TATI

The New Golf

Mon, 06 May 2013 23:09 -0700

Today someone pointed out that I spend more time at other friends' bike shops than my own. This is true. It's not that I find shops to be particularly interesting or intellectually or spiritually fulfilling, like I am supposed to. It's that... after all this time, I have yet to experience the elusive satori, that illuminating moment that defines and explicates this vocation. It's a feeling that I had as a teenager, toiling away in a poorly ventilated, windowless bike shop basement. Or at least, that's what I'd tell myself, high from Mastik fumes, wobbly-legged from a five hour ride... misquoting Marx or Engels or someone else Important... about labor or work or something like that. We're making Real Things That Will Be Used By Real People, right?
These days, it doesn't feel like that. It doesn't feel like that at all. FREE SPEED. FREE SPEED. FREE SPEED.

Sometimes I feel like a pusher. Sometimes I feel like a pusher of plastic crap. Sometimes I feel like a pusher of plastic crap made to break, and if not to break, then to lead a short life due to planned obsolescence.
Bicycles are machines, I realize. Tools. A means to an end. Toys, at best? Bicycle are not art. Bicycles are not culture. And so it seems that what's left of the decimated retail landscape falls into a few categories: discounters, delusional holdouts, and candy stores. I guess I run a candy store.
If I were more literate, I'd say something witty about the darkness of Roald Dahl here.
So much of what TATI has become over the past several years is a deconstruction of industry, or a series of experiments and commentaries on the larger and indelible trends shaping the direction of things. #milkbar #zefbikes #tatiprix and all the rest are but temporal exercises, ruminations on the failed endeavors of others. They are hashtags' hashtags. But I feel as if they are necessary laboratories, as I've actually learned a lot. I've learned a lot of little things and a couple of big things, all of which are prerequisites to what more or less amounts to the Tativille long con: a trajectory which is finally taking shape, in of all places, a quiet stretch of Lincoln Avenue in Chicago's Lakeview neighborhood.
The New Shop is situated on a block with seventeen yoga studios, a subterranean scuba diving pool, and a hair dresser who charges $200 to trim your pooch's mane. It's also in the shadow of St Alphonsus, which, if nothing else, serves to boost the shop's faux-Euro cred.
A few things are the same as previous iterations of Tativille: there are wheels being built. There are stems being slammed. There is R. Kelly being played. But some things have changed. Big things. Little things. But lots of things. Have you ever tried to solve a really huge puzzle? Like, a really, really huge puzzle - the kind with hundreds or thousands of pieces, that's too big even for a large kitchen table, with very little chromatic contrast, such that it's really not until the very, very end that you are able to see what it it that you've been solving this entire time? I think that's what's happening here. Even I didn't see it coming.
It is coming, but it's not here yet, at least not entirely. But the pillars are taking shape.

La Gazzetta.
Cherubim.
Kualis.
Pegoretti.
Honey.
101 flavors of embrocation.
Pocari Sweat.
The chamois creme tasting menu.
Cafe du Cycliste.
Search & State.
Tenspeed Hero.
Vulpine.
Ambrosio.
Veloflex.
Campagnolo.

No, it's not really a high end shop, actually. Above Category is high end. Velosmith is high end. Get a Grip is high end. But it's also not a heritage pro shop. It's not Yellow Jersey or Vecchio's or Shaw's Lightweights. And it certainly isn't Blue Lug or Golden Saddle or Angry Catfish or BLB. So what is it?
I dunno, but I don't hate it. Da da da.

