Chicago Bike Blog

Wishing and Giving Thanks

Sometimes at the end of November, there seems little to be thankful for in a bike shop. Particularly when November has been cold. The fair weather riders have stopped riding. The dedicated commuters, hardy though they are, can barely provide sustenance through the cold weeks, especially with the proliferation of small bicycle shops throughout Chicago. And in a tight economy. We're pinched, and so is everyone else.

And yet... even on a slow day in the bike shop, the amount of goodwill we experience is nothing short of breathtaking. Folks come in and share stories of personal triumphs, small victories, wishes on their way to fulfillment. Like this one, from a couple who saved transit money for a year while riding department store bikes, so they could purchase a couple of Surly's:

"Everyone was happy to help and excited to get our bikes tweaked out into perfection. With the full year free labor that Rapid Transit offers, we were able to take our new bikes through every season with an awesome shop to back us up as we got flats, snapped axels, broke chains and basically tried to break our bikes. We ride our bikes every single day. We ride them to work, on vacation, to Bears games and to neighborhood festivals. Our bikes are not our primary source of transportation- they are our only source of transportation and we ride them hard and as fast as we can. We are able to do this because Jay, Adam and the rest of the Rapid Transit team are right behind us every step of the way, helping to make our adventure safe, informed and freaking awesome."

Foreget chestnuts roasting on an open fire! It doesn't get any better than this. This is what we live for, and, as my husband said upon reading this customer's letter, it's better than money.

Anything, my friends, is better than money. And it is a darned shame that our best holidays have been turned into a race to get more for less. "Small Business Saturday", which I believe was conceived to balance out the black Friday bonanza and give the small guy a fighting chance, has been turned into a boxing ring where the small players duke it out over who can slash their prices lower in an effort to shake out some loose change before the holidays.

Folks, we can't afford it! We can't afford the discounts. But, more importantly, we can't afford to foresake our livelihoods, the work that we love, our communities and our fundamental values in a race for the cheapest stuff.

Will we be offering discounts throughout the holidays? Yes, normal, reasonable discounts, the same way all retailers should and do to entice and encourage your patronage and to reward your loyalty. And, if you can, you should come in and take advantage of those discounts.

But what is equally meaningful to us is that you visit us, this weekend, or whenever you are back in town, and if we have contributed to your biking experience, let us know. If you are around this Friday, come and share some hot cider and freshly baked Polish pączki, and enjoy the company of others who defy the cold and keep on bikin'.

Happy Thanksgiving, people!

Sam & Sarah's bicycle wedding

These are Sarah and Sam, back when they both worked here at Rapid Transit. Sarah has gone on to get her law degree. Sam has stayed on with us to manage our service department.

Last Sunday, they got married in a bicycle-centered ceremony that took guests on a two-wheeled procession through Douglas Park, and culminated in a reception at the HUB cooperative, that the happy couple call their home.

Light rain gave way to hazy sunshine as guests arrived at the ceremony site in Douglas Park on Chicago's south side.

Members of the families arrived by rickshaw.

Wedding guest (and former Rapid Transit employee) Christopher Wallace and his guest arrived by tandem recumbent.

The happy couple dispensed with some traditional elements, but kept others. Rather than walking alone down the aisle to the tune of Here Comes The Bride, Sarah arrived hand-in-hand with Sam, accompanied by the joyous ringing of bicycle bells, and the two ducked under the chuppah.

She eyed the gatherding clouds with some dimay, and indeed, more than a few raindrops fell on the guests assembled in the park.

 

Rain or no rain, they both looked terrific, and their wedding promises brought tears to my eyes, and those of many other guests.

Ceremony over, they are off to the party in their special limo.

Congratulations!

If you thought you knew what we do...

