Losing the 'shop around the corner'

We had a slight lie-in on Saturday. Thomas Ivor was recovering from his charity triathlon the day before, and the girls had gone to their grandparents for the weekend, so we could get on with some DIY, and thus, unusually by recent standards, I didn't make the Saturday morning 'club ride' from our local shop, Wellingborough Cycles.

By lunchtime, we decided to go out for some fresh air and food (a morning's paint stripping had left us needing both, rather badly) and at the last moment I elected to stop by the bike shop to pick up my new saddle, which was my Christmas present and which I'd been meaning to fetch for about a week.

We passed the shop and it looked busy - the ride must have not long got back, we figured - and so we went for lunch first, before dropping in for my saddle. As I walked in, something didn't feel quite as normal, and turning round, I saw fewer bikes than usual against the wall, and a sign on one saying 'Closing Down Sale'.

'That's another bike brand no longer worth trying to retail on the high street' I thought to myself, dismissing any notion that it was more than that - but at the counter, proprietor Darren's face was ashen. They'd met the accountants during the week, decided it was impossible to continue trading, and announced the shop's closure to the group ride earlier that Saturday morning.

The thing is, it's hard to tell when your local bike shop is in dire straits, because most local bike shops are up against it all the time, these days. Friends in the distribution side of the trade speak of German warehouses mail-ordering products to the UK for less than the 'trade' price, never mind retail. 

Two tragedies hit us, as with considerable reluctance we picked up a few final purchases to help the guys clear the decks.

Firstly, the human perspective. Darren and his team had built something special. They had lovely premises, well cared for, smartly turned out, and unlike certain of their competitors they always took the greatest of care with our bikes in the workshop, most of which had visited them at some time or another. They were a friendly bunch, and again, unlike other shops, never treated us dismissively, disdainfully or like our children were about to explode and kill all the other customers, when we came in the shop as a team. Thomas Ivor, Ruth and Rhoda had grown accustomed to chatting with Darren about their cycling exploits over a sweetie, or a biscuit, and we really appreciated that. It was heartbreaking seeing the personal cost of over a decade's hard work; peoples' livelihoods, being taken away. 

We appreciated our local bike shop because we knew that a trustworthy, keen, specialist shop close to our home was a luxury these days, and losing that is a tragedy, for us and our community. Of the bike shops in our area, this was the one which had earned our loyalty - it was one we would have travelled to even if it hadn't been the closest. We often contented ourselves with ordering things through them, even if they could be obtained faster and cheaper online, because we saw the value in supporting, in deliberately investing our spending in a business which supported and took an interest in us. At a stroke, it's gone, and it's strangely numbing. My road bike was about to go in for a service, and I have no idea what I will do with it now.

I passed the shop yesterday, to go to the butcher's. The shutters were down and, reminiscent of Meg Ryan's character's shop in 'You've got mail', I looked in sadly at the empty shelves, the counter, the window into the workshop where Darren would usually be found working on someone's steed when you arrived - and yet I was reminded of the old lady in the film, the one who'd worked there all her life, saying "Closing the store is the brave thing to do" - and that's certainly true in the face of the odds; sometimes there is no sense in trying to trade your way out of trouble. In this case, the bike trade seems set on destroying award-winning local businesses who supported and nurtured both individual cyclists and cycling culture in our communities - and we won't know what we had, 'til we lose it. 

Budgets are tight for all of us but we can vote with what we spend. If you still have a 'shop around the corner', look after them. If enough of you do, hopefully they'll still be able to look after you, for some time to come.

Amongst our final purchases was a Wellingborough Cycles race jersey, size 'XXS'. It's a shade big on the lad for now, but Thomas Ivor will wear it with pride and it will remind us to hold in our thoughts the people whose labours and friendship we valued, as they move on to new chapters in their lives. In the case of two of the guys, Tom and James, it's a new way of doing business, because we are pleased to hear that the bike fitting and coaching they offered will be continuing as Vélo Elite, along with ongoing support for our town's de facto cycling club. 

We thank them for all they have done for us, congratulate them on the memorable things they achieved over the years, of which they should be proud, and wish all of them the very best for the future.

Roscoff to Le Clôitre St Thégonnac. Deuxième désastre!

We were woken gently on the ferry by piped music. We had an 'interesting' night in the girls' cabin. Ruth and Rhoda were sharing the bottom bunk, top-to-toe. Rhoda rolled out of the bunk twice before I gave up and chucked my duvet on the floor for her to sleep on. Ruth managed to stay in her bunk until at least 2.30am when she announced she wanted to go to the toilet to be sick. I dashed down the ladder as the boat pitched and rolled, but by the time I got down to her, she had nodded off again, adopting a novel kneeling posture for the rest of the night.

 It was much less exciting in the boys' cabin, by all accounts.

