For the Love of a Bike Shop

I’m told that humans are communal creatures. Only weirdos like artists, writers, and sociopaths prefer to be alone. Luckily, there are community centers where motorcyclists can gather to share our strange passions. The owners of these destinations call them dealerships or motorcycle shops.

In my hometown of Syracuse, NY, these community centers have struggled throughout my motorcycling life, beginning in the late 1970s. The number of shuttered shops here generally tracks in line with the country’s economy, but Central New York (CNY) has always been rough for bike shops, even in good years. Lamenting this, a friend and I recently added up the dealers we’ve witnessed come and go in the last 50 years. It’s about a dozen, which is disturbing in a market as small as ours. Why have so many kept trying against such a current of failure? I’m puzzled but appreciative.

My friends and I used to hang out at some of these shops, telling and listening to tales. We knew every model made every year by every manufacturer, although many of us suffered having only one motorcycle at a time. We lived biker social lives with vigor.