Profile: Reed Bruemmer

We meet vintage speedometer restorer Reed Bruemmer to discuss his craft, his commitment, and his inspirations

It’s barely light outside. Reed Bruemmer shuffles to the kitchen to put on a pot of coffee and sit in silence for a few moments before his commute to the office of Texas Speedometer Service, which happens to be just down the hall and into the garage of his modest ranch house. Located in a small town of fewer than 10,000 people on the outskirts of Austin, Texas, he lives there with his partner Jade and their pets Fluffy and Peanut.

“This craft will test your patience,” mutters Reed as he sits hunched over his work bench disassembling a police special speedometer. “It’s like working on a motor, but highly condensed.”

For the past two years, Reed has been restoring vintage speedometers for clients all over the world. At 37 years old and living a life of sobriety, he has a special kind of resilience and outlook on life that you’re hard-pressed to find these days. A humble and thoughtful individual with a voice that asserts quiet confidence and knowledge, he’s on a mission to keep motorcycle parts affordable, especially for those who are working their way up from a Sportster® to the likes of Panheads and Knuckleheads.

Bruemmer is the antithesis of arrogance and ego, taking pride in being resourceful and learning about the world beyond the one we live in day to day. Through the course of our conversation he shares Japanese adages, music history, various tools he’s made, and tricks he’s learned. He also speaks of his appreciation for his mentor, John Bordus, who took Reed under his wing to keep the meticulous trade of vintage speedometers alive.

“I always saw the speedo guys at the swap meets over the past 10 years and thought they had the best gig – whatever they built, they could bring with them in a suitcase,” Reed says with a slight smirk. “When I approached John about learning how to rebuild them, his wife pulled me aside after and let me know he’d been looking for someone to pass this trade on to.”

Watching Reed work is hypnotizing. He methodically removes tools and replaces them, with 95% of everything he needs within arm’s reach. He is efficient, calculated and patient – skills he learned from building bikes in Denver and Austin for various shops, in between bartending, tree-trimming, and a myriad of other jobs. Reed is a man who truly believes that idle time is a dangerous thing and is better spent on books, work, and eBay, which seems to be a calming presence in his life.

“The little details matter. If you get those right, everything will come together,” says Reed, as he pulls apart and cleans dials, bushings, c-clips, and other assortments of parts that look like they could have come from a Rolex watch. “I’m taking something and reviving it from the dead to give it new life. I love the inner workings of these old machines.”

As for the complexity of the trade, Reed believes building speedometers is the easy part. The hard part is the ability to be resourceful in the face of dwindling materials and consumable parts. It truly is a labor of love.

“If you don’t have the loyalty to love your craft, then it just isn’t for you,” says Reed. “It’s important to do what you love every day for an hour or more, and eventually it will become your life.”

Words and photos by Liam Kennedy