The Place to Be
The Place to Be
There is no parking lot and the driveway is only as wide as a sidewalk. You approach the door, a big heavy metal door covered with hundreds of peeling bike company stickers, which if you were to peel back layer by layer would reveal the history of the sport via antiquated product lines and long gone brands. The bottom half of the door is marred with dark rubber stains and dents. This door has more attitude and spirit than most people will ever hope to possess.
You push your bike through the door, the front tire rubbing on the way through. To the right are a few bike stands in front of a large peg-board covered with hundreds of tools. The counter below the pegboard is a smorgasbord of lubricants, degreasers, and small parts. Hanging from the ceiling throughout the shop are many bikes covering the entire economic spectrum, fixie messenger bikes, rigid single speeds, cross country light-weights, menacing downhill machines, stout freeride rigs, 15 pound carbon road bikes, 30 pound steel road bikes, everything is here.
Finally you approach the back of the room, the heart and soul of the bike shop. Spread throughout are a few old couchs the type that most people would rather dump at the landfill than give to the Salvation Army, but you know better than that; these couches have been the silent helpers to many a tired rider, friends, and even a place to sleep every now and then. A pot of Coffee is already brewing in the corner next to a giant stack of bike magazines and a box of donuts. You take a seat on one of the couches sinking deep into the old springs and soft cushions. Your friends will be here soon; it’s a Monday morning and you have a long day of relaxing, working on bikes, and forgetting about life outside these walls ahead of you. At this shop life is checked at the door; bills, cars, appointments, problems, none of these matter here. This shop is a safe haven for riders, old friends, new friends and everyone else who lives for the sport and lets the sport live through them. You look out the window and see a rider go by that you don’t recognize, a commuter by the looks of it; panniers, practical clothing and reflectors. You smile to yourself, maybe there is hope yet.
There is no parking lot and the driveway is only as wide as a sidewalk. You approach the door, a big heavy metal door covered with hundreds of peeling bike company stickers, which if you were to peel back layer by layer would reveal the history of the sport via antiquated product lines and long gone brands. The bottom half of the door is marred with dark rubber stains and dents. This door has more attitude and spirit than most people will ever hope to possess.
You push your bike through the door, the front tire rubbing on the way through. To the right are a few bike stands in front of a large peg-board covered with hundreds of tools. The counter below the pegboard is a smorgasbord of lubricants, degreasers, and small parts. Hanging from the ceiling throughout the shop are many bikes covering the entire economic spectrum, fixie messenger bikes, rigid single speeds, cross country light-weights, menacing downhill machines, stout freeride rigs, 15 pound carbon road bikes, 30 pound steel road bikes, everything is here.
Finally you approach the back of the room, the heart and soul of the bike shop. Spread throughout are a few old couchs the type that most people would rather dump at the landfill than give to the Salvation Army, but you know better than that; these couches have been the silent helpers to many a tired rider, friends, and even a place to sleep every now and then. A pot of Coffee is already brewing in the corner next to a giant stack of bike magazines and a box of donuts. You take a seat on one of the couches sinking deep into the old springs and soft cushions. Your friends will be here soon; it’s a Monday morning and you have a long day of relaxing, working on bikes, and forgetting about life outside these walls ahead of you. At this shop life is checked at the door; bills, cars, appointments, problems, none of these matter here. This shop is a safe haven for riders, old friends, new friends and everyone else who lives for the sport and lets the sport live through them. You look out the window and see a rider go by that you don’t recognize, a commuter by the looks of it; panniers, practical clothing and reflectors. You smile to yourself, maybe there is hope yet.
Labels: The Place to Be
posted by doeman at
11:40 PM
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