At first glance, I thought this was a biker bar tucked into an industrial stretch of the Williamsburg section of Brooklyn. But it was suspiciously quiet for a bar, and as I walked by I noticed that all the bikes were chained together. The sidewalk was what Kipling might have described as a “gray, green, greasy” collection of bikes, bike parts and spent motor oil.
The owner sat outside the door, where he could hold court while keeping an eye on his empire of broken motorcycles. A large, intimidating man--who now that enough time has passed and I’m far enough away that I can safely speculate out loud that his last bath might have been during the Nixon Administration--he wouldn’t let me photograph him any closer than this. There was something about trouble with "the man." I didn’t ask any more about "the man," but I gather that if you’re in Brooklyn and need a part for your motorcycle and you aren’t into asking too many questions about where the part came from, this is the man to see.
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Oh, wow. What a place! The one person on the bicycle moving through all of this is very cool, too. Quite a collection there--the whole scene looks like something one would not readily forget.
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ReplyDeleteI just noticed that flag--do you think it was a bicentennial flag!?
I like how all the motorbikes languish motionless in their graveyard while a pedal-powered bike speeds right through them, all blurry. It's like the pedaler is sticking it to The Motorbike Man
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