Opinion/Analysis
Bike racing: Meh. I used to be a tifosi. Stopped paying attention about the time Roy Knickman retired. Dave Towle would un-Friend me on Facebook if he only knew how little I cared.
Streets are narrow in Amsterdam. Minds are not. An atmosphere of tolerance prevails. That most basic freedom, personal mobility, is joyfully expressed in the ceaseless stream of cyclists gliding about the city.
As a former Category One racer and advertising salesman, my friend John Kodin is no stranger to pain, so his response to an invitation to participate in the annual Seattle to Portland ride long ago was telling. “If I want to be miserable,” he said, “all I have to do is put a piece of sandpaper in my shorts, have my wife squirt me with the hose, and ride around the block a few times.”
This post by Brett Lindstrom, national/international sales manager of Speedplay, was in response to this recent story.
Lance’s impact on the bike industry is as controversial as his alleged drug use. With all the recent chatter and analysis, let’s correct some of the revisionist history being spun.
For once Ray I'll disagree with something you've written. There are a number of reasons your argument that racing doesn't sell bikes doesn't hold water:
Sometimes, in a weak moment, I imagine getting back into the trade show business. Then I remember the deaf sound man and come to my senses.
Leaning hard into a decreasing radius turn on my ancient Schwinn Paramount, I ponder the effectiveness of thirty year-old sew-up glue. A failed tire can kill you. Changing one can, too. Bitter experience has taught me to regard every decision about tires, however insignificant, as a matter of life or death.
I slept with Yoshi Shimano. Airline computers, those prankster accomplices of fate, had assigned us adjoining seats in the sold-out business class of an Alitalia red-eye going from L.A. to Milan. It was more togetherness than either one of us would have preferred, but we made the best of it.
Birthdays are dangerous for impulse buyers. My most recent one found me shivering in the alcove entryway at Elliott Bay Bicycles in downtown Seattle, waiting for them to open. A bitter February wind was blowing in off the Sound. An empty sixteen ounce malt liquor can rattled around at my feet. When Bob Freeman rode up on his classic Schwinn Paramount to open the store, he seemed surprised to see me huddled there by the front door. “It’s not mine,” I said when he glanced down at the empty can. “I haven’t had a drink in over a year,” I continued, sounding exactly like the kind of righteous jerk I was afraid of becoming when I quit. “Stumbling around in a hopeless fog of sobriety is no picnic,” I added, hoping to lighten the mood, as he unlocked the door.
I came to Rivendell like a refugee, dragging my belongings behind me in a red roller borrowed from my wife. A January fugitive from Seattle, I was seeking sunlight and perhaps a bit of enlightenment. Having taken the BART train directly from SFO to Walnut Creek, I dodged SUV's while jaywalking across busy suburban streets. Whenever I extended my stride, the roller would bounce off my heel and go into a Dutch roll, trying to twist out of my grasp.
I’ve heard it said that no two snowflakes that land on planet Earth are alike. There’s also a theory that if one atom in the universe were to occupy the same space/time the whole cosmos would implode. The same goes for your retail store, which is your brand! It’s what the alien nation calls DFD or ‘Death From Duplication’ for those of us that are acronym challenged.
I’ve followed professional wrestling for several decades. It’s the best integrated marketing on the planet and their longevity and strong financials are proof. Ok, go ahead make fun of me because I know all about Ravishing Rick Rude and his signature move “The Rude Awakening”. Actually there’s a business model and competitive strategic approach I’ve implemented with several of my clients based on this piledriver’esque move. But I digress…..