Thursday, September 04, 2003
Big Bill
He's a good friend of my fathers, and has been ever since they met in the early '80s. Back then my father was a hard working Harley-Davidson dealer in Alabama and Bill would occasionally come in to my father's shop and order a half dozen motorcycles to be shipped to Switzerland. He would tell us stories about his European customers who were eager to feel the wind in their hair as they sped down the Autobahn at 220 decibels.
That seems like a long time ago, and Bill has stayed with my family enough times now that he's much more of an obscure German speaking uncle than my father's business associate. Both my father and brother reminded me earlier in my travels this year that I am the only Nicholas who hasn't come to visit Bill in the Alps.
So, here I am, on the flip side, seeing the Harley operation in Subingen, Switzerland. It's a small classic American motorcycle sales and repair shop with 2 bikes in the workshop and about 10 bikes in the showroom. When I asked how large of a region his shop catered to, Bill threw up his hands and said that he's now in heated competition with at least 3 other similar shops just in this small hamlet of about 2,700 people.
Bill's not too concerned though. He says that some people prefer the other guys - noting that he "can be grouchy... like an old bear," but his reputation as a fair salesman and quality mechanic is tops, and, with a shrug of his shoulders, he adds that, "I just use it to survive anyway."
From my point of view, he's surviving pretty well. Yesterday he picked me up at the train station in his enormous new silver BMW, complete with onboard everything. He pushed a few buttons on his steering wheel and - presto - we were watching a portion of Indiana Jones - And The Last Crusade dubbed in Swiss-German on the in-dash TV.
And then there's the homestead. He and his partner Suzalee just finished remodeling their home - originally both a home and a barn - a year or so ago. Apparently, before this remodeling which divided the home into two halves, the house hadn’t seen any major changes since it was built in the 1400s. Today, one side of their home is dedicated to leather chaps, new and used chrome thingies, and a fancy motorcycle sales floor and workshop, while the other half is devoted to Bill, Suzalee, their cat Peebo, and unimaginable amounts of gourmet food and wine. Not a bad combination if I say so myself.
I popped into the shop this morning after a hearty Swiss breakfast - muesli, yoghurt, espresso, twisty bread, and three different kinds of pungent smelling, but excellent tasting cheeses - to find that Bill had just finished working on a client's bike who is coming in this evening from Basel, a much bigger Swiss city about an hour away. Careful not to smear the bike with his grease-blackened hands, he maneuvered the bike from the lift to the drive and left it gleaming in the sunshine. Chalk up another one for Bill’s enviable kind of survival.
He's a good friend of my fathers, and has been ever since they met in the early '80s. Back then my father was a hard working Harley-Davidson dealer in Alabama and Bill would occasionally come in to my father's shop and order a half dozen motorcycles to be shipped to Switzerland. He would tell us stories about his European customers who were eager to feel the wind in their hair as they sped down the Autobahn at 220 decibels.
That seems like a long time ago, and Bill has stayed with my family enough times now that he's much more of an obscure German speaking uncle than my father's business associate. Both my father and brother reminded me earlier in my travels this year that I am the only Nicholas who hasn't come to visit Bill in the Alps.
So, here I am, on the flip side, seeing the Harley operation in Subingen, Switzerland. It's a small classic American motorcycle sales and repair shop with 2 bikes in the workshop and about 10 bikes in the showroom. When I asked how large of a region his shop catered to, Bill threw up his hands and said that he's now in heated competition with at least 3 other similar shops just in this small hamlet of about 2,700 people.
Bill's not too concerned though. He says that some people prefer the other guys - noting that he "can be grouchy... like an old bear," but his reputation as a fair salesman and quality mechanic is tops, and, with a shrug of his shoulders, he adds that, "I just use it to survive anyway."
From my point of view, he's surviving pretty well. Yesterday he picked me up at the train station in his enormous new silver BMW, complete with onboard everything. He pushed a few buttons on his steering wheel and - presto - we were watching a portion of Indiana Jones - And The Last Crusade dubbed in Swiss-German on the in-dash TV.
And then there's the homestead. He and his partner Suzalee just finished remodeling their home - originally both a home and a barn - a year or so ago. Apparently, before this remodeling which divided the home into two halves, the house hadn’t seen any major changes since it was built in the 1400s. Today, one side of their home is dedicated to leather chaps, new and used chrome thingies, and a fancy motorcycle sales floor and workshop, while the other half is devoted to Bill, Suzalee, their cat Peebo, and unimaginable amounts of gourmet food and wine. Not a bad combination if I say so myself.
I popped into the shop this morning after a hearty Swiss breakfast - muesli, yoghurt, espresso, twisty bread, and three different kinds of pungent smelling, but excellent tasting cheeses - to find that Bill had just finished working on a client's bike who is coming in this evening from Basel, a much bigger Swiss city about an hour away. Careful not to smear the bike with his grease-blackened hands, he maneuvered the bike from the lift to the drive and left it gleaming in the sunshine. Chalk up another one for Bill’s enviable kind of survival.
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