Will It Lift The Bike Business? Or Will REI Fall Into A Canyon?

For as long as I can remember, someone has predicted the demise of the local bike shop.  The first "threat" came from mail-order giants like Bike Warehouse/Bike Nashbar, Bikecology/Supergo and Performance.  They offered high-end frames and components at lower prices (including shipping) than your neighborhood dealer--if indeed it carried those items or could order them.  

Later, the death-knell for The Village Spokesperson or its equivalent was supposed to have been sounded by Internet retailers--some of which, of course, were the online incarnations of mail-order firms.  Often, their prices were even lower, and their selections greater, than those of mail-order or brick-and-mortar businesses because they didn't need the warehouse space of mail-order companies and, well, because of sheer volume: A human doesn't have to be present when you press "click" to order that helmet or GPS device or when it's dispatched.

Indeed, some shops closed their doors when mail-order companies became known even to once-a-month, seven-months-out-of-the-year, cyclists. (Older mail-order concerns like Cyclo-pedia had much smaller, though very loyal, markets.) And others ended their runs when they couldn't keep up with Internet retailers, or when the COVID-19 Bike Boom went bust.  

But there were a few factors that kept other bike shops in business and encouraged the establishment of new ones.  One is what a remote shopping experience, whether via the US Postal Service or World Wide Web, could not offer:  personal service. While most mail and online retailers offered fit charts and guides for bikes, helmets, shoes and other items, they could not replicate the experience of trying them on in the store.  A related factor is the relationships cyclists build with trusted bike professionals:  For example, the folks at Bicycle Habitat understand my riding style and preferences, and how  they have changed.  Also, they and other shops I have frequented have offered me discounts as a repeat customer, so I find that I save little, if any, money when I shop from a screen. 

And let's face it, people like me simply feel more comfortable going to proprietors, mechanics and other shop personnel we've known for years or even decades. 

That last factor explains why some analysts and casual observers are again sounding alarms over "the death of bike shops."  The cycle brand Canyon has announced a partnership with REI Co-op.

Now, that doesn't mean you'll find Canyon bikes or accessories, or even a demo fleet, on your local REI showroom.  Rather, those stores will only handle warranty claims and do repairs--at a 20 percent discount for REI members-- on Canyon bikes.  In other words, REI is taking on two vital parts of a relationship between a bike buyer and shop.  I rarely have to go to a shop for repairs (only when I don't have the tool and can't justify buying it or, as when I bought Dee-Lilah, my custom Mercian Vincitore, I wanted an assembly job from someone who loves and appreciates Mercians), but it's good to know that I can get advice and answers from someone with expertise and that, should I have a warranty issue, someone can handle it for me. 

I think those are particularly important issues for customers and riders of Canyon, a direct-to-consumer brand. Few, if any, did a pre-order ride or fit, so I am sure that some ordered the wrong size or type of bike for themselves or someone else.  I would likewise assume that many Canyon customers have done little, if any, bike repair work and thus didn't assemble some or all of the bike properly.

Moreover, at least a few Canyon riders, like other cyclists, are also hikers, campers, skiers or participants in other outdoor sports.   Thus, they would feel comfortable going to REI:  Indeed, they may already be customers or even members.  On the other hand, they may be new to cycling and thus feel intimidated by bike shops, especially the ones that cater to dedicated cyclists.

All of that said, I don't think Canyon's partnership with REI will mean the end of bike shops as we know them.  But it could change the ways in which at least some cyclists get service, even if it begs the question of whether REI would hire or train mechanics--or press salespeople into fixing bikes.   

The Light Of The Season, Lighting My Ride

In temperate parts of the Northern Hemisphere, October paints its light with strokes from deepening, drying leaves of red, yellow, orange and brown.

But those hues also reflect the light of other seasons I remember during autumn rides. 

We're Giving You A Reason That Conflicts With The One We Gave You

When I lived in Manhattan, I often cycled across the George Washington Bridge:  I could set out for Bear Mountain around sunrise on a late spring or summer morning and be back before noon.  Even at such an early hour, I'd see other cyclists crossing the bridge in both directions.  Some were riding into the city for work or pleasure, but a few were returning from midnight rides:  something I did at least a few times.  Such trips were possible because, in those days (ca. 1983-1991), the Bridge's walkway/cycle paths didn't close.

Some in the Port Authority of New York and New Jersey management will deny the lanes were ever available 24 hours.  Pardon my cynicism, but I don't find it surprising that the bi-state agency that owns the Bridge (and JFK International Airport, among other facilities) would try to gaslight those of us who have been using the Bridge for decades.  

Photo by Charles Pedola

I don't know exactly when the PANYNJ began overnight closure of the bike lanes.  Nor does the agency itself--or, if it does, it's employing "selective memory."  Like Ed Ravin of the Five Borough Bike Club, I remember the nocturnal lane closure starting some time after the terrorist attacks on 11 September 2001. That is when the Authority installed gates.   "I remember seeing that gate and saying, 'They want to be able to close this path,'"  he recalls.  "I didn't like that at all."

Whatever the case, the path had been closed from midnight through 6 am until earlier this month.  Then, the lanes'  availability was extended by one hour:  It now opens at 5 am.  While that is a partial victory, the PANYNJ's reasoning is murky at best and specious at worst.  A spokesman claimed that the closures began in 2016 for cleaning, maintenance and restoration.  That contrasts with  another statement attributing the closure to a "standard practice" that began in 1995. Both of those claims contradict a 2004 press release stating the lanes would be closed overnight due to "enhanced security measures" for that year's Republican National Convention.

Now, to most people, that difference of one hour doesn't sound like much.  But there are people who ride to and from jobs at that hour--or overnight--who can't afford to, or simply don't, drive or take buses.  Even those of us who pedal across the bridge to train or simply for pleasure feel something in common with those workers:  that the Port Authority doesn't care about us.  About 4 million vehicles drive across the bridge every month; the tolls they pay make the Bridge the Port Authority's second most-profitable asset (after JFK Airport).  On the other hand, in a warm-weather month, about 90,000 of us pedal across the bridge--and we don't pay tolls.