Six years ago I showed up on the doorstep of my local bike shop and sheepishly admitted that I had broken up with my boyfriend before I had learned to fix my own bike.
Six years later I probably spend a little too much time there. I have been known to show up at their Christmas parties and the coffee place next door gives me a staff discount. It’s the kind of place where everyone knows your name, or some variation of it. They hassle you and high-five you. They give you hugs and lectures about not taking better care of your ride. They are family.
They are so much my family that I have introduced boyfriends to my dad before I have taken them to my bike shop. True story.
