Something to Harper on

Bike shops are like hardware stores: eye candy everywhere, useful and useless accessories and tools hung from hooks or inside glass cases, wicked cool bikes, fat ass cycle seats, gizmos for every bike geek.

But, what makes them even more awesome is the pulsing blood beneath the surface. It's the mechanics and the clerks who know their shit, that bleed mineral oil, and wipe away tri-flo from their brow. They can tell a customer has a dragging brake--no matter how loose-- at 50 meters (and they know what that is), or that one missing chain link on your train is gonna bind up a big-high combo and do some damage even at big-mid range if you aren't careful. They know that the Turkey Warbble can be cured and that your caliper is a red hair off from scoring spokes. They can listen sympathetically while you lament your poor shifting problem and fix it with some lube better than a needless tuneup just by looking at your chain. They know if you suck or if you are prick just by your ride, but will still hear you out.

They are the vibe that makes the eye candy ring louder and makes you come back even if the shop is in a shit hole or out of your way.

I found one of those today. In 2 minutes, I knew I had a wrench that knew his shit and could educate me without making me to be the turd bowl. I finally get Mike.

Bike shops rocks. Harper's rules.