Get on a bicycle built for you
Cyclists are turning to traditional British frame-makers, who can tailor the perfect ride, writes Guy Kelly
Keeping up with cyclists can be tiresome work. Thanks to the heroics of Chris Froome in the Tour de France, Britain’s appetite for two-wheeled transport shows little sign of slowing down – and nor does the industry behind it.
In June, Halfords announced that its annual sales had exceeded £1 billion for the first time (a figure helped by the sale of 1.3 million bikes), while Brompton, whose collapsible bicycle is now Britain’s best-selling, recently announced the opening of a London factory that will produce 100,000 models a year.
As with any design sector, the growth of a mass-produced mainstream has also led to the emergence of niche markets, ones that cater to a solvent and more style-conscious customer base.
For serious cyclists, that means bespoke bikes.
Matthew Sowter, who founded Saffron Frameworks in Woolwich, south-east London, in 2009, one of a burgeoning number of traditional bicycle-makers in cities across the UK, argues that the trend for made-tomeasure bicycles follows an entirely natural progression. “With the rise in profile of cycling in this country, as well as an emphasis on healthy living, the whole thing has exploded,” he said. “Riders who want to take it very seriously are willing to spend their money on something handmade and individual to them.”
A bike made by Saffron Frameworks is certainly individual. Each order (normally made and accepted online) begins with an intense three-hour health exam for the rider, conducted with the help of a specialist fitness company. It involves cameras, a 3D scanner and exercises that test a customer’s flexibility.
“The idea is to find out somebody’s ‘body geometry’, which is everything from the length of your bones to the condition of your joints and tissue structure,” Sowter says. “All that information enables me to know exactly what size to make the bike, with precise distances between parts to make sure the person is as comfortable as possible.”
Once he has a full set of measurements, Sowter, 38, who began building bicycles in 2009 when chronic fatigue syndrome rendered him unable to ride, takes a week to weld the carcass of the steel frame. He then finishes it with as much paint, polish and extra touches as his customers desire, led by an extensive menu of options. Anything goes – but at a price. The average custom -build from Saffron Frameworks is £5,000, and there’s a six-month waiting list.
“The whole process is a collaboration between me and the rider,” says Sowter, who describes his clients as people with an “obsessive compulsive disorder about bikes”, ranging from affluent twenty-something professionals to the occasional over-seventies enthusiast.
“That’s what people like about it: it’s a relationship between us. There’s
‘Riders who take it very seriously are willing to spend on something individual’
no ‘standard’ we work from. The customer is researching and working with me, so in that symbiosis they feel like they’re getting their money’s worth.”
Jake Rusby, a 30-year old, self-taught frame-builder operating from a workshop in Dulwich, south London, says the rise of custom bicycles mirrors an established trend across design and culture for stripped-back, updated artisan goods, from craft beers to Roberts radios.
“There’s an increasing preference across the UK for handmade and traditional items, not just in cycling. People don’t necessarily want factory- built goods any more, and they’re willing to pay for that distinction,” he says. “Large companies make perfectly nice bikes, but that intimacy of knowing it was made by one person is worth having.”
Rusby, an art-school graduate, started building bicycles four years ago, pursuing the trade full time in 2012 and starting his own company, Rusby Cycles, which charges between £1,250 and £2,200 for a fully bespoke, painted frame. Building one finished bike over three weeks and undertaking every part of the process himself, Rusby’s waiting list has doubled to seven months in the past two years.
It isn’t all about the frame, of course. On the bustling catwalks of Britain’s cycle lanes – where an admiring glance from under the helmet of a fellow commuter can make or break a morning – accessories are everything. Be it the ding of a traditional flick bell or the wearing of a GoPro camera to record one’s journey, the accoutrements involved with riding a bike have become just as important as the vehicle itself – and bespoke dealers have been busy diversifying.
In Bristol, seen by many as the centre of modern British bike-building, Matt Mears of Temple Cycles uses his range of Italian leather accessories as a means to see him through the leaner months; bike sales can fluctuate with the seasons.
“At the start of the summer, we were building about five bicycles a week,” says Mears, 24, a former engineer who began trading with two friends in November. “As it’s gone on, though, orders have started to slow down a bit. That’s where the extra things come in handy.”
Among Mears’s stylish additions, available in a range of colours online and at Temple Cycle’s pop-up shop in the Clifton area of the city, are a selection of handlebar grips – each designed to suit different styles and speeds of cycling – and vintage-look leather tape, which enthusiasts use to protect their precious frames from chips and scratches.
His top seller, however, is a simple carry handle. Strung across the bars connecting the seat to the main frame, this strip of leather allows the rider to easily hoik their bike up a stairwell or on to trains – a feature of particular handiness for rain-soaked urbanites.
“Oddly, that took months of honing, but it’s understandable that people should go for something so practical for a bike they’ve spent so much on,” he says. “It’s an investment, after all. All our bikes and accessories are simple, but based on a fusion of traditional style and new technology.
“We want to achieve that vibe conjured by Fifties and Sixties French touring bikes, which used clean leather contact points and pastel colours, then mix that with modern mod-cons.
“That’s the thing: people don’t want too much of either. It’s all about balance.”