The Party Bike Sails On Its Maiden Voyage

Winding his way down a narrow aisle, Colin Caplan motioned to his left, where the red paneling and small windows of Louis’ Lunch beckoned from the cold. This was the birthplace of the hamburger, Caplan informed his listeners, and now a New Haven legend.

Then he added: Crown Street is all uphill from here, so people will have to pedal a little harder.

Caplan wasn’t on a bike ride. Not a traditional one, anyway.

Instead, he and business partner and city police officer Christian Bruckhart were leading six participants in the inaugural downtown ride of the Elm City Party Bike, a one-ton vehicle that is part-cycle, part-bar, and part-bus.

After taking it on a maiden trial voyage during this year’s St. Patrick’s Day Parade, Caplan and Bruckhart rolled it out Saturday for a midday run and evening pub crawl with the New England Brewing Co. that evening.

Beaver Hills Roots

An outcropping of Caplan’s business Taste of New Haven, the party bike has been about four years in the making. Working with business partner Rob Richards, Bruckhart started with the idea in 2013, after hearing about similar models in other cities. Then Richards left New Haven for medical school, and Bruckhart couldn’t continue the project alone.

Around the same time, New Haven foodie and historian Caplan was talking to Owl Shop owner Glen Greenberg about party bikes, also called ​“beer bikes” in some cities. The idea, he learned, had originated with a beer bike in Amsterdam. He’d also seen examples in Austin, Texas, and Flagstaff, Ariz. None existed in New Haven, or Connecticut, or even New England. The closest was an eight-seat pedal bike in New York city, and a pedal tour company in Buffalo.

The following month, Bruckhart’s dad introduced the two at the Quinnipiack Club. Both native New Haveners, Bruckhart and Caplan discovered they had grown up living a few houses down from each other on Ellsworth Avenue, where their parents still own homes. They just hadn’t ever met, or overlapped in school. (Caplan is 38; Bruckhart is 35.) Caplan felt something click immediately. The two launched into market research, finding a St. Paul, Minn. company called Pedal Biz that met their needs. They obtained a loan from TD Bank, and got to work.

A pedal- and electric-powered 15-seater with customized decals, speaker units, a cubby space for purses and extra food, and tabletop surface with built-in cupholders ultimately cost them $65,000, or $90,000 with shipping included. They’re hoping to make back that money with riders, who pay $35 per person or $450 to rent it as a group, and annual advertisers including Park New Haven, Barracuda, The Devil’s Gear, and Owl Shop. 

Now the two are designing several tours of downtown, with tentative plans to expand in the rest of the state. Caplan said he is planning on ​“learning by doing” — and taking cues from riders on where they want to stop during each two-hour tour of the city’s downtown.

“OK, Pedal!”

That was the case Saturday, as the inaugural crew of pedalers began their tour across from Olives & Oil at the intersection of Crown and Temple Streets. Hopping onto the bike, they got one solid piece of advice: It was advisable not to fall off.

Bruckhart slipped into the driver’s seat and uttered the magic words. ​“OK, pedal!” he said.

The party bike lurched forward, a few cars honking behind it as it merged onto Crown and drove toward toward High Street. A flurry of feet snapped into action, Caplan moving down the bike’s center aisle to act as a tour guide.

As participants put their thigh strength into the act of pedaling, he motioned grandly to storefronts on the left and right of the bus. Louis’ Lunch, culinary cradle of the first hamburger. The old Istanbul Cafe, which is getting a facelift as owners expand the space and add a coffee shop across the street.

As the party bike came to its first stoplight, Bruckhart gave a loud direction: ​“OK, coast!” Riders laughed and relaxed their legs for a moment.

“It’s So Cool!”

Then it was back to work: Bruckhart was turning onto High Street, and he needed pedal power. The group cheered as he made the turn, cars slowing behind him. Waiting for the light at the intersection of High and Chapel Streets, Yale student Aaminah Bhat stopped alongside the bike.

“What is this?!” she asked. ​“It’s so cool!”

Bruckhart handed her a brochure outlining the party bike’s uses and how to sign up for a tour. She took it and thanked him, then waved to participants. The light changed from red to green. Against a cold gust of wind, the party bike soldiered on, and pulled onto Chapel Street. 

Once on Chapel, Bruckhart and Caplan put a few of the plans they’d discussed — like trying to get out of the way for cars and buses that want to shoot ahead in traffic — to work. The bike slowed for the F6 bus, its driver lifting a hand momentarily to say thank you before it hauled past. As Bruckhart drove and six pairs pedaled, Caplan took the bike’s alcoholic temperature: Did participants want to make a stop at Rudy’s, Barracuda, or Three Sheets? 

