Chicago Bike Blog

The other side of the counter

By guest writer Sam Van Dellen

One of the things that's helpful in life is the ability to see things from the point of view of someone else. If you are a bicycle consumer, chances are you don't often get to look at bikes from the point of view of someone in the bike industry.

So here are some things from the other side of the counter about bikes, bike shops, bike shop employees, bike companies.

Let's start with bikes and the companies that make them.

A bike's a bike.  Bicycle manufacturer is a bit of a misnomer. Any bicycle with a brand name you recognize probably comes out of one of a small handful of factories in the Far East.  Thus, Kona, Trek, Marin, etc. are more properly called "bicycle brands". They commission the factories to manufacture bikes for them according to certain specs.

These different companies will have different ideas of how a bicycle should fit, or what parts are more important to spend more money on: some emphasize frame materials, or the components, or perhaps comfort features. But basically, any number of bikes in the range of money you are willing to spend will represent a comparable value, and quality, and work well for you. 

Bicycle companies are in the business of making money by selling bikes, so of course, each one is trying to get you to buy their bikes. This is not a bad thing.  The more bikes they sell, the longer they stay in business, the better bikes they can produce, hopefully getting more people on bikes in the process.

One of the ways they try to get you to buy their bike, instead of one built by another company, is to specify high quality parts for the bike in the places where it's important or that you will notice, and put lower quality parts where it's less important or noticeable. They do this to keep the cost of the bicycle at a "price point" which research has shown customers commonly are willing to spend.  Again, not a bad thing in and of itself, although sometimes they end up going cheaper on some things than they should.

In fact, in some cases companies specifically put on the cheapest reasonable item because they know customers have strong preferences, and will replace those items anyway.  So, the company can pack more value into the bike by skimping on, say,  tires or pedals.  The tires that come on your bicycle will be ok for a while, but it's assumed that you'll be replacing them before too long with something you or the bike shop employee helping you has found is the best for your purpose.  Higher-end bicycles often come without pedals, as most people who have been riding long enough to want a fancy bike have a specific style of pedal that they want to use, and rather than put something on that they'll just end up selling or trading in, they short-cut the process.

What does this mean to you when you are shopping for a bike? Don't focus on the brand, as much as on how you plan to use the bike. Discuss that with your salesperson, and let him or her guide you toward a bike that has put the most value into those features that will provide the greatest benefit to you.

Which brings us to: bike shop employees.

When you walk into a bike shop, you probably see a bunch of bearded, tattooed guys that look scary (and maybe cool?) and you may feel uneasy or intimidated.  In reality, they're not scary at all. You need to trust me on this: I work with these guys every day. They are probably friends you haven't met yet, who love bikes and want to share that love with you.  They are delighted to see you. You help make sure they get paid. They probably are cool in the sense that they care, not in the sense that they feel superior to you. If you're going into the sort of shop that has your best interests in mind, they want to help you get on the best bike for you.

I'll tell ya too, your needs for your bicycle are probably not the same as anybody else's, and a good salesperson or mechanic understands that.  They're really going to ask you a lot of questions and use your answers to get the best bike for you. 

Another thing you should know is that bike shop employees do not work for a bike shop for fabulous wealth. It isn't there to be had. The real reasons people work at bike shops are love of bikes and love of people.  You can't stay sane if you're doing it for any other reason, at least in a shop like Rapid Transit.

So on to the bike shop itself. 

There are all sorts of shops, so it makes sense to shop around a bit. And I don't mean price. While there are always places to get a cheaper bike, it's really important that you are aware that there is more to a bicycle than a price tag.  I cannot stress enough the importance of proper assembly and maintenance of a bicycle. Take the time to find a shop that takes initial assembly and follow-up maintenance very seriously. Ask if they allow test rides, what kind of service they do after you buy the bike and what hoops they'll make you jump through to get it, what sorts of things should you expect from your new bike, that sort of thing.  If you're feeling pressured to buy something, you should probably leave.

