Share the Road?

I remember an incident that happened a number of years ago on a group ride. We were stopped at a light, standing at the right side of the road waiting for the signal to change to green. Just then, a lady wanting to turn right drove over onto the shoulder to slip past the stopped cars (not legal by the way, at least not in Ohio) and hit one of my riding friends, knocking him down. She stopped and got out of her car, approached my friend (who at this point was on the ground holding what turned out to be a broken collarbone) and proceeded to scream at him "You're supposed to SHARE the road!"

Seriously.

After more than three decades of cycling as an adult -- the vast majority of it on the road -- I have come to the conclusion that many (most?) drivers have no comprehension of what it means to "Share the Road." Oh, they're all familiar with the slogan and recognize the signs, but many of them seem to be under the impression the signs are an admonition to cyclists, meaning something like "You, BIKER, share the road!"

For many drivers in their cars, the perception is if you're on a bike, just by virtue of being on the road at all -- as opposed to riding on the shoulder or the sidewalk -- you are NOT sharing the road.

During my morning bicycling commute, I have an angry and infuriating driver that I encounter again and again. I leave for work very early -- about 6 a.m. -- and although I ride on one of the main routes out of the city, at that early hour there is almost no traffic. But this lady will come up, wait until she's right behind me, and blast her horn. Then she passes me, laying on the horn the whole way past. Startles the hell out of me every time. I usually yell out at her and give an angry gesture, but there's not much else I can do. I'd like to be able to get her license plate, but it's actually very difficult, even with my glasses, to see a license plate number that's moving away from me at 35 mph in the dark. I also have few, if any, illusions that the police would do anything whatsoever. But she does it every time she sees me. If I could ever catch her, at a stoplight for instance, I'd give her a piece of my mind -- but the lights never seem to work in my favor.

The thing is, there's no reason for the lady's reaction. There is no traffic. She has the whole road with multiple lanes to get past. Passing me doesn't slow her down for a second. Not even a fraction of one. Her obnoxious horn is her way of telling me she doesn't think I have any right to be there. It's intimidation. A threat. Share the road? Forget that. As far as she's concerned, I shouldn't be on the road at all.

I should also point out that when I commute by bike, I am highly visible, well-lit, and I observe the laws. I stop for lights and signs. I stay to the right when I can, but I also don't hesitate to "take the lane" when necessary.

One hears a lot from motorists who complain about "scofflaw cyclists" who disobey the traffic laws and then get indignant and scream profanity at any driver who doesn't respect them. I know those riders exist. I see them occasionally. But I believe they are more the product of popular narrative and prejudice than of objective and factual observation. What I mean is, they fit a preconceived stereotype that drivers have of cyclists which then perpetuates itself. Every time they see someone on a bike running through a light, those drivers notice it, and it reinforces their prejudice, even though they may have encountered many more cyclists riding with respect for the law. It's the way our brain works. Our brains like patterns and predictability, even when those patterns don't actually exist. Once our brains perceive (or construct) a pattern, they are more likely to notice anything that fits, while having the uncanny ability to completely ignore anything that doesn't.

Not only that, but these same drivers have the ability to somehow block out the far greater number of motorists who break the law on a daily basis. Unless one never leaves the house or spends their life in isolation, who honestly can say they don't see at least several cars every day blow through lights or roll through stop signs? Most people probably see more cars accelerating through intersections as the lights are changing from yellow to red (illegal!) in a single day than they encounter bicyclists on the road (law abiding or otherwise) in a full week. Even though the car that runs the light is a far greater threat to others than a cyclist who does the same, people can dismiss those lawbreakers in the cars easily because they themselves identify with the drivers, while they view cyclists as something "other."

Another thing about supposed "scofflaw cyclists" is that I suspect that a lot of what motorists perceive as "lawbreaking" is actually just cyclists who are versed in the law and actually exercising their rights within the law. Look at "taking the lane," for instance. I take the lane when approaching some intersections, when preparing for a left turn, when approaching roundabouts -- any time I am concerned that a passing motorist (or one attempting to pass) can put me in jeopardy. But I guarantee that at least some of the drivers who get behind me are cursing me, even if they don't blast their horns at me. If they get the chance to complain to someone about it later, they'll talk about some "crazy stupid biker" riding down the middle of the road, not letting the driver get past.

