Not Good Times For GT

 Hetchins frames have curly stays.  Mercian Vincitore and other custom frames have curly lugs. On the other side of the coin, early Cannondales had oversized tubes that somehow seemed even bigger and some of the ugliest joints and paint jobs ever seen on a bike shop-quality frame.

Those are a few of the bikes that, if you don’t know enough to tell them apart from others from a mile away, you can see are different from others.

GT bicycles also fit into that category. Even if the decals were removed, “in the know” cyclists would know they were looking at a GT because of its “triple triangle” frame design—and everyone else could see that the bike is different. Not all GTs had that feature, but if you were to see a frame that has it, you could be all but certain it’s a GT.

When I was an active mountain biker during the 1990s, GT was one of the most respected names. It’s also one of the first names associated with BMX, one of the few cycling disciplines I haven’t tried and where Gary Turner, the brand’s founder, got his start. Their road bikes have also been well-received.

I have never owned a GT but have had opportunities to try them and can say that I understand why it had more “brand loyalty” than most other names: As I recall, the ones I tried were responsive and offered good traction even with slick tires in dirt. I might’ve bought one had a too-good-to-pass up deal on a Bontrager Race Lite in my size hadn’t presented itself.

In spite of their bikes’ virtues, GT, like other iconic bike names, hasn’t been immune to the “crash” that followed the bike industry’s “sugar high” during the first year or two of the COVID-19 pandemic.  This week, Jason Schiers, the company’s managing director, announced that there will be layoffs by the end of this year. The company also said it’s not releasing new products and plans to sell off its existing inventory through 2025.

Not being an industry analyst, I can only guess at what, specifically, benighted GT. So here goes: I think they are most closely associated with two disciplines—mountain biking and BMX—whose popularity has fallen off in recent years, as participants in the latter have aged out and the kids are opting for video games. In the meantime, the sorts of riders who might’ve gotten involved with mountain biking 30 years ago are opting for gravel riding or are riding eBikes.

Anyway, even though I’ve never owned a GT, I would be sorry to see the brand’s extinction.

Will The CCC Be KO’d?

 The Community Cycling Center turned 30 years old in July. It helped to make Portland, Oregon synonymous, not only with cycling, but with non-profit cycling advocacy.

It may not, however, make it to 31. The organization is in a severe financial crisis that may be a reason why it has had six executive directors in the past five years. Its directors say the CCC can survive only if it receives $115,000 in donations during the next three weeks.

So how can such an organization, with its well-re bike shop, be in such dire straits—in Portland?

According to the CCC, its troubles began during the COVID-19 pandemic. While demand for bikes, parts and services surged, lockdowns ruptured supply chains, making parts and accessories difficult, if not impossible, to find. At the same time, donations to nonprofit organizations like CCC dropped, in part because people were out of work.

But a document provides other reasons that would elicit “I told you so”s from the editors of the Wall Street Journal. One is a “top heavy”  organizational structure. According to the doc, there are too many leadership positions that could be filled with lower-paid workers.  Another reason cited is employees who are kept year-round and provided with benefits and yearly cost-of-living increases.

Now, if you have been reading my blog for a while, you have probably guessed-correctly—that I am all for shop employees, or any other workers, making a living wage and not having to worry about financial ruin if they’re sick or hurt. That it’s cites as a cause of CCC’s crisis points to an inherent dilemma in the bike industry: In most places, it’s seasonal and for all but the mega-retailers, most of whom are now online, profit margins are small and overhead costs are high, hence the low wages paid to mechanics and other employees. The lack of pay (and, in most shops, benefits) is probably why the retail bike industry isn’t seen as a career option to anyone who doesn’t own the business.

I am not familiar with CCC’s administration. I suspect, however, that one reason why it has “too many” full-time leadership positions is that, like other community-centered nonprofits , it’s trying to promote opportunities for people who might not otherwise have them. I would hate to see any organization give up on such a worthy endeavor, but I imagine that it’s not easy to sustain.

Mercian—Say It Ain’t So!

 This will be one of the saddest posts I’ve written.

As you may have heard, Mercian Cycles ceased trading about two weeks ago.

I found out just the other day, when I realized I hadn’t received any notices from them in a while (I was on their mailing list) and went to their website. Their closure wasn’t exactly front-page news because Mercian isn’t like Schwinn, Raleigh or any of those bike manufacturers even non-cyclists know. 

Mercian, you see, was one of the last frame builders to make their bespoke and stock frames with traditional methods and materials, even if the latter were updated (e.g. Reynolds 853, 725 or 631 instead of 531 tubing). As for the methods: Mercian’s framebuilders joined those tubes in hand-cut lugs that were pinned and brazed in an open hearth before being finished with deep stove enamel paints.  A single builder made the frame every step of the way before the frame was sent to Mercian’s paint shop.

