One has to appreciate a good bike shop. Especially one that builds the community around itself. These days it’s a key to survival in this disrupted economy we live in. Luckyduck has been open since August of 2016, and successful enough that the owners are just starting to scale back from the 16-hour workdays it took to get going. Luckyduck brings bikes, food, beer and community to downtown Oakland. I’ve stopped in on several occasions for just those items.
For starters, the sandwiches are awesome. Living in the Beast known as East Bay, there’s a lot of great bakeries to spoil you, so Luckyduck starts with some awesome bread, from Firebrand. Everything after that is gravy. And if you’re up in the morning there’s breakfast as well. Sealing the deal is beer. Great beer from local breweries. Mostly local, delivered by the brewery. All California. Keep it local. ‘Nuff said.
Partners Jimmy Ryan And Aaron Wacks curate the shop. The food menu is tight. And so is the bike selection. Each bike is special. Some are bikes that they have come across as bike geeks. Some are on consignment as well. Everything from a vintage Colnago to a sweet 80’s Rockhopper converted for the streets and priced at $316. Or maybe you’re into the Kona Kilauea bikepacking bike or the Winters show frame.
The shop section is simple and tidy. A well-curated selection of accessories fulfills your most important needs. Helmets, bags from Inside Line, Ruth Works, and Road Runner. I hate the word “Artisinal” but there ya go. Everything in its right place, like Radiohead says.
In the end, it’s all about community. The Saturday ride is casual and the yoga classes will keep you limber. There’s bands, art on the walls, and friendly faces. Luckyduck is surely not the first bike shop to espouse this mission, but it does sum things up in a well-said fasion:
“Luckyduck grew from our desire to make riding a bike accessible to everyone. To us, this means expert bicycle service housed in the positive and relaxed vibes of our neighborhood coffee shop and cafe. No pretension or pressure. Just genuine human connection in the name of increasing bicycle ridership throughout the bay.”
Wow these people “Get it”
Tuesday to Saturday 8am to 7pm
By Jeffrey Stern
It’s a crowded market and selling bikes isn’t getting any easier. With the industry clearly on the decline, changes are happening all-around. From bike shops offering more than just sales/repair (beer anyone?), to mobile “van life” type services hitting the road across the country, the industry is changing and so are the brick and mortar stores that have been around for a long time.
First opened in 1997 by retired professional bike racer and Olympian Dave Lettieri, Fastrack Bicycles in Santa Barbara, California has seen a lot of change over the last two decades in business. Dave himself has spent nearly his whole life riding, racing and living bicycles from his hometown of Scranton, Pennsylvania all around the world and eventually landing on the West Coast. Although his store is only a fraction of the size of most big shops, his business continues to grow. We sat down with Dave recently to pick his brain on how he differentiates his shop, what he’s seen change over the years and why he loves the riding in Santa Barbara so much.
What’s it like to have been in the cycling world/industry for over 40 years?
It’s been fun to see the racing side evolve from basically an amateur rider group in the USA to Americans dominating the some of the big tours. While I was on the racing side, I saw the first American and American team ride the Tour de France, that was exciting. The bike industry has evolved from a strong European dominated one to top U.S. brands leading the world in technology and products the last few decades.
What did you love most about Fastrack when you first opened?
The idea of owning my own business and working for myself doing what I love to do. It didn’t seem like work (although it is a lot of work!). I can look back and realize that I have been doing the same thing I did as a kid (playing with bikes in the basement) to making a living doing it. An absolute dream come true.
Is there one thing that gets you out the door for your morning ride after all these years?
I’ve always enjoyed the exercise aspect of cycling. After most rides, I feel good and energized for the rest of the workday. I also enjoy riding all the new equipment now and riding enough so I am in shape for the fun fondo and group rides we have year around here.
Why is Santa Barbara such a special place to ride a bike?
We have limited, but great, roads; spectacular views; and a world-class climb 3 miles from town. Also, we have lots of choices to make up cool 1-2 hour loops near town – the options are endless!
There is something about your shop that people sense when they walk into for the first time, that’s not like others; can you explain that feeling you and your sole employee, Luke, create?
I tried to make a comfortable bike shop feel while trying to have a set up appropriate for today’s marketplace. We have some cycling memorabilia on the walls to show some cycling heritage and experience. We definitely have some regular characters hanging around and hopefully can share some good laughs and stories about the rides. It’s not all about selling bikes, although that’s important, but the community is what keeps us going strong day in and day out.