Many years ago, perhaps at the very dawn of mountain biking, a friend from college an I were on a hiking trail on Pike's Peak in Colorado. We didn't have very ambitious hiking plans, and we stopped frequently along the way to observe, take photos, and eat snacks. During one such stopover, we were passed by a cyclist struggling up a steep section of trail. We remarked penetratingly that it must be very difficult pedaling up like this. He replied that he would not have undertaken the climb on foot, because he was an amputee. He lifted up his pant leg to demonstrate the prosthesis.

If I knew little about life without a limb then, I do not know any more today. But I know that as a bike repair shop, we are sometimes called upon to modify existing bikes to suit folks living with artificial limbs. One of our earliest customers, who has since passed away, had been a competitive bike racer, but lost his legs to diabetes. We adapted a Raleigh step-through bike for him to ride around the neighborhood. He explained that there are few local and reasonably priced resources for people who have lost a limb, but wish to stay strong, active and independent.

Like Sean Plomann. A couple of  months ago, I asked Ronnie at the shop to come and help me deliver a bike to him. I asked Ronnie to come along, because I knew the bike would need some modifications, and I didn't know if I could handle it myself. As it turned out, I would have been way out of my league. Sean greeted us at the door with a cane and no left leg.

He spent a little time putting on his prosthesis, while Ronnie and I set the bike in the trainer we had brought along. Even with the trainer, Sean had a little trouble balancing the bike when he first got on. He explained that once he started riding, he could learn to make appropriate adjustments to his balance without the weight of his left leg.

The bigger problem was that the thickness of the artificial foot with the shoe on it prevented it from staying securely in the pedal. We had anticipated that Sean' foot might need some retaining device, but the Powerstraps we brought along pushed his foot too close to the crank arm, so that every time he pedaled, the crank arm actually rubbed against his foot.

I was at a loss, but Ronnie seemed confident that the pedal could be modified to do the job properly. We left Sean with the bike and the trainer to practice what he could, while Ronnie set to work at the shop on creating the pedal adaptation.

Sean was 12 when he developed cancer. He went through chemotherapy for a year and a half, but continued to suffer for about 17 years. He walked with a cane, and eventually developed nerve damage which caused him extreme pain. He had the leg amputated 3 years ago, relieved to end the pain he endured. After going through physical therapy for about a year, he is now ready to move forward. And to ride his bike, despite being told it couldn't be done. Speaking for myself, having seen Sean fight for balance that first day on a trainer, it took a leap of faith to believe he could ride on his own.

But Sean knew what he was talking about. With the modified pedal being the only alteration to his otherwise stock Dahon bike, he participated in Bike the Drive last month. Although this year, after a mere couple of months on his new bike, he was only able to complete half of the ride, he doesn't see any reason why he should not be able to do the whole thing next year. He hopes that this undertaking will help encourage other persons with disabilities to pursue physical challenges, by showing that it can be done; and demonstrate to those in the non-disabled community who think otherwise, that persons with disabilities can accomplish such challenges.

Outside of cycling, Sean is Master's student in Disability Studies and Human Development in the field of Applied Health Sciences. He also has a graduate assistantship at UIC working for the Chancellor's Committee on the Status of Persons with Disabilities (CCSPD). He hopes to finish his Master's degree and then go on to earn a PhD so that eventually he can teach. Meanwhile, he's is trying to become more involved with organizations that promote disability rights, such as Access Living and Chicago ADAPT.  He hopes that through activism and advocacy he can contribute to creating a vibrant community of persons with disabilities as well as trying to help build better communication and relations with the non-disabled.

The T-shirt Sean is wearing in these photos was created by his friend, Annie Hopkins, who is now deceased. The back of the T-shirt says "Embrace. Educate. Empower": embrace diversity, educate your community, empower each other.' It's distributed by www.3elove.com.

It's been very gratifying for us at Rapid Transit to work with Sean, and playing a small part in helping him achieve his dream of independent travel.

Too good not to post

If you've ever wondered who is behind the wonderful improvements for cyclists in Chicago over that past many years, read this (helmet tip to Rob Sadowsky):
Straight Dope Chicago: How come I have to pay $40 for Bike the Drive?