As I said, I know there are riders who break the law. Who run lights and signs. Who jump from the roadway to the sidewalk and back again to get an edge on the traffic. Lots of things. I've talked with some who argue that the laws were made for cars, not bikes, and that it's somehow "safer" to break them. I don't buy that. In all my years of riding and all the miles I spend commuting, I can't really think of too many situations where I'm safer bending or breaking the law than following it. My attitude is respect the law and exercise your rights under it. The way I see it, we lose the high ground when we start inventing our own laws the same way a lot of drivers do, and it ends up hurting us.

It's absolutely true that in the face of the prejudice against us cyclists, many motorists will likely continue to dismiss us all as "scofflaws" even if most of us ride in accordance with the laws. Nevertheless, the next time some jerk of a motorist pulls some boneheaded move and injures a cyclist, I never want that driver to be able to attempt to justify their actions because they saw me running a red light. I don't ever want to be someone's excuse.

As for the horn-honking hag on my morning commute. She'd just better hope the lights don't finally work in my favor.

Torchbearer Daydreaming

I know I've mentioned this in other posts, but I am a teacher in a public school. There was a time in my life when I could barely imagine doing anything else. After twenty years, I still like teaching -- that is, I like the actual act of teaching and being in the classroom with the kids. That is by far the best part of the job, and I like to think that I'm good at what I do. Lately though, I keep finding myself thinking about other things -- other possibilities -- like building bicycles.

As much as I love working with the kids, being an educator today -- especially in public schools -- is getting to be really difficult because of things that have nothing to do with the job of actually teaching. Enemies of public education, politicians and corporate/business interests, have their hands in every part of education now -- with rallying cries of "school choice" and "breaking the public school monopoly" and demanding "accountability" while expecting teachers to "do more with less"-- more standardized testing, more mandates, more bureaucracy -- with less funding, lower pay, fewer benefits.

People across the country blame public school teachers for all the supposed problems of public education -- calling us "glorified babysitters" and repeating the age-old (and offensive, if you ask me) joke "those who can't do, teach." The real problems in education are actually much more complex, but it's much easier to blame the teachers than to deal with the real problems and find (and fund) real solutions.

Still -- it all makes for a pretty unpleasant work environment with much more stress than I'd like. My fear is that it won't start taking a turn for the better before I get to retirement age. Nowadays, when I'm sitting in meetings about the latest new standards (which seem to be updated and revised monthly) and newest mandates -- I find myself more and more thinking about doing other things. Building bicycles is the main thing that keeps coming to mind. That, and maybe running my own bike shop. Possibly both.

Could wielding a brazing torch be in my future?

Even before I started college I thought I'd like to build bikes. But I was pretty well focused on my plans to teach, so it always seemed to be little more than a whim. What can I say? Today, it seems more like a dream that I should consider making a reality.

I would really like to take some framebuilding courses. It would be a pretty big investment in time and money, but I'd like to learn how to build with lugs, and possibly even to weld (I prefer frames with lugs, but I'd like to be able to do both). I've been reading about different framebuilding classes in different parts of the country. Prices seem to vary a bit but most seem to be several weeks long and several thousand dollars -- not counting things like lodging and other expenses. Then there would be the investment in equipment in order to set up my own shop. Things like jigs and alignment tables, torches and cutters and other metalworking tools can't be cheap. Coming up with the money would be pretty tough. That's why it's all just a daydream so far.

I think about being able to build bike frames, and perform repairs and modifications, and I think that even if I continued to teach, it would be a great side-line. For years, I've taken summer jobs to supplement my income (it was necessary, believe me), so this would just allow me to be self-employed. From what I know about the custom frame business, it can take time for a builder to gain the kind of following and build up the business to the point where they can make a decent living out of it. Doing it just as a sideline would be a great way to slowly gain that experience and respect without feeling like I have to live in poverty for a labor of love.

I'd love to be able to custom-build bikes for people, or even just repair damaged frames. I think it would also be fun to take tired old bike-boom era 10-speeds and breathe some new life into them and sell them on the side. Maybe over time, if my name got out there and if enough orders started coming in that I could turn it into a full-time job, then I could re-evaluate the priorities.

Oh well -- it's all just a daydream, for now. Something to get me through those depressing meetings. But who knows. . .