Favorite racing memory?
Definitely remember my first National Track Championship. Was a great feeling to realize I could win one. Also, winning the Pan American Games in the Team Pursuit in 1987 was a fun time.Tweet Print
Ed. Note: Path Less Pedaled x Bicycle Times is a video series by Russ Roca and Laura Crawford of The Path Less Pedaled. Stay tuned to the Bicycle Times website for more of this regular collaborative content.
The Path Less Pedaled visits Sugar Wheel Works in Portland, Oregon, a bike shop that specializes in building wheels. Jude talks about what makes a good hub, the benefits of a carbon rim and the ups and downs of owning a small business in the bicycle industry.Tweet Print
Words and photos by Brendan Leonard
Gregory Crichlow builds custom steel bikes in the back of Chocolate Spokes Bike Studio in Denver’s Five Points neighborhood—clean, subtle frames, with no name on the downtube, just a head badge with a cacao bean and a bike wheel. Dozens of customers have bought and loved the frames he’s welded for them. So you might wonder why he rides a beat-up old Surly to work every day.
He used to have his own Chocolate Spokes bike, blue and black, and he used to put it up in the window of the shop every day when he opened in the morning, sort of a sign that he was there for the day. He opened the shop in August 2011 in a humble 375-square-foot space on 28th and Downing Streets, right next to a liquor store. Transient folks would pee on the outside of the building; the dealers and customers exchanging crack cocaine and cash dubbed the electrical box in front of the shop “the drop box.”
The shop was crowded with customers’ bikes awaiting pick-up, other bikes awaiting maintenance and repair, and a few consignment bikes Gregory sold. So the front window was actually a good spot to store the bike, off the tiny shop’s floor and out of the way. But one day in January 2013, Gregory was talking to two customers, and turned around to see that his bike had disappeared from the window. Gone.
“You know what’s sad,” he said to me in the shop later that week, “is I know someone got $30 for that bike, because they just needed some money. This is still a crack corner.” He was angry at first, and called his wife, Cher, who reminded him that he was one of very few people who could just build themselves another bike.
Five Points has an interesting and varied history as one of Denver’s satellite neighborhoods. In its glory days in the 1920s through 1950s it was known as the “Harlem of the West.” Jazz musicians from all over the world would play the hotels in downtown Denver where African-Americans weren’t allowed to stay. So they’d stay at the Rossonian Hotel in Five Points, three blocks down the street from where Chocolate Spokes now sits, and put on legendary after-hours jam sessions. The neighborhood became home to a predominantly black and Latino population, and weathered tough times from the 1950s through the 1990s. In the early 2010s it started to see the first inklings of gentrification.
Gregory grew up in Denver and raced bikes during his undergraduate years at the University of Colorado in Boulder, and earned a master’s degree in architecture from the University of Chicago. He worked professionally as an architect for more than a decade. In 2011 he took the money he’d saved for retirement and opened Chocolate Spokes. He’d seen the building while working around the corner at an architecture firm, and after years of neglect it had become a rough spot. There was no roof and no windows. People would hole up there to shoot up or smoke crack, and when Gregory first took a look at the building the stairs to the basement were covered in human excrement.
“People were questioning, you know, ‘Why are you opening a bike shop?’” Gregory said. “My answer was, ‘Why not?’ I find that the bike is a universal thing. Ultimately it was about investing in the neighborhood. If I really want to make this neighborhood work, I have to put my own investment into it. And that means more than just being a resident. It means opening something that is serving the neighborhood. And that’s how the shop came around.”
In Five Points, and many other central Denver neighborhoods, most businesses have bars on their first-floor windows. Gregory wanted to make a statement and welcome people into the shop.
“I’m a person of color and I opened up in the neighborhood saying, ‘I’m taking off the bars, I’m inviting you in, you can see everything I’ve got—just ask me, we can work together,’” he says. “At that point it seems that people have looked out for the shop in the neighborhood, as opposed to being suspicious of the shop.”
When I first started going to the shop in early 2013, the clientele was a mix of young professional bike commuters and recreational cyclists (like myself), folks who lived in the neighborhood or day laborers and homeless folks who brought their Wal-Mart bikes in to get fixed so they could get to work. Gregory told me a story once about working on a bike that a woman rode with an aluminum baseball bat strapped to the top tube— she unstrapped it from the bike at night for protection while she slept somewhere outdoors. The bulk of the shop’s business was not from selling $7,000 triathlon bikes—it was service, of any bicycle that came in the door in a neighborhood in the early stages of gentrification. Which led to an interesting mix of people in the shop at times.
