Logan Beyhl, who owns the shop with fellow BMX biker Bob DeLaat, noted that they're still stocking up on inventory, but plan to carry "everything a commuter cyclist would need"—like fenders, lights, saddles, etc—as well as commuter and BMX bikes. Both men have been BMX biking for more than 15 years—they met while working at indoor mountain biking park Ray's MTB in Cleveland.
Sure, cyclists, pedestrians, and motorists are going to need a bit to acclimate to the protected, bidirectional lane that opened this past Friday on Dearborn Avenue. It can be a peculiar, discombobulating thing riding south when all of the auto traffic on the one-way avenue is flowing north—though, let's be real, most cyclists have undoubtedly saved a few minutes of their lives by cutting the wrong way down a side street. And with the bike-specific traffic lights and left-turn indicators painted on the pavement, urban cyclists are much more visible than previously. Not a bad thing in the least—just a very different thing.
Unlike most other shoppers, Gonzalez was racing, literally, against a small throng of Chicago bike messengers and cycling enthusiasts. He and the others weren't pedaling in the name of recognition or jonesing for sweet prizes. They were part of Cranksgiving, "a food drive on two wheels," according to the New York organizers who dreamed it up back in 1999. The race aims to provide cyclists with an opportunity to give back—and in the process, to soften the sometimes prickly reputations attributed to members of the cyclist subculture. The last 13 years have seen Cranksgiving events crop up everywhere from Seattle to Miami, with 40 rides organized in 2012 alone.
Hey there junior badass, ever feel like there's a caged animal trapped inside of you?
Only one cure for that: getting a fucking sick motorcycle. A 1971 Honda CB350. This golden lady will get you to work like a full-blown go hard, transport you and your shotgun through the zombie apocalypse, and give you a new platform for barreling down the boulevard with the wind tearing at your clothes screaming, "I AM ALIVE!" on the way to fucking bikram yoga.
Runs like corn through a goose. Engine rebuilt a year ago with ~400 miles on it since then.
I put new tires on the old girl, because you don't deprive a classy lady of classy shoes. I gave her a new chain because she needed some fucking jewelry.
Electric start, kickstart, fucking push start, you name it.
Why am I selling it? Cos being alive rules, and I'm far too gnarly of a dude to have a motorcycle. I see a ramp, I'm gonna hit that motherfucker going 300 mph, backflip over the 405.
$2300 gets you the Golden Lady, two helmets, some fucking saddlebags, a shop manual, a quart of oil (plus all the oil that's up in her right now), a full tank of PREMIUM MOTHERFUCKING GASOLINE (91 octaaaaaannneeee), some links to my favorite YouTube videos, a short story about robots, a cup of coffee with me, and whatever kind of donut you want.
Pristine bike, perfect sell.
(h/t Dan Duffy, founder of local indie magazine The Handshake)
***About ten minutes after this post went live, the Craigslist ad was flagged for removal. Pretty cool ***
As far as I'm concerned, that extra attention helps keep my bike in my possession and out of the hands of a bike thief. Just this morning I considered locking it to the racks outside the building, but ultimately decided against it. I've been warned and warned again that thieves will chop or bash through cable locks, U-locks, and chain locks to get at a bike. Basically, it's just waiting to get stolen.
• Red American Apparel hoodie (check)
• Gray discarded milk crate (check)
• Ragged white blanket (check)
• Savvy bike posse (check)
• Keen ability to outwit the Man (check)
• Anxious, stumpy brown alien (still looking)
• Power of flight (when I find the alien)