New Tires. Why the Hell is it so Hard to Get New Skin on a Motorcycle?

The author's 2009 Kawasaki Concours - loaded with one Michelin Pilot Road 3

     When I first dropped the Connie's kickstand in Kansas, my rear tire looked like a marathoner's favorite pair of shoes. After 9,476 miles the rubber was at the end of its life. The reverse aging process was in its final stages, which meant the crevices and crenelations of youth were all but gone, the center strip was ironed down to little more than the faded crow's feet of a Botoxed suburbanite. There was a bit of life left in it – maybe 1,000 miles, maybe 100 – just enough time to shop around. As motorcyclists, you know surveying new shops is hardly work. Usually.

Michelin Pilot Road 3. I found one spot that
was well worn just before getting it swapped.

     I found a shop here in Manhattan that looked equipped to handle the '09 Kawasaki Concours, and on arrival immediately felt welcome in the parking lot. I pulled up next to a pair of sub-liter sport bikes in the lot – 650 Suzukis, I think. They were good looking and functioned as a kind of billboard: You've come to the right place.
     Kelsie and I pushed through the door and into the shop. Not very big – really, it felt like a super-sized cardboard box, but it was packed full, overstuffed with mysteries waiting to be uncovered.

     Racks of armor-plated jackets huddled on racks. Shelves sat full of helmets. Not a lot of bikes, but there was one of those Japanese modern retro machines on the floor – the ones that are still produced with kick start. Yeah, my kind of place.

     I made my way to the guy on duty, youngish, and fenced in behind glass display cases. I greeted him, probably smiling like an ape pounding banana daiquiris. You see, I'm almost always amicable in these places. Something about the electric feel of new technology. Potential. New rides. The five-year-old feel of imagination. It puts me in a fine spirit.

     He looked at me, up from whatever arduous, manual labor task he was performing behind the counter to return the greeting.

     Here's why I had to qualify earlier by using the word usually. This is where it started, not in the words... because the words of exchanges like these are almost moot, they are standardized, homogenized bland like a carton of milk. Anywhere you go across the country, it's the same, so the words spoken have to be pretty interesting to stand out in your memory. That being said, initial contact is important. It sets a tone very quickly, and that's why this interaction stands out in my mind. It was exemplary because it fell apart.

     I don't remember the words, what I do remember is that after he looked up to greet me, he went back to his arduous task. I felt like I got 3/10 of a second. That's a lot of time in an Olympic 100m – but not so much in retail. His task was so important that he split his focus for it, and away from a customer. Employees are busy people, I've been an employee at many places and I've been busy at all of them. So, I tolerated it. Didn't even mind at first. I was undaunted. Amicable. Keeping busy is his prerogative, sometimes you need to multitask to keep a business successful. However, customers are curious, it's their prerogative... so I peeked behind the counter and followed his gaze to see what kept him so busy.

     It was the cover of his iPhone (or something similar, I honestly don't care). He'd pulled it off and had it on the counter. In one hand he had a rag, next to him was a spray can of some treatment or cleaner. Then, as I stood there he proceeded to buff. He chose to do this instead of showing visible interest me, or at least any that I could read.

     Undaunted. (Amicable, remember.) I explained my situation. High miles, old tire, time for a reskinning.

Buff buff. Spritz, Buff buff. Uh huh.

     In his defense, when I told him what I wanted, he turned quickly to 'the book' and found the Michelin Pilot Road 3 I'd asked about and named the price. Quick, as they say, like a jackrabbit on a date.

 $299. Installation was $43 more.

     For a grand total of $342+ tax. That seemed like a lot. But I only buy tires every so often, and I hadn't checked around. My memory being what it is (as fierce as strained peas) I couldn't remember what I paid last year, so I wasn't sure how high it was, or if it really was high. If I had done a bit of research beforehand I would have balked, spit my teeth at him and asked for a price match. As it stood, my research started at that particular shop. It was supposed to be fun, after all. So I asked, as I always do, if there was any room for negotiation. There's always room for negotiation on tires. Every shop has room for negotiation. This shop would have room for the same.

     Nope. Not a hem or a haw or a second thought. $299 was the price, love it or leave it – and the tone encouraged me to leave it. However, he did offer another solution. If I wanted to save money he did have other tires to offer... if I was interested, I wasn't.. I had a PR3 on the front, hopefully with another 9,000 miles of spinning left, and I wanted a matched rear. I went to peruse the store without asking for an appointment or an order. Eventually we slinked out. Not that we needed to, what with the phone.

