If you want me to buy your product, just link it with cycling in some way and it will probably end up in my shopping cart. I know, I know. It’s childish, stupid and impractical. But I can’t help it. On Sunday, I was in Cost Plus World Market and needed to pick up a bottle of table wine. Just some plonk that will go down with pasta.
I was reaching for a bottle of Penfolds Koonunga Hill shiraz-cabernet – a consistent wine I drank a lot in Hong Kong and is $5 cheaper in the U.S. – when something caught my eye. It was a drawing of a bike on a label on a bottle of the Chilean wine Cono Sur. The deal was sealed with my little reptile brain. I forgot about the Penfolds and put the Cono Sur in my basket. (The $8.99 price tag was another key selling point. I do love my fine wine!)
In a way, being suckered in by a cycling reference – especially one that’s not directly relevant to the product – isn’t all that silly and irrational. I guess I figure that the company could have put a billion other images on its wine label but it chose a bike. That could very likely mean it shares my passion for cycling. We have similar values. Our aesthetics – the appreciation of a bike’s beautiful lines – are the same. So why not try the wine? (By the way, it was only so-so.)
Of course, the bike on the label might also mean that the winery hired some crass marketing company, which advised the winemaker to use the logo because bikes are symbols for hipness now and appeal to a class of shoppers with a lot of disposable income (me excluded).
My budget will be in big trouble if Campagnolo starts selling a line of Chianti priced at $80 a bottle – $20 more than Shimano sake, of course.
(UPDATE: A few hours later, I decided to do some reporting. I committed a common sin in the blogosphere: First, write and ramble on and on. Then do some reporting and check the facts. Cono Sur has a decent Website that introduces the company’s bicycle series of wines. It seems the winemaker does share my values, according to their statement. The site says: “Our bicycle symbolizes our strong and passionate commitment to the environment when making top quality wines. That’s why amongst the lush vines, lots of bicycles can be found, resting against walls and propped up on the end of rows of vines. It’s the way our workers move around the vineyards every day, in order to protect the land where they work in. Relaxed, taking their time, enjoying the journey: sometimes returning to bicycle basics is all we need.”)
One of my many obsessions is: service, the good kind. Few things are better than being served well.
I recently had the great pleasure to be the recipient of some fantastic service. It happened when I made an online purchase from Wrench Science. I’ve seen their ads before, checked out their Web site but never bought anything from them – until now. In a future post, I’ll tell you what I bought. All that I’ll say now is that it was a sizable purchase.
Wrench Science offered a good price, but they sealed the deal by providing a 10 percent discount during the Tour of California. But when I made my purchase, it seems that I missed the deadline. Several factors were to blame: the time zone difference and tech problems on my end, mostly. I sent them an e-mail asking if they could cut me some slack and give me the discount. They wrote back and said, “Yes.” They added that they hoped this would make me a loyal customer. It will. I promise. I should add that I never mentioned my blog nor did I use it in any way as leaverage in the deal.
It was a great move on the part of Wrench Science. When I go shopping again, I’ll definitely turn to them before I seek out the usual suspects, like Competitive Cyclist or Colorado Cyclist.
Don’t even think about bargaining with the Troll. True, you’re a customer and he’s a businessman. But that doesn’t mean he has to be nice to you. He doesn’t have to act like you’re welcome in his shop. In fact, he’d be happy if you just left. Just get the hell out. Piss off.
I started calling him the “Troll” after the first time I visited his Hong Kong shop, which I call “The Troll’s Den.” Its real name is “The Wing’s” and its improbable location is on 222 Fa Yuen Street (or Flower Street) in the gritty Mongkok area of Kowloon. It strikes me as a weird place for a bike shop because the street is more of a lady’s market, lined with street stalls selling costume jewelry, bras, underwear, blouses and other frilly things. Wing’s is easy to miss. The shop’s entrance is obscured by the stalls and you can only see the sign on the second-floor shop.