Decor

Mon, 15 Apr 2013 10:08 -0700

It turns out, in fact, that moving the shop 2km northeast changes just about everything. Being across the street from Heritage is one thing. But being on a block with five yoga studios, well, that's another thing altogether. Or maybe not. In fact, with each passing day, I think it might actually be the same thing.
Over the weekend I dug out some old photographs. The new shop has pretty rad natural light and ceiling high enough to afford some decorations. As I was going over them, a friend from the new neighborhood popped in. She's a set designer who works in local theater. After looking over the small showroom for about two minutes, she suggested that maybe it should be decorated like Don Draper's office in Mad Men. I nodded, and told her that she was the third person to come to this conclusion. "You should get that little bar he has, and just serve pastis instead of Old Fashioneds." she said. Is this the kind of advice customers give other shop owners, I wondered.
That night, I started sketching out the new inventory plan. It's going to be pretty awesome, but will take some time to really put together. Maybe a few months, maybe an entire year... but there's time. The showroom has a great preexisting little alcove which will make a great dressing room. It's already illuminated, and just needs a nice curtain and a mirror. One wall will be entirely filled with clothing. Over the next few weeks Vulpine, Search & State, Tenspeed Hero, Cedar, Ibex, Café du Cycliste, Giordana, and a ton of vintage gear will fill the shelves.
The bicycle side is even nuttier. Projects that have been stewing from the shop's inception are all coming to fruition at the same time. So in addition to the revamped line of the shop's house brand steel, aluminum, titanium, and carbon offerings... you'll soon be able to find Pegoretti, Cherubim, Kualis, Calfee, Spooky, Honey, and later this year some interesting small runs by Humble Frameworks and Geekhouse. On the semi-custom side you can order complete bikes from Argon18, Focus, Velo Orange, Soma and Public... like everything else in Tativille and unlike every other shop I know of - each one of these builds includes handbuilt wheels stock.
And then there are the spinoff projects: Milkbar, Zefbikes, TATIPRIX, and the custom wheel shop...
This is all so overwhelming. I think I'll head across the street and have a cup of coffee.

Flavor Crystals

Thu, 24 Jan 2013 14:20 -0700

My grandfather's life afforded few luxuries, save for one, at least in his mind. Instead of beginning each morning with a generic cuppa joe, he'd carefully brew what he believed to be, for only a few pennies more, an affordable peek into the lives of the rich and famous: Folgers. I worked with him at the shop on weekends, and would watch him measure out a heaping plastic spoon of grounds and flavor crystals and let the Mr. Coffee do its thing. "The secret is in the flavor crystals," he'd say.
I spent my middle school summers racing bikes and sneaking into the art cinema to watch the latest by Godard, Fellini, Rohmer, and Truffault. But it wasn't until Breaking Away came out that I decided my grandfather was an unfortunate American. A heathen. A peasant. A barbarian, for no other reason than his pedestrian taste in coffee.

Espresso. Illy. And then: Peet's. Blue Bottle. Stumptown. Italian Moka Pot. Aeropress. French Press. Japanese pourover. I've worked and consumed coffee in a dozen countries, and with each discovery experienced the mild euphoria of the illusion of tasting something Next Level. But that kind of leveled off ten or fifteen years ago. Leveled off, yet, like bicycles, never reverted. Once you get a taste for something better, you don't go back.