The result was frames that were more beautiful than even most other hand built frames, and certainly more elegant than almost any modern bike. More to the point, Mercian’s work resulted in bikes that you could forget you were riding—they seem to disappear under you—and, barring a crash or other mishap, could outlast you. I know this because I’ve been riding one of my Mercians—Tosca, my fixed-gear—since buying it in 2007, while another of my six Mercians—Negrosa, a 1973 Olympic I bought six years ago—rides as smoothly as it ever has. Oh, and Dee-Lilah, my Vincitore Special (the one with the head lugs in the photo) feels like a magic carpet.

I didn’t want to believe that no more of those wonderful bikes or frames would ever come out of that Derbyshire workshop (or that said workshop would become something else, or be demolished). So I sent an email to Grant and Jane, who had owned Mercian since 2002 and to whom I had spoken and written numerous times. In my response to my “say it ain’t so, Joe” message, I received this:

Hello
This is an automated reply.

Thank you for your email, Mercian Cycles Ltd has ceased to trade, and
we have instructed an Insolvency Practitioner to assist us with taking
the appropriate steps to place the Company into Creditors’ Voluntary
Liquidation.



We have instructed Opus Restructuring LLP and should you have any
queries their contact details are nottingham@opusllp.com.

I hope that some other builder or small company keeps the name and tradition alive (as Woodrup did for Bob Jackson a few years ago) and that Mercian doesn’t become another once-proud name affixed to cookie-cutter bikes from China, Indonesia or some other “sweatshop” country.

They Bought It Back

 In earlier posts, I touched upon Schwinn’s history from its founding to its rise as America’s premier bike brand (or, as Sheldon Brown claimed, the only one with even a pretense of quality) and its descent, through all manner of mismanagement, into just another label you see in Walmart’s bike section.

Now, I have no reason to animus against Schwinn: I have owned and ridden bikes they made or branded and liked them for various reasons. In particular, I thought my early-‘90’s Criss-Cross was well-suited to its intended purposes and a good value.

Ironically, I acquired that bike not long before Schwinn filed for bankruptcy for the first time. People familiar with the industry have posited all sorts of reasons for it, but seem to agree that those reasons included 

—dismissing mountain bikes and BMX—two genres Schwinn could easily have dominated—as passing fads

—relying on their antiquated Chicago factory, which couldn’t keep up with the increases and changes in demand wrought by   The ‘70’s Bike Boom

—supplementing production by importing bikes from Japan (good), Taiwan (improved over time) and Hungary (did not improve, pretty bad to begin with)

—moving domestic production to Mississippi in order to avoid unions:  a move that backfired because it was inaccessible to suppliers and shippers. Moreover, some say that while those bikes were lighter and more modern in design, the workmanship wasn’t anywhere near as good as what Chicago produced.

I think that all of those missteps Schwinn made over roughly a quarter-century can be traced to hidebound managerial thinking that too often results from nepotism, whether by blood or bonds of friendship.

In other words, it fell into the trap too many family-owned companies fall into: Keeping the business in the family becomes more important than considering new perspectives. An outsider could have told them, in the mid-1980s, “Mountain bikes are here to stay” and that good lightweight bikes could be TIG-welded (even if it isn’t as attractive as nice lugwork or filet brazing). Also, someone could have told them that they weren’t going to sell bikes to college students and other twenty-somethings with advertising and catalogs that seemed to say, “Buy Schwinn: the bike your grandparents rode.”

When Schwinn was finally freed from familial control—i.e., when it was sold during bankruptcy—it started to make necessary changes. But it may have been too late. Then it became indistinguishable from too many other bike brands. 

So what got me to thinking about all of that? An open letter that the founders of Kona bicycles wrote to the bike industry.  They are friends who met, long ago, while working in a bike shop. Three years ago, they sold Kona, which they founded in 1988 because they weren’t so young anymore and, I guess, all of the issues that arose from the COVID-19 pandemic wore them down. Now they’ve bought the company back because, they felt, the new owners—Kent Outdoors—were turning into something they didn’t recognize or like.

Jake Heilbron and Don Gerhard, founders of  Kona Bicycles

What I found interesting about the letter is not only the origin story, if you will, but also a seeming recognition that, for all of their success, they—or, more precisely, Kona—could just as easily stepped into the same mental quicksand that sucked Schwinn away. More important, they understood what generated loyalty among a couple of generations of mountain (and other) bikers and that Kent wasn’t delivering it—just as a third generation of family ownership and the investment groups that bought the Schwinn name ignored what made it so esteemed for so long—and what would keep that esteem.

Secondary Victims Of The COVID-19 Bike Boom?

The COVID-19 pandemic led, at least in places that weren't under hard lockdowns, to a kind of bike boom.  As public transportation systems shut down or imposed severe restrictions, people who hadn't been on bikes in years were pedaling to their jobs (if they had to work in person) or to shop or run errands.  And folks who were working from home were going hopping onto the saddle for exercise and to de-stress from being cooped up in front of a screen.