More Vintage Cycle Art

Getting ready for Thanksgiving, so there's not a lot to say today -- just wanted to share another cool old vintage bike poster that hangs in my home. Wonder Cycles, by Paul Mohr, 1923. The print I have is huge -- about 5 feet tall. What an awesome image -- with the cyclist balanced on the electrical wires, and the electricity shooting out of his head like shocking hair.

Cycles Wonder, by Paul Mohr, 1923

The colors on this one are so bold, it is really eye-catching. It's one of my favorites. Enjoy!

For the Love of Lugs

I'm a sucker for a lugged frame. I know that there is a lot of skill involved and a certain industrial/utilitarian aesthetic in a really nicely welded frame, but I never really learned to appreciate it.

A really nice hand-cut seat lug. Note the extension on the
back half of it for the seat stays. 

No doubt, my preference for lugs has to do with the fact that when I first got interested in bikes, the best bikes were nearly always lugged. Until the mid 1980s, welded construction was generally a sign of a cheap bike -- usually heavy, made from mild steel, and probably sold in a department store. This was because the thin-walled, lightweight, high-strength steel tubing used in better bicycles would be destroyed by the heat of welding. Brazing with lugs uses a much lower temperature than welding, leaving the integrity of the tubing unharmed. But with the spread of TIG welding, along with new formulations of steel that could withstand the concentrated heat of welding, more and more quality bikes started showing up without lugs.

Another factor that led to the decline in lugs was the rise of mountain bikes. A lot of riders who came into bicycles through the MTB side of things didn't really care about lugs. Many mountain bikes were welded, and their riders didn't have the expectation of a quality bike being built any other way. By the end of the 80s, mountain bikes had virtually pushed road bikes off the showroom floors. Eventually, when road bikes made a comeback, they looked a lot more like MTBs. Aluminum frames were much more popular too -- and almost always welded. Practically a generation of younger riders came to bicycles without ever seeing a lugged frame.

To me, bicycles should not only be functional, but beautiful. Lugs make for a strong, reinforced joint while also adding a point of visual interest. A skilled and imaginative frame builder can sculpt the lugs to make a frame truly unique and special. Lugs also make a bicycle that is much more easily repaired. A crash-bent or dented tube can be replaced without impacting the long-term integrity of the frame.

Let's take a look at some of the classic production-made lugs that were commonly seen on bikes in the 60s and 70s. These first four examples were made with a stamped method. Stamped lugs tend to be a bit rougher and less consistent in quality, so building with stamped lugs takes much more time and skill to get a good final result than the investment cast lugs that would come later.

Cinelli stamped lugs. A classic, traditional choice in the 60s and 70s.

Prugnat 62 D. There were several variations of the Prugnat long-point lugs. This is a slightly fancier version, with a small scroll-cut detail on the rings at the top and bottom head lugs. The basic "S" lug lacked that extra detail (looking quite a bit like the Cinelli lugs above), while the "S4" had some triangular cut-out windows. These 62 D lugs were used on a lot of classic racers, including Colnagos in the 70s. 

Prugnat 62 S. A shorter point lug, with extra scroll details on the sides. Pretty.

Nervex Professional -- these made the fancier look of hand-cut lugs possible on production bikes and quickly became a favorite. These were the lugs of choice for Schwinn Paramounts, Raleigh Internationals, Peugeot PX-10s, and countless other production racing and sport-touring bikes in the 1970s. In the hands of a skilled builder who takes the time to really clean up the details, these can make an exquisite frame.

The next two lug sets, from the 1980s, were made with the investment casting process, which yields much more consistent results, and making the job of the frame builder a lot easier. A good builder will still take time to file them and thin the edges, and some will even re-shape the contours slightly to a more personalized style or preference, but some less-skilled (or less meticulous) builders might braze these up right out of the box with only minimal filing.

Cinelli investment cast lugs from the 1980s. This version has shorter points, which became more popular in that decade.

Henry James investment cast lug set. Nice proportions all around, and the fork crown is gorgeous. A lot of American custom-frame builders used (and still use) these for a clean-looking frame.

More recently, lugged frame building has undergone a bit of a resurgence, and several American designers have come up with new investment cast lugs that are available to builders all over the world.

Kirk Pacenti designed these "Artisan" lugs, which are designed to be used "as is," or to allow a great deal of expression on the part of the individual framebuilder. There is a lot of room to modify these, and many custom builders have used them as the basis for very special one-of-a-kind frames.

