I like to hang out at motorcycle shops. At least, motorcycle shops that are inviting. Some of these huge Mega Motorcycle Mansions don’t seem overly friendly. I’ve walked into huge showrooms, wandered around, and left, without ever being greeted, or asked if I could be helped. But you walk into a small shop, franchise or aftermarket, and you are pretty much guaranteed some attention.
I was riding through Minnesota last summer, along two-lane Route 23, passing through the little town of Raymond, and there was a Harley dealership, looking like it was out of the 1970s. I didn’t need anything, but it looked like a good place to get a bit of local flavor, and I stopped. Joe Apol, the owner, was on hand, and he turned out to be an entertaining one-man show. I heard all about how he got started in the motorcycle business, which was a pretty damned good story; I hope he writes his memoirs. I was headed up the road for another hour or so, and pretty soon I had advice on a place to stay and a restaurant about 80 miles away.
That’s how I like a motorcycle shop to be, with friendly, motorcycle savvy personnel, a couple of chairs back in a corner, a coffee machine, some old magazines if you’re doing a wait. When I’m down in my local county seat, San Luis Obispo, and I want a break from whatever it is I’m doing, I don’t go to a coffee shop and spend three or four bucks on a caffeine rush amongst a bunch of strangers, I just drop by Mike Kaplan Cycles. Mike’s place is clean, well-lit, and friendly.
Mike has been around Harleys for probably half a century; he started young. He knows them inside and out, from Knuckles to Pans to Shovels and on forward. He’ll work on anything Harley made since 1936 (“...except iron Sportsters”), plus he has a couple of excellent mechanics, a very competent guy at the parts counter, and does not mind if his customers wander about. Rather than worry about all this legal nonsense of something happening if a customer is in the work area, Mike trusts his customers’ basic good sense.
And he’s flexible. The magazine gave me a Harley one afternoon that I was supposed to ride back to Milwaukee, leaving as soon as possible. Fine, but the bike was in desperate need of a service. I called my local dealer’s service manager, but he said his dance card was full and he wasn’t willing to shove anybody forward in order to slip me in. I called Mike. “No problem. Bring her in.” One of his wrenches, who recently worked at an authorized dealership, stopped what he was doing, put the bike on a lift, and a couple of hours later I was out of there, all fresh and cleanly oiled.
Me, I like a shop that will fit in an emergency. A traveling man comes through with a problem, the regulars can wait until this guy is back on the road. I rode into Dodge City one morning with a blown base gasket puking oil. The Harley dealership’s one mechanic put everything aside and had me back on the road in five hours. And he loaned me his truck while I was there so I could drive around and see all of D.C.’s sights.
When Harley was in the catbird seat, and the economy was flourishing, some bright lights in marketing, probably non-riders with Ivy League business degrees, like our former president has, decided that this boom was going to go on forever and that fancy showrooms alongside much traveled freeways was the way to go. A lot of pressure was put on dealers to subscribe to this notion, and Harley even provided architectural and design inputs. The company was so helpful it would even tell the owner how the place should be staffed, with so many mechanics, salespeople, etcetera. All intended to increase the sale of motorcycles, of course.
While the manufacture of motorcycles is definitely Big Business, with big factories, I find the sale of motorcycles is more in the small-business category. Big Business deals with billions of dollars, small businesses are more inclined to think in terms of thousands, maybe millions. And for those unclear on the concept of all those zeros, it would take a thousand million-dollar businesses to make up one billion-dollar operation.
One flaw that all those over-paid dimwits with questionable MBA (Mumbleheaded Baloney Arithmetic) degrees suffer is that they had no idea what to do when the inevitable downturn came (“Inevitable? Not so,” says the MBA). Rather like these dunderheads who thought the price of houses could go up forever. Harley upped its production, and then the economic cycle peaked, like a wave, and was followed by the present trough, a low point. Which is where we float now. From my simplistic view of economics, this is normal, as I have weathered a number of recessions, which seem to arrive every 10, 15 years.
I understand the wisdom of these large, rather impersonal stores. To make money, the business is to get customers in, sell them product, send them away happy, if a little lighter in the wallet, and to come back for accessories and service. But the Kaplan-sized shops have their own purpose. Mike knows what a spreadsheet is, and how to make sure the bottom line is positive, not negative. To enhance his shop’s reputation with customers, he does things like organize a monthly event, whether it’s a barbecue at the shop,a band, or an overnight trip to watch some flat-track racing.
A couple of months ago he sent out the word that he was riding up the coast to a nice restaurant on the next Sunday, and anybody who wanted could join him. He expected maybe a dozen people; 60 showed up. When they got to the restaurant he told the maitre d’ that he had underestimated the number. The maitre d’ got them all seated, fed, and happy. Later the restaurant sent Mike a note thanking him for the business, and said they’d be welcome any time.
It’s crunch time for many businesses, especially if they are overextended credit-wise. Harley is not interested in seeing dealers fail, so the Juneau Avenue gang is working hard to keep them going. But the shops like Kaplan’s are also an integral part of the Harley scene, essential to keeping old Harleys running and new Harleys well-tuned. Plus, these shops also have the advantage of the staff’s personality
Mike’s a happy guy, and he understands the good and bad points of 70 years of Harley production. By the way, he won’t work on iron Sporties because he knows that once he opens up the engine, he’ll have to tell the owner that it’ll cost more to fix than the bike is worth. Mike’s seen owners get angry and blame the bearer of such bad news; Mike doesn’t need that, as he likes happy customers.
And happy customers will be the ultimate force to see his shop through these trying economic times.
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