Imagine a bike shop that never had a clearance sale. That’s the Troll’s Den. Ancient inventory just gets plowed under and mixed in with the new stuff in the cluttered, cramped little store. Wings seems to be stuck in a time warp – the 80s and 90s. A display case features a Colnago frame with the long-defunct Mapei team’s colors and design. I challenge anyone to find a pair of bright red and yellow Polti socks. The Troll has them. He’s got a water bottle from Greg Lemond’s old “Z” team! Mixed in with all this is the latest from Look, Pinarello and Campy. Digging through his merchandise, you can’t help but have flashbacks of Museeuw, Virenque, Pantani – an era when riders were doped out of their minds but truly fantastic and forgivable all the same.
I found his shop two years ago when I needed a new pair of Sidi shoes. The Troll is apparently a Sidi distributor and has an amazing selection. I picked up two pairs of Ergo 2 Lites for me and a friend. The total sale was about US$1,000. I asked the Troll if he would give me a discount. He just snarled at me. Then he said he’d charge me 10 percent more if I didn’t pay cash and used a credit card.
The troll also has an incredible collection of cycling caps. On my second visit to the store, I found an awesome Basso cap. My first serious bike was a Basso, and I was overwhelmed with nostalgia and just had to buy it. But there was a brown stain on the bill, as if it took incoming fire from a flock of geese. I showed the stain to the Troll and asked if he would knock a little off the price. He grumbled something like: “No, it’s cheap enough already!”
When you walk into the store, the Troll never greets you. He never asks if you need help. He just waits to take your money. He sits at his desk behind a counter that he’s barely able to peek over. He usually wears polyester slacks and a white undershirt. I’d love to know his story. How did he get into the bike business? I’m just too damn afraid to ask. This week, when I visited, he was eating a lunch of fried noodles, string beans and soup that had a cube of pink Spam-like meat in it. I went to the shop to get a replacement buckle for my Sidi shoes. One of the ratcheting buckles stopped grabbing the shoe’s top strap.
I took the shoe out of my backpack and approached the Troll in the proper way: very slowly, with my head slightly bowed, my eyes averting contact with his eyes. Just as I started to talk, he stuck a long string bean in his mouth and glared at me. I said, “I’m sorry but I’m wondering if I can ask you a question. You see, my buckle isn’t working right. Is there a way to fix it?” You’d think that because I paid US$500 for the shoes, the Troll would have at least taken a look or asked if the shoe was still under warranty and worthy of a free fix. But nah. He got up, started rummaging around inside a messy display case, then threw down a plastic bag that had two replacement buckles. “They’re HK$120,” he said. You might think that he would offer to replace the buckle for me. But nah. He walked back around his desk and continued with his lunch, loudly slurping the soup. I took out one of the buckles and compared it to the one on my shoe. It looked the same. “Ok, thanks. I’d just like to have a look around,” I said, leaving the buckles on his counter.
A sweet woman who I think might be his daughter arrived with her darling toddler. She was in the store when I bought the Basso hat, and she seemed sympathetic to my request for a discount. This time, she gave me a warm greeting and plunked her child in the play pen next to the Troll. As the cute child chirped and squeaked, I looked at the Troll’s face out of the corner of my eye, waiting for him to smile at the child or show some sign of having emotions other than contempt and disdain. He just scowled at the kid.
One theory I had was that the Troll just doesn’t like foreigners. There’s a bike shop in Guangzhou that doesn’t seem to want to deal with expats. We always get a chilly reception there. But when I visited the Troll this week, there was a young Hong Kong guy in the shop in a dress shirt and tie. It seemed like he snuck away from the office to try on a pair of blue-trimmed Sidi Genius 6.6 Carbon Lites. Of course, the Troll didn’t bother to get up to help the guy. I watched as the customer approached the Troll to ask a question. He used the same manner: bowed head, eye contact averted, an I’m-not-worthy-and-please-don’t-hit-me-or-verbally-abuse-me tone of voice. The Troll grunted out a short sentence and the customer quietly walked back to the Sidi section.
The scene reminded me of the hilarious “Soup Nazi” episode in “Seinfeld.” A chef opens a take-out soup joint that serves amazing soup that the Seinfeld crew become instantly addicted to. But the chef is a short-tempered little man who just wants customers to buy his soup and get the hell out of his shop. If you ask a question or make a special request, the chef yells, “No soup for you!” I’m sure the Troll would love the show. I can hear him now: “No bike gear for you! Get out!”
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