Pacenti Artisan lugs, modified for a 60th Anniversary Mercian. Note that the point has been shortened, and a diamond "window" has been cut out. Sixty commemorative frames were built with this design. Some builders go a lot further with the Artisan lugs, making them barely recognizable from their original form.

Modified Pacenti Artisan seat lug.

Richard Sachs designed these "Newvex" lugs to be an updated version of the classic French Nervex model (the originals being long out of production). The Newvex lug set keeps the classic visual details of the originals, but adapts them for the slightly larger proportions of today's steel bicycle tubing. Also note that the upper head-tube lug has a slightly taller profile, which allows for higher bars -- a useful touch with today's threadless stems.

Lug blanks.

Some builders are well known for completely hand-cutting and shaping their lugs, either starting with something commercially available and modifying it (like the Mercian Anniversary bike shown above), or in some cases, starting almost from scratch with lug "blanks," which don't look much different from the pipe connectors found in the plumbing section of the hardware store. With these, a builder has the full freedom and a blank canvas to make a frame that doesn't look like any other. One vintage builder that was famous for truly intricate hand-shaped lugs is the British brand Hetchins. Some of the Hetchins lug styles are incredibly ornate, as seen to the left.

One current company that still regularly hand-shapes lugs from blanks is Mercian. Their Vincitore model is still made in much the same way as it has been made since the model's inception. Because the lugs are completely shaped by hand, no two are exactly alike, though there is a pretty uniform "pattern" or "style" to the Vincitore lugs. The particular model was introduced around 1964 (according to Mercian) but a similar lug pattern was seen on some Mercians going back to the 1950s.

This is one of my newest bikes, a Mercian Vincitore. This is a pretty good shot of the head lugs 

Another look at the head lugs, from the back.

Functionally, there isn't anything wrong with a welded frame, but certainly don't ask me to pay a premium for it. It can be exceptionally strong and in some cases can even save a few grams (though I believe the difference in weight is inconsequential). And I know that the tube mitering has to be perfectly spot-on with a welded frame because the joint is out in the open -- and if a builder isn't skilled with a torch there's no hiding it, so it certainly takes good frame building skills to do it well. Still, one cannot convince me that it isn't cheaper to weld than to braze with lugs -- as evidence, just notice how almost all production-line bikes (apart from carbon fiber) are now welded -- if it wasn't significantly cheaper to weld, then welded frames wouldn't be so common.

The preparation for lugwork goes way beyond good tube mitering and skills with a torch. There's much more labor involved. Lugged construction goes much deeper than pure functionality. It elevates the function to a more artistic level, and that really appeals to me. It always has.

Retrogrouch Past: Part II: A Bike Geek's Dream

In my last post, I wrote about how I came to get really interested in bicycles at the tail end of a classic period when lugged steel frames were abundant, and beautiful and simple components ruled. But change was coming.

Shimano introduced its SIS indexed shifting in 1984, which set in motion a a trend that would lead to more and more integration and specialization in components, with less compatibility between brands. That introduction also marked the beginning of Shimano's dominance in bicycle components, while almost all the old guard European component makers except Campagnolo faded away (and even Campy was fighting for life for a while there too).

At that same time, mountain bikes were just starting to hit the mainstream, with production-made versions from Specialized and Univega first hitting the market around 1982 -- but by the end of the decade, they would almost completely push road bikes off the showroom floors. When road bikes would eventually make a comeback, they would much more resemble MTBs -- with welded frames, unicrown forks, and "compact" geometry.

But during all that time, as far as I was concerned, the old stuff was the good stuff. I never learned to appreciate a welded frame in the same way as a lugged one. A unicrown fork never kept my attention like a fork with nicely-cast crown. And nothing would capture my interest more than classic Campagnolo components.

I bought my first Campagnolo components -- a pair of Record hubs -- from the most fantastic garage sale a bike geek could imagine in a pre eBay world.

There had been, during the bike boom of the 70s, a great little bike shop in my home town, called J&N Cycles, where they specialized in nice high-end European bikes and components, many of which are now considered classics. I don't know exactly when it happened, but not too long before I started to discover "real" bikes, J&N had gone out of business. The owners, Jim and Nancy, got divorced and that meant the end of the bike shop. But that wasn't quite the end of the story. Jim, it turned out, lost the shop but held on to the stock. He filled his house and garage with the entire contents of the store. Bikes, parts, clothing, frames, wheels -- you name it, he had it. The inside of his house was kind of like an episode of A&E's Hoarders.

