Can't Fix Your Bike? It's An Environmental And Economic Justice Issue

When I first became a dedicated cyclist--nearly half a century ago!--bicycles were touted as environmentally friendly alternatives to gas guzzlers.  At the risk of sounding like someone who pines for "the good old days," I'll say that most adult cyclists of the time were not merely "signaling" their concern for our habitat; they, as often as not, made other choices in line with their values.

Today, while some are "bikewashing" their lifestyles, there are some who are genuinely concerned with such matters as human-enhanced climate change.  So, while they might cycle to work or school (or, at least to the bus or train that takes them there), recycle the bottles, cans and other packaging they use during their lunch breaks and, perhaps, try to buy as local as possible, they could unwittingly be making at least one choice that undermines their other efforts.

To wit:  Their bicycles might be part of the problem.  Now, I don't mean to be pick on such folks.  Most people, especially if they're buying their first bike in decades, aren't familiar with how or where their bikes are made, or anticipate the normal wear and tear--and repairs--that come with regular use.  They also assume that "new is better," which is sometimes, but not always true.

Most mechanics, or anyone who's been cycling for, say, two decades or more, won't necessarily agree that "new is better."  It's true that almost any derailleur made today shifts better than almost any made fifty or forty years ago.  And, depending on your point of view, some other parts today are more efficient, convenient or lighter than their predecessors.  

But one problem is that most of those parts--or the bikes themselves--are not built to last because they're not made to be fixed.  "If I get a Huffy from the '90's, chances are I can actually make repairs to it," says Mac Liman. It will be heavy, but at least "the steel will hold together," she explains, and the result will be a serviceable, if inelegant, piece of basic transportation.

Liman would know:  She's been a mechanic for 19 years, the past  14 at Denver's Bikes Together shop.  Those Huffys were sold mainly in big-box shops like Wal-Mart, which sold out all of its bikes in March 2020.  "We're already starting to get those bikes," Liman lamented, "And we can't fix them."

One problem is the shortage of available parts caused by COVID-19-related manufacturing and supply chain disruptions. But an even bigger issue is simply the poor quality of those bikes:  Their frames crack and they have non-standard parts that can't be replaced at a reasonable price. "I've seen bearing cups that just fall out of hubs, so there's no way you can rebuild them," Liman says.

Her experiences have led her to join a petition calling for bikes to be repairable.  Its earliest supporters were mechanics at non-profit bicycle co-operatives and training programs like Recycle-A-Bicycle.  Cheap bikes from big-box stores are often donated, or brought in for repair, to such shops.  And people who buy bikes from such places are looking for something good and reliable for not very much money.

Now I have to admit that I was once one of those elitist bicycle snobs who snickered when I saw a department-store bike.  But I now understand that people buy such bikes, not because they're stupid, but because they don't know (yet!) why they should--or can't afford--to buy something better.

So, making unrepairabe bikes, like making almost anything else that's disposable, contributes to degrading the very environment some for which some folks are signaling their support by being seen on a bike.  And, as with so many other environmental issues, it's also a matter or social and economic justice, because it affects the working poor even more than those who buy those shiny-new Linuses and Brooklyn bikes.

Cologne Study Tells Us Who's Riding

 Two people, about the same age, have just achieved a major career--and financial--milestone. They decide to purchase a new vehicle for their commutes, and for pleasure.  One buys a 'Benz.  The other opts for a Brooklyn bike--or, if they want to splurge, a Brompton.  Why?

Well, an answer can be found in a University of Cologne study on cycling patterns and trends.  The Mercedes-Benz customer I've mentioned could be someone with a successful business or who's just scored a major contract.  The bike buyer, on the other hand, probably is more educated, more likely to be in a profession--and to live in an urban area.

Image from REI

According to the University of Cologne study, those bike buyers accounted for nearly all of the increase in cycling in Germany from 1996 through 2018.  At the end of that period, people with a high level of education (Arbitur) were cycling, on average, 70 minutes per week:  twice as much as they were pedaling at the beginning of that era. That also means they're riding three times as much as rural dwellers without Arbitur, whose cycling habits were all but unchanged.