Like the Bike Boom of the 1970s, the COVID epidemic was great bike-related businesses--at least some of them, for some time.  During the first few months of the pandemic, bikes and anything related them were flying out shop doors and keeping Amazon delivery workers busy.  In time, though, some shops and web businesses became victims of cycling's newfound popularity.  Shops ran out of inventory as supply streams dried up.  Some kept themselves open by repairing bikes that people were resurrecting from basements and garages.  But as cables, tires and tubes became difficult to find, they took to cannibalizing other bikes--until there were no more bikes to "harvest."  With nothing left to sell or even use for repairs, a number of shops--including longstanding and prominent ones like Harris Cyclery--to close permanently.

Now there might be some secondary victims, if you will.  Among them is Moore Lange, a UK distributor that went into receivership last week after more than 70 years in business.  Their offerings included bikes and parts from a wide array of brands like Forme, Lake, Barracuda, Microshift and Vitesse. 

 

According to Moore Lange director Adam Briggs, the company's troubles can be traced, ironically, to supply streams flowing again.  Actually, the trickle or dry bed turned into a torrent:  "[L]ots of stock arrived in the first quarter of 2022," he explained.  "There was a year's worth of bikes arriving in the UK at that time"--just as the Boom was turning into murmur--"which meant there was a massive oversupply."

Apparently, in the UK as in other places, the demand for bikes and anything related to them is falling from its 2020-21 heights.  Distributors and some shops now are overstocked, at least in some items, which led to "significant discounts," according to Briggs.  Given that profit margins are significantly smaller for bikes than for other items, a decrease in sales has led to a "perfect storm" for some shops and distributors like Moore Lange. 

The company's inventory will be auctioned off.  If there is a silver lining in the clouds of this storm, it is for British cyclists who are looking for good buys on bikes and parts.

  

I Hope Santa Doesn't Leave Coal In My DeFeet Socks

Am I so influential as a blogger that I now have a curse or jinx?

Or is my internalized Catholic Guilt kicking in?

The other day, I wrote about Anthony Hoyte, a.k.a. the Pedaling Picasso, whose rides have been making images of Santa Claus, Frosty the Snowman and other Christmas-related motifs on Strava.

Well, Santa and his reindeer aren't bringing good tidings or shiny new bicycles to some folks who work for the company that gave us the app 100 million cyclists, runners and other athletes use to record and share their rides and workouts.  

The company got caught in the crosshairs, if you will.  The COVID-19-induced surge in demand for bicycles, tech products and services and all things related to both has cooled off.  Also, three years after the pandemic began both industries have been plagued with supply-chain issues and some of the sharks have swallowed the guppies--or, as the business media likes to say, there have been "consolidations."

It's not clear as to which forces, specifically, have led Strava to laying off 40 employees, or about 15 percent of its workforce.  But, being both a bike- and tech-related company right now is, I guess, a bit like being a real-estate and finance company in 2008.

If I jinxed or cursed those now-former Strava employees, I am really, really sorry.  I hope Santa doesn't leave coal in my DeFeet wool socks--though, I imagine, it's difficult to leave some of the sustainable energy sources.  I mean, even though I have pretty big feet, a wind turbine--even a teensy weensy one--probably won't fit!

When A Sinking Ship Isn’t Metaporical

 

You probably heard about the luxury car-laden ship that sank in the Atlantic this past winter. Turns out, the bike world isn’t immune to such mishaps.

A year earlier, another ship carrying 700 containers full of, among other things, bikes from China sank off the Mexican coast.  Now Trek, Bell and a few other companies are suing Maersk, the ship’s operator, and other related companies for damages.

Aside from the losses Trek, Bell and other companies incurred, the ship sinking affected the cycling world in another way:  It exacerbated the COVID-induced bicycle and parts shortage.  That, of course, drove up prices and simultaneously created a boom for some dealers while driving others, who couldn’t get inventory, out of business.

Employee Killed At Bicycle Company Headquarters

When it comes to hazardous occupations and workplace violence, the bicycle industry probably isn't the first that would come to most people's minds.  Even less likely to occur to some would be an employee killing another in a well-respected bike company's headquarters located in a town that is home to many young professionals who work in a nearby city.

But the scenario I've described seems to have played out in the headquarters of Jamis, in Northvale, New Jersey.  Yesterday morning, Northvale police responded to a call about an injured employee.  When they arrived, they found the body of 43-year-old Jeanette Willem, a 20-year employee.  

She had a head wound which, according to authorities, was caused by a blunt object.  They believe that warehouse employee Christian Giron inflicted that wound with a hammer. He was arrested and charged with murdering Ms. Willem, weapon possession and hindering his own apprehension.

In light of these developments, Jamis' headquarters will be closed until Monday, 1 November.

 

By Another Name

Photo by Charlie Kaijo, from the Northwest Arkansas Democrat-Gazzette

We’ve all heard Juliet’s plea to Romeo: “A rose by any other name would smell as sweet.”

There are entire academic sub-disciplines based on a negation of that premise.  So, what I am about to describe is ironic to me, as someone who’s been in the academic world.

When I worked in bike shops, I was classified, and described myself, as an assembler or mechanic.  The same can be said for others who did that work.  The other bike shop employees in shops—usually the larger ones—were salespeople and managers.  In smaller shops, though, employees (and, sometimes, the proprietor) wore multiple hats. Nearly all of us learned on the job:  Little, if any, formal training was available.

