Life in a Bike Shop


They are evil. Not like Hitler, but if the two were spoken of in the same sentence I wouldn’t be surprised.

I was talking to a woman the other day and in our conversation she used the acronym, “E.O.D.” (end of day) when I explained that we couldn’t do the service on the spot but would complete it by close. I had no idea what in the fuck she was talking about. I think my expression relayed that. She peeped the grays in my stubble and dumbed it up for me. Unless your hitting two packs of smokes a day, you can spare the breath it would have taken you to complete your sentence. And yes…Get off my lawn!!!

Why are you using code in casual conversation anyway? I don’t think the Russians give two shits about when your bike is going to be serviced unless your riding for Teams Katusha or Astana.

Holy Grime Is Still Grime

A guy came in from Israel to have his bike assembled. No problem. I took it out of the box to be welcomed by Israeli dirt. The last road this bike may traveled may have been one lf biblical importance. Not too many of those roads in the USA. River Road that runs alongside the Passaic River may be as close as it gets for Jersey. No prophets that I’m aware of floated down those mighty waters, but in Paterson anything’s possible.

As I was giving the bike a good wipe down the grandeur of holy dirt faded. Holy dirt is as much a pain in the ass as the secular stuff. Maybe even moreso. The consistency was clay-like. After applying the holy trinity of bike detailing which is, Simple Green, Bike Luster and a shop rag I took it out of my stand and moved on to a less sanctified machine.

Do You Want A Medal?

Shops closed. We have specified times of operation like 100% of the business in this country. Just because the doors not locked doesn’t mean the times on the door are bogus.

I’m a people person between the hours of 9 and 5. Something weird happens at 5:01. My warm and fuzzies get a little cold and prickly. We rarely turn people away in service at close, but when we do it’s done with a republican look of abject remorse.

A gentleman comes through our doors drenched in sweat. Not moved by his Herculean efforts to still fall short. He tells me that he just snuck in and then smiles as though I’m supposed to follow with a hi-five or Muslim terrorist fist bump made popular by our president. Stuff happens and people call ahead. We try to be accommodating. Don’t kill yourself or others trying to make it by close for a brake job on your Emonda. Its all about communications and preferably libations. If you have a tri-bike I totally understand your need to improve on your splits in every facet of your life. “It’s a tri-thing, you wouldn’t understand.”

No sorry for keeping me later or nothing. A case goes a long way. Say it with beer. I’m listening.