a trunk. The bike in the photo is real; commission yours in your trim — the pile has donors.
Build to order
Real bike · Build to order
The same trunk-size pit formula in white and blue over tan-wall knobbies — geared tall to ride like a 20. Real bike in the photo; the next one gets built from the pile in your colors.
Build to orderEvery photo on this page is a real bicycle — backgrounds cut so the bike does the talking, nothing rendered. Commission builds wear the Spoke & Sprocket badge; original factory badges never come off. One of each. Inquire, leave a number, and I'll call you back.
Name it. Or invent it.
Can't find your bike? Say the word.
The Huffy Sigma you had in '87. The SE Quadangle you never got. Tell me the make, the model, the color — and the story, if you've got one. With three hundred bikes deep in storage, the hunt might already be over. If it's not on the shelf, I'll run it down. When I find it, you get the first call and a straight price. Costs nothing to ask.
Start the huntYou spec it. I render it. Then we build it.
Pick your poison — frame style, wheels, bars, seat, color, the works. Send the parts list and you get back a rendered mockup of your bike and a straight quote before any metal moves. Approve the render, drop a deposit, and it goes on the bench. One of one, wearing your choices and my badge.
Spec yoursBring your own
Old bikes, mostly. If it's got a coaster brake, a three-speed hub, a chromoly BMX frame, or a crank assembly that hasn't been apart since Nixon, it's the right shop.
Brakes, bearings, shifting, tire pressure, wheel true. You get a plain list of what's worn, what's fine, and what it costs to fix — no pressure to do all of it.
Down to the bare frame. Bearings repacked, wheels trued and tensioned, new cables, housing, tires, tubes and pads. It comes back rideable, not just clean.
One-off tribute bikes built on modern donors — black-and-gold '77, orange with an 01 — and tall-bar cruiser conversions cut from rough '60s muscle frames. Apes up, seat laid back, built to be ridden slow and seen.
Correct parts where originality matters, sensible upgrades where it doesn't. Paint, decals, wheel builds, and hunting down the one part nobody has. On collectible BMX the original parts stay put — a clean survivor beats a shiny rebuild every time.
You get a quote before I start. If I open something up and find more than we talked about, I stop and call you. Nobody gets a surprise on the invoice — that's the whole deal.
The shop
My name is Chris Sills, born in 1976 — which means my first bike had a banana seat and my second one was a BMX. Raced it a little in town. Then we moved to the country and the bike became the whole world: gravel roads to a buddy's place miles out, plywood ramps propped on cinder blocks, dirt bikes snuck onto a members-only motocross track we had no business being on. No helmets, no cell phones, no plan. You drank from the hose, you were home when the streetlights came on, and your parents never knew how far you went — which was the whole point. That's the bike I'm trying to hand back to people.
These days I work out of Plattsmouth, Nebraska, about twenty minutes south of Omaha, with more than three hundred bikes in storage and one set of hands — which means I build them one at a time and I'm picky about which one goes next. The clean survivors get preserved. The rough ones get to become something louder: tall-bar cruisers and one-off theme builds.
The shop runs 1950 through ’99 — balloon-tire cruisers and English three-speeds, banana-seat muscle bikes, and the chrome and chromoly BMX a whole generation grew up on. Steel bikes, all of them: built to be fixed, not replaced.
Every bike I finish gets a small CS mark on the seat tube. On an original Schwinn or Raleigh, the factory head badge stays exactly where it is — I don't pull history off a bike to put my own name on it. The full Spoke & Sprocket badge goes on custom builds and on bikes that lost their badge a long time ago.
Same hands work the iron. Cast iron restoration lives at Chris's Cast — same town, same phone call.
Get in touch
I answer these myself, usually within a day or two. Tell me what you've got or what you're after and we'll go from there.
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Spoke & Sprocket