One summer weekend, almost a decade after closing the shop, Jim opened up his house and garage and had a sale. There were brand new bikes, mostly British, some still in boxes, from the mid 70s -- most of them with Reynolds 531 tubing and Campagnolo parts. There was at least one Teledyne Titan (one of the first titanium bikes) -- brand new, fully Campagnolo Nuovo Record-equipped. There were boxes and bins of all kinds of components, large and small. It was like walking back in time. For a young guy who was really into classic bikes and parts, it was awesome -- and my only wish was that I had enough money to really take in a bigger haul. Unfortunately, I was just in my late teens, so money was tight.

Still, the prices were low and I remember that weekend I bought some tools (a set of Campagnolo cone wrenches) the beautiful still-in-the-box Campy Record hubs, and a pair of impossibly light (260 grams) Super Champion Medaille d'Or rims. With those parts I built my first set of wheels. I don't know if it was because of the extreme lightness of the rims or because of my amateur skill (or lack thereof) in building wheels, but the wheels were always going out of true. After a few years of riding them and constantly re-truing them, I eventually disassembled them and re-built a new set of wheels with the same hubs (my wheelbuilding skills having improved greatly) -- more than 25 years later those wheels are still going strong. I took those hubs apart once for service a few years ago and the bearing races still looked great -- the date on the cones was 1974. Crazy.

I got to know Jim a bit and got his phone number to keep in touch, but he was a pretty reclusive guy on the whole. Now and again when I was home from college I'd pay him a visit and he'd let me look around through the boxes that still filled his house and garage. A couple of times, some of my college riding buddies and I made a road trip -- a pilgrimage of sorts -- to Jim's house to scavenge even more. Between all of us, we must have purchased a couple complete bikes, and enough parts to build a couple more.

At some point I lost his number and lost track of Jim, and I hardly recognize the old neighborhood anymore. I heard from someone that he died some time back, which kind of bummed me out. In the end I don't know if he was still living alone in that house surrounded by all his boxes, bins, and old bikes, or if he'd moved on, but sometimes I wonder what happened to all that stuff. Did relatives have any idea of its worth? Did a lot of it get pitched, given away, or auctioned off?

Any time I overhaul a set of hubs, I can't help but think back on it all and wonder.

The Retrogrouch Past: Influences

Every now and then, a little self-reflection is a good thing. When I look at myself in the mirror, sometimes I ask myself probing questions. Am I where I wanted to be in life? Am I happy in my job? When will I get that mole looked at? Why am I such a Retrogrouch?

I can talk here about that last one. I have a long Retrogrouch past. It's practically in my bike DNA. I also had a lot of retro-grouchy influences during my bicycling education.

I have always liked bikes. Always. And I got really interested in bikes at the tail end of a great time -- a classic period, if you will. Lightweight road bikes were king. Good bikes were steel, and they were lugged. The Japanese were cranking out really nicely made bikes and components that didn't break the bank. And probably as much as anything else, Breaking Away was released in theaters when I was maybe 13, and I wanted to be that kid Dave Stoller. It was formative.

Unlike a lot of kids, I didn't quit riding as soon as I turned 16 and got a drivers license. I did buy a car at 17 but quickly discovered that there is no bigger waste of money than buying gas, so I started riding my bike to  my summer job. That was also the year I bought my first "real" bike. It was nothing like the bikes I would go on to own and ride, but it started me down the path that brought me here.

Maybe my memory is faulty, but replace the shark jaws
with a bicycle wheel, and this is kind of how I remember Al.

I remember going into a bike shop in Cleveland's east side, Al's Bike Shop, where I had heard I could find something nice. The place had been there forever. Whoever had suggested I try Al's didn't warn me that Al, as it turned out, was a major grouch. I asked about some of the bikes, and what was good, or better, and he grumbled "They're all the same -- only the stickers are different" (try to imagine Cap. Quint from the movie Jaws saying it). I don't know if he was always that grouchy, or if he got that way over time -- but it seemed like he really thought bikes (or the bike business, perhaps?) weren't what they used to be. Man, if he were still in business, what would he think of bikes today where many of them really are pretty much the same, made in the same factory in China, regardless of brand, all equipped with the same Shimano components -- different by little more than the name on the downtube?

