Speedway rocks Spenard

Nobody's gonna be topping this any time soon.

Speedway Cycles celebrated it's grand re-opening
with a first-rate party on Friday night. It was
a barn burner. Rock bands, cold beer, bike people
filling the shop floor ... damn, it was fun.

Congrats to Greg and his crew on a great new shop,
and for staging one hell of a bash to break in the new place.

Fatties and rock 'n' roll.

Tim and the boys at the bar.

Rad tattoo girl!

Open wide and say "aaaaaaaaaah!"

Greg, the Bike Monkee and Jules
give Spenard some class.

Snobs suck

The latest issue of Outside—the official magazine of yuppies concerned with which overpriced brand of outerwear is fashionable for the rigorous adventure of driving a BMW to Starbucks—contains an essay from a writer lamenting the loss of bike-shop snobs. Modern competition, he argues, has made shops friendly and welcoming, thereby robbing cyclists of the valuable initiation process of feeling inferior and having to earn knowledge and acceptance.

Bullshit.

First of all, bike-shop snobs haven’t completely disappeared. Even here in little ol’ Anchorage I hear frequent complaints from less-experienced riders about their encounters with one particular shop, and there’s another place I virtually never go into because it employs an arrogant prick.

But if snobbery is generally on the wane, I say good riddance. I still remember the conceited jackasses I encountered while shopping for my first mountain bike back in the '80s. Those dudes all seemed to think they were the next Greg LeMond.

I endured them because I was dying to get a bike, but not everyone is committed to making a purchase. Snobs intimidate the casual shoppers who would just like to give biking a try. And that's not just bad for business, it's bad for the sport.

Treating customers badly isn’t cool. It’s stupid. In any kind of business. Why drive a customer away just because you think you know more about wine, car parts, widgets or bicycles than he/she does? Why turn them off on bicycling—or scare them off to Sprawl-Mart where they’ll buy the kind of junk that will convince them we’re all crazy for riding bikes?

Do that, and the next thing you know, they’ll decide it's easier to read Outside than it is to ride outside.

Visit Philippe's, eh?

I love finding funky bike shops
with personality. Last week,
I happened across Philippe's Bicycle Repair.

If you're ever in Whitehorse, Yukon Territory,
you should stop by.

Make sure to use the loo
before you visit the shop,
because space is tight
and the bathroom might
be a little crowded.

Bikes, parts and tools fill
every conceivable space in the shop,
except for the spaces filled
by the art that
Philippe creates.

The old shop space—a defunct bus—now
sits out back and holds bikes waiting
to be sold or picked up after repair.

The back yard is filled with bikes
and related paraphernalia,
as well as Philippe's prototypes,
such as his cargo-hauling bike.

As Philippe pointed out, he built
his cargo bike before the Extracycle
existed, and you could use his bike
to haul an Extracycle or two.

This is the back-yard pooch,
whose job is to keep you alert
while walking around staring
at bikes. He does this by mining
the yard with "dog grenades."

Watch where you step.

Trust me on this.

And this is Philippe, the man
whose name is on the front of the shop.

Yeah, he owns a work stand, but he
prefers the chains and hooks that hang
from his ceiling. Full-suspension designs
and carbon-fiber tubes have made
it less convenient to clamp bikes
in stands.

But like Philippe said, "Every bike
has a handlebar and a seat."

Shopping

My daughter has learned to love mountain biking and she turns 14 on Monday, so we’ve been shopping for a new bike over the past 10 days or so. She ended up choosing a Specialized Rockhopper, which we happily brought home today.

We spent part of the afternoon converting it to presta tubes, setting up her tool bag for the season, installing a bike computer and bottle cage, and washing her old bike in preparation for sale. Bringing home a new bike is always fun. Unfortunately, shopping for one can be frustrating.

Too many bike shops across the country are plagued with shitty sales staffs. I often hear new riders complain of feeling intimidated by arrogant shop employees who speak in condescending tones and treat customers like morons. It’s a legitimate complaint. I see that kind of thing happen all the time.

