Pedaling through time:
Tehran’s age-old bicycle repair shop keeps tradition rolling
By Sadeq Dehqan
Staff writer
In the heart of Tehran’s historic Shapour neighborhood, settled along Zafar al-Dawla Street (near Shapour Square (Vahdat Square), lies Hassan Hatef’s bicycle repair shop, a relic of a bygone era. At 56, Hassan reflects on nearly a century of family tradition, recounting tales of resilience amidst changing times.
If you’ve ever strolled around the Shapour neighborhood, part of Tehran’s historic fabric, you’ve likely come across its ancient alleys and passages, resonating with names of prominent figures of the past like Mostofi Lane, Vazir Daftar Lane, Qavam al-Dawla Bazaar, and Moti al-Dawla Alley, among others.
Zafar al-Dawla Street takes its name from a dynasty that became part of the Qajar administration. Fat’hollah Khan Zafar al-Dawla was one of its descendants, a high-ranking military commander during the reign of Reza Shah Pahlavi, who, despite the government’s ceasefire order, confronted and immobilized British forces.
The Hatef family, residents of the Shapour neighborhood and Zafar al-Dawla Street, has a long-standing connection with this area. Hassan and his father spent nearly 90 years working as bicycle makers in this very room.
Reflecting on the neighborhood’s past, Hassan says, “Don’t judge Shapour solely as a lower-middle-class neighborhood; historically, it was among the elite neighborhoods of the capital. Notable figures from the Qajar and Pahlavi eras resided here. The intersection of Vahdat Square, or Shapour as it was known, used to be a significant city square, adjacent to Tehran’s main bazaar, attracting merchants and dignitaries.”
“My father was born here in 1924, and this has been our family shop since then. He bought the shop’s goodwill from his father. All the wooden shelves you see inside were made by my grandfather around 1936. Before owning the shop, my father worked as an apprentice under the auspice of a master here. After returning from military service, he became a master himself and took over the shop,” he adds.
Describing the shop’s structure, Hassan explains, “This room is part of a large ancient building, once considered a caravanserai and later converted into a garage. One of Tehran’s oldest theaters operated here, and remnants of its stage and stairs remain inside the garage. In fact, this shop was part of that building; initially, it served as a tobacco warehouse before being transformed into rooms and shops.”
Regarding the evolution of his business, Hassan mentions, “In the past, bicycles were crucial means of transportation, driving demand for bicycle repairs. However, people’s circumstances were different; not everyone could afford a new bicycle, so my father rented bicycles by the hour. He used to say that back then, tubes for all bicycle sizes weren’t available; mostly, tubes for old 28-inch bicycles were in the market, and he would cut and fit them for smaller bicycles using various tricks.”
Asked about his entry into the family business, Hassan says, “It wasn’t a matter of choice; I’ve been working alongside my father since childhood because he was alone. After my military service, I continued his path. Now, after 40 to 50 years in the bicycle business, my physical abilities have diminished, but I continue due to necessity. Years of sitting and standing repairing tires have worn me out; I suffer from arthritis in my knees and back and have hand pain.”
Regarding his income, he remarks, “It was decent once, but not anymore. People now prefer fancy stores and tend to replace rather than repair items immediately. It’s more about replacement than repair. Even bicycle riding isn’t as popular among children anymore. Parents buy electric cars for them as they grow older. Previously, adults also used bicycles for daily commuting. Those who have shifted to repairing new motorbikes have good earnings, but as a bicycle repairman, I struggle to make ends meet. Occasionally, I repair old Honda motorcycles, but I avoid new ones.”
Pointing to a wooden box beside him, Hassan says, “This box is filled to the brim with old magazines from before the revolution and the past years. Some of them have decayed. During the big flood of 1988 in Tajrish, water flooded all along Valiasr Street and its surroundings. The floodwater seeped into our shop, leaving half a meter of mud and silt on the floor. At that time, the Iran-Iraq War hadn’t ended, and I was on the southern and western fronts. When I returned, I found that half of the magazines had been destroyed by the flood. I disposed of them, but some still remain in the box.”
Asking about the future of his shop and his profession, he says, “It’s unclear how many more years I can continue. I’ve tried to involve my son in the business several times, but he showed no interest. For now, I’ll keep working as long as I can, and I won’t alter the appearance of the shop, which is a legacy from my father and grandfather, until I see what the future holds.”