It took a few years, but I've found a kindred spirit to Tativille here in Wicker Park. Wormhole. Gram scales. Stereolab. Nerds. Toms Shoes. Deloreans. A Jiro Dreams of Sushi approach to barista artistry. I go to Wormhole almost every day now. And even though I'm pretty sure they don't have flavor crystals, they have the secret. Wormhole offers a premium product presented by skilled artisans, in a convenient, comfortable, and super rad location. The result is a wholly fulfulling experience. Though I go there almost every day, I really have no idea what anything costs. Which is as it should be.
This is pretty true at all my favorite places to spend money. And I wish it were true in Tativille, boy do I ever. But the fact of the matter is that we're in a rapidly transitioning, very competitive industry. And for those of us on the pro shop side of things, we're hocking luxury goods in a down economy to folks across the income spectrum. And so I completely understand why shops are discounting labor, experimenting with services like Groupon, and running increasingly aggressive sales promotions. Some claim that what we're seeing is a race to the bottom. Others observe that the new market entrants are simply nimbler and responding to customer demand. Personally, I'm bewildered by it all. I sat down this winter and thought a lot about this. I thought about the customers I have and the customers I'll have in the future. I thought about what my time is worth and what overheard costs are and all of that within the context of this Chicagoland bicycle marketplace. And just as I was about to pull the trigger on a big shift in the shop's pricing, a friend invited me over to Wormhole for a cup of Sulawesi.
As we sipped our coffees, homeboy told me about his new job at Saatchi & Saatchi, his apartment in Brooklyn, and how cool the guys are at Chari & Co. And then he ordered a pair of Di2 Serge completes complete with Tune hubs laced to Ambrosio Nemesis rims. We discussed my dilemma for a bit, and he offered some pretty good advice.
"Do both," he said.
"Wut." I said.
"Do both. Discount and don't discount. Yes, absolutely wage war. But don't devalue your experience or your skill or your reputation. You don't have to. There's another way." he said.
"Wut."
"Instead of trying to compete for the lowest price, why don't you offer the highest? Offer the best."
"You mean the bestest." I nodded.
"Exactly. The Bestest."
INTRODUCING THE TATIVILLE TUNE UP, ie THE MOST EXPENSIVE & BESTEST TUNE UP IN CHICAGOLAND
I won't bore y'all which what a proper tune-up entails. If you don't know, you wouldn't be reading this. The thing is, bicycle maintenance isn't rocket science. Heck, it's not even motorcycle maintenance. And some of the best mechanics around aren't young enough to legally buy their own Pernod. But suffice it to say that this particular service is one that's guaranteed to be proper sick. And you'll pay for it, yes?
$100

At that price, I probably won't sell too many tune-ups, and quite honestly... that's a good thing. It means you'll get your bike back lickety split, and there will be no gimmicks, no shortcuts. Just plain, honest hard work. Slightly skilled hard work. And since this also happens to be the very best tune up service in Chicagoland, it also includes:

A full Yokozuna Reaction cableset
Vintage (no longer manufactured!) Tune cable ends
Lizard Skins handlebar tape

ABOUT YOKOZUNA
Imma quote Competitive Cyclist here: "No cable set we've ever tried -- not Campy, not Dura Ace, not Nokon, not Gore, nothing -- can match what we felt. What ceramic bearings are to your drivetrain, Yokozuna is to cables: An astounding reduction in drag, except unlike ceramics, the Yokozuna difference is one you can feel on a moment-to-moment basis. It's dragless." NE PLUS ULTRA, Ninjas. And so I won't do a tune-up without it.

ABOUT TUNE
Once upon a time, Tune of Germany manufactured the most Zef, insane hubs and superlight components in the world. It still does. What Tune doesn't manufacture any longer are its nutty $6 cable ends, which are stronger and lighter and sicker than any other anodized cable end you'll find. I bought box of them from a distributor in Switzerland, and you know, when they're gone, they're gone. Will your friends notice the difference? Will your bike feel lighter? Will they make you ride faster? No, no and no. But you will quietly feel superior to your riding mates knowing that you have them, that's for damn sure.

ABOUT LIZARD SKINS
I hated the DSP tape when it first came out. I still hate the name Lizard Skins and I hate the stupid embossed reptile on the tape itself. But here's the thing: the tape is featherweight, insanely shock absorbent, very easy to clean, and kind of, mostly, a little durable. It's also hella expensive. But it's the best. And it's included in every tune-up in Tativille. But wait?! What if you have a bike that uses some type of handlebar grip, one that doesn't have drop bars? Ah, well, in that case, you should probably go elsewhere. Those confuse me.

Time for Skillz.

Sun, 20 Jan 2013 14:07 -0700

TATIPRIX is launching next month. It's going to be totally sick and totally incorrect. Here's a preview.

TATIPRIX BUNDLE #002: "Rollers Zef"

CONTENTS:
(1) JET BLACK ROLLERS
(1) IN THE CROSSHAIRS T-SHIRT
(1) VINTAGE ROULEUR ISSUE
(1) 4OZ TUB of CHOMPER BODY MUSCLE BUTTER

That's 4 timeless and classic Zef objects, delivered rapidly to your doorstep via Federal Express Ground for the very reasonable amount of TWO HUNDRED AND FIFTEEN DOLLARS.

