I’ve been buying gear and renting bikes from Mark, the original owner of The Hub, since forever. When he passed the torch to Charlie, it was still the same place — Aspen’s unofficial community clubhouse disguised as a bike shop. Over the years, I’ve met dozens of folks, hundreds of times, swapping stories and gearing up for rides that feel less like exercise and more like therapy.
So when I rented a bike for a friend recently, it felt like slipping into a familiar groove — a crisp, sunny Aspen morning, the kind that makes you want to belt out “Take Me Home, Country Roads.” We planned a beautiful ride to Woody Creek, then up Brush Creek, soaking in golden aspens and that slow creek babble that practically sings a lullaby for grownups.
And then—the bike disappeared. My bike, locked up tight and parked in the courtyard, was lifted like a magician’s rabbit—vanished into thin air. Yep. Weird, right? In a town where I once left a bike at The Little Nell for three years and found it untouched like some forgotten relic of good times.
I’m pretty sure some Texan in a kemosabe hat—likely drunk and blissfully unaware he was stealing someone’s ride—took it for a joyride while humming John Denver. Honestly, I’m half impressed.
I called The Hub, bracing for paperwork, forms, and maybe a polite “That’s your problem, cowboy.”
Instead, Dylan said:
“That’s never happened. You okay? Let me just get you riding.”
No forms. No guilt trip. Just kindness served up fresh.
I later learned that Silver City Cycles, the cooperative inside The Hub, was a co-conspirator in this grace—helping make sure the kindness wasn’t just a one-off, but part of a culture that keeps Aspen’s soul alive.
John Denver nailed it:
“Sunshine on my shoulders makes me happy,”
but Dylan’s generosity, backed by Silver City’s spirit, restored more than my bike — it restored my faith in Aspen’s soul.
The Ride That Made It All Right
With a new bike in hand, we hit the trail for what turned out to be a legendary day. Woody Creek was calm, the leaves golden like Aspen’s own gold rush, and Brush Creek was a sun-dappled wonderland. The whole ride felt like a story unfolding—a cassette tape skipping, then catching the groove again, stronger than ever.
An Analogy Worth Riding
Aspen is like a stubborn bike lock on a cold morning: sometimes it jams, sometimes it clicks open unexpectedly, and sometimes—if you’re lucky—someone with the right oil (or kindness) comes along and gets it moving again. Dylan and Silver City Cycles were that oil on my jammed morning, keeping the gears of community turning smooth.
Why The Hub Beats the Big Capital Shops
In Aspen, you could spend twice or thrice as much renting a bike from some extractive capital tourist trap. The Hub rents at half the price, with twice the heart.
Skip the overpriced spots. Rent from The Hub. You’re not just renting a bike — you’re investing in community and kindness.
(Tell Dylan I sent you — he deserves it.)
Aspen’s Soul: It’s Not What Changed, But How We See It
People say Aspen and Burning Man aren’t what they used to be. Maybe. But maybe the places stayed the same and we just got distracted.
John Denver again:
“Maybe love is the answer, and love is everything.”
Dylan’s kindness and Silver City’s cooperative spirit were exactly that — love in grease-stained gloves.
Aspen’s soul isn’t on Instagram or in a shiny new condo. It’s in moments like this — when a local just gets it.
Further Reading from My Blog on Customer Service and Trust:
- Why Good Service Is All About Trust
- Customer Service: The Key to Business Success
- “My Supervisor Will Just Tell You the Same Thing”: Who Needs MacMall in an Apple Store World?
In Closing
That day on the bike — cruising up Brush Creek, creek babbling in my ears, sun warming my face — reminded me why Aspen still matters. It’s imperfect. So am I. But when someone says, “Let me just get you riding,” you know the spirit hasn’t gone far.
So here’s to Dylan, Silver City Cycles, The Hub, and the town that raised me:
Keep riding. Keep rising. And keep singing those country roads — no matter who’s driving the bike or wearing the Kemosabe hat.
