B And B Motorcycles & Walts

Picture this: a dusty corner of the American West, where the air smells like gasoline and old leather, and the locals have names like “Stumpy” and “Wrench.” That’s where you’ll find B and B Motorcycles & Walts, a shop that’s part bike repair den, part time machine, and all chaos. If you think your local dealership is quirky, wait until you meet this place—it’s like a biker bar, a museum, and a family reunion had a baby.

The Name That Doesn’t Make Sense

Let’s talk about that name. “B and B” sounds like a sleepy bed-and-breakfast with doilies and lavender sachets, right? Wrong. The “B” stands for Bob, the founder, and the other “B” stands for Buddy, his dog who once chased a bear out of the shop with a wrench in his mouth. And “Walts”? That’s not a person—it’s what happens when you waltz in after a long ride and forget to take off your helmet. The sign still says “Walts” because Bob’s wife, Ruth, misspelled it in 1963 and refused to repaint it out of sheer spite.

The Motorcycles Are Only Half the Story

Walk inside, and your first impression is a symphony of oil and burnt rubber, with a side of dust that’s older than you. The bikes range from a 1928 Indian Scout that still runs on pure stubbornness to a chopped Harley that looks like it was built by a drunk pirate. One customer swore his bike was haunted—the headlight flickered whenever it passed a church. Bob didn’t bat an eye; he just charged double for “exorcism parts.”

The Real Stars: The “Walts”

But the motorcycles are just the bait. The true entertainment is the Walts—the group of retired mechanics who gather in the back room every Tuesday to drink coffee and argue about carburetors. These guys have been fixing bikes since before GPS was a thing, which means they navigate by “that tree that got struck by lightning in ‘78.” One of them, Old Moe, claims he can tune a Harley just by listening to it fart from a block away. He’s never been wrong, which is either genius or terrifying.

Surprising Facts You Won’t Believe

Here’s a shocker: B and B once repaired a motorcycle for a parrot. Yes, a parrot. The bird’s owner, a magician named Skip, brought in a mini bike with a sidecar for his cockatoo, Gizmo. The job required soldering a perch onto the handlebars and installing a tiny horn that played “Pop Goes the Weasel.” The parrot now rides shotgun and yells insults at other bikers. Also, the shop’s oldest customer is a 94-year-old woman named Gertie, who rides a vintage Triumph and insists on paying in crumpled dollar bills she keeps in her bra.

B and B Motorcycles and Bicycles

The Unspoken Rules

Before you visit, know the rules. Rule one: Never lean on the red tool chest—it was welded shut after someone “borrowed” a socket wrench in 1989. Rule two: If you hear a loud bang from the back, don’t panic; it’s just Walt (the human, not the sign) testing a kickstarter by using his face. Rule three: Buy a T-shirt. They’re printed on shirts Bob found in a dumpster, and they smell like freedom and regret.

Why You Should Go

In a world of sterile, corporate bike shops, B and B is a glorious, greasy oasis. It’s a place where a haunted motorcycle is just another Tuesday, and a parrot with a foul mouth is a regular. Go for the bikes, stay for the Walts, and leave with a story about the time you saw a man fix a flat tire using only a spatula and a curse word. Just don’t try to buy the sign. It’s not for sale, and Ruth will fight you.