The Importance of First Impressions

I still remember the first “serious” bike I ever bought. Not the one that showed up at birthdays, but the first bike that made me feel like I was choosing a direction, maybe even choosing a version of myself. It wasn’t the most expensive bike, it certainly wasn’t perfect. Of course, it was a mountain bike. I spent weeks researching it, test riding it, hanging out it in the shop, trying to make sense of what made this frame different from that one, and why this level of Shimano was so much more important than that one.

You probably remember your moment, too. The shop. The lighting. The smell of rubber. The simple, unmistakable sense that you were stepping into a larger world and (whether you knew it or not) putting in place the first stone of future decisions.

It’s easy to say that first bike doesn’t matter anymore. People upgrade quickly now. The industry appears to change dramatically every year. Riders are exposed to endless videos, endless reviews, and opinions. However, even in all of that noise, something quiet and deeply human still happens: your first serious bike becomes the reference point you don’t realize you’re using.

Whatever it was about that bike, it left an imprint. Not on the kind of rider you became, but on the kind of bikes you continue to choose.

We’re not as rational as we think. We carry preferences forward. We carry loyalties forward. We carry the geometry, the responsiveness, and the personality of that first real bike forward, even when we swear we’re starting from scratch and buying into a new category.

This, right here, is why the industry finds itself in a strange place. So much of the first-bike experience now happens online.

A bike is a physical experience first, and a digital decision second. We’ve inverted something essential.

We don’t feel the bike. We don’t pick it up. We don’t ride it around the shop. We don’t test its personality.

We scroll through specs. We watch someone else ride the bike we’re thinking about buying. We read reviews written by people we’ll never meet. We see pictures. We compare charts.

That’s why local bike shops matter, despite everything happening around them. Not because they’re romantic or nostalgic, but because they’re one of the few remaining places where a rider can walk in and be surprised by something. You can’t be surprised by a bike on a website. I mean, you can, but it's not the same thing.

You can be surprised by a bike sitting quietly on a shop floor, by a frame you never considered, by the way a bike feels the moment you sit in it, or the way shifts feel and sound.

Today, group rides, even more than shops, have become rolling ecosystems of discovery.

When someone new joins a ride and the only bikes they see are the same brand, the same style, the same tires, the same everything, their sense of what’s possible becomes limited before it ever has a chance to expand.

When a group ride is diverse, when someone rolls up on something unexpected - say a handmade steel frame, a gravel bike that looks like it’s carved from a single piece of metal, an old mountain bike with a modern rebuild - it quietly gives permission for curiosity.

...and I've come to believe this:

It’s curiosity that invites someone in, and it's community that convinces them to stay.

Together, they’re what grow cycling.

We Don’t Need Less Cycling Stuff. We Need More Cycling Community

Rick Sutton is right: we’re drowning in cycling gear.

There’s more choice, more brands, and more noise than anyone can reasonably navigate. But “less stuff” isn’t the real cure. The problem isn’t oversupply. It’s underconnection.

The gap isn’t in the showroom. It’s in the space between a bike purchase and a rider’s first real experience of belonging.

Sondre Norland, CEO of BikeFolder, captures this perfectly: people buy bikes because they want community, activity, connection, and experience. But the moment they roll out of the shop, they’re on their own. No map. No invitation. No pathway into organized cycling or community rides.

You bought a bike. Congratulations. Now what?

Most newcomers don’t fall out of love with cycling. They fall out of place.

We’ve built an industry great at selling equipment and terrible at welcoming people.

Roll up to any club ride.

If you’re new, under-geared, or still finding your fitness, the experience can be brutal. Not because cyclists are unfriendly, but because the system has no structured on-ramps. No “start here.” No gentle pace groups. No continuity from “I bought a bike” to “I belong here.”

Gyms figured this out decades ago. Indoor cycling did, too. Cycling, real-world on the road and on the trails, generally hasn’t.

The real crisis isn’t too much gear. It’s too few invitations.

There are too few community entry points, routes built for beginners, welcoming first experiences, and places where a rider can show up and feel seen, safe, and supported.

Sondre’s pilot in Norway — connecting someone’s newly registered bike to local clubs offering beginner-friendly introduction sessions — is the type of bridge the industry needs. It turns a product purchase into a pathway. It transforms “stuff” into “experience.”

It’s a small step with massive implications:

• More riders become real riders.

• More people ride consistently.

• More communities grow.

• More shops thrive.

• More casual participation events exist and flourish.

• More families, friends, and workplaces begin to ride together.

