Published: May 28, 2006

FOR her 40th birthday, Daniele Imperiale-Warner of Brooklyn bought herself a bike. An $8,000 bike.

Daniele Imperiale-Warner of Brooklyn says her customized bicycle, made by Seven Cycles, was worth every penny of its $8,000 price, and helps ease her back pain.

"Some people spend money on watches or cars; this is my big passion," she said, explaining that she rides up to 20 hours a week and occasionally races competitively.

Ms. Imperiale-Warner planned to spend about $3,000 on a ready-made, or stock, bike until a friend recommended that she consider a custom-made model to alleviate the chronic back pain she has from riding. Now, with her specially made bike from Seven Cycles of Watertown, Mass., she says she can "log 75 miles without any pain."

When ordering her new road bike, she chose the frame and parts she wanted. Then the sales technician totaled the price. "I had a heart attack," said Ms. Imperiale-Warner, a college professor. "But I figured, I'm 40, let's go for broke."

Over all, bicycle sales are taking off. Last year was the best year since the 1970's, with more than two million road bikes sold in the United States, according to Steve Madden, editor of Bicycling magazine. An aging population is embracing cycling as a forgiving sport, Mr. Madden said, and many people have been inspired by the success of Lance Armstrong, the seven-time winner of the Tour de France.

Zac Daab, founder of Cascade Bicycle Studio in Seattle, says the growing interest in cycling, specifically high-end cycling, allowed him to start his business this year, selling built-to-order premium bicycles. "I couldn't have done it three years ago," said Mr. Daab, who previously helped design customized bikes at Seven Cycles.

An entry-level off-the-shelf road bike from a specialty bike shop may cost $600 to $700. But enthusiasts with ample disposable income seek out the latest technology and highest quality — and are willing to pay 10 times as much to get it. A customized bike is the ne plus ultra of the bicycling world.

To some, "custom" means simply a choice of components or paint color. But to high-end builders and their connoisseur clients, it means a bicycle built from the ground up for a specific person's body, riding style and preferences.

A customized bike was once a last resort for people who were too tall or too short for ready-made bikes. Today, small independent bike builders are "popping up on every street corner," said Don Walker, who founded the North American Handmade Bicycle Show two years ago. Mr. Walker estimates that there are at least 125 professional builders in the United States. And larger companies like Serotta and Seven Cycles are building their businesses around customization.

"A decade ago, a custom bike was something you waited a year or more for from a one-man shop," said Jennifer Miller, one of the founding employees of Seven Cycles, which opened in 1997 and can generally produce a customized bike in six weeks.

"People were paying $5,000 or $6,000 for stock bikes," Ms. Miller explained. "The opportunity to provide increased customer value by offering fully customized bikes at essentially the same price was a no-brainer." Today, she said, the average price for a customized model is about $8,000.

"It's the Starbucks phenomenon," she said. "People will pay $3 or $4 for a cup of coffee if they can get it just the way they want it." Seven Cycles' sales have increased 50 percent in the last five years, she said, though she would not give specific sales numbers.

Ben Serotta, founder and chief executive of Serotta, based in Saratoga Springs, N.Y., also sees persistent growth at the upper end of the market. The company says it delivers about 3,000 made-to-order road and mountain bikes a year, with annual revenue growth of 15 to 20 percent in recent years. The company offers an entry-level customized model for about $3,500; its highest-end bike goes for $20,000.

Most buyers of high-tech, high-priced bikes are amateur cyclists, not racers. Mr. Serotta sees an increased interest among the "Type A power set who work hard and play hard."

Mr. Daab described the typical customer at his Seattle shop this way: "She's 40, well-educated, professional and knows exactly what she wants."

Others in the business say that while sales to women are increasing, their clientele is still predominantly men. For some, a tailor-made bike is a status symbol, like a luxury car or a fine watch. "It's the best-in-class concept," Mr. Daab added. One thing is certain: they all have enough money to foot the bill.

In buying a made-to-order bike, a customer first chooses a style based on how and where it will be ridden.

Superstrong, ultralight materials like carbon fiber and titanium are used to make frames that might weigh just over two pounds. The frame tubing is selected for the rider's weight and riding style — for example, if the rider climbs hills standing or seated, or pushes on the pedals in a hard gear or spins the pedals in an easier one.

The frame is designed to be compatible with the components the customer selects, like aerodynamic handle bars, disk brakes and lightweight wheels. Features like fender mounts or extra water bottle cages can be added, and corporate graphics or personal initials can be applied to the frame.