Dream of independent travel

You probably often walk into your local bike shop for quite prosaic reasons. Maybe you need a tube, or you need the drivetrain cleaned, or help removing the frozen seatpost, or pedal, or bottom bracket. And we help you out with that, because that's what we are here for. But if our job description read "removing stuck parts from bikes", life wouldn't be very exciting for us, and chances are, you'd receive mediocre service.

Rapid Transit Cycleshop is often described as the "urban" or "commuter" shop. I'm not sure that this does justice to what we actually do. What we did set out to do is to enable cyclists in Chicago to use their bicycles in ways that they envisioned, without judgment or intimidation. We wanted to participate in their vision. We have also always felt that transportation was a viable and appropriate use for the bicycle. And it simply happened that in a dense urban area like Wicker Park, there were quite a few people whose vision of the bicycle included transportation.When we opened the shop in 1994, we felt that much of the bike industry at the time, including bike companies and bike shops, were unresponsive to urban cyclists' needs, so we eagerly stepped in to fill the niche.

Perhaps the urban image that has grown up around us also has to do with our name. We deliberately called ourselves Rapid Transit, because we felt that bicycles were at least as sensible and efficient at public transit. For many years, we also used the tagline "We're Chicago's Transportation Alternative". Although this further played on the idea of comparing ourselves to the urban transit system (playing on the abbreviation of Chicago Transit Authority), what it meant to us, is that we offered folks who wanted to cycle real alternatives.

A bike, of course, is an alternative to a car, or train, or bus, or traveling on foot. However, we also felt that there were very few alternatives for the cycling public among the offerings of local bike shops. We wanted to change that. We were not after defining what a cyclist should be. We wanted to open up the possibilities of what he or she could be.

For example in 1994, with one Vision R40 in stock, we became Chicago's first recumbent bicycle dealer. Every year since then we have expanded or fine-tuned our recumbent offerings, and currently stock several brands and configurations of both recumbent bicycles and adult trikes. These are not traditionally considered "urban" bikes, yet a number of our customers use them extensively on the streets of Chicago.

For several years, we tried unsuccessfully to incorporate folding bikes into the mix. There simply were no US manufacturers or distributors who were set up to sell folders through a dealer network. Fortunately, several years ago that changed, and we now offer a selection of models from several different manufacturers, that give cyclists travel options simply not available with a standard bike.

Over the past fifteen years, we have seen many trends in bikes come and go. No one type of bike can fill the needs of a huge and diverse cycling population: not hybrid, not recumbent, not folding, not fixie, not road, not mountain, not Chinese, not even Dutch. Thus, we offer many different bikes, because there are many different kinds of cyclists.

Recently, we had a chance to revisit our old tagline, and really think about what it means. What does it mean to be Chicago's Transportation Alternative? It's not just who we are and what we offer. In fact, that's only a small part of it. What really matters is what you want, and how we can help that come about. Why do you want to bike? What are your dreams?

We noticed that many people coming in to look for a bike, to repair a bike, to get back on a bike, to find a different, more appropriate type of bike, were looking, in some measure, for freedom, autonomy, intependence. Freedom from traffic, from stress, from the city, from the car, from gas, from illness or injury, from convention, from routine. They expressed a desire to escape, in bigger or smaller ways, from something that was limiting or holding them back.

And our job, the way we see it, is to help them realize their dreams of independent travel.

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.

Some people of the bicycling industry

Selling bicycles, especially in a city with distinct and temperamental seasons, like Chicago, is a highly cyclical business.

