Part I: DoorDash Ate Your Bike Sale
I wonder if we’re underestimating the impact of retail execution and habit change versus just macroeconomics. Anecdotally, I’m seeing traffic down in brick-and-mortar, but service in many shops remains steady or even up. That suggests people are still riding. If ridership hasn’t fallen proportionally to bike sales, then part of the decline may be conversion and experience — not just demand. Post-pandemic, we lost experienced staff, salesmanship slipped in some stores, and many shops struggled with inventory gaps. If customers couldn’t get what they needed in 2020–2022, they built new buying habits elsewhere.
There’s also the friction factor. Pandemic protocols, stockouts, and long lead times pushed people toward online retailers and direct-to-consumer brands. Once customers discover a lower-friction path, they don’t automatically return just because inventory normalizes. If traffic is down but service remains resilient, that could point to fewer browse visits and fewer discretionary purchases — not necessarily fewer riders. It may be that part of the correction isn’t just about price or debt, but about rebuilding retail experience and earning back the default buying relationship.
On a more personal level, it’s worth asking ourselves what habits we’ve changed since 2020. How many of us default to Uber Eats or DoorDash now instead of going out? How many purchases that used to require a store visit are now a few taps on a phone? Are we less willing to deal with friction, crowds, or inconvenience? And beyond shopping behavior, did some riders pivot to other activities during the boom — pickleball, gravel, backcountry sports, home fitness — and simply redistribute their discretionary spending?
And what technologies helped lock those new habits in place? Peloton normalized subscription fitness inside the home. Strava strengthened digital community and competition without requiring a shop as the hub. Marketplace platforms made buying and selling bikes frictionless. Brand websites improved inventory visibility and direct checkout. When technology reduces effort and increases convenience, behavior sticks. If bike retail is competing not just on product and price but against habit-forming digital ecosystems, the path back isn’t just better forecasting — it’s rethinking how stores create relevance in a changed behavioral landscape.
The final question is capacity. How quickly can a smaller, independent business pivot when the shift involves technology, logistics, and behavior change? Large platforms deploy capital, engineers, and marketing at scale. A local retailer is often trying to manage payroll, inventory, and service backlog in the same week. The speed of consumer behavior change may simply outpace the ability of small businesses to respond. That doesn’t excuse missteps, but it may explain part of the lag.
In Part I, I argued that habit change — not just pricing or macroeconomics — reshaped bike retail. If that’s true, then the solution isn’t waiting for demand to “come back.” It’s redesigning the retail experience to compete in a one-tap world. This isn’t about out-Amazoning Amazon. It’s about restoring relevance, reducing friction, and rebuilding default behavior. Come back on Thursday for Part II.
If you haven’t read the recent Escape Collective piece on Trek, you should. Pay for it. It’s uncomfortable, and that’s why it matters. The article digs into layoffs, debt, retail expansion, and forecasting decisions that shaped the current mess. My point here isn’t to contradict that reporting — it’s to widen the lens. Leadership decisions amplified the downturn. But consumer habit shifts may have quietly reshaped the terrain underneath those decisions. The Escape piece explains what happened inside the building. The habit question explains what changed outside of it. You need both to understand where this industry actually stands.
The question isn’t whether Trek is in trouble — it’s whether we understand why, and whether we’re willing to rebuild relevance instead of blaming the economy.