The "Dungeon" room houses enough 1970s vintage springer forks and American V-Twin engine p
Doubting his acumen, I follow him up the dusty stairs to the second-floor storage area. Though the shop is in a constant state of re-invention-orders are filled, inventory is stored and shuffled in/out-the proprietor does seem to have a mental GPS coordinate for every pile of parts. Along one wall lie stacks of original motorcycle owner's manuals, some dating back to pre-WWII. He plucks two for an order from last week, peeling off a tank decal and a turn-signal lens for yet more orders. Someone on the horn from Japan needs a cloth wiring harness for a side-valve Harley-Davidson, and Gatto sprints up two flights and grabs one of dozens from an open crate. So fast does this obsession metastasize that Gatto seldom has the chance to dismantle the mid-century department store he bought for a song in this decaying former steel town. The women's beauty salon, replete with cameos on the wall, now holds dozens of 1960s Triumph Bonnevilles and dusty BMWs awaiting beautification, while the bridal department houses several choppers and Japanese streetbikes from the '70s. But the scene inside the store is no less surreal than Gatto's appetite for two-wheelers. He sheepishly confesses to owning not just this 85,000-square-foot store, but several warehouses and 27 tractor-trailer loads of parts and bikes that he hasn't yet had time to sort.
"People give me a lot of sh*t for collecting so much, and I know this was a hobby that got out of control," he admits. "But let's face it: Everybody has an obsession, whether it's Beanie Babies or model trains. Every week, my girlfriend comes in and gives me the lecture, asking, 'Do you really need to buy anything else?' Every day I walk in here I think I'm nuts, but look at the average motorcyclist-they're all nuts; they all want more than one motorcycle."
Wading through the mélange of machinery, I spot at least one of my own aborted custom bikes and a dozen others I'd gladly take home-from a flat-black, rigid Triumph chopper that resembles a prop from Peter Fonda's Wild Angels to a 1987 Suzuki GSX-R750 in need of only polishing and fresh tires. But wanting and owning more than one motorcycle is a far ride from the sort of life-rending hold that two-wheeled machines hold over Chris Gatto. His office is crammed to the ceiling with seemingly worthless items such as a key-cutting machine from a local Indian dealership that ceased business in '53, some original Norton Girls posters from the '70s and a few Fonzie model kits, complete with miniature Triumph Thunderbird. Needing a '63 Triumph Bonneville for his personal collection, he ended up purchasing a lot of 15 British twins as the owner refused to sell in part.
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You want tires? Cycle Warehouse has as many as you want, in any size and color as long as
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Having more Indians than Little Big Horn has brought Cycle Warehouse customers as diverse
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If it's not here, you probably don't need it.
Kneeling over in a dark corner and giggling like Dr. Frankenstein's helper discovering a fresh batch of human brains, Gatto reveals something only he could find of inherent value. "They're Harley-Davidson piston rings from 1941," he says excitedly. Still in their bar-and-shield packaging, there are more here than one can count. It would take decades to sell even a fraction of these obscure items, making their worth-and Gatto's sanity-questionable at best. So why does he continue to pile up the goods?
"Damned if I know," admits Gatto, who as yet has no heirs to inherit his greasy fortune. "I think sometimes about opening a museum, but I don't know. It's just fun to collect this stuff and I don't really care what happens to it when I'm gone." Keeping in touch with what's gone seems to be the real motivating factor behind Cycle Warehouse. Nostalgia is a powerful motivator and Gatto is as afflicted as the hosts of Antiques Roadshow.
"I remember a time when not every motorcycle shop looked exactly the same. Now they're just clean and sterile," says friend and employee Mike Bestwick. In those days, customers could barter services for the parts needed to get back on the road, or work off debts in the service bays without worrying about violating corporate liability regulations.
Those days may be gone forever, but not in Chris Gatto's corner of the universe. "I remember going into Zepka Harley-Davidson in Johnstown and you had to knock before entering the third floor because their old aunt lived up there and she wasn't always decent," Gatto recalls. "They were just cool people; down to earth. It was fun visiting shops back then. I guess we're still trying to keep that alive."
Top 10 Oddball Finds At Cycle Warehouse
1. 1940s jockey-shift knobs with tiny photos embedded beneath Lucite inserts
2. 1968 Triton café racer the author wrecked in 2002 (above)
3. Five complete Harley-Davidson KHK engine
4. A dozen peace-sign sissy bars
5. Indian Motorcycle warranty logbooks, unused
6. 1943 BSA British Army M20 single, complete
7. Fonzie scale model kits
8. Genuine 1952 Whizzer scooter, unrestored
9. 1977 Honda CB750F, brand new
10. White-leather saddlebags with rhinestones and studs
By Mike Seate
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