HARLEY-DAVIDSON OF NASSAU COUNTY: OLD SOUL, NEW SPIRIT

It was a sunny, brisk Saturday morning in October when I took off for Harley-Davidson of Nassau County. My phone said it was 41 degrees outside, and I knew I had two options: take off early, eat the cold weather, and beat the notorious Belt Parkway traffic, or wait for it to warm up a few degrees and get stuck in the muck. I chose the cold.

It wasn’t the warmest I’ve ever been on a bike, but it was an absolutely gorgeous ride. The sun wasn’t high yet, so the light stayed low and golden, stretching long shadows across the road as I rode east. For the first time in my life as a lifelong Northeasterner, I didn’t hit traffic crossing the Verrazzano Bridge.

It felt like some kind of miracle.

To my left, the skyline of New York City glimmered out in the distance. It was quiet on the bridge, but just a few miles the way the crow flies, the Mecca of Western Civilization was already on its third cup of coffee.

And to my right, the mighty Atlantic looked calm and quiet.

Further along, past Brighton Beach, I rolled through stretches of marshland that felt almost untouched, and it hit me: for a few short and beautiful miles that I was experiencing this part of New York as the quiet coastal town it was born to be, not as a well-worn corner clinging to the city’s edge.

It was a delight. A side of the state that most people are either in too much of a hurry to get through or too frustrated with the traffic to enjoy.

By the time I hit Bellmore, I had made it from central Jersey to Harley-Davidson of Nassau County in under an hour. I don’t know who keeps score on those kinds of things, but I feel like it’s some kind of record.

The first thing I noticed when I pulled into the lot was the half-round awning above the front door. The ones that used to sit over every good New York bar and club in the seventies and eighties.

You’d see them over doorways to places like CBGB or the Bitter End, and they always seemed to promise something worth remembering inside. Seeing one here, at a Harley-Davidson dealership, made me smile.

I parked, shook the blood back into my feet, and took a moment just to stand there. The air smelled like the ocean, and the low hum of traffic felt far away.

I thought: I love it here.

But when a customer came up with questions about the new Low Rider ST and Larry got to hear me talk about it — not just drawing from the tech-and-spec stuff from the brochure, but also from my firsthand experience riding one — I think he realized pretty quickly that we were cut from the same cloth.

In those first 30 minutes, three or four different people stopped by to say hello. What stood out to me most was that Larry knew every single one of them by name. He didn’t just wave and nod. He’d shake their hand, ask about their families, and introduce me like he was introducing a cousin at a cookout.

Every person had a story, and Larry knew theirs by heart.

Throughout the morning, I met the rest of the team: Byron, who helps Larry run the day-to-day, Charlie and the sales crew, Joe and Juice in service, and everyone else who keeps Harley-Davidson of Nassau County humming.

Nassau County H.O.G. Chapter 1797 also had a table set up inside, where I met members chatting with riders and new faces alike. Special shoutout to Chapter Director Freddie Sparacino, Secretary Marnie Barnes, and Membership Officer Gail Freier, who were all there laughing and joking and showing everyone what H.O.G.® membership really looks like.

There was this easy rhythm to the place. People drifting in and out, hanging around just to talk bikes. It felt less like a dealership and more like a clubhouse that happens to sell motorcycles.

Eventually, Larry brought me upstairs to his office. The walls were lined with old Harley memorabilia, and you could tell immediately that this wasn’t some guy who got into the business for the money. Larry grew up in it.

After we’d spent some time talking, he took me downstairs to show me around the service department. The bay itself sits below the showroom, humming with the sound of air tools and chatter. A few police bikes from local departments were lined up for maintenance, as well as some customer bikes and in-house performance builds that the team was working on.

Larry mentioned that the shop handles work for several local agencies, and I got to meet Police Motorcycle Officer Drew W. Haagenson from the Port Washington Police District while I was there — a true rider’s rider who clearly loves being on two wheels.

In a quieter corner, Larry stopped to show me a few of his own bikes. Old flatheads, tucked away like they were waiting for the next time he’d roll them out and fire them up. He’s a chopper guy, too, which immediately made me grin.

Funny enough, one of his former techs is the same guy who built my first Shovelhead motor. The longer we talked, the smaller the world seemed to get.

He’s a second-generation dealer, the son of Marty Altholtz, who ran Brooklyn Harley-Davidson back in the day. Marty started in 1969, and when Larry talks about those years, he does it the way most people remember childhood summers.

He’ll pause, think for a second, then place a year by which bikes were on the sales floor at the time.

For instance, as we talk, he remembers the grand opening of their Hempstead store in 1979 by remembering the slick 1978 XLCR café racers that drew crowds everywhere they were displayed.

“I remember that bike on that floor like it happened yesterday,” he tells me.

The family’s roots in Harley run deep. Marty and his partner opened the Hempstead store when they had a chance to acquire it from a local owner who tragically passed away.

For a while, the Altholtz family operated both the Brooklyn and Hempstead stores before eventually selling Hempstead, which went on to become Miracle Mile Harley-Davidson.

By then, most of the other dealerships in the area had closed their doors. The Altholtz name stayed standing.