Ah. Racers. We train hard. We race hard. We ask for deals harder. It comes with being on an amateur race team. Riding for our team is everything for us. It’s why we go to bed early on the weekend and wake up before dawn to join the local hammerfest during a pandemic.
We see the guy roll up on a Huffy to a group ride and we’re wondering why he’s there. We see a dude wearing a helmet from Walmart and we must drop him. There’s a point in our cycling lives where we develop an elitist attitude toward anyone who isn’t as posh as us.
I’m talking about a matching kit costing more than most people’s monthly groceries. Riding on a bike worth as much as, if not more, than a used car. Upgraded components saving us one gram of weight. Sunglasses costing as much as a kid’s bike. Cycling shoes that’d get you a couple of nights at the Bellagio in Vegas.
What I’m saying is: The majority of amateur bike racers have expendable income yet some still expect a “bro deal.”
How did “the bro deal” toxicity all start?
It wasn’t always like this. Bike shops extended deals to up-and-coming bike racers who’d sleep on a friend’s couch before a regional race. It was to show support of bike riding in general, to grow the sport, and to get business (even with a lower margin).
Because shops discounted for years, an expectation and entitlement grew with it. It became toxic and led to a social stratification with the “haves” and “have-nots.”
I spoke with several bike shop employees to see what they thought about the “bro deal” and really, they’d rather lose the business than deal with the headaches.
First of all, people who get the “bro deal” aren’t always loyal to their local bike shop (LBS). If they find a better deal on Amazon, they’ll go there. They don’t need the “bro deal.” They like the status it brings when they tell their friends they get a deal from their LBS.
The headaches bike shops deal with are self-entitled racers demanding a 10% discount then jump into their BMW. They aren’t the ones helping the LBS stay in business. It’s the “Enthusiast,” the recreational rider, who loves riding their bikes sans discount, who makes the mass bulk of sales.
Racers with disposable income and bike shops acquiescing created this toxic culture.
What’s making bike shops realize this problem now?
The elitism is now coming from kids and the people I spoke to can no longer sit idly by. They’re seeing young adults pitch fits when products are out. At one point, they told me a mother tried using her kids’ discounts on an XS jersey because they could also fit in it. She described to the employee how she planned to circumvent the system to get a discount. Bike shop employees worry kids are going to take these thought patterns into adulthood.
And then you have the attitude of “I’m a racer so I’m entitled” outside the bike shop.
We talked further about racers’ mentality. As a bike racer myself, I know I can get judgy when I see someone who doesn’t fit my definition of a cyclist. For example, I’ve designated a “person on a bike” and a “cyclist” in the past. Anytime I was in a car, I’d watch for cyclists on the road. If I saw one, I yelled “cyclist” to the driver to make them aware.
Eventually, we started pointing out bike riders whenever we saw one whether we were in a car. At one point, my husband yelled “cyclist” and I said, “that’s a person on a bike.” And what I meant was, “that’s a recreational rider who isn’t as serious about cycling as a ‘cyclist’ is.”
There are distinct differences between someone who rides just to ride and someone who’s training for their amateur criterium race this weekend. The recreational rider hasn’t had a bike fit. You can tell by how painful it looks to be on their bike. Their jersey flaps around in the wind. Their helmet tilts too far back and exposes too much of their forehead. Their shoes are bulky and they always need a new pair of cycling shorts.
That’s the recreational rider but they equally deserve to be on a bike and enjoy it as much as my self-entitled ass.
I used to be a recreational rider. I had the loose-fitting jersey, the Bell helmet, the $5 sunglasses I got from the gas station. I rode my first Century on flats. And yes, I’m guilty of not waving at the “person on a bike.” The funny thing is that I still don’t think I’m cool. Whether you’re matchy-matchy or wearing a parachute, cyclists don’t look hip. There are only a handful of people who can make lycra look sexy. I’m not one of them.
But where did this mentality come from? At what point did I start thinking I was better than the rec rider? Joining a team is likely the culprit. You join a team for the camaraderie but then you take on the team’s habits —some good and some bad. There’s an expectation when you join a bike team, it comes with perks and discounts. This is on top of rider development like clinics, race support, etc.
As racers, we might naturally have confidence. It continues to grow as we spend more time on the saddle in a close-knit team. Being part of this exclusive group then inflates our egos. From there, we inevitably create a “bro deal” culture.
Racers don’t need discounts, they need help in becoming better cyclists.
I learned from one of my sources that the local bike shop wants to end this culture they created.
I asked if they were worried about a backlash in ending the “bro deal.” They weren’t. They said they’ll lose some money but it’s a low-margin and worth it to not deal with the toxicity. They make their money off grassroots people buying bikes year-long. They’re the “best customers” because they don’t know about the “bro deals.”
This is where LBS will recoup any losses from “cutting off the dead arm” that is the “bro deal.”
Realizing kids are now expecting discounts because they’re on a team perpetuates the elitism we see in adults. Of course, there are junior racers who need actual support and bike shops want to be there for those kids.
But it comes down to offering a different kind of support — not just monetary. They want to support teams so teams can provide access to kids who don’t have nice bikes or gear or opportunities.
Instead of giving team members a 20% discount, bike shops would rather provide tech and product support. This means hosting clinics to teach bike riders (and racers) how to do maintenance on their own bike. This way, it turns them into enabled riders.
Ending the “bro deal” means bike shops showing up to the local criterium race, a group ride, or organized event and offering mechanical support there.
For the teams who benefit by having an LBS in their jersey pocket, it means team members helping out at grassroot events and earning their perks. This could look like helping out at events, leading shop group rides, and doing the same work as sponsorships. For example, tagging companies on social media, handing out product samples or business cards, and consistently sharing information about the company.
The “bro deal” doesn’t work because it’s self-serving. If we want cycling to grow, it needs to be about community and less about how we individually benefit.
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