I get an absurd thrill whenever my friend Karen posts updates in social media about her epic rides in far-away Maryland. It is a thrill because I advised her through the purchase of her first road bike, a Specialized Roubaix, and I feel a tiny bit responsible for the jouissance in every one of her updates. I smugly tell myself that I am deserve credit for this and I put another metaphorical feather in my imaginary cap. It’s absurd because I know that my friend’s joy in the sport of cycling isn’t about me; it’s about riding the open roads.
Still, she sent me a bottle of exceptionally fine single malt whisky in gratitude for being her family’s “bike rabbi.” It is a payment that I neither expected nor deserved, although I am greatly enjoying it. Anyone who has spent any time in the cycling culture, whether it is road cycling, mountain biking, commuting, cyclocross, or gravel, knows we are more likely to help each other than not. I have never seen a rider pass a fellow cyclist with a flat or mechanical at the side of the road without at least slowing to see if they need help.
And ours is an oral culture, with knowledge and wisdom passed-down through the generations. Even before YouTube and social media, the surest way to find out something about cycling, bike maintenance, or anything else, was simply to ask someone on a group ride, at the bike shop, or even at the side of the road (like, “how do I fix this flat?”). Any group of more than one cyclist – that is, any group – will swap stories about epic rides, the near-misses and accidents that they just barely survived, heroic races, and the hill climbs they conquered, or which conquered them.
… And lore… Why do many road cyclists shave their legs? (It’s complicated.) How much water should you bring on a long ride? (It’s complicated.) Why does my ass get sore? (It’s complicated.) Are Lycra shorts really necessary? (It’s complicated.) What food should I bring in my jersey pocket? (Fig Newtons.) We have a lot of time to think and talk on our long rides; at some point, if you ride enough, you are going to hear about everything, right up to what to do to prevent saddle sores, and what to do when you get one.
In the old days, when people still bought their bikes and gear locally, bike shops like the one where I worked were the main places to share bike lore, where old-timers would hold forth about the glory days of their youth, and where newcomers would seek advice. We were in the business of selling bikes, of course, from the most modest utility bike to the flashiest (and priciest) racer, but we all knew, as our manager Steve was happy to remind us, that a bike shop does not thrive on sales, but on building a community. Return business, whether it was for maintenance, new gear, upgrades, or even just energy bars, is a bike shop’s bread and butter, and people only return to the shop when you treat them as friends and family.
When I was working in the bicycle business, the bike shop was pretty much the only place to buy a decent bike. Sure, a lot of people bought their bicycles at big-box stores, like Canadian Tire in Canada, and Walmart in the US; my first bike was a champagne-gold Baycrest knock-off of a Schwinn Stingray that my parents picked up at the Bay department store in the Fairview shopping center. But the people who thought of themselves as cyclists, and who were looking for lore didn’t – and don’t – shop there. There is little lore to be had in the sporting goods section.*
Today, however, Peel Cycle, McWhinney’s, ABC, Martin Swiss – and all the other local shops of my salad days – are no longer the only game in town, and a good many serious and informed bike shoppers have bypassed them, and their counterparts across North America, on their way to the Internet. There are some inherent disadvantages to online bike purchases, of course – you can’t take the online bike for a test ride, ask the salesperson for advice, or have it properly fitted – but the online share of bicycle and cycling gear sales has been growing steadily for more than a decade. This trend has accelerated drastically in just the last few years.
At the beginning of the pandemic bike boom in 2020, a little less than 20 percent of Americans (and, presumably, Canadians) bought their bikes online. COVID drastically changed that. While the sporting goods segment grew by more than 17 percent just between 2019 and 2020, and the bike business alone, driven by e-bike and gravel bike sales, surged 620 percent between 2020 and this year, online spending grew 55 percent as a whole since the beginning of the pandemic. Retailers restricted access to their stores, and consumers practices social distancing, and a significant proportion of the bike boom sweepstakes went to online retailers like Nashbar, Competitive Cyclist, the Pro’s Closet and, above all, Amazon.com.
The good news is that consumers have returned to brick-and-mortar shops as pandemic restrictions have eased and we have all lulled ourselves into a state of epidemiological complacency. The bad news is that the bike boom is over, and retailers who ramped up their orders to meet the expected demand now have a lot of inventory on hand. That means deep discounts for shoppers, and that’s great, but online retailers who don’t have to pay for storefronts and who drop-ship products to their customers can better survive the hit to their margins than the local retailer who stores un-assembled bikes off-site in their garage.† Brick-and-mortar retailers who make their big inventory orders in February, and carry razor-thin margins to start with, are going to hurt.‡
More importantly, over the last decade or so, bike shoppers have developed the habit of shopping online to the point where many bike shops don’t even bother to stock some items. I asked the manager of a bike shop in Medford, MA once why he had so little stock of bike shorts, he told me that “there is no point in stocking what people are just going to buy online.” And, as much as I might wax nostalgic about the cornucopia of variety that I used to find at my local shop – four brands of tires in five colors, five brands of shorts and jerseys, three brands of helmets at every price point – I have to confess that I have an account in good standing at Competitive Cyclist, and that I just bought a new pair of Louis Garneau shorts on a Memorial Day deep-discount, direct from the manufacturer.
While I am sure that some of the better-established bike shops will find ways to reinvent themselves and survive, and that I will always experience the joy of discovering a new cycle emporium on my travels (I always stop for a bike shop), the days when “the shop” was the central social and cultural nexus of our sport seem to be numbered. And I wonder if, without the metaphorical campfire of the glass cabinet component display to gather around, much of the lore, knowledge, and wisdom of cycling’s oral culture will be lost.
Make no mistake: there is a lot of content out there on the web, in social media communities, and on YouTube, but we are all enriched by unique perspectives and experience, and this is mine.
I am not a rabbi.
Well, not really. I am a bearded Jewish cyclist of a certain vintage who always wears a kippah (or at least a wicking skull cap) under my helmet, keeps kosher, and tries to justify riding on Saturdays as oneg Shabbes. (I will be writing about this anon.) But a friend once called me their “bike rabbi” when I offered some assistance with maintenance and fit questions. Moreover, one of my more curmudgeonly riding buddies asked on a ride a few weeks ago if it would be appropriate to call me Rabbi, or Reb, Friedman, considering that the term was originally simply mark of respect meaning “master,” with no religious connotation. It is the Jewish equivalent of “sensei.”
I was very flattered – it is always a joy to have my ego fluffed – but I explained that, in the 21st century, when the term has settled into its more restrictive contemporary meaning, it would not be appropriate. On the other hand, even if I cannot style myself as Rabbi Friedman, I can think of myself as a bike rabbi (lower-case noun) who can bring my decades of cycling experience, riding, racing, working in the bike business, dispensing knowledge and wisdom, and sharing the lore that has animated our culture for more than a century.
This is my bike shop, and have I got a story for you!
* I recently experienced this when shopping for tennis gear at Target – don’t judge. The sales associate simply stared at me blankly as I asked questions about tennis balls. They had no idea.
† Don’t laugh, the manager of a high-end bike shop where I once worked did just this.
‡ The profit margin on a new bike is typically between 25 and 30 percent, and usually less than 50 percent and below SRP on accessories and gear. These margins pay for all kinds of fixed costs before profit, like rent, electricity, phone bills, labor, warehousing, etc. Having an experienced mechanic assemble a $1,000 bike from a box (a cost not borne by online retailers) significantly eats into the $250 margin. That is one reason why you will almost never get a huge discount on a new bike, but most bike shops will gladly cut deals on things like helmets, shoes, and optional components.
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