A Long Overdue Message

Hello friends,

It's been almost a year since I've sent one of these. In the time since I sent my last founders letter, many new people have joined the mailing list - almost 10,000 of you to be precise. To those of you new to our little black book, hello, and welcome. I hope you enjoy reading.

Since starting Beachman 6 years ago, I've sent letters like this, with occasional updates on the company, the bikes, and things I think you might find interesting.

This letter is not designed by a marketing team, huddled in a meeting room, scheming to sell you a product you don't need so they can boost their click-throughs and conversion rates. It's just an excuse to chat. I write to you from home, enjoying a sunbeam spilling into my den, on a beautiful autumn Sunday here in Toronto. A day of nothing to-do.

So, nearly a year has gone by, and much has happened. I'm not sure where to begin.

We've been on several adventures this year. I set out from Toronto with just my car and a Beachman on the back, and drove 4,000 miles to Pensacola, exploring the entire coastline of Florida west-to-east, the Carolinas, and then beelined it home through the Appalachians with the help of John Denver's entire discography, all in the name of meeting dealers. We road-tripped Vancouver Island and rode Beachmans on the beach at sunset (photo above from that day). I celebrated my 30th birthday with strangers in Paris on a business trip. I think I'll send some photos from these journeys in a future letter. This job, dreamed up as a teenager, has indeed brought much excitement and borne many ripe fruits of life. But it is not without its cost.

This year has been, without a doubt, the most challenging of my career. We've been through the growing pains of launching a new motorcycle and experienced a trade war with our oldest and closest ally that has pushed our business, and many others, to the limit. The pressures of these world events have taken our small but determined team to the edge of their abilities, and time and again my employees have blown me away with their work ethic, passion, and willingness to dedicate themselves to Beachman. I am truly in their debt.

The funny thing about sending these bikes out into the world is that when things go wrong, we hear all about it. And of course we do our best to repair and delight. However, when people are happy, rarely do we hear from them. Their friends, neighbours, and passers-by will get an earful about how much they love their Beachman and the little everyday adventures they take it on, but seldom does this passion make its way back to the team who work so hard to bring these bikes into being. When it does, we share those messages with the whole staff, and it brings heart to everyone at Beachman. Some of them have stuck with me for years.

So, now I come to the point of this letter. I have a favour to ask of you. You, reading this letter.

To those of you who own and ride a Beachman, I would ask you to take a moment and think about your very favourite memory, or memories, with your '64. Tell us if your bike has a name. Tell us what adventures it has seen.

What will I do with these letters? Read them, share them with the staff. I thought this would be a nice thing to do for them, after all the hard work.

There are now well over 1,000 of you out there riding every day, many on this list, and I can only imagine all the interesting, thrilling, and memorable experiences that have been lived collectively between this distant community. So, if you please, find that warm, fond memory. Put it to paper and bring it to life. Tell us a little story.

We, who live in the most literate society in history, we who send thousands of emails, texts, tweets. When do we really write? When do we let our words be our own imperfect expressions, instead of passing them into ChatGPT and Grammarly to make them sound "better"? Writing was once a gift, something you did with care and attention, and now it is something we do almost entirely for work. Even that has begun to be taken away from us. Day by day, we allow Artificial Intelligence to write more and more of the messages we send and the work we are tasked with creating.

What is left for us? I think only that which we choose to seize.

So, write for pleasure, write for joy. Know that someone on the other end of the message will smile. Use words you haven't since agonizing over an essay in college. Or don't. Make it a sentence if you must. But tell us a story that will remind us of the small joys these wonderful little bikes can bring.

We'd love to hear from you.

See you down the road,

Ben Taylor

Co-Founder, CEO

Beachman