Metzger Bicycle Shop, Detroit City Gas Co, circa 1912. Photo: Detroit Publishing Company
There was a time when I held down ‘real jobs’. Jobs with (a little) stress, with (some) responsibility, but without soul. And while dealing with the great unwashed never held much appeal, I always envied the guys who worked at my preferred LBS. They seemingly had it all–an endless supply of cheap bikes and parts, hanging out and shooting the breeze with other riders, and getting the heads-up on the latest and greatest developments and industry gossip. It was the epitome of the dream job for a bike rider.
They weren’t just the guys who fixed my bikes and sold me parts at mates’ rates; they also became my friends outside of the shop environment. We’d go to the pub, to parties, and to see bands. We had more in common than the obvious bike factor.
One of the guys had started out as a shop rat straight out of school, then eventually branched out and started his own shop with another riding mate. While I was spending my nights getting trashed and playing in a punk band, my empty daytime would be spent sitting around in the workshop, swapping tales from the road and picking up some tips from the mechanics on how to tweak my bikes. When anyone was sick or had to go away for some reason or another, I’d be asked to fill in. It was almost a real job, but one that was just as much fun as jumping around on stage at night.
With business starting to boom, necessitating a move to larger premises, I was offered a full-time position. Of course I took the opportunity. After all, I was always spending my paltry band earnings on bike bits anyway. The more successful the shop became, the more time the boss would spend away from it, buying expensive clothes, driving his fast car and chasing even faster women. His business partner must have seen the writing on the wall, and promptly sold his share.
The brother of the now sole owner was recruited to look after the financial side of things, while me and the mechanic looked after the sales and service sides. Now, the brother, being an ex-used car salesman, had the gift of the gab. But he didn’t know a lot about bikes, and not much more about business as it turned out. Most mornings he’d turn up to work looking dishevelled, reeking of cigarettes and booze, complaining of another hangover. He’d gruffly send one of the BMX groms, who hung out in the workshop, down to the takeaway to get him a bacon and egg roll and a Coke. “Make sure the egg’s not runny,” he’d always bark at them. When the roll would inevitably contain a less-than-firm egg, the groms would hastily make their exit under a hail of abuse. One of the part-timers would gladly retrieve the discarded mess from the bin and scoff it down. The mechanic and I would get much entertainment from this.
By early afternoon, the hangover would be too much for him (and us) to endure, and the lure of the pub and its poker machines would be even greater to resist. We’d offer our helpful advice, encouraging him to take a few bucks from the till and go and enjoy the afternoon. His arm was easy to twist. We’d then be free to get the repairs done, play some music we actually liked and ride the scooters around on the concrete floor, honing our tricks and seeing who could wheelie the furthest and do the longest skids.
Thursdays were late trading nights, and usually they were pretty quiet, especially in winter. Left to our own devices, we’d invite mates and girlfriends around, grab a 6-pack or two, and have a little party before hitting the pub after we shut. The empty bottles littering the workshop combined with the aggressive music blaring probably scared any customers that ventured in, but we were usually too baked to notice, or care.
Meanwhile, the boss’s car was becoming way more pimped, his hair was falling out due to constant trips to the salon (and from the stress of his failing business, no doubt), and suppliers were reluctant to supply because they weren’t getting paid. We still were, but increasingly in cash, which was likely so they could avoid paying tax on our wages.
Not surprisingly, the shop went under only a few years after its inception, with the brothers returning to the used car game, never to be seen again in the bike industry. But looking back at those memories, I know that they were some of the best years of my working life, even if it was obvious our days were numbered and we’d soon be looking for alternative employment.
Today, the LBS is a dying breed, and only when it’s finally extinct will we realise that we helped kill something very special. I hope it doesn’t come to that, because the best memories aren’t going to come from hitting ‘Add To Cart’.