That last facet of the industry is changing.  Organizations like the United Bicycle Institute hold training programs and camps.  And community colleges—most recently Northwest Arkansas Community College—have launched programs to prepare students for the bike industry.

What has brought about this development?  Well, I think that one reason is that bicycles are increasingly included in transportation and infrastructure planning.  No one can argue any longer that adult cycling is a passing fad or a recreational activity for the privileged.

I believe there’s another another reason why academic institutions are seeing that the bicycle is not just a way to get around campus or an option to fill a Physical Education requirement—and that preparing students for a career in the industry is a worthy endeavor.  You see, now colleges like Northwest Arkansas and Minnesota State College Southeast are training bicycle technicians.

Now, in a way I can understand the name change: There is more technology, not only in design, but also in making, assembling and repairing new bikes and components than there was when I worked in shops.

I have to wonder, though:  Would the trajectory of my life have been different if I’d been a bicycle technician?

Why They Should Be Recognized As Professionals

Americans often complain that French--or even Asian--waiters are "rude," or simply not friendly.

On the other hand, some gourmands will argue that the quality of a restaurant's food is inversely proportional to the friendliness of its service.  

I would agree with that second assertion, to a point.  I recall that the old Second Avenue Deli had, arguably, the best matzoh ball soup and pastrami sandwiches--and the rudest waiters--in Manhattan.  And I have been in many a restaurant--yes, even Italian and Indian-Pakistani ones--where I loved the food but the waitstaff weren't vying to be Mr. or Ms. Congeniality.

Now, French and even high-end Asian restaurants represent cultures very different (at least in some ways) from those that gave us the various ethnic restaurants found in New York and other American cities.  But I have always sensed that there is a certain kinship in the attitude of waitstaff.  

In France, and perhaps to a lesser degree in other European and Asian countries, being a waiter or waitress isn't something you do to pay for college or because you don't have the documentation or credentials for other kinds of work.  In fact, it isn't just a job:  It's a profession.

One almost never hears the words "professional" and "waiter" or "waitress" used together in the English-speaking world.  That, perhaps, is a reason why they are not given respect--or a living wage.  (As you may know, you don't tip a waiter in France: there's a service charge built into your bill.)  On the other hand, a waiter, like a chef, sous chef or anyone else involved in creating, preparing and delivering a meal, is expected to help create a dining experience.  So a waiter not only hauls trays and plates; he or she also choreographs the dining experience, ensuring that everything from the table arrangement to the wines are appropriate for the meal that is being consumed.

I think now of something a lawyer once told me:  "It's not my job to be my client's friend; I am here to be my client's advocate."  I think it's a fair summation of any profession. Yes, you want your lawyer or doctor or teacher or whoever to be courteous and respectful.  But it's not his or her job to be your buddy.  And that professional does not quit at a certain time of day.  Most important of all, a professional is always learning something new.

I know of bike mechanics like that. In fact, I go to a couple of them when I don't have the right tool(s) or simply don't have (or don't want to spend) the time to do something properly.  The mechanics I am talking about have been doing their work for years, or even decades, and because of their expertise, they work year-round in shops, even during seasons when other mechanics are laid off.

They aren't professionals just because they're getting paid to work on bikes:  They attain such status, at least in my eyes, because of the way they approach their work--and their relations with customers.   Their goal is to make your bike work, and to work for you.  Moreover, they understand how bikes and cyclists are changing--and remaining the same.

But almost nobody--at least in the US--thinks of being a bike mechanic as a profession.  Part of the reason, I suspect, as that most mechanics, save for the ones I've described, don't see themselves as practicing a profession.  It's a job--as, I admit, fixing and assembling bikes was for me at different times in my life--that will sustain you until you complete your degree or move on to something else in your life.

Also, a professional isn't bound by one employer or workplace.  As an example, a doctor doesn't stop being a doctor upon leaving a hospital where he or she worked--or if that hospital shuts down.  That doctor can work elsewhere, or set up his or her own practices.

Mechanics are going to need that sort of mobility.  With the rise of internet sales and bike-share programs--and rising rents--the existence of a bike shop is increasingly precarious.  But even if people buy their bikes from online wholesalers or use bike-share programs (instead of renting bikes from shops), someone will have to assemble that new bike, or fix it after it's been ridden through streets and over hill and dale.  Many cyclists don't have the time or inclination to make those repairs (or they're not allowed to fix share bikes).  So, there will always be a need, I believe, for mechanics.  And because bike designs, and the ways in which bikes are ridden, are changing, mechanics and other bike industry professionals need to keep on learning.

As I understand, those are the motivations behind the Professional Bicycle Mechanics Association, founded two and a half years ago.  As its president, James Stanfill, says, "Service is to me what we do for others, and for us mechanics, it is absolutely inclusive of all we, as an industry, do for others."  

 

  Many mechanics, and others in the bike industry, are already living and working by that credo.  So it makes sense to start a "professional association" (which is not the same thing as a union) for bike mechanics.  I mean, auto mechanics are recognized as professionals, as they should be.  So why not bike mechanics?  If nothing else, I think such recognition would help not only to bring more respect to the bicycle industry, but to cycling itself.