     Maybe this interaction was my fault. I was honest with him; I wasn't interested in buying that day unless the price was right. And $300 wasn't right. Maybe I shouldn't have been. Maybe I should have lied to garner more attention, but I don't like to operate that way. If a shop needs to be slapped in the face with colorful plastic to be helpful, then (in the immortal words of my father) piss on it. I don't need that in my life. So, we left. Back home.

     “$300 seems like a lot of money.” I said to Kelsie at home – more to myself, really, sweating over $350 I didn't really want to spend.

     “It does, what did you pay last year?” she said.

     I stared blankly. Yeah, that's a good question. She asks good questions!

     “Did you keep the receipts from the last time you had them changed?”

     “I... uh. Maybe.” I hadn't thought of this. What a brilliant idea! I found a manilla envelope labeled Connie Papers. (Sounds like a relative to that Jackie kid from Puff the Magic Dragon), poured it out, and voila, an invoice.

     Quan. 1: 190/50/17 - $198. (Mayday Motors, New Ulm, MN. They come highly recommended if you're in the area.) 

     $198 for a rear tire of the same exact specs. This meant I was quoted a total cost increase of $101. $101! Fair warning, here. For those of you who don't know, I speak French. Please pardon the following linguistic bleeding. “A hundred bucks? What? The? Fuck?”

      OK, OK. Sure. Oil prices, cost of rubber, something something. Rabble rabble, grumble grumble. Some price increases mixed with a less-than-exemplary markup at this particular shop... that could explain the whole thing. Still. A hundred dollars? Piss on that!

     I did what all savvy consumers do. I went to Amazon.

     Search: Michelin Pilot Road 3 190/50/17. Result: free two day shipping (I love Amazon Prime) for $180. $180! I repeat, this time in French, for emphasis, $180 fucking dollars! (and yes, the French word for dollar is [un] dollar). Amazon wanted $180 and you know they're still making money. At this point I was incensed with the local shop. (I thought maybe I would go piss on it.) How could they charge $300? I showed them my backlash in the best way possible in the free market. I put the Amazon tire in my cart and worked my way to the end of the transaction. Take that.

     Then I stopped before the final click. It's was worth checking one more place.

   BikeBandit. Same search. Same price – however, BB has one small difference. They give a 10% discount to American Motorcyclist Association members. Total price $162 + plus shipping. I'm pretty sure Bike bandit is still pulling a profit at this point, too, and for $140 less than the shop in town. 46% discount. It takes a lot of French to describe how I feel about that.

     Hey, can you move on that price at all?

     Nope.

     With both items in their final stages of purchase, I compared final prices shipped to the door. Bike Bandit underbid Amazon (a tough feat, to say the least) by almost twenty bucks, and then BB greeted me with one more message.

     Dear Brady, your order has qualified you for free Bike Bandit Podium! (What the hell is that?) It qualifies you for a free subscription of Cycle World, (Oh, neat!) other features (which I haven't yet deciphered) and free shipping!

     I ordered immediately. Just to reiterate, Bike Bandit provided me with a 46% discount, a free magazine subscription and free shipping, and some other stuff I don't even yet understand. It was at my house by the close of the week and I had it on the rim the following thanks for a nice local shop that will mount rubber they don't sell you. Now that's service.

      Bike Bandit, I am pleased with your performance. In fact, my only qualm with BB – their shipping prices – has just been eliminated, and it takes a hell of a lot to beat Amazon these days. I also have nothing but good things to say about Briggs Auto, who installed the tire for me. 

     I could have been hung out to dry after buying the tire, stuck with only the one shop for help. I was willing to drive to Topeka or Kansas City, anything to a shop that would charge almost twice what a product sells for online – but I didn't have to, because I struck gold. Briggs Auto did it in a friendly atmosphere with competent staff, not one of whom cleaned his phone in my presence.

     One of the staff even took time to talk bikes with me while I waited. He had plenty going on, his phone rang often, but he made time. Sure, he's in sales – that's what a good salesman does, you butter people up even when they're not buying (or buying anything big) to earn their trust. To show them you're good people. That it's worth the haul to shop with them... and that's exactly my point. These days I may be in the minority, but I'll drive out of my way, well out of my way, for decent treatment and decent prices. Fortunately, this time, I didn't need to - I only found a shop I hope never to step inside again.