Page 2 of Egg Me On

"Now we've still got the garage. And a lot of our core members pay monthly for garage access and tools. It’s tough to work on your motorcycle if you live in an apartment or shared house. But we also sell parts, offer professional repairs, teach classes, lead group rides..." He shrugged, but I could see the pride beneath the casual gesture.

“Impressive,” I said.

"We've grown as the community has grown, listening to what they needed and trying different things. But the heart of Front Range Motorcycle Collective has always been giving people a place to belong. And I think having food here could help that. Gives them a reason to hang out even if they’re not taking a class or working on their bike, you know? And that’s what the Loading Dock is all about.” With that, he turned and gestured towards it.

You could still see the bones of the old loading dock, the ramped concrete, and big overhead doors, but someone had taken the time to make it into a comfortable space. Wooden picnic tables dotted the concrete pad, and string lights were strung overhead between metal poles. The dock platform itself had been transitioned into a wide, large bench, and planters filled with hardy greenery softened the industrial edge. The loading dock doors were glass now, and beyond the concrete was a large, empty asphalt area that could easily fit several food trucks.

"It's not much yet," Silas admitted, gesturing to the space. "But we've got plans. I want to add more seating, heat lamps for winter, maybe a permanent awning structure with some overhead doors that pull down if it’s really cold. A fire pit would be cool, too. And of course, I’m open to your ideas." He turned to me, eyes alight with the kind of vision I recognized from my own late-night planning sessions. "I want this to be a place where people come to hang out. Somewhere you can grab food, talk shop, make friends."

I gazed out at the empty lot, trying to picture my truck parked there. The familiar battle between my business sense and myanxiety raged in my head. On one hand, foot traffic from the Collective could be huge—this was a place that had people coming and going all day. Even in the few minutes we’d been here, I’d seen several motorcycles drive up. On the other, I'd spent three years building relationships with my regulars at the current spot. Would they follow me here? It was only a few blocks away—close enough that they might.

"Heat lamps would be nice," I said, stalling while my brain worked overtime. "Denver winters are brutal on the food truck circuit."

"We've already ordered a few," Silas replied. "Along with more tables, some weather protection." He paused, watching me carefully. "We're serious about building this out, Aiden. I wouldn't have reached out otherwise."

The sincerity in his voice was impossible to miss. Whatever his vision was for this place, it wasn't a half-assed side project. The man had built something real here—something with heart—and was offering me a chance to be part of it.

“And you’re serious about your brunch,” I teased.

He laughed. “Can’t live without it. Come on, don’t leave me hanging. What will I do without your breakfast burritos?”

I turned and stared at the lot again, looking around at the nearby buildings, trying to determine the potential customer base. The location was close to my old lot, and the visibility was good, though maybe not quite as good as the old lot.

“What’s that building over there?” I asked, pointing to another converted warehouse across the street.

“It’s a co-working space. People rent offices, hold meetings, that sort of thing. Possibly a nice source of customers? I don’t know it that well.”

Oh. That was good. Lots of foot traffic to that, too. I turned back to him. “How much are you charging?”

Silas crossed his arms over his broad chest, the movement pulling his black t-shirt taut across muscles that definitely didn't come from pushing pencils. "Here's what I'm thinking," he said, eyes focusing on the empty lot before us. "Six months rent-free while we build this out. You'd be our first truck, so I want to make it work for you. Make sure you can turn a healthy profit." He turned those steel-blue eyes on me, and I struggled not to fidget under his direct gaze. "We give you time to establish yourself here without financial pressure. And in return, your truck will help us attract customers, create the vibe we want, and you can give me some ideas for how to lure in a few more trucks."

My brain short-circuited momentarily. Six months rent-free? In Denver's food truck market, that was like being offered a unicorn that shat gold coins.

"That's... generous," I managed, trying to sound professional instead of desperate. "Really generous."

"It's mutually beneficial," Silas replied with a pragmatic shrug. "What are you paying at your current location?"

I told him the monthly figure that had been slowly strangling my profit margin, the number that kept me awake at night.

Silas's brow furrowed. "That's robbery. You’re just parking in a parking lot and using some electricity and water, right?"

"You’d think, but that's the urban food truck market."

"We’ll come up with a lease," he continued, "and we’ll set your rate for after six months so you don’t have to worry about surprises. I was thinking less than half that, mostly to cover utilities and use of the restrooms."

I laughed, a short, disbelieving sound. "Are you for real? Because if this is some elaborate punk'd situation where I get excited and then you pull out the real terms, I'm going to be genuinely devastated."

His mouth twitched in what might have been amusement. "No hidden cameras. Just business sense. We want to keep our membership happy and paying their dues to hang out here. You need a location. Win-win."

I did some quick mental math. The reduced overhead would mean I could finally pay my sister Mira what she deserved for helping out on weekends. Maybe even set aside something for emergencies instead of praying my ancient car and even more ancient house didn't need major repairs.

"Let me show you the rest," Silas said, leading me back toward the building. "You'll want to know what kind of facilities you're working with."

We entered through a different door than before, stepping into a hallway with polished concrete floors. "Bathrooms here," Silas indicated, pointing to clearly marked doors. "Clean, always stocked, maintained daily. Your customers are welcome to use them, and part of why I want to charge rent is so I can have the cleaner come in more often as it gets busier."

We continued down the hall, emerging into the cavernous main space I'd glimpsed earlier. From this angle, I could see it was divided into different sections. Nearest to us was an open area with several motorcycle lifts, tool chests, and people working independently on various bikes.

"This is the co-op shop," Silas explained. "Members pay monthly for access to space, tools, and occasional advice. They do their own work, but in a proper facility, with all the tools they need, and classes on various types of maintenance and improvement projects. A lot of bikers really love that side of it, tuning their bike exactly how they want."

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