Where Your Next Bike Might Come From

In a couple of earlier posts (See here and here, I examined some of the ways in which the new tariffs on Chinese goods could affect cyclists and the bike business here in the US.

Some American bike firms, like Brooklyn Bicycle Company, are deciding whether to absorb the price increases or pass them on to customers.  Others, like Detroit Bikes and BCA, are calling for even higher tariffs and extending them to all imported bikes.  

Trek and Kent--two bike companies rarely mentioned in the same breath, let alone the same blog post!--are contemplating yet another strategy which, really, shouldn't come as much of a surprise.

Trek is, arguably, the most prestigious mass-market American bike brand.  (Specialized and Cannondale are probably Trek's chief competitors for this title.)  Their highest-priced bikes are still made here, albeit with imported components.  The rest of their bikes are made by sub-contractors that include Giant, which also sells its bikes under its own name.

Kent's offerings, in contrast, are at the bottom of the market and found, not in bike shops, but in big-box stores like Walmart and internet retailers.  Some are sold, under license, bearing the Jeep, Cadillac and GMC brands.  Although some of its bikes are assembled in South Carolina, their frames are made in China and Taiwan and assembled with components made in those countries.

So...Is Trek returning to its roots by returning its manufacturing to the US?  Well...no.  You're not going to see a revival of those nice lugged steel frames they made in Wisconsin during the '70's and '80's.

Likewise, Kent isn't going to build a factory in Parsippany, New Jersey (the location of its headquarters), or anywhere else in the good ol' You-Ess-Of-Ay!

No, they are not going to do what El Cheeto Grande told all of those laid-off blue-collar workers in Ohio and Michigan and Pennsylvania companies would do in the face of tariffs.  Instead of making their wares in the country Trump thinks he can Make Great Again, they are talking about shifting their production to a country that isn't getting a tariff wall built around it.

If you are European, what I am about to say next will come as no surprise:  That country is Cambodia.  

The Southeast Asian kingdom is already the biggest supplier of bicycles to European Union countries.  Most of the country's bike factories are in the north, near Vietnam--which some have called "the EU's China." If you buy, say, a backpack or jacket in Europe, it's more likely than not to have been made in Vietnam, just as the new bike is likely to be from Cambodia.

It will be interesting to see whether other American bike companies make similar moves.  If anything, wages in Cambodia, Vietnam and other countries in the region are lower than they are in China. And some Cambodian bikes are already coming into the US--though, in far smaller numbers than bikes from China or Taiwan.

How Will Brooklyn Pay For A Tax Against China?

About three weeks ago, I wrote about ways in which the recently-imposed tariffs on Chinese goods could affect the bicycle industry.

I presented as clear a picture as I could, not being a bicycle industry insider or an economist who specializes in trade policy (or any kind of economist at all).  So, today, I am going to share part an Inc. article Norman Brodsky wrote based on his conversation with such an industry insider.

Brodsky's friend Ryan Zagata is the founder and owner of Brooklyn Bicycle Company.  I've never ridden any of their machines, but they are praised for being very good at what new urban cyclists--particularly commuters and utility cyclists--want.  From all accounts, their bikes are comfortable and practical.  What I know is that they are stylish enough that one of their models is sold at the Museum of Modern Art's gift shop.

Plus, I must say, Brooklyn's prices are actually quite reasonable.  That could change, although Zagata doesn't want that.

He told Brodsky that a typical model from his company costs about $200 to make.  Right now, he pays $11 on import duties for such a bike, but the new tariffs could hike that to $61.

That leaves him with a dilemma:  Does he absorb the increase or pass it on to customers?  Of course, he could also "split the difference" and increase consumer prices, but by a smaller amount.

None of those options is particularly appealing because, as anyone who has worked in the industry knows, it's a low profit-margin business.  The retail markup on bicycles, percentage-wise, is not nearly as high as it is for such items as clothing and luggage.  Every shop in which I worked made a much greater proportion of its income from repairs or the sales of accessories and parts than it did from selling new bikes.  As I understand, that is the case in just about all bike shops. That's why you don't see year-end half-price or 75 percent off sales on bikes. 

Brooklyn Bicycle Company's Driggs 3

Brodsky asked whether Zagata could have his bikes and parts manufactured in another country like Vietnam.  It wouldn't be worthwhile, Zagata says, unless the move would shave $50 or more off the cost of producing the bike. More to the point, though, are the difficulties that come with such a move: among them,  the research and development--and travel-- costs of sourcing a new factory and having samples made and tested.  Also, he points out, every new model from a new supplier has to be sent to the Consumer Product Safety Commission for testing.  

In addition, moving production would mean losing the relationships they have with suppliers, who understand what Brooklyn Bicycle wants and needs.  "Will a new manufacturer understand what we're looking for and give us the same level of quality?" Zagata wonders.

