I Didn’t Know It Well. I’ll Miss It Anyway.

Last week, an after-work ride zigzagged me through northern Bronx and Westchester County. Along the way I pedaled down a hill (I was on Tosca, my Mercian fixed-gear bike) to McLean Avenue in Yonkers. I had ridden McLean a number of times before but, ironically, last week was the first time since I’ve moved to my current place: From here, it’s only about 7 kilometers but about 30 from Astoria, depending on which route I took.

Anyway, on McLean, I couldn’t help but to notice a store that looked like it was being stripped to the walls. I stopped; indeed it was. Then I noticed a few bicycles, some with tags, bunched together in the middle of the floor.

I asked a man whether any of the ones without tags—which included a Cannondale road bike from, I believe, the ‘90’s, an early Schwinn Traveler and a Giant hybrid with a Brooks B17 saddle—were available. “They’re all accounted for. Sorry.”

I glanced to my left and saw another racing bike leaning against the wall. “Then I suppose that Eddy Mercx is also going to somebody.” He nodded.

I asked him why the shop closed. The shop’s founder retired; his son took over and things went downhill.  There was a “sugar rush” early in the COVID-19 pandemic followed by a “crash”: when supply chains reopened and new merchandise was available, people who already bought bikes and accessories weren’t buying more, he explained.

Both parts of his story—the bike shop passing from one generation to the next and the pandemic boom-and-bust—are familiar narratives behind long-established bike shops that close. It later occurred to me, however, that there may be at least one other reason County Cycle Center has closed.

It was one of many family-owned businesses that have lined McLean, the main artery of a longtime Irish enclave that straddles that part of Yonkers and a slice of the Bronx next to Van Cortlandt Park. Like so much of my city and its surrounding areas, it’s changing as longtime residents die or retire to the Sun Belt and their kids and grandkids move away. County Cycle, which graced McLean for nearly six decades, seemed to be the sort of shop where parents bought their kids bikes for Christmas or their birthdays, and those kids would return to buy their kids bikes and, perhaps, “grown up” bikes for themselves. (It was an authorized Schwinn dealer and later took on Fuji, Trek, Cannondale and GT.) Such shops depend on relationships they develop with people in the community; when those people leave or die, those who move in—especially if they are young or from different cultural backgrounds—may not feel inclined to get to know members of the neighborhood’s “establishment.”

I inferred the story about the shop’s relationship to its community after I got home. I realized I had stopped in that shop on at least one earlier ride and remembered that the man I met—the founder?—was curious about my bike because it was something that didn’t normally pass through his shop. I think I bought a small tool or water bottle, and he was happy for my business.

He may not be able to get you a custom frame or a replica of whatever won the Tour or Giro or Vuelta this year. Folks who ride integrated carbon fiber cockpits may turn up their noses at him and his shop. But folks like him are interesting and thankful for small things.  I will miss him and them, and their shops.

After Tom...

So you have that bike someone in your family brought bike from an overseas tour of duty. Or you have a Bike Boom era ten-speed you still ride--or want to pass on or simply don't want to give up.  Maybe you're holding on (and still riding) that beatiful machine from your racing days or the one that took you across a state or continent, and you want to keep it going for everyday riding or eroica-type events.

Sometimes you can replace old parts with modern ones.  They may not have the style of the stuff the bike came with, but they--especially derailleurs--might work better.  Other times, though, new parts simply won't fit or just won't look right on the old bike.

So what do you do?

These days, you can peruse eBay and other sites.  The Internet is also useful for learning about swap meets and the like.  But one often-overlooked source is the old "family" bike shops that have been in the same location for decades.  Folks in bike costumes with four-digit price tags astride bikes with five-figure tabs might turn up their noses (which, I admit, are often better turned-out than mine!) at such places.  But they often have freewheels, for example, or chainrings in bolt-circle diameters no longer made--or small parts for Mafac or Weinmann caliper--or Bendix or New Departure coaster--brakes.  

And, of course, such shops are called "family" shops because families are not only their owners, but their customer base.  The world-champion racer, globe-spanning tourer and the lifelong everyday cyclist almost invariably started riding as children, whether alone to school, with friends at a local dirt track or family at the park.  Those mom-and-pop proprietors and their employees don't get nearly enough recognition for the role they play in initiating the young into cycling and nurturing a cycling culture.

Tom Anderson, the retiring owner of The Bicycle Rack in Muskegon, Michgian.  (Photo by Cory Morse for MLive.

Tom Anderson of Muskegon, Michigan is such a proprietor.  For 46 years, he's catered to "the mom and pop, the bread and butter of bicycling"  in the western Michigan community.  At one time, the showroom of his shop, The Bicycle Rack, brimmed with 150 or more bikes of all kinds, from kids' trikes to high-end racers.  But like too many other small shops, he hasn't been able to re-stock bikes--or even parts--as the COVID-19 pandemic has disrupted production and supply chains.  

So now the lifelong Muskegon resident--who helped to spearhead the 12-mile Lakeshore Bike Trail on Lake Muskegon--is closing his shop and retiring. He considered selling his business, he said, but the next owner would have faced the same struggles that have confronted him.  Truth is, nobody knows when the bike business--or anything else--will "go back to normal," whatever that will mean.

When folks like Tom close up their shops, it doesn't mean only that there's one less place to buy or fix a bike.  Shop owners like him build relationships with people in their communities.  Even if they don't grow up to be dedicated cyclists, they fondly remember folks like him and his willingness to help. Oh, and where else--besides eBay--are you going to find that original lever for your 1950's English three-speed or French-threaded freewheel--without paying eBay prices?

And how can you not miss someone who says of his life's work, "I loved every minute of it"?