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A good read Brett, I can sense the nostalgia and I have some memories of my own, but from the perspective of the pedalwan facing the daunting task of learning about the bikes. I have had the good fortune of learning from some really excellent LBS owners and employees - their enthusiasm and passion always shines through. I have rented bikes in a variety of places and have found that the front desk as well as the mechanics are ready to share their knowledge willingly with the most novice rider out there.
And now for an unvarnished plug for my local in Burlingame, CA (Summit) - a truly great bunch of guys and Dustin is an awesome mechanic - also, I have rented from Schlegel in Oklahoma City and Open Road in Jacksonville Beach, FL. If anyone ever finds themselves in need of help or just to spend time with some good folks in these communities, each of these deserves your attention. Open Road in the beaches even has an Italian wine bar that gets good use on the weekly rides - solid place - flattest riding on the planet.
Tricky balance I feel , between LBS and add to cart, on one hand I do support my LBS , I get good friendly advice, banter , coffee and a fair discount , I look forward to my visits. On the other hand , I have some other commitments apparently, oh yes I remember now , four kids , a house etc etc, the discounts online are hard to ignore and there is a certain satisfaction on taking off and correctly fitting new bits although sometimes after an online purchase and a bit of down the shed mechanics I end up at the LBS to have it done properly.
Sometimes when Im elbows deep in a greasy airplane or working around a hot jet engine, I daydream about how awesome it would be to work at a bike shop...
I very much enjoy my trips to my LBSs, I am quite loyal to them for all bikes, parts and accessories. That being said I am the complete opposite with ordering any kit. I will ship a pair of tights from half way around the world to get the exact model and size I want and love nothing more than killing some time at work to shop online for my next jersey for that specific temperature range you only see 1 week a year etc...
Sounds like a good time for you and your mates there Brett - back in the day, when there was a little more meat on the bones of the retail beast. I don't have an LBS - never really did - mainly because of symptoms from what you've described. Poorly managed shops with shit service. Too baked to care...
The Australian retail scene had it pretty good for a really long time. Before online sales were an option, us punters had no choice but to pay the inflated price for goods to subsidise the rents and wages of bike shops who also offered a lottery in the quality of service provided.
Sure, online purchasing has shut down bike shops - but not all bike shops. It has exposed what bike shops are good at and in many cases that's been simply buying and selling goods at big margins. If these businesses want to carry on they have to adapt. Accept less margin on sales, offer better, more reliable service, use the faster, cheaper online buying power to help the punter get what they want. There's still plenty of people willing to part with their cash - the shops just need a different model.
Sounds like a shit bike shop - and we're expected to be loyal to places like this.
I go to a LBS who know me well enough to act like I'm a stranger when the situation warrants it (the VMH is in tow). No online shop is going to do that.
You guy's are getting pretty good at this writing thing, I didn't need to feel more guilty about my ocasional online purchase, but maybe I did. I think I'll go buy some new bar tape.
Cheers
Very nice, Brett!
Around three years ago we had one LBS in town, then they chose to move from the center of downtown to suburban hell. Not only was I pissed off by this decision, but the roads leading to the shop are downright death alleys. No way.
I held on for a few months without a single LBS. This past summer we had jumped to four! One unfortunately closed, but I still live within a mile of three shops, all a bit different and serving different areas of cycling. I consider myself very, very fortunate, since my city isn't even that big. And, we're experiencing a nice uptick in cyclists (though many are extremely unsafe and not at all defensively aggressive).
Just a bit of hope, as I dont' want to see LBS's go under either.
Another great piece, Brett! Thanks.
@Al not all bike shops are created equal, we have several in my market but only two that I trust implicitly with my ride and my hard earned cash. Knowing who the shop belongs to and who wrenches on my bike goes along way, and in my case the owners are the wrenches. I am not a fan of online retailers as it takes the soul out of the experience, it is simply a transaction - I enjoy going to my local shop and having a cup of coffee and chatting with my wrench (aka Dan) Plus, it is kinda hard to bring a six pack to an online store to jump the queue when you need something yesterday.