We were greeted by a drizzly Roscoff morning. Briefed by fellow cyclists, we made an immediate turn off the main road and up a hill out of the port. We passed along a lovely stretch of segregated cycle lane, plenty wide enough for the trailer, and took our time to help Thomas Ivor build up his confidence after his crash and to get used to riding on the right. The promise of breakfast at St Pol de Leon made the first couple of miles easy work, and Thomas Ivor ordered himself a pain au chocolat in a patisserie, quite amazed that the French he learned in school actually worked.

This is what a proper village cycle facility looks like!
Not entirely clear where the pedestrians go at this point, though...

I had a slightly larger linguistic stretch to go to the pharmacy for more paracetamol and ibuprofen for our injured cyclist, to make sure I got the children's versions, but apparently I did pay attention in class fifteen years ago, so all was well (thank you Kate Golder and Caroline Gower for the A-level tuition!).

Administering drugs to cyclists - in full view!

After breakfast in St Pol de Leon, we set off again aiming for Morlaix as our lunch stop. Today was a hard-work day for me with the trailer- a fair amount of climbing to be done as we moved inland. We had a couple of moments questioning whether we could get the Croozer down some narrow stretches of the Tour de Manche route, but in each case we managed.

We paused for some lessons in farming: despite living in Devon with his mum for the majority of the time, Thomas Ivor knows astonishingly little of what raw food looks like and where it comes from.

The road into Morlaix that we chose at Lanvéguen (D769) in preference to the signed cycle route was lovely- wide, smooth, lightly trafficked. We rolled into Morlaix, under the motorway viaduct and towards the double height railway viaduct feeling good.

Then disaster struck "TWANG!!".

Another spoke, drive side, on Tom's rear wheel snapped at the hub. We didn't realise at the time quite what a disaster it was, deciding to retire for lunch and use some of the data bundle we'd bought for the phone to look up bike shops.

Morlaix's only bike shop would have been open (Google had assured us) but a paper notice on the door declared it shut on Mondays through July and August. The lovely man at the tourist information office told me that the only other store in town was Decathlon. Zero chance of repair that afternoon. That left us with a dilemma: ride another 16 miles to the campsite on a broken wheel, or try to stay in Morlaix for the night make up the mileage later. We decided to get to our campsite and re-evaluate our options tomorrow.

Our route from Morlaix to La Clôitre St Thégonnac was along part of the former Réseau Breton 'voie verte'. In the rain, the surface was soft, and the going was slow with the trailer. There were also lots of gates to navigate with the trailer. It made for a fairly miserable afternoon, with me dragging the trailer along mile after mile of climbing and Tom nursing a broken wheel.

We were glad to find some tarmac once more, roll in to 'Camping Les Bruyères' and get the tent up. Fellow British campers gave us a lovely welcome: Laura and Elaine made me a hot cup of tea, which small gesture lifted my spirits a hundredfold, and turned out to be the first of several kindnesses they did us. We crawled into our sleeping bags and decided to make a new plan in the morning.

Bolt-ons and a Bolt-hole

Before we set off tomorrow we must say a word or two about our new friend Ruth Casson and AMBA Marketing.

March 2010 - Just rolled out of the shop!

Five years ago, when we bought our Croozer trailer, we had never seen one before - we did our homework online, and then made a day-long schlep across Central London from Harrow to Compton Cycles in Catford (good shop!) to make our purchase. We never realised at the time, or for some considerable while afterwards, that it had come via a distributor whose premises we drive by every time we go to Devon to fetch Thomas Ivor. We never imagined back then, that we would travel as far as we have with it, either.

It was almost by chance recently that I found the time to drop in to AMBA Marketing's place in Exeter, to pick up the head support and insert for the Croozer, as Ruth had outgrown the baby sling. AMBA's charismatic owner, Ruth, is a true evangelist for her products and it was wonderful to be able to see the latest additions to that range, all sorts of accessories and indeed things like the WeeHoo, which we now have on long-term trial and of which more after this trip! One thing led to another and since our plans involved a start from her neck of the woods, Ruth kindly offered to look after the 'Daddy Bus' whilst we were away, and to put us up for our first night in Devon, once I'd picked Thomas Ivor up from school.

Croozers, Chariots, WeeHoos, and test pilots!

AMBA also distribute a number of other products of interest to touring cyclists, including hub dynamo systems, the renowned 'BOB' trailers, Swisseye glasses, and Busch & Müller lights, and we are very grateful to Ruth and her daughter Alex for providing us with a 'personal shopper' service, out of hours, supplying us with both lights and shades (get it?!) which we will also review in due course. The B&M rack-mounted rear lights are already looking superb and we have a bank of USB headlights charging on the new hub I received yesterday - another good buy.

It's been great for us to get to know one of the key kit distributors in the field of family cycling; Ruth and Alex have been tremendously kind and helpful tonight as, after a late arrival, we have scrambled to get things tied up for our departure in the morning. We have beds to sleep in, batteries on charge... Tomorrow we will be on our way to France!