Fat Tire Farm-Portland's Premier Mountain Bike Shop

The Pacific Northwest's Premiere Mountain Bike Shop

Fat Tire Farm is the premiere mountain bike shop in the Pacific Northwest.

We carry Santa Cruz, Yeti, Ibis, Juliana, Devinci, Deity, Specialized, Rocky Mountain, Kona, Pivot and Salsa. 

The Farm has expert mechanics who can service and repair any bike, or build the custom bike of your dreams.

The Rise and Fall of Funk Master Pat and His Cop 'Stache of Authority

This was once a symbol of unwavering authority. Each bristle harkened the era of an oncoming presence of change and revolution that demanded attention. The man behind that imposing fur curtain was Fat Tire Farm's own Funk Master Pat. Now, as many Portlanders may have observed, there is a resurgence of many unworthy, skinny jeaned hipsters donning unappealing ironic facial hair. What sets Funk Master Pat's "'Stache of Authority" apart from the masses of greasy, teenage pubic hair beards that saturate our city streets, is that there is no irony growing from his follicles of fury.Born from the womb of an Iron Maiden, Funk Master Pat was destined to rule the streets. His destiny was fulfilled the day he groomed the perfect, lip-width caterpillar beneath his nose. Upon the grooming, he was instantly instilled with the immunity and ruthless powers of a corrupt Seventies-era police detective from LA. His reign of terror and greed overwhelmed the other meek employees of the Farm and they were forced to relent to his Authoritarian rule. Refusal to submit was swiftly met with a skull crushing blow to the head with a Park Shop Quality pedal wrench (a favorite post-apocalyptic weapon of choice for many bike mechanics).

Due to his long nights of revelry with his newly formed power, he neglected to continually shape and care for his facial icon, and his power eventually ceased to have a firm grip on those he tried to strangle into submission. Like the weathered and forgotten vacant castles scattered throughout Europe that once housed the mighty and feared Lords of a kingdom, Funk Master Pat's dominate facial hair fell into dishevelment and disappointment. The clear, crisp lines that once defined his upper lip, and proclaimed his power are now nothing more than faint borders overgrown by days of vagrant, intruding whiskers. He has fallen hard with the paupers, but holds the fierce determination to rule once again upon his quivering lips.

May the Schick of Grooming Power never fall in the hands of those who choose to abuse its unstoppable awesomeness.