Some shops are better at what they do than others. Some are more focused on the sale than the relationship. In my opinion, this is not really what you want in a bike shop. If you plan on having any kind of relationship with your bike, you better plan on having one with a bike shop, too. At Rapid Transit, when you buy a bicycle, you're entering into a new, hopefully fantastic relationship with your bicycle, the shop, as well as the employees.  

Sam Van Dellen manages the Service Department
at Rapid Transit Cycleshop

Grow your own. Bikes.

Rapid Transit Cycleshop has teamed up with the Waterford, a Wisconsin-based frame building company to produce RT Bikes, our own brand of durable, stylish performance machines for folks who love cycling without the fuss.

The bikes are the brainchild of Elise, who, in all the spare time she had on her hands during the winter doldrums, has dreamed up the idea of a premium, American-made frame, spec'ed out with spare, high-quality, durable components appropriate for urban riders who value quality and simplicity. After meticulously assembling the components and accessories from vendors, Elise passed the baton to our expert mechanics, who hand-build the wheels and build the bikes up from the frames with care and precision. Finally, the staff photographed the finished bikes, created fliers and spec sheets, and put together a small but informative website.

RT Bikes come in two basic models, a fixie called Icarus, and a single speed urban bike called the Go-Getter. These bikes are truly a home-grown effort conceived and created entirely through the efforts of our dedicated staff, who love bikes and cycling.

Staff Bikes: Elise R. (aka "Miss July")

Not what you thought bike shop employees look like?

We didn't either. Especially since we see Elise every day hunched over the receiving desk, or waving mislabeled warranty parts in front of our noses. But here she is, gracing the July page of the TyK Pinup Calendar* featuring Chicago's women cyclists in their Technicolor brightest.

But I bet you really want to know about Elise's bike.

Elise's bike, the "Rossome", is a veritable scrapbook of Rapid Transit employees, past and present. Elise built it herself from scratch with the help of (mechanic) Kevin H. when she first got the job at the shop. The frame is a Ross Signature, which she got from Working Bikes. Ross is a department store brand, with the exception of their Signature line that ran one color per year from the late 70's through the 80's. Elise's believes her bike, which is maroon, dates from '84.

At first she built it up cheap with some old mountain cranks from our (salesman) Brent O., Surly wheels  and a saddle contributed by (colleague) Deb. But she has since replaced a lot of the parts with top quality ones. Cotton tape, Japanese brass Crane bell, vintage matching maroon fender w/ racing stripes, Brooks B17 women's saddle in honey, vintage 70's Japanese reflector with custom fabricated mounting bracket that (mechanic) Jimbo made for her, Sugino cranks, MKS track pedals & Shaggy top tube protector. The wheels were hand-built for her by (mechanic) Chris S. with Suzy hubs on super tough DT Swiss RR 1.1 rims, that have never needed to be trued in the 3 years she's ridden them everyday.

"I love my bike!!" says Elise.

How could she not?
_____________________________________
* The TyK (Thought you Knew) Pinup Calendar is scheduled for release in time for Valentine's Day, with a limited print run to be sold at the 2009 Bike Winter Art Show. In classic 1950s pinup style, emphasizing the art of the tease and the allure of suggestion, each month features one lady with her bike, rendered into a world of Technicolor fantasy. Accompanying each pinup image are a series of black and white photos of that same woman as the world sees her every day. Proceeds from all sales of the TyK Pinup Calendars go to The Chicago Women's Health Center.

Why learn what we already know?

Whenever we travel to the annual bike expo or other industry events, we have an opportunity to better ourselves by attending workshops on variety of topics, from business finance, advocacy, industry trends, staff training, to merchandising. Because we have attended many such events over the past fifteen years, and have seen many of the same speakers, we know which workshops we can safely skip. We know which speakers address primarily the concerns of shops located in suburban shopping malls. We know which ones think of bikes as simply expensive toys or trophies. We know who thinks of bike shop staff as a bunch of body-pierced underachievers, and of customers as gullible suckers to be picked up by their ankles and shaken free of their money.

