Leanings

LEANINGS

Dealers

Peter Egan

THE PLAIN TRUTH, I SUPPOSE, HAS been lurking for a long time in the back of my mind, but not until this summer did a fully formed thought shove its way into the frontal lobe, pushing forward like an agitated airline passenger who staggers down the aisle and demands to talk to the pilot.

It happened while I was cruising on my Beemer down County Highway T through southern Wisconsin, heading for a place called C&D BMW in Freeport, Illinois. The shop is a friendly place with a good parts supply, a full machine shop and real mechanics. It's also about 75 miles south of my home. Why was I going there? I can't remember the exact pretext. Probably to buy an oil filter.

It w'as on this trip that truth finally struck: I suddenly realized that at least half of the non-touring riding I do consists exclusively of trips to motorcycle dealerships.

Wait a minute, you say. Is this really possible?

Yes.

Most people. I imagine, buy a bike, ride out of the showroom and never return unless they need parts or service. The rest of the time they probably take fun rides on backroads or cross-country vacations. It’s like buying a loaf of bread. Once you’ve got it. you don't spend a lot of time hanging around the bakery.

But here I was, riding 75 miles (again) to buy something I could easily have ordered by phone. There was a strange behavior pattern here. Why these many trips to bike shops? To what purpose?

Well, some of these rides are actual necessities; I need a headlight bulb or new gloves or something. But more often than not. the trips are made just to look at motorcycles other than the one I’m riding.

Essentially, to gape and gaze, hem and haw, examine closely and stand back to view from far away. To be in the presence of machinery. To drink coffee that was made six hours ago, to stir sugar lumps and Cremora with a wooden tongue depressor left over from the 1918 flu epidemic while looking at bikes and thinking about them.

While this sort of dealership bumming is a great pastime, it can also be a source of guilt: Your own trusty bike (the one that got you there) sits outside while you stand around ogling new models, talking to salesmen and reading brochures. It’s kind of like leaving your old dog in the pickup while you visit pet shops and admire the puppies in the window. Old Fido has to wonder if he’s about to be replaced.

Still, it’s hard to stay away from the showrooms. They make a natural destination for short rides, a magnet whose force field penetrates hills and woods and barns, causing the handlebars gradually to turn in the direction of glittering commerce and new technology. Bike dealerships also make a great excuse for taking what would otherwise be considered an unnecessary ride.

“Honey, I'm making a quick run to the Ducati shop.”

“Where’s that?”

“In north central Canada, not far from the Arctic Circle. I'll be back in October.”

“What do you need?”

“A can of chain lube.”

One of the problems with these excursions is that you eventually feel you should actually buy something, partly to justify your hanging around all afternoon and partly to keep the dealer in business so riffraff such as yourself w ill continue to have a place to come in out of the rain.

The upshot is, you can end up wath a considerable stockpile of redundant stuff. Last time I looked in my garage storage cabinet, I believe I had six cans of chain lube, three spare faceshields, a case of contact cleaner, five different brands of oil and enough bungee cords to build either an Olympic trampoline or a catapult capable of flinging a full-dress Gold Wing over the ramparts of a fairly large castle. Not that I'd want to.

A number of factors seem to determine how long 1 linger around a given dealership, and how often I return. It seems to me that the most interesting shops have several things in common.

First, they are usually involved in racing—motocross, drag racing, fiattrack, roadracing, whatever. If the owner or a few' of the employees don't race, they should at least be sponsoring someone or organizing rides and rallies. A dealership without some sort of racing schedule in the window and a counterperson with a knowledge of competition parts always feels a little too quiet. You can sense the lack of excitement when you walk through the door. Some kind of involvement is needed.

Second. I seem to have a predisposition toward dealerships that handle at least one line of non-Japanese bikes. This is not another case of Japan-bashing; it’s just that a row of GSX-Rs, CBRs or YZs always looks better to me if there are a couple of Guzzis parked at the end, or a few Huskys scattered around. It's a matter of contrast, and it also indicates a widened scope of vision on the part of management. And, in the case of your slower-selling brands (many now' defunct), it shows that the dealer is willing to blow money on perpetual flooring costs in order to have an interesting shop.

A third factor that keeps me coming back is the coffee. I’ve visited very few dealerships that had a decent cup of java warming on the Mr. Coffee. Maybe I don’t get up early enough, when it’s still fresh and doesn’t resemble creosote. At any rate, a shop that craves my business and wants me hanging around all day wasting their time could do a lot worse than change the filter and grounds every spring.

Donuts are nice, too. The deepfried. crispy kind with a light sugar glaze. Preferably made within the memory of someone now living.