T-Shirt
Rosie XS
Rosie S
Rosie M
Heroes S
Heroes M
Heroes L

ABOUT JET BLACK ROLLERS
Bar none, the best traditional rollers on the market under $400. 95% of Kreitler quality at half the price. Jet Black is an Australian brand little known in North America. Their rollers have great bearings, smooth drums, and an extremely stable steel folding base.

ABOUT CHOMPER BODY MUSCLE BUTTER
Hand made in New York by a competitive cyclist, Chomper Body Muscle Butter is an affordable luxury that you won't be able to live without once you've tried it. It smells delicious and feels even better. Apply it after apres workout, after showering. Your legs will thank you for it.

ABOUT ROULEUR
Ne Plus Ultra cycling journal. Surprise issue.

ABOUT IN THE CROSSHAIRS T-SHIRTS
From the world famous cyclocross blogger. Choose from Rosie or Superheroes.

There are cheaper rollers in the world (just barely, at this price actually) but none even come close to the quality of the Jet Blacks. Most folks don't get very many opportunities to try and buy when it comes to rollers. But here in Tativille we live and breathe the things. Jet Black is the real deal. They're real, real smoove. How smoove? This smoove:

Field Zef

Fri, 18 Jan 2013 13:40 -0700

TATIPRIX is launching next month. It's going to be totally sick and totally incorrect. Here's a preview.

TATIPRIX BUNDLE #001: "Field Zef"

CONTENTS:
(1) 140ml TUB of ASSOS CHAMOIS CREME
(2) TATIPRIX BUTYL INNER TUBES in PROTECTIVE VELVET SATCHELS
(3) MUSA FIELD NOTES NOTEBOOKS, GRAPH PAPER

That's 6 timeless and classic Zef objects, delivered rapidly to your doorstep via the United States Postal Service for the very reasonable amount of THIRTY FIVE DOLLARS.

Valve

32mm
48mm
60mm

ABOUT ASSOS CHAMOIS CREME
Fabricated in Switzerland by Fritz Keller AG for ASSOS. There is PRO and then there is PRO. ASSOS chamois creme is decidedly in the latter camp. Crack open the tub, take in the menthol aroma, close your eyes, and envision Alpine descents, knees covered in Strada Bianche dust, the squeal of Veloflex Carbons cornering at 75km/hr. You'll want chamois time to be all the time.

ABOUT TATIPRIX TUBES
Made in Thailand for TATIPRIX. If you must ride clinchers, at least have some respect. Jewel thieves use velvet satchels. As do Crown Royal fans. And now you too will appreciate the understated elegance of a protective velvet satchel for your tubes. Impress your friends! Keep your tubes dry and your valves clean! Also doubles as rad jersey pocket wallet.

ABOUT FIELD NOTES NOTEBOOKS
Who among us doesn't wish to log all of the epic things we do on our bicycles? Field Notes are 48 page memo books for recording dreams, goals, failures, and threshold tests. 5mm graph paper, great for sketching frame geometries or brevet routes. Made in the USA by skilled artisans.

Serge Teaser

Fri, 28 Dec 2012 10:30 -0700

After five years of experimenting with the platform, Serge is ready for prime time and will be productized for 2013.
Serge is a super Zef carbon road racing bike manufactured in Taiwan, assembled right here in Chicago, and hand painted to perfection down the road by Chester Cycles. It's the latest model in the TATI Signature lineup, comes with a two year warranty and a sick crash replacement program (ie wholesale for the frame, 50% off labor for the rebuild) so you can feel free to bump elbows with abandon during the crit season.
Highlights: 8 sizes. ~925g in 54cm, choice of BB30 or English, tapered HT, UD carbon (but they're all painted so only you'll know).
Yes, Serge is named after M. Gainsbourg.

2013 signature colorways: Porsche Peridot & Matte Black.

