Chicago Bike Blog

Is that so hard?

Let other bike shops (click, click) do what they may.

At this shop, we want to invite, not intimidate the beginner; listen, not preach to the curious; and salute, not marginalize the commuter.

Commuting cyclists have been our bread and butter since 1994. They have told us what bikes they want to see at our store. They have come back and informed us, in no uncertain terms, which products were simply crap. They have recommended street-tested items for us to sell. They have dripped salty slush on our floor and leaned their mud-spattered bikes against our displays. With a glint of hope in their eyes, they have brought their pretzeled wheels for us to fix. The grime from their chains has clogged and corroded our drain. The gunk and debris in their tires has smeared our hands and cut our fingers. The worn parts taken off their bikes filled our trash bins -- nothing there worth saving even for the boneyard. We've talked with them for hours as the snot slowly melted from the tips of their noses, and as the pungent aroma of a hard-pedaling cyclist enveloped in a weatherproof jacket, exposed to fumes and exhaust, wafted through the air. We've run out of fenders, slicks, racks and gloves trying to keep up with them. We've lost sleep over their complaints and criticisms, but also accepted many a six-pack, tip and compliment. They have sustained us through fourteen insane summers, and, crucially, fourteen desperate winters.

They are our heroes. Rapid Transit Cycleshop is, has been, and always will be a bike shop crazy in love with commuters.

Our fancy location

Aaah!... Wicker Park!

(Rapid Transit's original sign, painted by Chicago's theater personality Jeff Dorchen. Sadly, it was destroyed in a basement flood...)

Where the going rates for a commercial lease hover around $30-40 (and in one place even a whopping $75/sf) according to the MLS of Northern Illinois. To figure out what that costs a month, multiply the base rent by the square footage of the facility and divide by 12 months. Let's say you have a 3,000 sf storefront, and $35/sf. Your monthly rent would be $8,750, plus perhaps $250-350 in your share of property taxes, maintenance fees and insurance due to the landlord.

When we signed our lease with the original landlord for the little dump on the corner of North and Wolcott back in 1993, our rent was a thousand bucks per month, and a handshake. Little did we know that 1900 W. North Ave. would become a coveted address, commanding several times that amount in rent. But this is now, that was then.

(Schwinn Stingray, donated by our friend Mark, getting ready to become our shop emblem)

Then, the space was left vacant by the Curious Theater Branch, the street was crawling with pimps and prostitutes, artists had the run of the place and the neighborhood teetered on the edge of gentrification. The giant question mark on the sidewalk in front of our new storefront, painted by the departing tenants, foreshadowed an uncertain fate.

But we didn't have time to ask questions. A thousand bucks was a lot of money to two people with no income and the planned opening day looming over the horizon. We rolled up our sleeves and went to work converting the black, dusty theater space to a friendly neighborhood bike shop.

(Chris, Mark and Deb figuring out how to hang the Stingray)

Did I mention the walls were black? And the ceiling? The walls inside of the bathroom (such as it was) were black. For weeks, Chris returned home covered from head to toe with a thick layer of black dust, flecks of paint and plaster. As chunks of walls and ceiling came down, inside the rafters we discovered exciting things like an enormous abandoned rats nest, a broken Schlitz neon sign, syringes and spoons, rodent corpses, remnants of old costumes, moldy magazines, unending supply of dust and dirt. When the first roller dipped in white paint touched the wall, we danced with wild abandon across the gritty linoleum floor. Friends and relatives came to help with the various jobs that still needed to get done. Permits? Back then, no one asked. Paper taped to the windows concealed our activities, and no one checked up on us back then.

(Now Open. You can see, that even on our first day we were committed to bike commuters: fenders and racks are in evidence)

Amidst this frantic activity, a couple daring suppliers' reps came and perched with us on milk crates, clipboards in hand, taking orders (on credit) from two young people with a vision, persuasive manner, a word of honor, and... well... not much else.

That was then...

(The beta version of the Stingray)

Last summer, when our leases were up for renewal, and we were considering all options, our attorney suggested we ask ourselves, whether a small, family run bicycle shop is still viable at the corner of North and Wolcott in Chicago.

I guess we'll find out.

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.

Cardboard Recycling

It was very out of character for a do-gooder Chicago bike shop to toss out its voluminous cardboard waste in the trash for thirteen years. After all, we are all about promoting sustainable living and treading (or rolling, as the case may be) lightly on the planet.
Well, after several unsuccessful attempts at finding a carboard recycling service, we got one. Here it is:

Thanks to the persistence of Alee Peoples and the services of RSI.