The industry keeps looking for a commercial fix. But the real fix is cultural.

If we want more people riding, buying, upgrading, joining, showing up, and sticking around, the answer is painfully simple:

• We need more community, not more inventory.

• More connection, not more carbon layups.

• More time on bikes with others, not more SKUs.

• More clubs with open doors.

• More local rides with real structure.

• More ways in.

Cycling doesn’t grow because products get better. Cycling grows because people feel like they belong.

When they do, everything else including sales, participation, loyalty, advocacy, follows naturally.

Rick is right to say our gratitude should be higher than our expectations.

But gratitude grows fastest when we’re outside together. Riding, laughing, learning, welcoming new riders, and remembering that the reason we all started wasn’t gear.

It was community.

Until the industry understands this, truly understands it, we’ll keep misdiagnosing the problem. Not too much stuff. Not too many brands. Not even the boom-and-bust cycles.

The real issue is connection. The real opportunity is belonging.

Cycling doesn’t need fewer brands. It needs more bridges.

... and more people waiting at the other side to say,

“Hey! We're glad you’re here. Come ride with us.”

Conversation Pieces vs. Conversations That Matter

Trek Bicycle’s new CheckOUT is a conversation piece. It’s been a hundred+ post topic on multiple threads with cycling friends, so it’s accomplishing one goal as it’s clearly engineered to turn heads and be talked about.

It does make me wonder, though. Is this the kind of conversation the cycling industry needs right now?

Everyone keeps hearing the same refrain: the industry is struggling. Sales are soft, inventories are swollen, and even the largest brands are adjusting expectations. At the same time, many new bike announcements continue to push further up-market with hyper-niche, $8,000+ (Trek) and $20,000+ (Specialized) machines that few riders will ever buy.

This raises the bigger question: who are these products really for? And, what story do they tell about the future of cycling?

The Juxtaposition

The same day Trek’s new model was launched, that evening, I was at a community screening of Together We Ride: Minority Mountain Bikers In The Heartland. It’s a short film about cycling, the connections it creates, and the exclusivity that is inherent in the sport.

What struck me most wasn’t just the film itself, but the conversation in the room before and after the screening: People want to ride. They want to connect. But, too often, they can’t. Price and availability are real barriers.

These moments were a stark juxtaposition. On one side of the industry: a high-profile launch celebrating a bike most people will never even consider owning. On the other: a community conversation showing how much demand there really is if only cycling were more accessible.

I walked back to my car asking myself, “Why does the industry continue pouring its resources into the wrong side of the story?”

A Conversation We’re Avoiding?

• What if the real opportunity isn’t in making the elite, performance tier even more elite and capable, but in expanding the base of riders who can even imagine owning a decent bike in the first place?

• What if the gap isn’t a lack of cutting-edge performance, but a lack of accessible, reliable, and inspiring entry points into cycling?

• What if the industry’s strongest lever for growth isn’t technology or exclusivity, but narrative—reframing cycling as something attainable, joyful, and essential to everyday life?

Looking at the Market Differently

When we compare the U.S. market with global patterns, another question surfaces: Why do we keep treating high-end bikes as the centerpiece of the story, when the largest and most valuable markets globally are built on affordability, accessibility, and sheer volume of participation?

In much of the world, cycling doesn’t even consider the “n+1” indulgence. It’s simply a daily choice for mobility, health, or community. Why aren’t we paying closer attention to this?

Who Could Lead the Way?

Some brands are already hinting at what this could look like, leaning into style, affordability, and connection in ways that resonate with riders just starting out. But is that enough?

Why can’t a mainstream brand take the leap and commit to a wider audience? Not just through price point, but through community-building and narratives that make cycling welcoming to everyone? (Not feeling welcoming, but actually welcoming)

And if not, what does that mean for the industry’s long-term health, beyond endless cycles of (some degree of) boom and then bust?

A Narrative Crossroads

The truth is, there are no easy answers here. High-end bikes will always have a place. Innovation at the performance level does influence and impact overall product development, and it does drive culture in important ways.

However, maybe it’s worth asking: are we leaning too hard on those dynamics, while missing the opportunity to grow cycling into something much larger, more inclusive, and more sustainable?

What would happen if brands shifted even a portion of their energy from building conversation pieces to sparking conversations that matter … those about access, about community, about the millions of people who could become lifelong riders if only the industry met them where they are?

That’s not just a product launch. That’s a market-shaping narrative … and maybe that’s the conversation the industry really needs to be having right now.