BASE CONFIGURATION:
Drivetrain: Campagnolo Veloce
Cockpit/seatpost: EIS
Tape: Lizard Skins DSP
Tires: Challenge Open Tubulars
Wheels: Handbuilt standard TATI road wheels, built to customer spec
Assembly compounds: Campagnolo grease & Tacx carbon paste
Does not include pedals, saddle

Veloce
2350
105
2450
Apex
2300

Centaur
2475
Ultegra
2800
Rival
2500

Athena
2650
Dura-Ace
3750
Force
2650

Chorus
3100
Ultegra Di2
3650
Red
3450

Record
3550
Dura-Ace Di2
4050

Athena EPS
3900

Available from February 2013. serge@taticycles.com

A bit more about the crash replacement program... the sad truth is that every time we race our bikes, there's a legitimate chance of crashing, and therefore of something breaking. And it's quite true that every component, whether it's made from titanium, steel, aluminum, or carbon, can fail depending on the circumstance. Here at TATI we see dozens of bikes likes this each year. For a small percentage, the damage is so extreme that it's not worth salvaging. But increasingly, it makes economic and environmental sense to have the carbon repaired. We have a great relationship with Ruckus Components in Portland, one of the leading carbon repair companies in the world. If your Serge happens to get chipped up, we'll ship it off to Ruckus, AND LOAN YOU A RAD HULOT FRAME AT NO CHARGE while your frame is being repaired. Nuf said, yo!

Mon petit malaise

Thu, 27 Dec 2012 08:45 -0700

Among the many stupid things I did in college in order to catch a cutie's eye was read Émile Zola. My neighbor was signed up for a French lit class that included "Au Bonheur des Dames", and, you know, in order to seem worldly and exude an effortless savoir faire, I figured one day that I'd read it first. Then weeks later, when she'd begin poring over the text, I'd casually drop references to Octave Mouret or Denise Baudu, and then we'd share a cigarette. Needless to say, things didn't quite work out this way.
But I did get obsessed with Zola and ended up reading seven or eight of his novels. The series takes place against the backdrop of the invention of the department store in mid-19th Century Paris, and what amounts to, in many ways, the coming of age of modern retail. Earlier this year, the BBC produced an 8 part miniseries loosely based on these novels, and it's fantastic.
Lately I've been thinking a lot about these stories. It's around this time of year that I consider how life in Tativille has been, and make changes and improvements. 2012 marked the shop's relocation to Wicker Park, smack dab in the middle of the city's densest bicycle commuter population and amidst a vital and exciting retail scene. For the most part, I toiled away in my little box, doing the same sorts of things that I did when I was 13: building and repairing wheels, gluing tubular tires, and listening to Miles Davis. I kind of ignored the realities of the shop's new locale, but paid very close attention to the trials and tribulations of all the other shops nearby.
The retail bicycle industry is odd. It's odd because there are vast numbers of educated, perfectly employable folks in their 20s, 30s and even 40s who choose to remain in this shrinking industry, without health care, without a living wage, without savings, and without any realistic opportunity to remedy these things. Meanwhile, things are changing rapidly. Internet sales are increasing at a rate of 18% per annum. 7% of all independent bike shops close each year. The supply chain is transforming, with chains and big box stores growing rapidly. Big brands are experimenting with company stores, mimicking the automotive industry in an effort to eliminate middlemen. The industry is growing overall, and there are surely some success stories, but real income in the industry has shrunk for 13 straight years.
Here in Chicago, we're going to see a pretty exciting 2013 on the retail scene. Several new, well financed shops will be opening their doors. A few of the mid-sized independent shops have gotten serious about their marketing: discounting, promotions, bait-and-switch are the weapons of choice. I suppose all of this new competition is probably good for consumers, at least insofar as one won't really have to pay retail for parts, bikes, or services any time soon.
I went back and read "Au Bonheur des Dames" last week. It's shockingly modern. Octave himself is a ruthless and effective executive. Using innovations such as home delivery, massive sales, heavy advertising, and an in-store cafe... he methodically destroys his smaller competitors one by one. And his customers love him for it, for at the same time his store delivers an exciting and intoxicating array of the very best products, flawless service, and an overwhelming selection. Then again, his employees are essentially indentured servants, working (admittedly at will) for pauper wages, living in company dormitories, and dreaming of better lives that will never materialize. But in this way, is it not prescient?
Of course, that my takeaway from one of the greatest novels of all time is more about its purported relevance to bicycle retail than its real intent, exploring the mysteries of the human heart, is, on this cold wintry morning, mon petit malaise.