And then, there are those workshops which somehow manage to help us learn something new, no matter how many times we attend them. Workshops like Brett Flemming's on optimizing the operation of the bicycle service department. Brett himself runs the service department of a large six store operation in Portland, OR, called the Bike Gallery. I know he will hate me for telling you about him, because he is one of the most modest and unassuming people I have ever met. But, if you want to know more about him and his accomplishments, you can click here.

There are so many reasons I like Brett as a spokesman for the profession of bicycle mechanics. He has clearly been one for many years, and has the bike grease under his fingernails to prove it. Consequently, there is never a hint of condescension in his tone. Indeed, he is passionate about raising the profile of bike mechanics everywhere, and often talks of belonging to a "noble profession".

And, maybe most importantly, after many years in the bike industry, I feel his views on the whole affair are very closely aligned with mine. At the beginning of some of his presentations, he will say: "At this point in the game, I just don't care much about bikes. I care about what bikes do for people. I care about what they do for our customers, and I care about what they can do for us. It's an awesome, virtuous business to be in, the bicycle business." As we sat around in our living room a couple of months ago, watching this presentation on video with some of our staff, I realized that we had to get Brett into our store.

And here he is. Sitting on one of our display bikes, busily taking notes. Taking notes on us, on who we are, and what excites us about bicycles. "Anything, anything at all," he nods encouragingly.

And we go around the circle, one and all, mechanics, sales people, managers, and we too, the owners, answering the question. And, remarkably, it turns out that what excites us is not the "stuff". Some of us are excited by the freedom that bikes offer: freedom to travel, freedom from fees and taxes, freedom from gas, autonomy to move whenever fancy strikes. Others describe it as a continuation of a more sustainable and responsible urban life. Other like the simplicity of bikes, and their adaptability for various types of use. Still others love to hear peoples' stories, solving problems, and being let in on customers' secrets of why they bike, or why they don't and why they would like to, and being part of helping them realize those dreams.

On the surface, we spent those hours with Brett discussing systems. How to write up repair tickets more effectively. How to prepare more thorough and accurate estimates. How to schedule repairs and arrange the service area to maximize efficiency and minimize turn-around time, while maintaining quality control. We also talk about customer relations. We share stories of drawing out reluctant customers. Of diffusing potentially tense situations. Of the dangers of making assumptions or drawing conclusions before we've asked some key questions. We even talk about appearances. Why is it important to put a bike in the stand before proceeding with an estimate. Should mechanics' area be visible, or invisible to the customers. And why we should remove scotch tape from our windows.

But what we're really talking about is more visceral. And here, I think, is the answer to the question Brett repeatedly asked me and Chris before he left: have I provided value? We have felt from the beginning, even before he arrived, that the value would only partially come from the advice and the wisdom of experience from many years of running a successful operation. We had hoped that the real value would come from our staff rallying around the idea of making Rapid Transit better. 

We had not quite counted on the degree to which Brett intuitively recognized the intrinsic value and quality of our staff, and fell into step with them. Our exchange validated the work that we do as being worthwhile. It gave credence to the idea that it is OK not to be indifferent, but to care genuinely about both the work you do, and the person you're doing it for. It allowed us to see that in helping our customers fulfill their dreams, we are, along with Brett, building a useful, valued and noble profession.

Staff Bikes: Al Schorsch

If any of our staff have really fancy, expensive bikes, as bike shop employees are presumed to do, I don't know about it. What I generally see them riding to work are utilitarian frames, often diverted from the waste stream, upgraded with functional components and home-made adaptations for urban travel.

Like Al's bike:

Al rides an old Fuji Candenza, a very early mountain bike model, dating from the days before the distinct mountain bike geometry evolved. It's almost as if they took a road bike frame, and stuck 26" wheels on it. That adaptation may have been factory-made. The rest was done by the current owner.

