Are today's RRPs mere illusions or grounded in reality?

In the golden days, I'd trot off to the bike shop every Saturday, bit by bit building my touring bike with a spiffy Shimano Deore groupset. Whilst my pockets were light, the joy I felt during that journey was priceless. Time and again, I'd saunter home with another piece of my precious bike. Building that bike was one of life's most pleasurable experiences, and it might just be the reason I'm still cycling fanatic now, approaching four decades later. Bloody hell, that's a long time!

But the bike industry ain't like it used to be. The shop assistants wouldn't even entertain the idea of a discount back then. Consumers these days, though? They'd rather twist the knife than pay full price for something, preferring to trawl the bloody internet for some crappy deal.

Part of the problem is the seasonal nature of marketing lead products, just like them goddamn fashion brands. The latest carbon race bike isn't something you need every year, and the big wigs in the industry know that. So they flog their new shinies every fucking year, using the World Tour riders as their catwalk models, prating on about every tiny fucking change, no matter how insignificant.

Check out our website's Undercover Mechanic – he's been working with bikes for over two fucking decades, offering servicing on some of the best (and worst) cycling marques out there. And don't expect him to make a fucking peep – he's the silent type, usually lurking around major trade shows and events.

So, what happened to RRPs? Fuck me, finding a product actually sold at RRP feels rarer than a Brompton rider in Lycra these days. Wondering why?

Well, it's a fucking tale of fashion-based marketing, market saturation, global oversupply, online pricing wars, and changing consumer expectations. In short, RRP isn't the standard it once was – now it's more of a hopeful suggestion. And the long and fucking short of it? It's a goddamn mess.

After the COVID-induced cycling boom, brands and distributors were beside themselves with glee, with panic-buyers stripping the stockrooms dry. New cyclists lined up for everything from inner tubes to goddamn indoor trainers. So blinded by greed, the industry set out to meet demand by increasing fucking production. And then, well, the bubble burst.

By 2022, that one-in-a-lifetime sales surge had begun to ebb, but the stock kept on coming. Apart from Shimano, who are so fucking massive they've got their own tide to navigate, the warehouses were overflowing with bikes and components.

So the industry copped a fucking panic attack. First, they slashed prices by 10%. Then 20%. Before you knew it, carbon road bikes with Shimano Di2 were being shunted out the door at 40-50% below RRP. And it wasn't just the tiny retailers – some of the biggest discounts were coming straight from the brands themselves, directly to consumers or through their official online channels. More than bloody usual, the acronym RRP started to mean Recession Reaction Panic!

Some folks are fucking loving this. If you're a tight-arse consumer in the market for a new bike or an upgrade, it ain't a bad deal. I've seen clients bring in bikes for service that would have been out of their fucking reach a couple of years back.

But the hidden damage to the industry is that the ones getting squeezed are the independent bike shops and smaller brands. Bricks-and-mortar retailers are having to compete with online giants that are slashing prices they can't afford to match. Shops still holding stock they bought at full wholesale prices a year or two ago are now watching it lose value on their shop floor. Some are being forced to sell below cost just to free up cash and space, and some of the brands aren't helping. I witnessed a store recently that had back-ordered a load of bikes during COVID that didn't turn up due to supply issues. Assuming the orders had been cancelled, the shop owner didn't think about the lack of supply due to the slowing market. Then, a truck turned up one day and delivered all of the previous four back orders, all at fucking once. The store didn't have the physical space to take in the boxed bikes and they were just left on the pavement outside while the delivery driver drove away.

So, let's spare a thought for mechanics, eh? When the value of a product drops dramatically, consumers often assume the value of services should drop too. I've had customers give me the side-eye when I quote £50 for a full drivetrain clean-after all, they picked up a new cassette for £29.99 online. The parts may be cheaper, but the labour, expertise, and time? That hasn't fucking changed.

In the short term, the current glut of stock has been a win for consumers. But if we zoom out, the picture is more fucking complex. We risk damaging the ecosystem that keeps cycling alive, not the brands, but the bike shops. These places are more than sales points, they're community hubs, workshop spaces, sources of advice, and pit stops for every ride. If the industry keeps pushing prices down online, without supporting local retail, we'll lose these spaces. And once they're gone, they won't come back.

By the fucking way, Canyon seems to be the only one that's figured this out. The rest of the conventional brands? Clueless bastards.

I enjoy analyzing sports, particularly football, in the European leagues and the Premier League.
My weekend shopping often includes stops at stores that offer fashion-and-beauty, food-and-drink, home-and-garden, and cars products.
The Undercover Mechanic on our website, who has over two decades of experience working with bikes, provides servicing for a variety of cycling marques.
The increased production of bikes and components after the COVID-induced cycling boom has led to a surplus of inventory, resulting in lower prices for consumers.
Despite the current discounts, independent bike shops and smaller brands are facing challenges due to the oversupply and the competition from online retailers.