Born from the ashes of the of old Bike Port, Back Alley Bike Repair opened on this day, Valentine’s Day, in 2012. It was one of three bike shops that opened that week.

Since then, Back Alley Bike Repair‘s small but unique shop in the middle of a Pioneer Square alleyway has been a vital resource for people biking downtown as well as a hub for the bike scene. So it was heartbreaking news to receive a note from Ben Rainbow that they are shutting down after 12 years.

They are already cutting back service, and things will be on sale from now through the end of March.

“It’s been a wild ride and although this notion has weighed on me for the better part of a year,” said Rainbow. “I wanted to honor what we were able to accomplish and end things on my terms and a high note.” He said he’s keeping his plans for what comes next under wraps for now, but that he’s “super excited.”

The shop recently launched a limited run bike in collaboration with RatKing Frames called The Lost Highway. It’s a high note to go out on.

The closure is just latest in a troubling trend of Seattle bike shops closing their doors as the bike industry as a whole is confronting a hard swing back after years of high demand and low stock. This means it is a good time to buy a bike, but it also means that bike shops are struggling to keep the doors open and wrenches turning.

A letter from Ben Rainbow:

I used to joke that the City of Seattle ought to love Back Alley Bike Repair because we’re finally making taxable transactions in an alley. Of course that wasn’t the only reason we opened up in a covert location.

It was a little over 12 years ago at a First Thursday ArtWalk and I was invited into the tiny backroom of a 125 year old former hotel for loggers, miners, and gold rushers. The property manager of the Nord Building pitched the idea to me of operating a bicycle repair shop from within its charming bricked-out respite from the alley. I don’t recall who else was there that evening as my eyes cruised over the (321sq/ft) layout of barred windows and lack of electrical outlets, except for Desmond, who I knew as a customer and everyday rider from JRA Bike Shop, the tiny shop I worked at 2 blocks away. Knowing I was being asked to ascertain the viability of an “odd” space, I asked him to join me for an early evening glass of wine and to glean his impression of the space.

“Too small” and “where are you going to work on the bikes?” were his deductions. “It’s perfect” was all I could muster, ideas churning faster than words would allow- typical me.

These first thoughts began to articulate themselves into a rough concept for the shop. Beyond providing service to riders of all walks of life, I believed that we had a role within the community and should preserve the dignity of the vulnerable that inhabited this landscape before us. Compassion was a trait I learned from my mother, a Buddhist and beautician, who answered to the call of feeding the hungry. Simple acts, performed selflessly, hold such great power. Simple things like asking a stranger how they’re doing or if they like their bike. Acknowledge them. A basic 4-5-6mm 3-way Allen tool with a swiftly applied couple of adjustments to a brake or seat post sometimes meant they could show up at a job interview on time, or get into the shelter, or feeling a good roll. Having created a safe space inside was spreading outward into the alley, like a smile.

In setting up shop in an alley, I believed the curated bike shop atmosphere was a bit of a place for discovery and connecting. What drew me in were the ideas of Bikes, dynamic art, growth mindset, a diverse commingling of equity, expertise and community. It should be the prescription for any of Seattle’s aching or unsavory alleys. The first handful of years were about establishing dependability. We were the hungry underdog with much to offer and competing with no one but ourselves. We challenged ourselves to be a little bit better than the day before, stoked on all kinds of bikes, riding them and making it up as we went. Our community grew throughout the region. Though incredibly challenging, I’ll look back most fondly on the past handful of years. Beyond sharing the joy of cycling with so many others, I discovered a deep well that invigorated my curiosities, which in turn allowed me to re-envision the shop after incredible hardships. In that space, I also discovered my desire to expand my work beyond a shop in an alley.

We’ve grown personally and as a business from the awards and accolades. We’ve enjoyed the exposure from the countless product placement photo shoots from within and around the shop. We’ve lost count of the profile pics posed for in the alley, the numbers are lost in the manifests of alley cats, wedding cakes, Artwalks, music videos, dj sets, skate edits, commercials, dance parties, drug deals, BAW pics (bike against wall), out-of-towner “oh’s” and in-town “ahh’s”. Not to sound too corny but, Bikes make us Family. And if the alley was a living room, then the shop was our secret hideout.

My version of success was pretty simple at first – if we could attract professionals from the neighboring work spaces to bring their bikes in for service in the morning and have them return at the end of the day to pick-up and they were still smiling, we won. Their nonverbal cues would indicate to us that we had succeeded in creating a meaningful safe space. A disarming place to offer our best effort to maintain their preferred mode of personal transport to and from work and wherever else they’re off to. Having such loyal female customers, clients and colleagues in such a male-dominated activity felt like a bit of win. Our regulars brought their friends and colleagues in at lunch time to share their little secret gem of a bike repair shop. We’d go on to build them their new bikes, with supple tires and smooth fenders and Dyno light systems. We’d put baskets on their bikes before they were in vogue and encourage them to keep the weight (and sweat) off their backs. We’d give them those low low gears for making buttery tracks up the steepest inclines. We’d enhance their love for bicycles and the city and for moving through the city with friends.

We had little idea what or how these folks went about their business from 9-5, but their bikes would tell us all about how they got there and often times what they would do for fun on the weekends. We’d hear it ALL THE TIME “my favorite parts of the day are going to work, and away from work”. And folks were generous with their gratitude for facilitating their best of selves. And through those relationships we nurtured, we could express our gratitude to them for taking us along on their ride.

For the past dozen years, the community of friends and clients fueled the incarnations of team chemistry within the shop. I’m grateful for every one of those who expressed their talents to our customers and myself, by those whom nurture the craft of bicycle repair. To witness personal and professional growth with an “Ahh hah” is a magic moment, a thing of beauty. The bike shop is a special place for “pro tips”, “method” and information exchange and Back Alley generated that essence and convergence for people of incredibly diverse backgrounds. In a freaking alley of all places.

I’ve observed virtuosos learn to pluck for relative spoke tension and then had our front door stomped in by smash and grabbers, violated by those who just cannot help themselves but do harm unto others. We’ve created some stunningly beautiful machines of freedom for equally amazing and deeply beautiful people. We engage with and preserve the shredded dignity of our most vulnerable and outwardly grotesque community members, and felt their gratitude as their faces softened to say “thank you, sir”. I’ve even seen the day when those who can break free from the brutally vicious cycles of desperation and accept the responsibility of a new job and sense of purpose. They’d come back and tip $5. It’s literally amazing. And then we step out, into the column of light that cleaves the alley like a sign from the heavens that everything just might be alright.

But this chapter is over for now. I’ll write something more about it sometime, maybe you’ll see it. Maybe you’ll recognize yourself in that story and that time we shared together will come flooding back like the light that cleansed the alley clean. Or maybe it will resonate like that bike ride we took from our front door around the mountains, to that unbelievably beautiful place overlooking the still water and the mountains beyond. Or just maybe, during the quietness of a long hill climb you’ll recall our conversation about drivetrain hygiene and that a clean bike is a fast bike. Maybe not. And that’s cool, too. Either way, and whether you knew it then or not… it was actually amazing. And for that, my humble gratitude.