From We Love Cycling

So what accounts for the differences I've mentioned?  Well, according to the study, people with Arbitur are more likely to live in urban areas--like Cologne--where cycling to work, school or shop is a practical alternative.  On the other hand, people in rural and suburban areas have to travel greater distances and buy more and larger items--which are harder to transport on bicycles--when they shop.

But, according to the study--conducted by sociologist Dr. Ansgar Hudde--there is another reason, perhaps more compelling to the educated folks themselves, why they choose to two pedals and two wheels rather than a gas pedal and an internal combustion engine for transport or other short trips.  It isn't cost:  Most  people with Arbitur, at least in Dr. Hudde's study, can afford a car or to use mass transit.  It also isn't time, though I have to wonder whether the experiences of folks in Cologne (or Hamburg, Berlin or Dusseldorf) parallel those of folks like me, who can ride to work in less time than the same trip would take on a train or bus, or even a car.  

Rather, a chief reason why those educated urban dwellers ride their bikes is the same reason why corporations quote Dr. Martin Luther King in their advertising:  signaling.  Those companies want to signal that they care about diversity and are otherwise socially conscious.  Likewise, urban folk with Arbitur are sending a message that they care about the environment or health, just as the guy with the shiny new Mercedes or Lexus is showing friends, family and others that he's "made it."

(Now I'm recalling that not so long ago, a stereotype of professors was that they drove Volvos.  They were more expensive than most American cars but, from what I understand, very well-made.  But their rather stodgy appearance contrasted with Mercedes polish or the frankly ostentatious looks of American-made luxury cars like the Cadillac Eldorado or Lincoln Continental. So those academic folk were signaling that they weren't signaling that they'd "made it.") 

Anyway, I found the Cologne study interesting for several reasons--one of which is how closely its findings parallel what I've observed here in the US.  While some people--men, mainly--in poor and immigrant communities ride bikes for cost or convenience, once their economic circumstances improve (and many of them move away), they buy cars, abandon their bikes and never look back.

A Trek To World Domination?

 Until a certain manufacturer started fabricating its wares in Wisconsin, Schwinn was regarded as the best American bike brand.  In fact, many, including Sheldon Brown, argued that it was the only U.S. marque with even a pretense of quality.

That reputation among the few dedicated adult cyclists of the pre-Bike Boom era was based largely on the fact that it made the Paramount, which was constructed from Reynolds 531 tubing and Nervex lugs and ridden by the US Olympic Team. But Schwinn also had a high reputation among the general public—it was the first brand that came to most people’s minds—mainly because it was the first company to have a network of authorized dealers.  Those stores were usually spacious, clean and well-lit and resembled automobile showrooms more than the small, cluttered shops that usually catered to cyclists.

(Some would argue—with justification, I believe—that the network, which helped the company prosper for a couple of decades, ultimately factored in its undoing. That is the subject of another post or article.)

It looks like Trek—the Wisconsin-based company I mentioned at the beginning of this post—is trying to replicate that sort of network and, perhaps, to wield or share control of the quality  (i.e., not sold in Walmart-type stores) bike market.  

Last week, Trek announced it bought Race Pace’s seven Baltimore locations.  That is the latest in a string of acquisitions of other local and regional chains as well as independent shops that were Trek dealers.

Commenters on an industry chat group are, naturally, speculating on what Trek’s buying spree—which has also spread, if to a lesser degree, to UK shops—might mean. Some see it as a strategy for competing with Specialized, which has followed a similar strategy for about two decades.  Others see it as a bid to dominate the market.

But they would probably agree with the commenter who said, “I think if you are a Trek dealer and Trek is not actively trying to buy your store, then your store is not part of the long-term plan.”

Could we see a future in which most bike shops belong to one of the Big Three or Four—say, Trek and Specialized and, perhaps Cannondale and/or Giant, in much the same way that, during the 1980s and ‘90’s, most bookstores were part of Barnes & Noble, Waldenbooks or Borders?