“I had a mother who was just picking up her son from lacrosse practice out in Stapleton, and I had a gang member who was trying to get a new tube for his new blue cruiser, and they were both in the shop,” Gregory said. “At first I was like, ‘Oh boy, what’s this going to be like?’ And I was working on the gentleman’s tube, and I was trying to get it done quickly to buffer this conversation, and I realized they were actually having a conversation. They were just talking, and her son was sitting there.”
Business slowly grew, and the landlord offered Gregory an opportunity to expand the shop into the space next door, almost tripling the square footage with the addition of the corner-facing storefront where sunlight pours into the windows all morning. Now two workstands sit in front of a pegboard of tools, and the 375-square-foot space in the back where the shop originally started is dedicated to frame building.
Gregory wears a bow tie to work every day as an homage to his grandfather, and to let customers know that Chocolate Spokes is a professional environment. He rides to work every day with his son and daughter in tow (his family doesn’t own a car)—and curates the shop’s rotating stock of high-end chocolate bars for sale next to the cash register.
I’ve asked Gregory, why does an African-American guy open a bike shop in an African-American/Latino neighborhood instead of the more common business model of selling brand-new bikes in the suburbs? He said he did it because he values bikes for fun and utility first, and for exercise and adventure second.
“As a kid, when you ride a bike, it’s about freedom, your independence from your parents,” he said. “As soon as you get a bike, your boundary expands a little more, because you can go further. As adults, it’s about feeling like a kid again. As adults, when people talk to me about it, they have that feeling, but they have that adult justification, so it’s one of those things where ‘my body feels better, or my work becomes more productive if I go on a bike ride,’ so it’s always that adult justification instead of, you know, ‘I had a lot of fun on my bike today.’ But I think hidden in those justifications is that whee factor.”
His vision for the shop is making it into a hub for the community—more barbershop-style chit chat than Saturday morning lycra- clad shop rides.
“I want it to transcend beyond a bike shop,” he says. “I think we’re becoming a space where people can come without a bike and just talk, and have that neighborhood conversation, you know, guys just sitting there and talking. We want everybody, where it’s one of your community stops. You don’t need a bike. You can just come in and say hi, see your neighbor.”
I was never a big believer in custom bikes, preferring to build up old steel frames I could find on Craigslist and leave the fancy custom stuff to people who had way more money than I did. But I’d wanted to support Gregory and what he was doing, to put my money where my mouth was. In fall 2015, I put down a deposit and Gregory took my measurements to start building a frame. I stopped in to talk to him every few weeks about the tubes, about the welds, the components, the color, and what I wanted to use the bike for—riding around the city, and road and dirt touring. I watched the list of names of people who’d ordered custom frames grow on the wall in the back of the shop, and asked Gregory: When are you going to build yourself another bike? “This summer,” he said.
In March 2016, I rolled my new Chocolate Spokes bike out the front door of the shop and drove it to Utah for a five-day, 300-mile gravel grind tour. I became a believer in the custom frame, elated to have a bike that fit so well, and alternately slightly horrified that its first week in existence was spent hammering down dusty dirt roads and lying down in the sand while we snapped photos of our desert tour.
When I got back to Denver, I stopped into the shop again. Gregory asked me how the bike rode, and I said it was wonderful. “You really have to get yourself one of these Chocolate Spokes bikes,” I told him. “I know a guy who can hook you up.”
As summer turned to fall, Gregory still hadn’t started on his own Chocolate Spokes bike yet. I keep ribbing him to get moving on it, because I love my bike, and it’s such a shame he doesn’t have one of his own. But for now, I just look for his old blue Surly in the rack out front when I ride by so I’ll know whether or not to stop in and say hi.
This feature originally appeared in Bicycle Times #44.
Bruce Gordon has long been a staple of the cycling scene in Petaluma, California, and now he’s opening his first retail location to offer his hand-made frames and components.
The shop will display Bruce Gordon frames for sale, as well as his own personal bikes he has built over the last 40 years. Also on sale will be a growing collection of products from artisans who share Gordon’s commitment to US-made goods, including White Industries, King Cage, and others. Bike service will also be available, from tune-ups to custom bike builds and wheelbuilding.
If you’re in the neighborhood, swing by for the Grand Opening party October 26 from 11-7. Bruce might even wear his fez!Tweet Print