Recycle Bicycle board members and volunteers
On a warm Monday afternoon, 10-year-old Esteven zipped around the parking lot of Recycle Bicycle on his new green and orange bike.
He pointed out how the gear shift works and said he likes to ride fast.
His twin sister Violet picked out a purple bike and said she’d stick to riding safely in the backyard.
The twins’ father, Esteban Paulino, said it was his first time bringing his children to the Allison Hill bike shop on a recommendation from a friend. He was all smiles seeing his kids pick out bikes and work with a volunteer, Bill, to tune them up and get them ready for summer adventures
“They’re doing an excellent job, and they’re willing to help,” he said.
A steady flow of people came into Recycle Bicycle that afternoon, keeping a crew of neon orange-shirted volunteers busy. However, that was considered a slow period. Earlier that day, the shop had been much busier, and Saturdays, well, they’re another beast altogether.
It was one of those Saturdays in May when the news hit the shop—Ross Willard had passed away suddenly and shockingly.
Willard founded Recycle Bicycle in 2001 and has long been synonymous with the organization.
When the news reached the Chestnut Street shop, volunteers paused, gathered in the meeting room to say a prayer, and got back to work.
“We went back out to work fixing bikes, because there was a line of people that needed bikes,” said board President Bob Sutton.
Willard, for so long, was the face of the organization. He was the common thread behind why most of the volunteers got involved as he had a way of drawing people into his orbit.
Willard may have been the reason so many volunteers got involved with Recycle Bicycle, but even without him, they’re staying put. His mission became their own. His way of seeing the world—noticing needs, opportunities to lend a hand—became their own. And everyone shared the same sentiment, that Recycle Bicycle was in great shape to keep rolling. Many said that years of organization, delegating tasks and testing new ways of doing things prepared them for this point.
Sharing the handlebars transformed Recycle Bicycle from one man’s passion project to a tandem ride.
“We carry the mission forward,” Sutton said. “The mission was Ross Willard’s to begin, but he’s passed that mission on—he’s made converts of us.”
Finding Stability
Jenifer Donnelly has volunteered with Recycle Bicycle for a decade. She recalled her first days on the job, being “thrown into the fire” by Willard, who put her right to work, but always made sure she was supported and equipped.
When she began, Willard was operating out of a warehouse on Atlas Street in Uptown Harrisburg, a site that was sold in 2019, leaving the organization in search of a new home.
In those last weeks in the Uptown shop, Willard stood next to a mountain of bikes, trying to figure out how to move them all and where to.
“We’ve outlasted a lot of other nonprofits in the area,” Willard told TheBurg at the time. “Now, we need a place that’s going to outlast us.”
He found that place in the Chestnut Street shop, for which Donnelly took on much of the organizational work.
The shop now has a system. Visitors are greeted by a waiting area with seats where a volunteer like Nannette Swanson signs them in. There’s a bike repair area with workbenches, where bikes are organized by size and style. There are rows of spare wheels and other parts stripped from unsalvageable bikes and recycled.
Donnelly is humble, but Sutton described her as the “backbone” of the organization. She disagreed.
“Ross was always the backbone,” she said.
“Ross was the heart. You’re the backbone. You were keeping the structure,” volunteer Brandon Basom reaffirmed.
Around the time of the move to the new building, Willard began stepping back from day-to-day work at Recycle Bicycle as he recognized it was time for change in the nonprofit. Some of his “old-school” methods of running the shop were due for updates, volunteers said.
The number of people coming to the new shop was like nothing Recycle Bicycle volunteers had seen before. They did their best but often struggled with how to assist people in the most efficient, patient and understanding way.
“I think that took us some time to figure out. That transition was really what [Willard] was struggling with because he did things one way for so long, but, in the end, I think he was really happy,” Donnelly said. “He always said to me, ‘We’ve got to make sure this stays long after we’re gone.’”
He stepped back, but “never stepped away,” Donnelly said, explaining that Willard focused his attention more on bike safety advocacy work and interacting with the public at events like city festivals. He seemed happier, getting to do what he loved most, she said.
“We are kind of moving more from an entrepreneurial organization run out of Ross’s back pocket, so to speak, with his close coterie of friends […] to a more stable, long-term organization,” Sutton said. “But it was tough when Ross pulled back because it created a bit of a vacuum, and we had to see who stepped forward.”
Toward the Future
Basom is one of Recycle Bicycle’s younger volunteers who has become known, like Willard was, as always willing to help with a bike fix.
“This is problem solving. You get a bike, none of the parts are right for it. But you can make it good enough,” Basom said, chuckling. “The things we do here would make bike shops cringe. I’ve taken a hacksaw to a bike; I’ve taken a hammer to make it work. But we make it work. It makes me uniquely qualified in my neighborhood to help kids with their bikes.”
He’s never without a few tools and spare bike parts, because “you never know.”
Teaching kids, and adults, how to repair their own bikes and involving them in the process has always been part of Recycle Bicycle’s mission, something Willard was adamant about.
That education is still happening, and city youth are finding the shop to be a place they can tinker on their own bikes, learn from older volunteers and even help others.
“They’ll come to you, and then I get to do what Ross used to do, which feels kind of good,” Basom said. “And I’m like, ‘Am I the old man now?’”
Fourteen-year-old Zane worked on his bike with a few friends at the shop. He was quiet, focused on the task at hand, but said he comes in every now and then because he enjoys fixing bikes.
Volunteer Ricky Morton works with teens like Zane on Sundays, teaching them skills.
“That’s the future of this organization—those young people,” Donnelly said.
Recycle Bicycle is urging people to volunteer. They’re doing well financially. There’s no shortage of bikes. But they need more people—to fix bikes, interface with the community and do advocacy work. They depend 100% on volunteers.
And you’d think, after 25 years, that the demand for bikes in the city would be mostly satisfied, but no. Lines are always long, and the need is always great. In 2025, 3,496 bikes were gifted and, as of April this year, 461 have been given out.
On that Tuesday when Esteban and the twins got bikes, Ezekiel Hernandez waited for help fixing the bike he uses to get to work. A mother waited with her young children, visiting on a referral from the transitional housing community where they live. Vijay Varadarajan worked with retired schoolteacher Ron Yerger to modify his bike to his height so he could ride with his son. He enjoyed working with Yerger so much that he said he’s considering volunteering now.
It’s this community that volunteers like Stephanie Iseman love.
Iseman had a special connection to Willard. He was there for her during mental health struggles and was a close confidant. But beyond Willard, his community at Recycle Bicycle became hers too. The shop is somewhat of a second home to her, and the volunteers are family. Willard’s passing was a shock and devastating to her.
Yet, she sees a bright future for Recycle Bicycle.
Without Ross, everything changes, and nothing changes. Volunteers are heartbroken, but Recycle Bicycle keeps moving forward as usual, continuing a long legacy.
Iseman has full confidence in the team.
“It’s a testament of how one voice can make a whole choir.”
Recycle Bicycle is located at 1722 Chestnut St., Harrisburg. For more information, visit www.rbhburg.org.
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