Pizza Boxes

Sun, 23 Dec 2012 12:31 -0700

Last week I finished up a some wheels for a new customer. He'd been pretty clear about what he wanted: Tune to 32h TB25s. In fact, he wanted two identical sets of these wheels. Both sets would get silver CX Rays and Veloflex Arenbergs. And brass nipples. The interesting thing was that the entire order took place over Twitter, in three neat, 140 character messages.
When we met to hand off the wheels, I noticed that he was wearing a jacket embroidered with the original Silicon Graphics logo. So I asked, "Did you work for them?"
And he was all, "Yeah."
"Mang, I loved my pizza box Indy." I said.
"Yeah," he nodded. "I was on the design team for the Indy and the O2."
His voice kind of dipped when he said O2. And I knew immediately what he meant. SGI was a high flying, super steezy computer company for a large chunk of the 90s. They produced legitimately top notch, super fast equipment that also happened to look ridonkulous. Even engineers who worked for competitors were known to buy SGIs and use them at home: the signature "electric blue" low, flat cases were as ubiquitous as Aeron chairs and home office Cisco routers among a certain set. But the industry shifted hard towards the end of the decade, and SGI was left flat footed: offering an admittedly well engineered replacement for the Indy in the O2 to a marketplace that no longer existed. It was a huge flop, and the company soon went bust.
We both kind of stood silently for a moment, as he held one of the wheels closely, examining the glue job. "Would you like a cup of coffee?" I asked, conveniently enough, as we were at that moment standing in the middle of Wormhole. He nodded.
"I don't live in Chicago," he began. "After SGI, I got a job at Swarthmore College in Pennsylvania. I've been there ever since."
"How is the riding?"
"Well, aside from the fact that there are actually four seasons, pretty fantastic. I get to ride almost every day."
"So do you have family here in Chicago?"
"No."
"But you didn't come out here just for these wheels! I would have shipped them had a I known..."
"No, no. I come to Chicago every year. I'm kind of a foodie, so I like to try out the new restaurants... and of course, grab some pizza."
"...and some nice wheels?"
"Yeah, I'll be back in the spring, and I should have my new bike done by then. It's a Bilenky touring rig, so I'll need some more wheels."
"Great! Have you thought about what you want yet?"
"Not really, but I'll tweet you when I decide."
"Thanks."
"This coffee... it's really good."
"Yeah."
I thought about our interaction later that day. And then for a while that evening, and then some more the next day. I thought about Silicon Graphics. I thought about my shop. I thought about how after surveying my customers all month, I discovered that 80% of their bicycle dollars were being spent online. And these are folks who go out of their way to support small, local businesses... but also have esoteric, impeccable taste. E-commerce is often the last (but only) resort for these folks, I thought. I stared at my shelves containing 35 flavors of embro. I stared at my drawers of Gage+DeSoto t's, Search & State jackets, and vintage Assos goodies. I stared at the boxes of now-discontinued White Industries H3 hubs I've been hoarding, at the Paul Components brake tools, at the Catlike Whispers. Am I looking at SGI Indy pizza boxes? Am I both behind and ahead of the curve? Is the TATI curve actually in its own alternate universe? I thought about the Cherubims on the way. And the Malin+Goetz eucalyptus deodorant, and I thought about Corima.
Le Hm.
And then I started working on an entirely new plan.

