Ahh, what can I say? There’s just something about bike shops, am I right?
I’m guessing most of you probably drifted off there for a moment or two, savoring fond memories of grand ol’ times shared in the comforts of a bike shop.
The bikes version of Cheers, right? That place where everyone knows your name. You feel right at home. You remember the sights, the sounds and the smells.
And then you have guys like me. I’ve been riding my bike regularly for 40 years. As I’ve made clear, I have no mechanical aptitude whatsoever, so bikes remain a mystery no matter how often someone tries to explain them to me.
So, I can count on three fingers the number of bike shops I’ve actually enjoyed interacting with since Ron Reagan was in the White House. Trust me, none are run by a big bike brand. I’d rather go to the dentist than have to walk into those places.
There are some special places, though. The ambiance creating an atmosphere where magical things can happen.
My favorite shop of all time sat in downtown Knoxville, Tennessee. A fella who called himself Doc ran the place back when I walked in.
Fresh off my shooting star career covering bike racing that disappeared as quickly as it appeared, I took a job in corporate communications, leaving sports writing and bicycle writing behind.
I had a sweet mountain bike, but I needed a road bike for a 12-mile one-way commute to my new gig.
Now I’m a cheap bastard, in case you haven’t caught on to that. I wanted a great bike but didn’t want to pay for one. Doc sized me up for a while and managed to milk from me the one thing I never want to talk about in a bike shop: My time as editor of VeloNews.
That’s when I point out I wrote about the guys racing the bikes, not the bikes themselves.
That’s when Doc got a little quiet, then went behind the counter and pulled out a 10-foot pole with a hook on it. He moved around beneath a cluster of bikes hanging from the ceiling and pulled down a sparkling Bianchi in that beautiful Celeste.
I couldn’t tell you the difference between Campagnolo, SRAM and Shimano, but I could tell you how Celeste became Bianchi’s color. Ol’ Edoardo Bianchi built a bike for Queen Margherita and made it the color of her eyes way back in the 1800s. He decided that all his bikes would be that color. God, I love that color.
Doc said, “See if this fits.”
I took it for a spin, and it was as though the bike was built for me. Perfect.
“I’ve been holding that for one of my best customers,” Doc said. “It’s the bike he always wanted. We ordered it. He rode it a couple times. Got diagnosed with cancer …”
Doc drifted off.
“He’d probably be happy to see someone like you riding it,” Doc said.
I came to learn that Doc graduated from college with a master’s degree in mechanical engineering. He just loved bikes and couldn’t imagine working on anything else.
One time I went in to get a spoke replaced, and Doc was engaged with a down-on-his luck guy trying to sell his beat-up Raleigh for $30. He didn’t have a job, and needed $50 today, or his landlord was gonna bounce him out.
The guy had been a cook the last few years. Didn’t finish high school. He was desperate.
Doc called his girlfriend, who works at Little Ceasar’s. He could get the guy a job on Monday, but the guy would need his bike to get to work. Thanks, the guy said, but he needed help today.
No question what Doc was about to do, so I beat him to the punch. I was unemployed at the moment, so I could feel his pain. I pulled out $50 and told the dude to keep his bike.
Just before we moved from Tennessee, I introduced Doc to a kid who needed a mentor SEE HERE. I don’t know how that ended up, but I’m guessing pretty well.
When I moved to the tiny town of Dallas, Oregon, a couple of guys had a bike shop just down the road in Monmouth. They were great. Always took care of me.
Then one day, they were gone. Closed.
I tried a couple of shops in Salem. Found my place when the mechanic spent 15 minutes with my bike in the stand and fixed the problem — for free — the guy at a shop down the street said would cost me $300.
I always wished I could do more for them. You know, buy a new bike. Drop some real cash. But I did what I could.
Just last month they took care of my drivetrain. I decided to get new tires, too. Not sure I needed them, but what the heck? New grips? Yeah, we’ll do that, too.
Yep, this is the guy who introduced me to the wider front tire, that I love. I also love my bright red grips, that will always remind me of a shop that made me feel like home.
They closed their doors after Labor Day. Not sure where I’ll go next. I’m just hoping I can strike gold one more time.
This week’s question: Have you ever lost your favorite bike shop?
Fortunately, no. I frequent two shops in the Albany, NY area based on whether I’m at work or not. They’ve been here longer than me, though one did move.
That said, I do have two fewer options than I used to. In both cases, Ownership finally retired and sold off stock after big sales.
Aside from the two above, I do go to the others because I like bike shops.
I didn’t lose the shop but lost the owner who died too young. Heartbroken, I couldn’t go back in for over a year. When I finally did I found the spirit and mission intact- the shop is in good hands.
I moved to a small southern campus town 40+ years ago. There was a bicycle shop, it was a godsend. The owner was a few years younger than me. We became best friends and constant ride companions. He succumbed to metastatic cancer and closed the shop in the early teens. Another shop had opened a few years before the closure and more than filled the void. But it closed 2+ years ago. The closest ones are 60-120 miles away. I always visited shops when I was traveling, now it’s a pilgrimage.