Most of the biggest builders of customized bikes work with retail stores, which fit customers for the right bike. Such builders do not sell directly, online or in catalogs. The philosophy, they say, demands skilled personal attention and a lengthy fitting process. At the initial interview, the sales worker takes measurements — not only for things like shoe size and shoulder width but also for hamstring and hip flexibility — and asks questions about the client's occupation, past injuries, riding style and cycling goals.

In 1998, Serotta opened its School of Cycling Ergonomics in Saratoga Springs, attracting bike retailers from all corners of the country and as far away as Australia and South Korea. A three-day training program is required before a shop can become a certified Serotta dealer.

"The school is not a profit center," Mr. Serotta said. "We are advancing the science of bike fit. What makes the best bike is what makes it perfect for you. How do we get that information?" Ms. Imperiale-Warner bought her 40th birthday present from Conrad's, a high-end shop in Manhattan. It required an initial fitting, a phone interview, then two more hourlong fittings. "It was like getting a wedding dress," she said. It took six weeks before she picked up her titanium and carbon fiber bike.

"I instantaneously fell in love with it," she said. "It's worth every penny."

CARRBORO, N.C. — David Holmes is being fitted for a new bike. The process will take almost four hours, but it's a small price to pay with spring in the air and all.

Sen. John Kerry had two Serottas custom-fitted to his lanky frame.

The real price he'll pay will be a bit higher. About $6,000, give or take a few hundred. Holmes, 40, a software engineer, isn't being fitted for any bike. It's a Serotta, the "it" road bike of the moment.

Named 2004's bicycle of the year by Bicycling magazine, the Serotta is where cyclists in the know are resting their fannies these days.

Robin Williams has one. Sen. John Kerry owns Serottas, too, including an $8,000 custom Ottrott model. (He famously fell off one of his outside Boston during the presidential campaign.)

Add to the list Jessica Seinfeld, Jerry's wife; Revlon's Ron Perelman and his actress wife, Ellen Barkin; Susan Dell, wife of computer billionaire Michael Dell, and you're riding in a pretty fast crowd.

Why? Two words: Lance Armstrong.

When Armstrong began winning the Tour de France, he made it cool to ride a road bike. Before that, mountain biking was the craze.

And as more people began buying Trek road bikes to imitate Armstrong — first the 5900 Superlight, now the Madone — the true geeks wanted to be even more elite, buying ultra-expensive models. Enter the Serotta, which can cost more than $10,000 fully equipped. (Related story: This bike and its price are Scorchers)

The high-end road bike market begins at about $2,500, with sales rising steadily in the past two to three years, says Megan Tompkins, editor of Bicycle Retailer and Industry News.

In 2004, road bike sales accounted for 28% of the market, up from 16% in 2002, according to the National Bicycle Dealers Association.

But what many say gives Serotta's bike a leg up, so to speak, is personalized fittings, taught at the Serotta School of Cycling Ergonomics, where technicians learn the intricacies of melding a Serotta bike with its rider.

The fitting here at Cycling Specifics will touch on every aspect of Holmes' life. It's part psychology, part physiology, part biography: that he rides 12 miles of back roads to work, that he competes in Olympic-style triathlons (best time: 2:33), that he needs a lean machine (16 pounds) under his 158-pound, 6-foot frame to cut his time.

"The best bike isn't the best bike unless it's the best bike for the person we're building it for," says Ben Serotta, company founder and father figure.

The 40 full-time employees at Serotta's Saratoga Springs, N.Y., headquarters built 3,000 bikes last year, about a dozen a day. "It's not the short path to huge success," Serotta concedes. (Trek, by comparison, has 1,400 employees and annual sales of $430 million.) Each Serotta takes up to 40 man-hours to build, more than a Mercedes-Benz.

How do you describe a Serotta?

"In a word, it's plush," says William Strickland, executive editor of Bicycling. "It doesn't beat you up. It's more comfortable and it's more fun."

Chris Crowley, in his book Younger Next Year: A Guide to Living Like 50 Until You're 80 and Beyond, credits his Serotta with getting him off his duff.

"My kids bought me one when I turned 50," says Crowley, now 70. "It's so damn pretty, it sucked me right out of the door."

