The internet is really what struck the first tone of the death knell for brick and mortar retail experience; forcing retailers to decide if they wanted to focus on in-store sales or internet sales – or find the balance between both. Then, after years of finding what worked for their business model, Covid hit and forced a lot of these stores either to the internet or out of business.
I’m sure this can be found in a lot of retail sectors, but the one place it’s hitting home for me is with outdoor gear shops that once got down to a granular level of gear and now find themselves greeting their customers with a smile on their face, only to refer them back to the internet to get the bits and pieces they’re looking for.
There’s a culture there that’s being squashed – unless you’re lucky enough to live in proximity to a place that pulled through the pandemic with its brick-and-mortar ethos still intact. But their far and few between and, up until the middle of last week, I was struggling with it.
Seriously.
My first job in high school, which I kept through college, was working in a local camping store. I started off sweeping the sidewalk and emptying the trash and eventually found myself outfitting people for their next adventure. I knew a little bit of everything and was eager to fill in the blanks on what I didn’t know.
Mickey Finn’s, in my hometown of Berlin, Connecticut used to be a collection of three stores: The Clothing Store, where we all went to get clothes for school. The Honda Shop sold motorcycles, lawnmowers, and parts, and housed a lot of backstock for the three stores. And the Camping Store, where I worked, that was a mix of workwear, work boots, hiking boots, canoes, kayaks, and everything else you needed for working, playing, and living in the outdoors.
It’s still around, and it’s still fantastic, but the Honda Shop closed down way before the pandemic, and the camping eliminated the camping section around that time too. This means all of the crazy backstock of bits and pieces went with it all:
Old tents, and last year’s model sleeping bags.
Repair kits for damn near anything.
All the parts you needed to rebuild your grandfather’s Coleman lamp.
Those cool Levi’s jean jackets with the wool collar (miss you, Tommy)..
It’s all gone, except for up in my head where the memories remain.
How many people did I get ready to hike the AT? How about the long trail? How many folks came in for their first kayak and left with their first full-blown roof rack, installed by yours truly?
I made friends there – the people I worked with and people I saw out on the trail, randomly. It was a lifestyle – it wasn’t working retail to me. And all of us were in the same nest of thought in that store. It was our own cultural mecca, and it always smelled like nubuck. And now I miss working with Billy every day.
Anyway.
After Finn’s, I did a spell at Eastern Mountain Sports – smack dab in the middle of its peak performance, before moving on to Thule – where I had the chance to not only design new and improved versions of those racks I sold and installed, but also got the chance to visit all sorts of brick and mortar stores all over the country, to fill my soul coffers of that vibe.
And now a lot of that is gone. Sure, there are places peppered all across this country that I can stop into when I’m out there and catch a whiff of the vibe, but – well. Deep sigh.
Right around this time of year, every year, I start to pivot and get excited about camping on the cold ground/waking up covered in dew in a field full of fog. I yearn for long hikes where I can catch the sunset and still have the whole night ahead of me. Fall is not only my favorite season to be outdoors, but it’s during the switch over from warm weather gear to cold weather gear that I start to look at areas of improvement.
I start to plan out overnight trips up to Vermont, maybe a few camping trips with the girls sprinkled throughout the state – buy a new flannel or a pair of pants. Really wrap my head around it.
Anyway, I wanted to try something new – take a different approach to how I was going to carry my gear on lighter hikes. I spent a few days going down one path, only to find that I was already thinking about how I would need to modify what I was getting so it would suit my needs. I wanted to take a certain hip pack and make it my everyday carry, but I found myself thinking about how I would cut this out and sew that part. It was a mess. And then, after a few days of toiling and exploring on the internet (what the internet is really good for), an errant keystroke led me to the hip pack I wanted, with zero modifications need.
It was everything. I was elated. And then I found out that the pack was discontinued two years ago, and replaced with something that I would need to modify to get it back to its predecessor, and ultimately – what I wanted out of it.
The one thing I know for certain about hanging out in backrooms of mom-and-pop camping stores, and even some of the bigger – national brand ones – is that they always have something old sitting on their shelves somewhere. Last year’s model of this, or a returned bit of that. It’s just part of that vibe – that way of being. There’s always something someone wants on one of those shelves.
Knowing this, I start hunting and pecking. I google and I search and I make a list of the places I’m going to call to see if they have my holy grail of the moment tucked out back by the microwave – that old relic that they pass by on their break, on their way out to toke a rope and might stack their keys and water bottle against but would never consider putting it back on the shelf.
This idea – this hope – is what keeps my blood flowing during the downfall of the retail experience. It’s also what led to me to call a random bike shop (which is basically a camping store with bikes) in Albuquerque where one of its employees took the time to listen to what I had to say, and spent three hours – in his backroom of treasures – looking for this discontinued hip pack for me.
Not only did he find it – returned with tags still on it – and tucked on a shelf, near the microwave – but he took 20% off the top and offered to ship it to me for free.
So, not only am I stoked that this void is being filled – to the point where I went and reassessed all the rest of my gear to see if I could get lightning to strike twice – but I my hope in this culture hanging on for the next big challenge – has been restored.
So yes, gone are the days when things like this happen all the time. But the people working in these shops are the last stronghold – the last chance to keep the vibe alive, and man – Nate, in Alburqurque, I owe you a beer. I think a lot of people owe you a beer, and I am happy to know that peppered throughout the country there’s a little something left, for a little while longer, where some outdoorsy type of person in this situation has the opportunity to tie the strings together, if only for a little while longer.
Bob Dylan once said “What’s lost is lost, we can’t regain what went down in the flood”. But that doesn’t mean that things won’t keep bobbing to the surface from time to time.
Have hope, friends and freaks. The era of the brick-and-mortar retail experience has passed, but it doesn’t mean it’s gone.
Tribe Of Flannel 