Anyhow, I didn't buy my bike from Al's. I ended up at the same Schwinn dealer where I'd bought the old upright 3-speed delivery bike I'd been riding for the previous 5 years. I really wanted a Schwinn Paramount, though I would have "settled" for a Super Sport. Couldn't afford either, though, so I got the closest thing that I could, which was a Super LeTour. Still, it was a decent bike to get started with. Lugged frame. SunTour components. I rode it everywhere, and I learned a lot about bikes and riding with it.

I didn't give up on Al's though. There was something about the place, and something about Al that kept me wondering. Was he that grouchy with everyone? All the time? Had things once been different? I'd stop in there now and then to look around. There were bins of old parts and accessories with a layer of dust that said they had been there a long time. There were old Brooks saddles, and tins of Proofide. There were new-old-stock parts from French makers -- Huret, Simplex, and more -- with or without boxes, that looked to be ten years old or more. This was a pretty cool place.

And there was Al. Grouchy and irascible as ever. I remember once asking him about clinchers vs. sewups and I thought he was going to explode. But I kept going back.

One day, I was looking in one of the old glass cases, and a few things caught my eye. There, still in boxes, were a bunch of old Campagnolo parts -- at least ten years old at that point. Nuovo Record derailleurs. Hubs. Pedals. A crankset. There was a chromed steel Cinelli stem, with the old logo coat-of-arms badge on it -- all new-old-stock. I asked Al about the old parts and suddenly his tone changed. It was like a switch had been flipped.

"You like that old stuff?" he asked.
"It's good stuff, yeah," I replied. "The best."

"C'mere," he said, waving me to the back of the shop. I followed. He led me over to a big old steel cabinet. There was a padlock on it. He unlocked it and opened the double doors wide. There inside, from top to bottom, every shelf filled deep, were boxes and bins full of Campagnolo parts. Components of every type. Spares. Small replacement parts. Chainrings. Some tools. Tins of Campy's "special grease." Everything. Some nice old Cinelli stuff, too.

I crossed myself like I was in church.

Al took out parts to show me and we talked about them -- Campagnolo, Cinelli. We admired the little decorative details in a Nuovo Record rear derailleur that had no functional purpose whatsoever other than making the piece look special. We talked about classic bikes. Vintage Raleighs and Peugeots. Colnagos and DeRosas. The bike boom. Italian vs. Japanese components. Whatever it was, I had just earned Al's respect. After that, any time I'd walk into the shop, Al would greet me happily by name. Sometimes when I'd visit, he'd show me some cool old vintage component or tool or something he'd unearthed in the basement of the shop.

Some years later, I was restoring an old 1970 Raleigh Professional, and I made lots of visits to Al's to get replacement vintage Campy parts. When I brought the completed bike over to show him, looking for all the world like a brand-new bike, the guy got misty. Seriously.

Some time in the 90s, after all those years in business, Al decided to retire and close up the shop. There was going to be an auction for pretty much everything left in the store. Before that happened, though, Al gave me a stack of old bike advertising posters he'd kept for years, and he let me poke around and buy pretty much anything I could before the auction. I bought his shop repair stand, wheel truing stand, a bunch of old Campagnolo tools, some spare parts, and even the sign that hung above the door to the shop. Sentimentality, and all. I couldn't go to the auction, but I heard that somebody from out of state was there and bought the entire cabinet of Campy parts. If I had to guess, I'd say that the contents have been sold bit by bit over the years on eBay.

When I first encountered Al, bikes and the bike business were just starting to change, though nothing like the change that was coming. Still, I guess Al apparently didn't like the way it was going. He obviously liked what was old better than what was new -- and I'll bet not too many customers were coming in who shared that appreciation. I think the fact that I had that appreciation for those vintage goodies was the thing that made him warm up to me. The name hadn't yet been coined, but I suppose Al may have been a prototype Retrogrouch.

Show-Rooming

Today I'm retro-grouching about a different kind of new technology. Let me describe a scenario:

Guy walks into a bike shop, looking for shoes. The sales associates help him with several models and different sizes. They may even let the guy try the shoes out on a demo bike out in the parking lot. The guy then thanks the staff for their help, and leaves without buying the shoes. Why? He's going to buy them online.

Retailers call it "showrooming," and it's a pretty common (and crummy) practice. It affects lots of brick and mortar businesses, it's been around (in one form or another) for decades, but with today's smartphones it's easier now than ever before -- one can now purchase something from Amazon.com before they've even left the store they're in.