Fitter Lori Hoefer, who begins Holmes' session chatting on a brown suede sofa as James Taylor sings in the background, lets Holmes talk as if he was on Freud's couch. The conversation ranges from arch flexibility (Holmes pedals with his big toes) to how much a rider sweats (a titanium frame is best for sweaters).

The fitting takes Holmes to a stationary bike, to his old bike, to a yoga mat, and then a massage table, where arms and legs are stretched. A plumb bob is hung from his knee to his shoe to check if the knee is too far ahead, while a red laser is used to see how Holmes' knees track.

Finally, the talk gets down to the frame. Hoefer thinks a Legend ST would be best for Holmes. The price for frame alone: $3,795.

Not everyone is being swept away.

David Herlihy, author of the widely praised Bicycle: The History, a definitive look at the bicycle, is amused by all this.
"My favorite remains my 1983 De Rosa, " he says. "I'm frozen in time. Like Rip Van Winkle. Clearly some of these fancy materials make a difference, but my De Rosa is still very fun to ride."

Five years ago, back in the Stone Age as far as bicycling is concerned, Anthony Laskaris was thrilled when he sold a bike for $2,000. It was a cause for celebration.

Back then, the really fancy bikes were made of aluminum, the most expensive set of wheels on the market might approach $800, and a $2,000 sale was proof that big money, top-of-the-line bikes had a place on the suburban side streets of America.

That was then. Today, when Laskaris hears the cash register ring up a $2,000 sale, he doesn't even raise an eyebrow.

''That will buy a good intermediate bike for a recreational rider," said Laskaris, who has been in the bike business for 22 years and is now vice president of the Cycle Loft in Burlington. ''Now we start to get excited if something sells for $5,000. At that point, you're talking about a pretty nice bicycle."

Call it bike inflation, and if you haven't been in a bike store for a few years, steel yourself for some serious sticker shock. A $7,000 road bike is no longer an anomaly; $10,000 editions are popping up at recreational weekend rides around Greater Boston, and area custom builders are taking orders for road bikes that are creeping toward $15,000.

Where will it end? Dealers say the first $20,000 road bike is coming soon to a Daddy Warbucks near you.

''The first time I saw a $10,000 bike was a few years ago," said Stephen Madden, the editor of Bicycling magazine, which is based in Pennsylvania. ''It kind of blew my mind, but now it's really pretty easy to spend $8,000 on a bike. I know that sounds kind of crazy, but there are plenty out there."

There's a slew of factors contributing to this climb. Lighter, stronger aerospace materials available to bike makers get better -- and more expensive -- every year.

The Lance effect -- Lance Armstrong's seven consecutive Tour de France victories -- pushed cycling into the mainstream and gave it a whole new status. And the number of aging boomers with bad knees who have hung up their running shoes just as they hit their peak earning years has injected a critical mass of wealth and popularity never before seen in American cycling.

Around Greater Boston, with its concentration of successful, white, male techies -- who are at the core of this trend, according to market analysts -- the proliferation of high-tech bikes is unusually broad. One result: A nucleus of custom builders and frame makers has made this area a mecca for the production of the best bikes in the world.

The economics of a $10,000 bike look like this: A high-end custom-built frame runs $5,000 to $6,000. The forks -- the arms that connect the handlebars to the wheels -- cost $600. Carbon-fiber wheels can run $3,000, and components -- the derailleur, handlebars, pedals, and seat -- another $2,000 to $3,000. Then toss in a $2,000 custom paint job.

This trend has been building for a decade but it began a steep ascent three or four years ago as demand at the upper echelon grew. Every season the high end jacks up a little higher, the bikes get a little lighter and the bragging rights a thousand dollars more expensive.

''A generation ago these guys were playing golf, but who wants to play golf?" Madden said. ''So instead of spending all their money on Big Bertha or some fancy driver, they're putting all this money in their bikes so they can show up on their Saturday-morning ride and one venture capitalist can pull up to an investment banker and ask him what he's riding. . . . It's another way for these guys to compete."

Armstrong's seven Tour de France victories between 1999 and 2005 added jet fuel to the bike boom. In 2000 there were 145,000 high-end road bikes -- averaging about $1,100 -- sold across the country, they made up just 4 percent of the total number of bikes sold and accounted for 11 percent of the retail dollars spent, according to Jay Townley, a bicycle market analyst in Wisconsin.

Last year, when Armstrong won his seventh tour title and became a genuine American icon, the number of these road bikes sold jumped to 498,000, accounting for nearly 16 percent of the market share and 40 percent of the retail dollars.