He might have been thinking of Fuji's experience around the turn of the millennium.  They were one of the last major Japanese bicycle manufacturers to shift their production to Taiwan.  As a result, they didn't have the sorts of relationships enjoyed by other companies who shifted their production earlier.  Fuji's once-stellar reputation fell; it has recovered only during the last few years.

Finally, Brodsky inquired as to whether Zagata could manufacture his bikes in the US. Even if he made the frames, and assembled the bikes, in the US, he'd still have the same problem with tariffs.  "There's nobody in the United States making rims, hubs, spokes, saddles, chains, drivetrains--all the things we'd need, in the quantities we'd need them."  He still would have to import those components, he said, and they would be subject to the same tariffis as bicycles.

(He is right about the lack of American component-making  capacity.  Hubs are made here, but they are all high-end items like Phil Wood and Chris King:  a set would cost nearly as much as most of the bikes Brooklyn offers.  The other components, to my knowledge, are no longer made here:  even Sun Rims, designed in the USA, are made in Taiwan or China.)

At the moment, Zagata says he can't do much more than "watch my competitors."  Without a doubt, many other small- to medium- size business owners (BBCo., at $2 million a year, is considered in the latter category) could say the same. 

En Vive B Vivit: A UBI Scholar Teaches Other Women

One year ago tomorrow, I reported on the scholarships Quality Bicycle Parts (QBP) was offering scholarships for women to learn bicycle mechanics at United Bicycle Institute's (UBI) school.  It's being offered again this year.

One of the great things, at least to me, about that scholarship is that it's open to all types of women, including trans folks like yours truly or anyone else who identifies as female or femme.  

Now, you might wonder how such a thing is an advancement for women, as being a bike mechanic isn't the steadiest (in most places, it's seasonal) or most lucrative work.  Learning the bicycle inside and out at a place like UBI can help someone prepare for other work in the bicycle industry, whether as a shop owner or for companies like QBP.

In fact, what's being offered isn't just a "mechanic's scholarship", as some of the bicycle press has reported. Rather, it's a Professional Repair and Shop Operation curriculum.

The only qualification, aside from gender identity, for a candidate is current employment in a bike shop in the US or any of its territories.  The employment needn't be paid:  interns, volunteers and trainees will also be considered.  Thus, I imagine, someone working in a community recycle-a-bicycle program would be a candidate. 

The deadline to apply is 2 November.

The 32 women who win the scholarships will attend the February 2019 classes in either of UBI's Oregon campuses. (Ashland and Portland)  

If you are one of the lucky ones, there's a chance that one of your instructors will be B Vivit, who graduated from the course last year.

B Vivit (left) at UBI's school

At that time, she was the floor manager at Huckleberry Cycles in San Francisco.  After the course ended, she was giving feedback to some of the instructors via text. "They recommended I apply to teach," she said, "because they overheard me helping other students and teaching during class."

That sounds like as much of an endorsement as any:  The course uncovered a talent a student could contribute to, not only the UBI, but the world of cycling generally.  After all, to paraphrase someone whose name I won't mention, it isn't just about the bike.

Oh, by the way, Park Tool, one of the sponsors of the scholarship, supplies each participant with a travel tool kit she can take home with her.

Labor Day: Bicycles, Workers And This Economy

Today is Labor Day here in the US.

In years past (here and here), I've written about the ways in which bicycle manufacturers, at least in this country, haven't always treated workers very well.  Now there's not much left of the cycle industry:  All but the most expensive bikes from makers like Trek and Specialized are made in countries where workers make much lower wages and have practically no rights.

Unfortunately, that brings me to our current President.  How any working person can see him as an ally is beyond me.

I mean, he imposed tariffs with the ostensible purpose of bringing jobs back to this country.  But I don't think steel mills, let alone bicycle factories, are going to reappear in the US any time soon, if ever.  And, tariffs or no tariffs, corporations will go to wherever they can get the job done at the lowest cost.  That leaves the rest of us holding the bag:  Unless you're buying a bike like Shinola or the most expensive racing machines from Trek or Specialized--or a custom frame--it's all but impossible to find a bike that's made in the US.  And, even those super-bikes are outfitted with components that come from those low-wage countries.

Then again, for some categories of products, there isn't even a partially-made-in-the-USA alternative to something from China or Indonesia or wherever.  Just try to find a computer or "smart" phone, or just about any article of clothing (except, again, for the most expensive) that's made in any fair-wage country where workers can organize.


Still, I think cycling is a better remedy than automobile travel or other kinds of industry for workers and their rights.  Dependency on fossil fuels (or, worse, fracking or nuclear power) will not make workers safer, healthier or more prosperous:  Only cleaner, "greener" jobs can do that in the current economy.

And at least we can still enjoy a ride on this day. It sure beats sitting in traffic!

Cat's Cradle On May Day

Today is May Day.

In much of the world, this day commemorates labor movements.   In the United States, too many people believe--as I did, before I learned otherwise--that it was celebrated mainly in countries that are or were Communist, like Cuba and the former Soviet Union.  And, when I used to hold such mistaken beliefs, "Communist" was one of the most pejorative terms one could apply to any person, place or thing.