We get unceremoniously shaken out of our winter slumber by the throngs of cyclists who one day simply decide that biking season has arrived, and who continue their relentless onslaught from the early days of spring right through the hottest weeks of summer, and sometimes even into early fall. Then they forget about us for a few weeks.
That violent assault, however, has the unintended result of making our bike shop staff extremely cranky, if not downright surly, by sometime in August. It also makes the shop itself a rather sorry sight, as if a dog had chewed it and decided it wasn't to his liking.
We are truly in sad shape.
And, believe it or not, what recharges our batteries every single year, is the trade show. Yes, we find solace, release, even inspiration, in the annual bike extravanganza known as Interbike, and, though we complain, we dutifully travel to Las Vegas every September, where we talk too much, eat too much, drink too much, and sleep to little. And then, after returning to Chicago, we use the winter time to slowly rise, like the phoenix, from our own ashes, and re-create ourselves as a fully functioning bike shop to face yet another season.
What about Interbike has this amazing power?
It's not the stuff. It's never about the stuff.
Sometimes the stuff represents ideas, but these ideas come from people. And meeting people, people who live and create bike culture, from all over the country is what we go to the trade show to do.
People like Laura.

(Laura is lightyears ahead of me in cycling footwear)

Chris was hanging out at a vendor booth, filling out some forms with my name, when a woman happened to glance over his shoulder "That wouldn't be Justyna who writes the Chicago Bike Blog, would it?"
(wow! someone knows me!....)
Turns out that Laura used to work in a bicycle shop in San Diego. Customers, especially "non-cyclists", used to love to come and see her there, because she, well, essentially, she treated them nicely. She didn't treat them like "customers" (ie. people on the other end of a deal).
She aksed them about their needs and concerns, about their fears and their dreams. She explained to them the terminology that other bike shop personnel took for granted. With frankness and empathy, she discussed issues like pain, weight, fitness level, saddle comfort. Through simple dialog, she began to dispell their fears, and lift the veil on their dreams.
It turns out, that perhaps the middle-aged, slightly heavy woman, did not see herself tooling around on a comfort-hybrid on a Sunday afternoon. She dreamt of leaning over the handlebars in a sleek jersey, cruising for miles on an open road. The athletic guy in a baseball t-shirt didn't want to jump boulders in the woods. He wanted a simple bike he could ride one-handed to the ballpark along a quiet neighborhood street. The student in torn jeans didn't want a cheap fixie. He was planning all aspects of an efficient commute to his new job at a law firm.
Unfortunately, Laura's boss did not share her enthusiasm for finding out about people. He wanted her to sell bikes. Only he called them "units". Laura wanted to solve problems, and to build relationships; he prized the sale of a "unit" today, over the value of a lifetime of loyalty.
So Laura left, and went into business for herself. And I wish her great success, because she has a lot to offer.
But it makes me a bit sad. Sad for the shop owner, who may have missed the opportunity to make his business extraordinary. We, as bicycle shop representatives, are at the forefront of bike culture in our communities, and have a genuine opportunity to shape that culture. If we really expect new people to come to cycling and embrace it as part of their lives, we have to make them feel at home at a bike shop. We can't bombard them with technical details or overwhelm them with products before we have extended the courtesy of learning a little bit about them.
For heaven's sake, let's not "convert" them. Let's listen to their questions, concerns, ideas and fears. Let's not translate their needs into dollars, and immediately turn them into Customers.
Let's earn their trust, and see if they'll tell us their dreams.

Braving the waters of Chicago

Will this be called the great Chicago Flood of 2008?
These photos, featuring a few cyclists fording the waters, were taken today near Gomper's Park at Foster and Pulaski in Chicago.

Swimming pool at Gomper's Park.

Not much use, these.

C'mon in, the water's fine!

That's more like it!

This guy's having even more fun.

Equal pay for equal work.

The bridge is not really bridging.

Mind the rules of the road, y'all.

OK, so maybe this is more practical.

Gotta go. My camera's fogging up.

Hankandme is gone...

... but Hank and aLex continue to roll together through the streets of Chicago. Both are fine, and happy "out there, signaling turns, having ethical dilemmas over red lights, and trying to keep that Irish temper in check".

You won't find them on the internet anymore. But you can wave to them if you see them ride by.