The most eye-catching feature, no doubt, it the steering configuration, enhanced by the copper-hued stem that really matches nothing else on the bike.

Those stylish handlebars are nothing more than ordinary 3-speed bars turned upside down. You can see them in their intended orientation on my bike:

But the really interesting thing is that Al took his old XT thumb shifters (just like the ones I use too), and mounted them on the underside of his handlebar.

This actually makes a lot of sense, because this arrangement allows him to push the gears with the natural downward motion of his thumb (rather than reaching the thumb up and over the top of the hand as I have to do on my bike). But there is one problem. To be mounted this way, the left and right shifters had to be switched. I was curious: did that mean he shifted his rear derailleur with his left hand and the front with the right? That would be very confusing, especially when switching from one bike to another, with the traditional shifting arrangement.

But Al was a step ahead of me. These thumb shifters allow him to turn off the indexing (click-shifting) and shift using the friction mode. Indexing automates, to some extent, the placement of the chain on each cog as you shift. In friction shifting, the rider manipulates the shifter until he has aligned the chain with the desired gear to his satisfaction. In the friction mode, the left and right shifter become interchangeable. Pretty cool, I thought.

Al says he uses this bike to haul stuff around the city. He is ready for sloppy weather, with fenders and custom mudflaps fashioned out of a Tide detergent bottle.

And he can certainly haul stuff atop a premium quality wire closet drawer, found in the alley, mounted on top of a stocky rear rack. Milk crate, large capacity messenger bag, and Bob-Nutz for attaching a trailer to the rear axle, attest to the fact that this is a hard-working cargo bike.

Putting to use a worn-out chainring and some discarded pedal reflectors, Al has put together and ornament that is both decorative, and visibility-enhancing.

If you're crious about the bikes of other current and former Rapid Transit employees, here are the links:
Ronnie's bike
Alex's bike
Justyna's bike
Our family bike

KC: update

KC, a member of our staff, was very seriously injured in a  non-bike related accident last Sunday.  He is being treated at Northwestern Memorial Hospital, and although still unconscious, he is responding to lights and sounds of familiar voices. His mother and stepfather are here from Kansas, and they and his girlfriend are by his side.

KC is a valued member of our staff. He is skilled, determined, forthright and opinionated. He fits right in. We miss him terribly, and hope and pray for his complete recovery.

KC's co-workers from Rapid Transit have been to visit, and offer support to him and his loved ones. Rapid Transit will help his family pay for their hotel stay here so they can be as close as possible to the hospital. Although KC is covered by our group insurance, the costs associated with his treatment continue to rise, and it will be along time before he is able to return to work. His friends have created a benefit fund to offset some of the financial hardships his family will face. If you would like to contribute, please go to kchaywood.com. For more information, photos and updates, please click here.

Peace.

Sometimes we party

Last Sunday we hosted a belated 14th birthday party for Rapid Transit Cycleshop at Goose Island Brewery. Staff, their guests, and even some of our former employees came for a night of pool, eating and drinking until the wee hours. (Well, actually yours truly had to leave a little earlier to retrieve her children from a generous friend, while Chris stayed until the bitter end to see all our guests off, and pick up the tab, of course.)
The photos came out blurry, but jolly nonetheless.

Party guests arrive by bike.

Cheers!

Staff bikes: Alexi

The thing that I really like about Alexi's new bike is the color: the deep, rich, unapologetic sunset orange. The kind of orange that makes you eyes hurt a little if you look at it too long, and leaves the negative of itself on your retina after you close your eyes.
I am an absolute sucker for all things orange, bikes being no exception.
Apparently Alexi feels the same way about the color.

When I asked her what she likes best about this new bike named Hank, which she got from the Dutch Bike Company in Seattle, she said it was the ability to carry a case of beer and a large bag of dogfood, simultaneously. The rear rack, adorned with a very stylish pannier with a seahorse logo, will carry 70 lbs, while the front rack, which is easily removable, and does not turn with the front wheel when you are steering, will carry 50 lbs.

