Rich Coglin, who was born and raised in the Bay Area, used to frequent Calabazas — not to be confused with Calabasas, the lush, gated community that houses a who’s who of celebrities. No, this was a park cemented in San Jose, where free spirits roamed, those who let clear skies and soft winds puppeteer them.
In his late 30s, Coglin decided, after a few lost years in Southern California, to trek north, live with family in the Paradise area and undertake welding and drafting at Butte County College, where he became certified.
While in the process of job-shopping, Coglin wasn’t satisfied with making $10 hourly. In early 2015, he noticed that there was only one go-to shop for bikers — something he was in his spare time.
“The old bike shop had a sign outside that said retirement sale,” said Coglin, who inquired about opening his own, after being told the owners of The Bicycle Shop weren’t selling.
A Toyota Tacoma Double Cab was all it took. After selling his prized truck for nearly $14,000, he was able to open his shop, monopolizing the bike scene in the town.
“When the shop opened, I had a bunch of tubes in display cases, and maybe five things hanging here, maybe seven things hanging there…, a repair stand,” said Coglin, who didn’t have bikes available for purchase until many months into his ownership.
While Nov. 8 was in its infancy, Coglin started his morning by checking his Facebook feed. A buddy of his from the unincorporated Concow, a neighbor of Paradise, had posted a video, doing his best “reporter in the field” impression, as flames punctuated the mise en scène.
Now, for Coglin, the winds could swerve vehicles and the smokey sky render clocks irrelevant, as he had to focus on the non-manmade semiotics and act accordingly.
“I got up, went outside and the porch lights are on, because it’s so dark…, midnight at 8 a.m.,” said Coglin, who saw ash falling but was void of smoke inhalation, as his mother, a five-time fire evacuee, did dishes calmly and patiently took cues from the radio.
Having been evacuated three times as a fire precaution, Coglin maintained the composure of a funambulist taking the final baby steps high wire, as he stuffed his cat in a carrier, took two shirts, a computer tower, and an envelope teeming with meaningful photographs.
“When you’re grabbing things to take with you, the main thought is ‘What can’t be replaced?’” said Coglin, who believed the fire was going to be controlled to where he could honor his left-behind valuables again. “My backseat was empty — if you’re thinking that you’re not going to see anything else, I would’ve grabbed tons more.”
His new Chevy HHR, with two bikes suffocating in hatchway, paused, as his street turned into a parking lot. Once his township ditched all quotidian attitude, he headed south on Clark Rd., which was operating on a makeshift third lane, all while a firetruck convoy — consisting of more departments than Coglin had ever seen — spanning multiple miles, stippled the side.
Being a local business owner, Coglin, whose shop on the main drag wasn’t directly harmed in the impromptu path of the Camp Fire, can still empathize with the many who lost their ventures, as just blocks behind his business still lay ashy cars and maligned fences.
“One of the things about this town is…there isn’t a lot of big business,” said Coglin, who said public officials have voted countless times to shoot down the possibility of erecting Wal-Mart, or something in the same vein.
The dependency of common goods moved people, and their attentions, to nearby Chico, as the staple grocery store in the town, Safeway, burned along with other stores in its surrounding plaza: a bank, a few pizza joints and glamour stores. Before the fire, one could, in Coglin’s words, “make do” with the lineup of convenience shops, shoe stores and a stationary outfit.
Because of the foothill town being 18 square miles, of which many were scorched, Paradise isn’t meant to be of dense commercial heft. There also isn’t adequate plumbing to make the grounds populationally opaque, as there is no sewer. Starbucks has been the only major business to push their thumb on this scale, by securing their own septic system — a feat in a topographically lopsided place.
Typically, the Paradise Bike owner capitalizes on parts and accessories, but, since many have lost their two wheels in the aftermath, locals are nabbing new bikes. Given his fortunate position as a surviving business owner, Coglin’s mode of enterprise could be the frequency to which others now visit, that is: seek out the local necessity to create a collectivist town, where faces are recognizable and redwoods sky upwards, to help Paradise with its rebirth.