How common the practice of showrooming is, and its effect on businesses is a little hard to figure out for certain. I found a study on Internet Retailer.com that said about 43% of shoppers engage in the practice of showrooming -- it's more common with younger buyers, less so with older ones (whod've guessed?). Electronics retailers are apparently the most likely to be affected, according to surveys. But it is something that affects many brick and mortar shops.

For bike shops, I'd say the practice started to become common in the 70s and 80s when people would shop items at their local shop, then buy them from one of the mail-order catalog businesses that started getting big at that time, like Bikecology, Bike Nashbar, and Performance. Of course, the main attraction was lower prices, but the local bike shops still offered convenience that the mail order businesses didn't necessarily have. I remember talking with bike shop owners back in the 80s about the catalog businesses, and they would say they definitely felt an impact, but they also felt like they could hold their own against that competition.

With the rise of popularity and the ease of ordering on the internet, these kinds of shops have really taken off -- Nashbar and Performance made the move to internet sales, and countless other companies have added a lot of "virtual shopping" competition. Overnight deliveries from FedEx have even reduced some of the "gotta have it now" advantage that local shops had over their internet competition.

Showrooming has gone to a new level recently with apps for smart phones. Internet retailing giant Amazon introduced one of the first such apps. To use it, all one has to do is scan the UPC code on the item, and then the person can instantly purchase the same item from Amazon, probably for less money, and likely with no sales tax. Now there are lots of similar apps, some of which don't even require scanning a code -- some allow a shopper to simply take a photo of the item, and the app will find it for them.

I asked a friend, Kevin Madzia at one of my local bike shops, Century Cycles in Peninsula, OH, about the practice. Kevin is a sales and bike fit specialist at the shop, and also does the shop's website and blog. He said, "Showrooming definitely takes place and has an effect on us, but it would be impossible to quantify exactly how much." One of the things that makes it difficult to know the effect is that unless someone is brazen enough to whip out their smartphone and scan the item right in front of the salesperson, you can't know for sure if they're even doing it. Surveys seem to be the only way to know how much people engage in the practice, and who knows how accurate of a picture those give?

According to Kevin, some kinds of products are probably more prone to showrooming than others. "One that stands out in my mind is shoes and pedals. Even among entry- to mid-level customers, that seems to be something that people spend a lot of time thinking about before they buy, for good reason, and so some of them tend to become a little better informed about what's available and prices. Another factor may be that shoes tend to be more sensitive to variations in size (not as straightforward compared to shorts and jerseys), so people tend to practice showrooming with them more often."

There are a lot of stories published on the topic of showrooming -- just Google the word, and start reading -- but when I read comments that follow some of the articles, I'm frankly shocked and want to shake some people. One comment I found said essentially, "yeah, it's not fair to the store, but it's a tough economy, and you have to save money where you can." That article/comment wasn't particularly about bike shops (none of the articles I found was -- they mostly talked about big stores, like Best Buy and Target) but it was a pretty common response. And when it comes to bike shops, all I can say is -- great, you saved some money on your shoes, but is Amazon going to fix your bike when your bike shop closes?

Oftentimes, brick and mortar shops just can't match the prices of some of the online stores, so the best thing they can do to combat showrooming is to offer the best service possible. Again, CC's Kevin Madzia: "Even those first-time clipless pedal/shoe buyers, because of their trepidation, often end up buying from us because of our advice and ability to explain the different types of pedals and how to select the right ones, get used to them, etc. We explain to them that we'll install the pedals for them, set up the cleats on their shoes, and set their bike up on a stationary trainer to let them get used to using them. A person who buys pedals and shoes elsewhere won't get this same level of attention, at least not for free."

As the holiday shopping season approaches, I would definitely want to urge people to support their local shops. Seriously, speaking just for myself, there is nothing I'd rather get for Christmas than a gift card from my local bike shop (are my in-laws reading?). When it comes to internet sales, it's one thing if the online retailer offers something unique that the local shop doesn't carry. But physically going into a shop, looking over the merchandise, comparing, asking questions and getting advice from the staff -- and then buying the same item somewhere else to save a few bucks just really crosses a line for me.

Addendum: A few days after posting this article, I read this opinion piece on BikeRadar.com that seems to fit in with what I was saying here. Why Brick and Mortar is Still Relevant