“Rudy’s!” pedalder Maysha Zakrevskyy shouted over the sound of passing cars. Nick DeFelice seconded the suggestion.

Soon the bike was pulling onto Howe Street, and group members were jumping off, their feet bouncing from the bike’s clean chrome base to the pavement below. Bruckhart gave riders green ​“Elm City Party Bike” bracelets as Caplan headed in to haggle with the bartender. By the time riders made their way inside, he had coaxed the bartender to serve the group $4 Sierra Nevadas. He and Register reporter Randall Beach clinked their cool, foamy glasses.

“Cheers,” Caplan said.

One of the goals of the tours, Caplan said, is to pedal through a little bit of New Haven history along the way. The Rudy’s space at 1227 Chapel St. had once housed a downscale late-night hangout called Cafe des Artistes. In the aughts the Shah family tried to make a go there with a vegan restaurant called Ahimsa. Later, Rudy’s owner Omer Ipek moved the bar and restaurant there there from its original Elm Street digs.

Caplan checked his watch as he spoke. The party bike had parked outside around 12:30; Bruckhart had given a strict 20-minute time limit to keep the tour on track. Riders were coming up on the end of that. Caplan announced a five-minute warning, and started to gather the troops for more pedaling. The next stop wasn’t far he said: just two blocks up Howe. One of the city’s most beloved bartenders, Sarah Scranton, works at Three Sheets on Saturday, and Caplan and DeFelice wanted to see her.

At Three Sheets, members headed inside for lunch and drinks, Caplan stopping outside to talk to a patron who had wandered out of the bar with his beer, and was eyeing the party bike. Taking him up to the bike, Caplan pointed out the features: adjustable seats and a back bench for participants who don’t want to pedal, the driver’s seat, an inside bar where a cooler could go for liquor. Inside, participants mingled over thick expresso martinis, french fries, steaming soup and beet reuben sandwiches. Caplan’s wife April joined the group, bobbing between stories — Beach’s upcoming trip to Los Angeles, Maysha’s chilly St. Patrick’s day at Anna Liffey’s, DeFelice’s attempts to start a snarky blog while living between Hamden and Toronto — with a beer in one hand.

Thirty minutes in, Bruckhart looked at his watch. It was time to move on. Riders shuffled back onto Elm Street, and got ready to mount the bike.

The party bike was running late but didn’t have a 2 p.m. tour, Caplan said. Did the group want to hit one more stop? Maybe The Beer Collective on Court Street?

A unanimous yes rose up from the group. Great news, Caplan announced: Elm Street was downhill all the way to Orange.

Caplan offered Bruckhart a reprieve from driving. He started up the bike, riders waiting on the side of the street as he put it in reverse for a moment. Then they hopped on eagerly. Waving to passing cars and pedestrians down Elm Street, riders laughed as the party bike pulled into congested traffic at Broadway, where several passers-by had stopped to snap iPhone photos of the bike. I fought the law, and the law won! pumped along on a speaker Caplan had set on the floor.

Making its way through a green traffic light, the bike continued along Elm, passing traffic easing on each side. A few bus riders waiting on Elm Street at Temple cheered and pumped their arms in the air. Then the bus pulled up to the light at Orange Street, and Bruckhart started calculating a tight turn.

Riders looked to the wide-eyed driver in a sleek grey car behind the bike. He waved; take your time, he seemed to say. As the light turned green, the bike pulled onto Orange. At Court, riders jumped off and headed into their last stop. Outside, Bruckhart checked the weather — temperatures were supposed to drop sharply before that evening’s ride, and he was getting nrevous — then played with his family’s dog Ella and chatted with his dad, who had stopped by the bike for a few minutes. He went over contingency plans that he and Caplan had in place for nasty weather: the website where people registered advised participants to dress appropriately, but he and Caplan are also considering putting shower curtains on the outside of the bike in case of rain.

After 40 minutes, it was time to return to Crown Street, he and Caplan announced (so far, tours begin and end in the same place, right across from the Temple Street Parking Garage). Pedaling down Orange through the Ninth Square, riders cheered and waved at a group in Barcade that had stopped to stare through the window. At Artspace, Curator Sarah Fritchey gave a quick wave hello. As Bruckhart navigated a Peapod delivery truck at the corner of Orange and Crown Streets, DeFelice suggested heading to Olives & Oil after the bike had parked. Then he added, jokingly, that there were other destinations they could consider — like New York City. 

Caplin laughed. ​“You wanna go to New York?” he said. ​“We can go to New York. It’ll take four hours, but it’s all downhill.”