Let other bike shops (click, click) do what they may.
At this shop, we want to invite, not intimidate the beginner; listen, not preach to the curious; and salute, not marginalize the commuter.
Commuting cyclists have been our bread and butter since 1994. They have told us what bikes they want to see at our store. They have come back and informed us, in no uncertain terms, which products were simply crap. They have recommended street-tested items for us to sell. They have dripped salty slush on our floor and leaned their mud-spattered bikes against our displays. With a glint of hope in their eyes, they have brought their pretzeled wheels for us to fix. The grime from their chains has clogged and corroded our drain. The gunk and debris in their tires has smeared our hands and cut our fingers. The worn parts taken off their bikes filled our trash bins -- nothing there worth saving even for the boneyard. We've talked with them for hours as the snot slowly melted from the tips of their noses, and as the pungent aroma of a hard-pedaling cyclist enveloped in a weatherproof jacket, exposed to fumes and exhaust, wafted through the air. We've run out of fenders, slicks, racks and gloves trying to keep up with them. We've lost sleep over their complaints and criticisms, but also accepted many a six-pack, tip and compliment. They have sustained us through fourteen insane summers, and, crucially, fourteen desperate winters.
They are our heroes. Rapid Transit Cycleshop is, has been, and always will be a bike shop crazy in love with commuters.