Mauvaise Foi

Thu, 13 Dec 2012 11:54 -0700

She's no Henri, but my cat is certainly more in tune with French existentialism than most folks I know. She sees right through my fragile facade, and knows full well that, like the rest of the merchant class, I'm resigned to lead an inauthentic life and to forever suffer under the weight of mauvaise foi.

Few bike shop employees view their vocation as necessarily noble, but many like to rationalize the decision to pursue a chronically seasonal, underpaid career choice as having some degree of higher social value than, say, hocking iPhones. I'm not quite this delusional, but do share some form of this fantasy. It's especially when the weather dips, business slows, hours are cut, and income plummets, that we come together and ask one another the hard questions: is it worth it? Is it time to grow up?

A decade ago or three, things might have been a little different. A certain percentage of folks have always gravitated to bike shop work for a "love of the sport," or somesuch... and many of those would classically be described as overqualified, overeducated, or both. But in today's economy, when work can be difficult to come by regardless of one's collar hue, it's not surprising in the slightest to learn that your headset is being overhauled by a double PhD.

It's a low margin business, this. And we are witnessing the slow motion transformation of an industry, shaped on the one hand by internet commerce and direct-to-consumer sales - and the other by consolidation and the growth of regional and national retail chains. Obviously, the local bike shop isn't going to disappear altogether, but the old guard is dying off (or being bought), and those few foolhardy souls brave enough to jump in now, are having to play by rules unimaginable even a decade ago. Here in Chicago, as elsewhere, the severe seasonality of the business leads to some pretty crummy and destructive practices: very aggressive discounting, the reliance on low wage temporary labor, and a remarkable tendency towards merchandising conformity. These are all bummers, but we are seeing glimmers of hope in the form of a few newcomers to the game.
Heritage Bicycles is equal parts neighborhood cafe and miniature bicycle boutique, but with several Big Idea twists. When word first leaked about the operation, I sneered at the Wald stems, amateur-looking frame welds, and overall aesthetic of their (admittedly made in Chicago) 18kg city bikes. But slowly, surely, I began to understand that this wasn't just a copycat bike cafe, where coffee was a mere afterthought to a small bike shop, or even the converse. Heritage is something altogether different, and wholly unique. Its owner, Michael Salvatore, is aiming to build a brand which is some kind of fascinating mash up of vintage J Crew, Anthropologie, the OG Schwinn, doused in artisinal coffee and swathed in fine Brooks leather. It's awesome and exciting to watch.

Many of us will remember Tony Bustamante from his days writing Belgium Knee Warmers, some from his association with Alberto's, and a few from his days at Seven. His Velosmith shop burst out of the gate, guns blazing - an itsy bitsy and unassuming pro shop located on a quiet street in Wilmette that just happens to feature Lightweight Wheels, Parlee, and Seven. Tony is one of the premier fitters in the country, a stylist among stylists, and perhaps most importantly, well schooled in the history of bicycle riding, racing, and fabrication. It doesn't hurt that he's a ridiculously nice guy. How is it, many of us wondered, that a shop with no history (not exactly true, but you get the point), very little inventory, and no marketing budget to speak of, could instantly find itself among the nation's upper echelon? Spend a few minutes with Tony, and you'll immediately understand. It's no accident.

Back home, I'm busy brewing a pour over cup of Half Wit Sulawesi Toarco Estate A and arguing with my cat.
"More authenticity, homie." she says.
"OK, but that basically means I'd only be selling handbuilt steel fgcx bikes and tubulars!"
"Sure, but you'd feel less dirty."
"I don't feel dirty, this isn't art."
"So make it art!"
"Le sigh."

In non-art related news, I'm happy to announce the addition of some cool goodies here in Tativille. I can't say that any of them will do social good, or change your life's direction, or make you a better person. But I can say that you won't be able to easily find them anywhere else in Chicagoland.
Malin&Goetz, HIRZL, Donkey Label, Corima, Cedar Cycling, We Are Butter, Café du Cycliste, CCP, ... and Cherubim.