Carrying demanding loads, and standing up with grace, character, and an appropriate set of accessories, to the demands of urban riding is what the workhorses from Dutch Bikes are good for. One of our customers uses hers the same way most families use a minivan: to carry kids.

The best thing about Alexi's new bike is how she plans to use it. She is not a bike fanatic or Critical Masser. She has the same trappings and challenges of any car-dependent individual living in Chicago. All she wants to do is see if she and Hank can make a go of it for one year. 365 days of commitment to a bike. Can she do it? I think she can.
Keep up with the two of them on their blog.

Now you see it...

Rapid Transit Cycleshop has always had an open mechanics' area.

It was a philosophical decision Chris and I made when we opened the shop. Chris had worked in several bike shops where the service area was hidden from public eye, and he had come to believe that this did nothing to build appreciation for the mechanics' work or foster the customers' trust. When we opened our own bike store, it was always with the idea that the service area would in full view and accessible to our customers.

So when some of our staff advanced the idea of building a wall to separate the service area from the rest of the store, all heck broke loose.

The idea was borne of the fact that in the heat of the summer it's very difficult for exposed mechanics to get any work done. We have six repair stands. In theory, those in the back of the shop are designated for longer projects, such as tune-ups and bike builds. The ones in the front are for triage and quick repairs. Inevitably, though, the mechanic doing "shorts" gets caught up in something a little more complicated, and before you know it, the mechanic from the back gets flagged down by a customer, has to set his task aside, and come help out. This wreaks havoc in our carefully orchestrated schedule of assemblies and repairs, causes us to fall behind, which in turn causes some disgruntlement among customers.

Further, having this open area creates a friendly atmosphere, which is lovely on the one hand, but on the other it poses problems when customers interpret that too literally, and come and "hang out" with the mechanics. In winter, this is a pleasant diversion but during the warm months it only compounds the difficulties mentioned earlier.

The mechanics, committed to the idea of staying on task, demanded a wall. The management (ie. us) recoiled, and issued this statement:

I am not thinking of constructing a wall! Walls have gotten a bad name, like the Berlin wall, or the wall of separation between the Israelis and the Palestinians. I am thinking of a partition that will serve a number of purposes.

The mechanics saw right through this politically charged rhetoric, and snapped back:

Call it what you like, the most important feature of this "partition" is to effectively allow those in the back to get work done uninterrupted. One of the things that can have an interrupting effect is eye contact. As long as this structure is high enough , then our time and sweat will be worth it.

The management relented, somewhat, still restating its commitment to the original philosophy:

I always imagined Rapid Transit as an open shop.  Any style of partition is a big change in our space.  What the structure is called, and how it works, sends a message.
Before I build the structure we will try a faux cardboard wall first.  When I build it I will do it in a modular form so that the height can be adjusted, as the exact height and dimensions have not been fixed yet.

In the end, we compromised. Two "walltitions", as they came to be called, were built and installed against the east and west walls of the shop, separating three rear repair stands and bike wash area from the rest of the shop. The structures are higher where they meet the walls, and lower toward the center, and there is a gap wide enough for a couple in ballroom attire to waltz through. Thus the "walltition" manages to provide a visual and psychological barrier so the mechanics in the back to concentrate on their work, and at the same time maintains some of the open feeling we were seeking to preserve.

But, as you can see, we don't make these decisions lightly around here.

Goodbye, Alee!

At the end of this summer, Rapid Transit said goodbye to one of its oldest staff members, Alee Peoples.

Alee worked with us usually part-time, sometimes behind the scenes, but always reliably. If you've frequented our shop, you may remember her for her calm demeanor, unhurried speech, and the ability to retrieve items from top shelves without the use of a ladder.
In her life outside the shop, Alee is an artist, and she left Chicago to pursue a path more closely aligned with those interest. However, before leaving, she left us a going-away message:

Thanks, Alee, for having spent these past years with us, and for being, as we said before, our preserver of sanity. Don't be a stranger...