Shorts

No, not this kind.
We're talking short repairs. The kind that can be done while you wait. With the weather as nice as it has been this month, probably the last thing you want ot do is to park your bike in our basement for a week so that it can get tuned up. The good news is, many bikes don't need a full tune-up before they can be safely ridden.
It is a well-kept secret among bike shop employees, that many bikes out there (especially those that have been stored away all winter) can be ridden after simply oiling the chain and airing up the tires. And these services are ...pssst ... free.
OK, most services are not free, but they cost a lot less than a full tune-up, and will get you riding sooner. Flats, brake adjustments, derailleur adjustments, wheel truing, and other types of tweaking & tightening can be done while you wait. Even if your bike would ultimately benefit from a more complete service, you can get spot repairs done quickly, and plan on getting a full tune-up when you know you will be, say, out of town, or as the spring rush tapers off.

More than the sum of its parts

Bicycle shops brag about their bicycle assembly. Salespeople are notorious for using the argument that bike shops do such a phenomenal job of assembling bicycles to keep you from buying a bike a the local megamart. What makes bike assembly such an art? After all, don't bikes come from the manufacturer largely assembled? Just attach the pedals & the handlebar, and you're good to go!

Well, ehm... no. Bicycles come "pre-assembled" from an assembly line in a country on the other side of the world, whose quality control standards and emphasis may be quite different from our own (We can discuss the politics of this another time.) On our end, bicycle assembly is a very time consuming and skill-intensive activity, and, if performed well it keeps our liability insurance rates down, and, more importantly, ensures your safety.

After removing the bike from it's packaging, we put the bike in a workstand.

First, we work on the wheels. We adjust both hubs, check the dish of the wheel (whether the rim in centered on the hub), correct as needed, and true and tension the wheels. On the rear wheel, we remove the cassette (cogs), grease the freehub, and reinstall the cassette. The tires are then filled to correct pressure.

Next, we attach the handlebars & stem, making sure the brake & shifter cables are being run the right way, and trimming any excess cable & housing as needed.

Then, we remove the cranks & bottom bracket (it's the set of bearings between the crank arms). We grease the threads & reinstall the bottom bracket, the cranks, making sure they are torqued to the correct tightness, and thread in the pedals, also checking for tightness.

We set up the brakes arms & brake pads to the correct angle to achieve "snappy", secure & squeak-free braking, and pre-stress all brake cables. We set up the front and rear derailleur, to ensure that the gears shift correctly, and the chain does not come off the cogs in the event of overshifting. We also pre-stress the derailleur cables.

We adjust the headset (the bearings in the streering column of the bike), and line up & tighten the handlebars and stem. We make sure the brake and shift levers are aligned on the handlebar.

After a final check over, the mechanic test-rides the bike, running through all the gears, testing the brakes, etc. Then he (or she) makes appropriate adjustments. When he thinks the bike is absolutely perfect, he gives it to a senior mechanic for a final check.

It's a long list of steps (we actually sneak in a few more, less important ones), but you should care about this for the following reason: after all, a bicycle is not just a random collection of parts. It is a vehicle, whose performance dependes on a series of complex systems working together in harmony. And your safety depends on that.

These guys changed our lives

After using an extremely unwieldy point-of-sale system at our cash registers for a few years, we were relieved to discover Justin and Ivan. We met them at the industry trade show two years ago, when they first introduced their web-based software to bicycle retailers. Unfortunately, at that time we were unable to jump on board with them, because some key component were still unavailable.

This year, everything we needed was ready. We took the plunge and haven't looked back. Now, instead of getting mindless updates which have nothing to do with feedback we've provided, we get immediate response to our questions, updates that are based on our input, and cool holiday cards to boot!

By the way, that's how we feel about our customers too.

Our Patron Saint

Painting by Ronnie LoBello

Happy Birthday, Y'all!

March is a big time for birthdays around here. Happy Birthday Ronnie, Alee, Deborah & Chris!

And, a big sigh of relief, as Rapid Transit completes it's 13th year in business.
Thanks to all.

Command central

Looks pretty empty (and surprisingly neat) in the late evening hours, but this is where the action is during the day. It was made by our own Ronnie LoBello; to see how, click here.