We checked out bikes at six stores in Anchorage, and I was annoyed by the time I walked out of two of them (REI and the new Bicycle Shop on Dimond). Some people might think two out of six ain’t bad. I think two out of six means that 33.3 percent of the stores we visited employ at least one arrogant prick.

When anyone is shopping for a product and asking questions, sales people should tactfully assess the customer’s level of knowledge and respond accordingly—and respectfully—whether they’re selling microwave ovens, cars, bikes, or toasters.

I’ve bought many bikes over the years but I don’t do it every day, so I’m genuinely interested in what a shop employee can tell me about the new models, or how a bike fits. But I want opinions, not edicts, and I want to be heard when I express my thoughts on what I’m looking for.

I’m always interested in new information from people who spend 40 hours a week around bikes. On the other hand, I’ve considered myself a “serious” rider for 20 years and I can build a good bike from a bare frame and a pile of parts, and have a good time doing it, so I don't want to be treated like an idiot. Nobody else does, either. Regardless of their experience level.

The worst part of this problem isn’t how it turns away business from individual shops. I couldn't care less if a jackass employee hurts the owner's bottom line. The worst part is that some people who would like to try bicycling end up walking out of shops and going home, and they decide that they were right all along—the whole bike thing is too foreign, too much of a clique. They end up never discovering how much fun it is to good hooked on riding a bike.

And that’s a damned tragedy, in my opinion.

The fast fix

I once took an overnight flight to Salt Lake City, then jumped in a rented minivan and got to Moab in time to hit the Slickrock Trail after lunch. Two hours, one broken derailleur and a few patches of skin later, I came to understand that “Slickrock” and “sleep-deprived” is a very dangerous combination.

At the end of the day, I stood in Rim Cyclery minutes before closing time with a new XT rear derailleur in my hand, dreading the prospect of installing it by headlamp, in a campsite, with minimal tools and no work stand. When he realized I planned to carry the derailleur out of the shop in a box, the surprised shop guy said, “You don’t want us to install it for you?”

When I explained that I was in a hurry because my brother and I were planning to ride the next morning, the guy told me I could swing by after breakfast and my bike would be ready. His tone indicated he was surprised that he had to explain this.

The next morning, I walked out of the shop with a belly full of breakfast burrito, and a bike that shifted like a dream all day long. It was a revelation to find a shop that would do a repair without keeping a bike for three days. I had been doing almost all of my own bike maintenance for years (and still am) because I was unwilling to leave my ride in one shop or another for days at a time.

When my brother busted a shifter and shredded a tire in Fruita during a morning ride a couple of years later, a shop mechanic repaired repaired his bike while we grabbed a sandwiches for lunch. We were back on the trail that afternoon.

Three-day waits for routine repairs just ain’t the way things work in places like Moab and Fruita. Those shops there know that customers are burning cash and vacation days to ride, not wait. Bikes have to roll in and out the door like they’re going through an Indy 500 pit stop, so mechanics learn to specialize in fast turnaround times.

I don't mean to bash bike shops—I have friends and relatives who work in them, and they're my all-time favorite stores—but I think it’s a shame that bicyclists everywhere can’t count on fast, in-and-out service that keeps them riding every day. It’s no fun for anyone to drop off a bike and know it’s going to sit in the back room for 72 hours before a 30-minute repair will be done.

Imagine telling the average American whose cable TV service has just gone dark, “Oh, we’ll get someone out there in three or four days.” Most people wouldn’t stand for it. Hell, if there were a big NASCAR race coming up, an enraged Billy Joe might get boozed up on Coors Light and park his Ford pickup in the cable company's lobby at 2 a.m..

I realize that shops in mountain bike towns generally deal with more customers who are pressed for time (and ride high-end bikes in generally good repair), while shops have to deal with things like kids’ bikes, long-neglected bikes, and the sales and tune-up rush that comes with spring. But wouldn’t it be great if you could drop in and get a new bottom bracket the same way you can stop and have your car’s oil changed while you wait?