#velosmith

We now live in the age of the $400 fit session. Let that sink in.

There is a lot to cover, and a lot to talk about, when it comes to the business and science of properly fitted bicycles. But there are plenty of places to read about all of that, and how we have arrived at a point where there are multiple schools, certifications, and tools costing tens of thousands of dollars (let's not dwell on the fact that these methodologies are often at odds with one another) where there once was a measuring tape, a plumb bob, and (hopefully) a ton of experience and empathy.

I think it's great that there are more and more folks, both in and out of the industry, that care about properly fitted bicycles. Of course, it's odd to me that despite the segment's rapid growth, even a casual observer can see that the vast majority of even "serious" cyclists aren't very comfortable on their bikes. But maybe this has less to do with the fitting industry and more to do with what has happened to the bicycle industry itself. Maybe it has to do with the fact that high end road bikes have gone from a choice between custom geometry or one of 22 stock sizes to: XS, S, M, L, XL. Maybe we can blame Giant. But I suppose if we blame Giant, we must also blame Bontrager, and Ibis, and Brodie.

Sometimes I feel as if this entire trajectory has been intentional. Switch from metal to carbon. Switch from traditional to compact geometry. Produce a few molds, reducing SKUs throughout the supply chain. Lay off higher skilled workers, hire younger, lower skilled workers at the factory. Lower costs, increase profits. Simplify the purchasing process. Lay off higher skilled workers, hire younger, lower skilled workers at the bike shop. Is it any surprise that stock bikes often don't fit well out of the box? Well, we conveniently have a [redacted] certified fitter on staff, and we'll give you a discount on our basic package!

Or there's the power-analysis approach. Or the aero approach. Or any number of other marketing techniques. Which is to say, there's a legitimate market demand for this stuff, just like there's a demand for carbon clinchers, or aerobars on bikes with tall head tubes, or Powermeters on hybrids, or road helmets with no ventilation holes. And so it goes.

Ben Serotta started SICI back in 1998, but well before that he was a guy who knew a ton about bicycle fit and physiology. He was always very gracious about sharing his experiences and ideas, and going back to the 80s, would give free clinics on fitting at Serotta dealers and various industry events. Of course, before Ben, there were any number of framebuilders, coaches, racers, and shop guys who had strong ideas about how a person should be properly fitted to a bicycle. My first coach was a proponent of the "two fist" method, KOPS, and obscuring one's front hub with the handlebars. It's gotten a lot more complicated since then.

This was in an era when most experienced folks, and by experienced I mean legs with 300,000km in them, would scoff at the idea of a bike fit. And to a large extent, they were right to scoff. Because what used to happen, and in some ways, what I wish still happened, is you just got a bike. Maybe it was the right size, or maybe it wasn't, but you got a bike, and you'd show up on the club run. And either you had it, or you didn't. And if you didn't have it, if you looked like a spider balancing precariously on a pile of metal or child riding his father's bike, someone would point it out, and show you the way. And over time, you'd begin to see it: souplesse. Maybe it was the old Polish guy who'd mostly ride at the back, and couldn't climb, but from the hips down looked like a rider half his age. Or maybe it was a newspaper clipping featuring Laurent Fignon off the front in a stage at the Giro: elbows relaxed, back arched, eyes forward, and rad hair flowing in the breeze. But sooner or later, you knew it when you saw it, and you also knew it when you didn't see it, and you'd tinker and tweak, until you figured it out on your own. Your position on the bike, your flexibility, the roundness of your spin, where and how you gripped the handlebars, your balance, your ability to remove a gilet at 45km/hr, your eyes, your comfort level after a six hour ride: these were all things that mattered, and everyone figured it out eventually. And nobody paid anything for it.

But here we are today, in an age when the average first year roadie has a mortgage and a couple of kids, someone worried at home about concussions and road rash, a sick carbon whip with sick carbon wheels, and a slammed stem. A slammed stem, and more often than not, the spine of a younger-middle-aged individual who might have been athletic in high school, maybe. But a slammed stem nonetheless. And a slammed 130mm stem if he reads the right blogs.

Remember when folks rode outside in the winter? Remember when folks rode outside in the winter on bikes with stems you could raise in the off season, because it's a little more comfortable?

Me neither.

But I get it, I think I understand what's going on now. Folks don't want to be told what to do, or how to do it by peers. Experience means nothing. You get what you pay for! So the new paradigm is: (1) Buy sick bike. (2) Buy sick powermeter. (3) Hire sick cycling coach. (4) Buy sick bike fit. (5) Buy sick race wheels. (6) Successsssssssssssssssss.