The funny thing is that the origins of May Day are as American as, well, Schwinn used to be.  So, for that matter, is socialism, which has its roots in workers' struggles to obtain an 8-hour work day (10 to 16 was the norm) and safer working conditions.  In fact, socialist movements in Europe and Latin America took much of their inspiration from movements in the US.

Unfortunately, workers in the bicycle industry--a major employer at that time (late 19th Century)--were not exempt from exploitation by their employers, as so many workers were and are.  As an example, Schwinn's metal platers and polishers struck for a 44-hour workweek and 85 cents an hour in 1919; the company retaliated against striking workers as well members of other unions and dealers who cancelled, or didn't place, orders.  In 1980, workers in Schwinn's Chicago factory, who had recently affiliated themselves with the United Auto Workers Union, went on a strike that would last four months.  In the meantime, the company accelerated its overseas sourcing and built a new factory in Mississippi, where labor was less expensive and unions all but non-existent.  Within a year, the Chicago plant ended more than eight decades of operation.

Schwinn' Peoria machine shop, 1895

In 1963, Kurt Vonnegut's Cat's Cradle was published. In the novel, the narrator--an everyman named John who calls himself Jonah--travels to the fictional Caribbean island of San Lorenzo.   On his way there, he meets "another fellow American,  H.Lowe Crosby of Evanston, Illinois, and his wife, Hazel," whom he describes as "heavy people, in their fifties" who "spoke twangingly."  

Mr. Crosby says he owns a bicycle factory in Chicago and gets "nothing but ingratitude from his employees."  Therefore, he plans to move his business to "grateful" San Lorenzo.  

The narrator asks Crosby whether he knows San Lorenzo well.  Crosby admits that he'll be seeing it for the first time but that he likes everything he's heard about it. "They've got discipline," he explains.  In Chicago, he says, "we don't make bicycles anymore.  It's all about human relations."  He proceeds to bemoan, basically, having to treat his workers like people.  Jonah asks him whether he thinks things will be better in San Lorenzo.

"I know damn well they will be.  The people down there are poor enough and scared enough and ignorant enough to have some common sense!"

Hmm...San Lorenzo sounds like a few not-so-fictional countries I can think of.  And Crosby sounds like a few not-so-fictional capitalists I can think of.

We'll Miss Chris!

F. Scott Fitzgerald opened his short story Rich Boy with what has become one of the most misquoted lines:  "Let me tell you about the very rich.  They are different from you and me."

Well, not many people people in the bike business are among the very rich.  In fact, a joke I heard from people in the industry goes like this:  "You can end up with a small fortune in this business.  How?  Start with a big one!"

Don't get me wrong:  Some people have done very well for themselves, whether by opening a bike shop that offers the right things in the right place at the right time, or by being distributors or importers.  But whatever money one makes in the two-wheeled trade does not come easily:  Running a bike shop entails long hours (especially during cycling season) and the overhead costs are high.

So, the people who choose to go into the bike business are different, if not from you and me, then at least from people who go into other industries or professions.  I am thinking now of a shop in which I worked for a time:  One of the partners was a fellow who spent years working in shops, mainly as a mechanic, and decided that he wanted to open one of his own.  The other was a retired Wall Streeter who, after a couple of years, was unhappy that his investment didn't yield a bigger and faster return.  He didn't realize that such was the nature of bike shops, and the bike industry in general.

Of course, that former Wall Street denizen's motivation for opening a bike shop was entirely different from that of his partner.  He was not entering the world of cycling; rather, he thought he saw another business opportunity.  I can't really fault him for that:  All of his years on "The Street" conditioned him to think that way, if he hadn't already had such a mindset.  On the other hand, the mechanic genuinely loved bicycles and cycling. (I know: I raced against and rode with him.)  As some might say, cycling was "in his blood".

Chris, with his son.  From the Velo Orange blog.

Another such person, I believe, is Chris Kulczycki.  Many of you know him as the founder of Velo Orange.  As he often said, VO began with a "part time gig" after selling another business he'd started.  He brought it in some bike parts and accessories, mainly for touring and randonneuring, from Europe and Japan.  Some of those items had not been made in decades and, in some cases, the companies that made them hadn't been in business for as long.  

Then, of course, he started to have parts and accessories made after the designs of those vintage items.  The result of his work, and a few other like-minded people, is that we have more choices about the kinds of bikes we ride, and about the way they look, than we did fifteen or twenty-five years ago.  Gone is the tyranny of the racing bike/mountain bike binary that dictated most of what was made and sold during the 1980's and 1990's.  We also are free of the dictate that everything must look like carbon weave or be finished in black.  (Isn't it ironic that the most expensive bikes had such a palette decades after Henry Ford said that customers could get the Model T--the first car for the masses--"in any color as long as it's black".)

In other words, Chris not only has a passion for cycling, he also has a particular love of particular kinds of cycling (and bikes) that were all but unknown to most Americans when he started Velo Orange.  And it has paid off, for us and for him.  