Remembrance of Things Dugast

Wed, 12 Dec 2012 14:26 -0700

Among the things I've learned in my years in Chicago: Road tubulars don't corner all that well on black ice, even tenured classics professors can be fans of professional football, and you simply cannot find a decent madeleine in our fair city.
A few days ago - you'll remember it, it's the one where the mercury dipped a few degrees below zero for the first time this year - I decided to head out into the cold, Proust in hand, in one final attempt to locate even a marginal example of this buttery, heavenly pastry. I checked the weather. My phone said "lovely!" and so I fingered up a pair of black 5blings and reached for the door. But my cat was all, "I don't think so," and nodded towards the window. There was a bit of frost around the edges, and I could see schoolchildren outside, huddling. They were mittened up, and wearing huge puffy jackets. They looked sad and desperate, hungry, and very cold. "Thanks, homie." I said to the cat, and grabbed a pair of mittens and a huge puffy jacket.
An hour later, I reached the shop, and then it hit me. All morning something had been bothering me, somewhere in the back of my mind there was a single important task - but it was fuzzy and shapeless, and I simply couldn't recall. And then there it was before me: a cumbersome and heavy bike box leaning against the far wall, a box which I had promised to deliver to Evanston the previous night.
The ride through the city had been pretty uneventful. I was on a prototype city bike - a steel fixed gear with a rather nice low bottom bracket, room for fat tires, and a very slick integrated front cargo basket. As I had rolled through Pilsen, the aroma of freshly baked tortillas filled my nostrils, and for a moment, I imagined what fun it would be to deliver freshly baked tortillas by bike. And how perfectly a few hundred would stack on this cute, sturdy basket. But a couple hundred tortillas and a full sized bike box are not the same thing. And... I thought to myself, even if I *could* balance the box on the basket, how could I stabilize it?

It's been a busy year for this little shop. The move from parks Hyde to Wicker in the spring, while not exactly traumatic, was a bit of a logistical nightmare. Business spiked, so naturally I cut operating hours and began mostly working between midnight and dawn, in order to avoid the hullabaloo. Built a few hundred sick wheels. Glued a couple hundred sick tubulars. And repaired all varieties of flotsam & jetsam along the way. It was then that I took a look at the flotsam & jetsam section of the store. Neatly stacked in a corner, between piled of old Rouleurs and cases of Nutella embrocation, is where I keep my busted tubular carcasses. This year there were so many that I decided to only retain the fancy stuff: Veloflex, FMB, Dugast. And then: a satori.

One of the many regrets I have in life is not sticking it out and making it to Eagle Scout. I made it to Life, or Star, or something like that, and was well on my way to Eagle, when my cycling coach put the kibosh on all that. "Racing is everything." he said. "Racing is everything." I said, and so I quit the scouts. If I'm honest, I never really liked being a Boy Scout. Sure, the uniforms were pretty sick. I liked the formality, the hierarchy, the casual hazing of inferiors. But I hated everything else about it. Except for the survival skills. In fact, very early on, I discovered a preternatural skill with knots. I might have made a pretty good sailor. Had I not been preternaturally seasick, even at the mere thought of the ocean.
Eight sick (and rotten) Dugasts and six Alpine butterflies later, I'd secured the box to the basket. "Aight, Playa." said the cat in my head.

The trip to Evanston ended up being pretty quick and uneventful. The recipient was so thankful that she offered to buy me some coffee as a tip. We walked over to Unicorn for Americanos and vegan muffins. She noticed the Proust in my pocket, and I admitted with embarrassment that it was a translated copy, that I'd never be able to get through the book in the original French. And then, for a moment, things got weird. I don't even know how this all happened. I don't even know how I awoke that morning and decided to grab the Proust off of the shelf. Because at that moment, we both realized that here we were, at Unicorn Cafe, with a copy of _Remembrance of Things Past_ between us, a zef fixed gear cargo bike piled high with rotten Dugasts leaning against the window, two delicious Americanos on the table, two half eaten vegan muffins... and her name, awkwardly enough: Madeleine.