All that said, I have a deep and abiding respect for those folks who not only have been doing this thing for a long time, but can offer something unique. Something of real value. Something that requires years of experience, and training, and practice. There are fitters today with a strong background in physiology and sports injuries. This can be incredibly important for some folks. There are fitters who are up to date with the latest and greatest aerodynamic trends and theories. And it's a great time for triathletes and time trialists looking to eke out the smallest benefits. As far as traditional fitters go, in the Chicagoland region, the story begins and ends with Tony Bustamante of Velosmith. Without going into Tony's background or methods, know that if you're looking for a minimalist, confident, and complete bike fit: there's nobody better.

All that said, there is such a thing as a bike fit service here in Tativille. And there has been from day one. Here's how it goes:

We meet over coffee at your favorite cafe. We talk about your riding history, your athletic background, your taste in music, your injuries, and what kind of person you'd like to be on a bicycle.

We put you on your bike inside, or the Serotta fit bike, or both. We take some measurements, look at your flexibility, we talk. We tweak.

Whether you're a road racer, a commuter, a bike camper, a weirdo, or a grass crit champion, I can help you. And if I can't, I can refer you to any number of local domain experts.

Most importantly, we plan to ride together, so I can see all of this in action. And we probably meet again indoors, to measure, and tweak, and swap parts, and look at your spin again.

Maybe in a week, or a month, or a season, things get better. Because they will get better.

You pay me $1. And if you think it's worth $400, or $300, or $50, that's great. Donate that money to an up and coming junior. Or a kids program like Blackstone Bicycles. Or have me build you some sick tubulars. But don't pay me $400 for it.

She's no Henri, but my cat is certainly more in tune with French existentialism than most folks I know. She sees right through my fragile facade, and knows full well that, like the rest of the merchant class, I'm resigned to lead an inauthentic life and to forever suffer under the weight of mauvaise foi.

Few bike shop employees view their vocation as necessarily noble, but many like to rationalize the decision to pursue a chronically seasonal, underpaid career choice as having some degree of higher social value than, say, hocking iPhones. I'm not quite this delusional, but do share some form of this fantasy. It's especially when the weather dips, business slows, hours are cut, and income plummets, that we come together and ask one another the hard questions: is it worth it? Is it time to grow up?

A decade ago or three, things might have been a little different. A certain percentage of folks have always gravitated to bike shop work for a "love of the sport," or somesuch... and many of those would classically be described as overqualified, overeducated, or both. But in today's economy, when work can be difficult to come by regardless of one's collar hue, it's not surprising in the slightest to learn that your headset is being overhauled by a double PhD.

It's a low margin business, this. And we are witnessing the slow motion transformation of an industry, shaped on the one hand by internet commerce and direct-to-consumer sales - and the other by consolidation and the growth of regional and national retail chains. Obviously, the local bike shop isn't going to disappear altogether, but the old guard is dying off (or being bought), and those few foolhardy souls brave enough to jump in now, are having to play by rules unimaginable even a decade ago. Here in Chicago, as elsewhere, the severe seasonality of the business leads to some pretty crummy and destructive practices: very aggressive discounting, the reliance on low wage temporary labor, and a remarkable tendency towards merchandising conformity. These are all bummers, but we are seeing glimmers of hope in the form of a few newcomers to the game.

Heritage Bicycles is equal parts neighborhood cafe and miniature bicycle boutique, but with several Big Idea twists. When word first leaked about the operation, I sneered at the Wald stems, amateur-looking frame welds, and overall aesthetic of their (admittedly made in Chicago) 18kg city bikes. But slowly, surely, I began to understand that this wasn't just a copycat bike cafe, where coffee was a mere afterthought to a small bike shop, or even the converse. Heritage is something altogether different, and wholly unique. Its owner, Michael Salvatore, is aiming to build a brand which is some kind of fascinating mash up of vintage J Crew, Anthropologie, the OG Schwinn, doused in artisinal coffee and swathed in fine Brooks leather. It's awesome and exciting to watch.

Many of us will remember Tony Bustamante from his days writing Belgium Knee Warmers, some from his association with Alberto's, and a few from his days at Seven. His Velosmith shop burst out of the gate, guns blazing - an itsy bitsy and unassuming pro shop located on a quiet street in Wilmette that just happens to feature Lightweight Wheels, Parlee, and Seven. Tony is one of the premier fitters in the country, a stylist among stylists, and perhaps most importantly, well schooled in the history of bicycle riding, racing, and fabrication. It doesn't hurt that he's a ridiculously nice guy. How is it, many of us wondered, that a shop with no history (not exactly true, but you get the point), very little inventory, and no marketing budget to speak of, could instantly find itself among the nation's upper echelon? Spend a few minutes with Tony, and you'll immediately understand. It's no accident.

Back home, I'm busy brewing a pour over cup of Half Wit Sulawesi Toarco Estate A and arguing with my cat.

"More authenticity, homie." she says.

"OK, but that basically means I'd only be selling handbuilt steel fgcx bikes and tubulars!"

"Sure, but you'd feel less dirty."

"I don't feel dirty, this isn't art."

"So make it art!"