As for him:  It's paid well enough that he's retired, after selling the company.  All I can do is hope that he and Annette enjoy their retirement, which they have certainly earned!  And that his cancer doesn't return.

More--Or Mores?

If you mention English three-speed bikes, the first brand that comes to most people's minds is Raleigh.

That makes sense when you realize that not only did Raleigh make more such machines-- and make them for longer-- than any other bike maker, they  had also, by the late 1950s, acquired BSA, Sunbeam and other manufacturers of such machines.  If you aren't a three-speed enthusiast or haven't worked in a bike shop, you probably aren't aware of those brands.  Most people have seen bikes from those marqes but didn't notice because they don't know or care about such things, or because those bikes looked so much like Raleighs that they didn't notice the brands.

So it's not such a surprise that English bicycle saddles have a similar history to the bikes I've mentioned, especially when you realize that most English bikes (as well as machines from many other countries), until the 1970s, came with British leather saddles.

Now, a cyclist who isn't of a certain age can be forgiven for thinking that Brooks is the only British company to have made those iconic perches from hide stretched across rails.  Turns out, up to about the 1970s, a number of firms in Albion were making saddles similar to the ones Brooks offered.

You may have ridden one of their wares, perhaps without realizing it.  Among those saddle makers were Lycett, Wrights and one I re-discovered recently.   They all have remarkably parallel histories:  They started as makers of horse saddles or other leather goods, and they all were based--as was much of the British cycling industry--in and around Birmingham.  

(The name of that city is pronounced "burr-mean-gum" with an accent on the first syllable.  Folks in Alabama will tell you their largest city is "Burr-ming-ham", with the last syllable accented.)

Recently, I saw an old Holdsworth parked in my neighborhood.  I wish I had taken photos of it:  The frame was obviously from the 1960s or earlier, but it was kitted out with a combination of modern, mostly Japanese, components.  The bike, however, sported one item that was very distinctively of its place and time:

I rather liked the nameplate, with the Middlemore name bookended by an enlarged "M" and "E" at the beginning and end, respectively.  What puzzled me, though, is this:

So the rear plate says "Middlemore" but the side emblems read "Middlemores".  It would make more sense if the latter contained an apostrophe, as in "Middlemore's saddles".  Instead,it looks as if someone couldn't decide on the singular or plural.

The makers of that saddle can be forgiven.  The B89, which I believe was the model I saw on the Holdsworth, looks like a cross between a Brooks Professional and B17.  At least, the width seems to be somewhere between the two.  And the leather on it was as thick as I've seen on any, and appeared to be of very good quality.  Whoever's been riding that saddle seems to have taken care of it.

In doing some research, I found an entire blog devoted, not only to Middlemore(s) saddles, but to other items--some not related to bikes--made by the company.  Apparently, the firm was known as Middlemore & Lamplugh after the two firms bearing those names merged in 1896, and continued to make saddles under both names until 1920, when the firm was dissolved and one of its factories was sold.  Middlemore once again became a separate company, known as Middlemores Coventry, that continued to make bicycle saddles.

As Raleigh was acquiring many of the old British bicycle marques, a rival company, the Tube Investments Group, was buying up the bike makers Raleigh hadn't collected.  By that time, Raleigh also owned a number of component manufacturers, including Sturmey Archer---and Brooks.  In 1960, TI bought Raleigh, which meant that, in essence, they controlled the British bicycle industry.

TI would then "retire" some of the old bike and parts brands that had previously competed with Raleigh and its affiliates.  Somehow, though, Middlemore(s) managed to remain independent.  During that time, the B89 came out; later, a cutaway version (like the Brooks Swallow), the B89N, was offered.  And their tri-sprung saddle, the B3, found a following among some more leisurely cyclists.  According to one former employee, Middlemore(s) even made a saddle for Princess Margaret.

By the 1970's, however, much of their dwindling income came from rebadged saddles they made for a few bike manufacturers, including Lambert/Viscount and Moulton.  But as companies like Lambert/Viscount died out, were acquired or moved production overseas, Middlemore(s) dwindled and seems to have stopped making saddles altogether in the 1980s, although it existed on paper until 21 May 1991.

At that time, Middlemore(s) was one of the most longevous manufacturing firms of any kind in Britain or the world.  It had, in fact, existed for even longer than Brooks or Raleigh. 

Across the Channel, a number of French firms made leather saddles similar to the ones made by their counterparts in Blighty.  Some were of decidedly inferior quality, like the Adga Model 28s that came with Peugeot UO8s and other similar French bikes.  (The Adga 28, as Sheldon Brown wryly notes, probably did more than anything else to turn people off suspended leather saddles.)  Then there was Norex, a "second line" of saddles from Ideale, the best-known French maker.  

Ideale seems to have gone out of business in the mid-1980s or thereabouts.  From the next two decades or so, Brooks was just about the only brand of leather saddles available (and then only sporadically) in the US and much of the world.  A Dutch company continued to make similar products, which seemed to be of decent quality.  One possible reason why they weren't imported to America, or to most of the English-speaking world, might have been its name:  Lepper.

Note:  The images in this post came from "VeloBase".