(Telegraph photo by DEAN SHALHOUP) A bicycle/lawn mower hybrid that Dennis Vincent, 75, built "just for the heck of it" is among the more whimsical creations in his massive bicycle collection.

Every Saturday morning for a half-dozen years, the kid from Lowell’s Highlands neighborhood jumped on his bicycle, pointed it in the direction of Fletcher and Butterfield streets and began pedaling as fast as his little legs could carry him.

His usual route took him through a few neighborhoods, past a couple of non-descript industrial type buildings, down a boulevard that offered glimpses of the Merrimack River and onto busy Fletcher Street, where he entered the section of town known as The Acre.

He may have pedaled past Rousseau’s Doughnuts, or glanced at the men of all ages who frequented Philias “Garcon” Rochette’s pool room.

Perhaps he waved at the grizzled man he, and most everyone else, knew only as “the Greek shoe shiner,” a street-corner fixture who smartly set up shop in front of a cobbler’s shop.

By then the kid was just one more turn and a short homestretch away from his destination: “Honest George’s Bicycle Repair Shop.”

(Telegraph photo by DEAN SHALHOUP) Dennis Vincent, 75, who's been working on bicycles for 68 years, moves bikes around his property as he and his wife get ready to move to Florida this spring.

“I was 7, maybe 8 years old when I started going there,” the “kid” told me the other day.

“Almost every Saturday morning, I’d pedal my ass up there … Honest George, he taught me how to tinker with bikes, how to fix them.

“That’s how it all started.”

Today that little kid from the Highlands — who would eventually move to Nashua with his family — is a 75-year-old “semi-retired” man whose name, Dennis Vincent, may sound familiar, especially if bicycling is your thing and you frequent places where bikes are bought, sold and repaired.

A gregarious, friendly man with a ready laugh, Vincent delights in showing a visitor around his workshop, which long ago occupied the former garage of his northwest Nashua home and, from the looks of things, settled in for the long term.

(Courtesy photo) Dennis Vincent, his trademark long, white hair in a ponytail, busy on another project in his garage-turned-bike shop at his Nashua home.

Eager for a first-hand look at the massive assemblage of bicycle parts, accessories, components, tools and bikes in various stages of repair or refurbishment that I’ve heard so much about over the years, I recently arranged a visit to Vincent’s home-based repair shop, and I wasn’t disappointed.

I did so after one of Vincent’s closer friends, Mark Davidson, reminded me that Vincent and his wife, Sue, who is about to retire, are getting ready to sell their Nashua home and relocate to Florida.

The main reason is to be closer to Sue’s son and his family, but also, Davidson said, “to say goodbye to high taxes and New England winters.”

One quick look around Vincent’s indoor/outdoor domain and I suddenly realized why so many people who know Vincent, whether as a casual acquaintance or a fast friend of many years, answered the way they did when I asked them about Vincent.

“Oh, he’s a legend,” was a common response. “Dennis? Everyone knows him,” was another. Many mentioned buying a used bike from Vincent, or bringing their own bikes to him for a tune-up or to see if he could figure out the source of a nagging mechanical issue they couldn’t seem to solve.

(Telegraph photo by DEAN SHALHOUP) One of Dennis Vincent's favorite bicycles in his collection is this 1956 Schwinn Black Phantom, the seat of which he plans to reupholster to complete the overhaul of the classic bike.

“He’s been working on bicyucles for more than 60 years … he’s a legacy” when it comes to restoring vintage and newer bikes, Davidson said.

Being known as a legend, legacy or whatever is fine with Vincent, but he certainly didn’t start tinkering with bikes under the tutlage of “Honest George” in hopes of one day earning such distinction.

“I have fun,” he said the other day, gesturing here and there toward works in progress.

“I’ve always liked doing this. I love a challenge, ya know?” he added with a characteristic grin and slight shrug of a shoulder.

It’s the same grin he wore so often as a regular at the former Killarney’s Irish Pub, where he held court and never passed up a chance to engage another regular or a new face at the bar in cheerful banter.

Before the unfortunate demise of Killarney’s last fall, there were two days a year Vincent was in his glory, celebrating St. Patrick’s Day Eve and St. Patrick’s Day itself decked out in full Leprechaun regalia. “That’s my big holiday every year,” he said, at once recalling the fun he had playing the resident Leprechaun and lamenting the closure of Killarney’s.

Always someone who much prefers working with his hands to gain, and perfect, the skills his years of experience have taught him, Vincent — with his trademark long, white hair flowing over his shoulders and his neatly-trimmed, snow white goatee — is a picture of contentment as he leads a visitor through the narrow pathways that separate different size groupings of bicycles, most of them covered by tarps.

Peeling the tarps back, Vincent points here and there and begins naming names: Oxford, Schwinn, Spalding, Huffy, Raleigh, Columbia. A pink Murray tricycle with the large, after-market bucket seat he installed one day for the heck of it.

Vincent points out a Silver Schwinn — that’s the name, not the color — then leads the visitor to a giant, free-standing portable shelter and carefully rolls out a classic.

“I customized it, came out pretty nice,” he says of the vintage 1956 Schwinn Black Phantom with its original red, balloon tires that made it the head-turner it was during the era of ducktail haircuts and poodle skirts.

In 1958, when “Honest George” closed his shop and sold the building to the Apostolos family, Vincent began frequenting another bike shop a few streets over.

The owner was Mr. Bellerose, whose first name Vincent either forgot or never knew. “Everyone called him Mr. Bellerose,” he said, adding that the shop was on Salem Street.

By the time Dennis and Sue Vincent take their last look around the property and the house they’ve shared since they were married around 15 years ago, he will have been “The Bike Guy” for a remarkable 68 years, counting the first years he learned the trade from Honest George and Mr. Bellerose.

Does he plan to resurrect his “The Bike Guy” role once he and Sue are settled in Florida?

“Ah, I might see if there’s a bike shop near us where I could help out a day or two a week, something like that,” he said.

“But no, it won’t be anything like this,” he added with a laugh as he gestured across his yard.

As for the fate of his collection of bikes, parts and tools when moving day approaches, Vincent said he’s exploring options, hinting that he may host a yard sale at some point in the near future.

“Yep … it’s been a lot of fun,” Vincent said of his decades as “The Bike Guy.”

“It’s kept me out of trouble all these years.”

Dean Shalhoup’s column appears weekly in The Sunday Telegraph. He may be reached at 594-1256 or dshalhoup@nashuatelegraph.com.