And those numbers do not reflect the highest end of the business -- the bikes that go for more than $4,000. Townley estimates that market has climbed from about 20,000 to 90,000 over the same time.

Riding that wave are boutique outfits like Independent Fabrications, a custom builder in Somerville that sells about 900 frames a year. Each is built to order, from the length of the tubes to the angles at which they're set. The company's top line, the XS, sells for $5,500. A custom paint job -- done onsite -- can run another $2,500, said Matthew Bracken, the company's president.

''It's like anything, people want more customization, more specialization," said Bracken. ''Americans work hard, they want to play hard, they want to pamper themselves, so when they're out there riding they know they're on the best bike they can ride."

Five years ago, to spend more than $5,000 you had to head to a custom builder like IF. But as that boutique market share -- and its higher profit margins -- have grown, big companies have introduced their own exotic lines. Now mass producers like Trek offer a series priced between $5,000 to $8,000.

That competition is pushing the boutiques to sharpen the proverbial knife even more, making their custom fit bikes better, lighter and more comfortable -- and more expensive, said Jennifer Miller, marketing director for Seven, a Watertown custom builder.

Seven sold about 2,700 bikes last year, most in the $7,000-$8,000 range with the most expensive topping out at $14,000.

''There is a certain prestige in having the most expensive bike out there. The market keeps demanding it," she said.

So, just what are you buying for that kind of money? Most obviously, weight -- or lack of it. As bike frames have evolved from steel to titanium to aluminum to carbon fiber, they've gotten lighter, stronger, more responsive and more comfortable. In five years, the best bikes have dropped from 18 to 15 pounds.

A set of wheels, which up until a few years ago maxed out around $800, are now regularly selling for $3,000 as they have moved from steel to carbon fiber. A company in Germany has even begun selling a $5,000 set.

One bike recently sold at the Cycle Loft was a 16-pound, 30-gear, carbon-fiber and titanium Serotta Ottrott for $8,500 (the same bike Senator John Kerry owns several versions of). To enthusiasts, it's like a Ferrari.

Part of the appeal is that these are the bikes the pros ride. ''You can't go out and buy Jeff Gordon's car but you can go out and buy Lance Armstrong's bike," said Madden. ''People like to be able say they're buying the best."

And then again, some people don't.

''I think it can get a little ridiculous," said Jack Donohue, who is on the board of the Charles River Wheelmen, a local cycling group. ''For me, its gone way beyond the point of diminishing returns."

For two decades, Donohue has made his 24-mile round trip commute by bicycle year-round from Bedford to Westford.

He logs close to 10,000 miles a year and has built most of his bikes himself out of used parts. He is, in short, a biker's biker, 58 years old with legs of steel.

''It's not the bike," he said of his endurance. ''It's the rider."

IN April, two months before turning 39, Stacy Jargowsky decided to learn to ride a bicycle. So she spent $9,000 for a brushed-silver custom-made bike called a Guru. “If I can only have one, I feel like it should be the best,” she said. It was made of titanium, which — gearhead chatter about high performance, ultralight strength and lifetime durability notwithstanding — is as incredibly cool as it sounds. (Try saying “I’m taking my titanium Guru out for a spin today.” Don’t you feel better?)

A few months later, Ms. Jargowsky, who works for Flybar, a pogo-stick manufacturer, spent $10,000 for another custom-made cycle. “They kind of become like pets,” she said. “Once you have one, you want to get another.” This time she bought a Cervelo, made of carbon fiber. It’s black. Carbon, according to many in the gearhead community, is even cooler than titanium.

That Ms. Jargowsky spent the equivalent of a few years’ tuition at a perfectly respectable state university to buy two bikes when she barely knew how to ride may strike some people as — let’s be honest here — floridly insane. Then again, people who raise their eyebrows at titanium Gurus and the men and women who love them like pets, it is safe to say, have not been paying attention to what’s been happening at the upper end of the cycling market in Manhattan.

“You go to Central Park and there are all these expensive custom-made bikes, and they’re not just for the bike geeks anymore,” said Noah Budnick, a deputy director at Transportation Alternatives, a nonprofit group that lobbies for bicycle-friendly laws in New York City. “You have these corporate guys now. I like to say that bicycling is the new golf.”

Nationwide, demand for specially made bikes is higher than ever. “Custom bike sales are on the rise, and we’re nowhere near the saturation point yet,” said Megan Tompkins, the editor of Bicycle Retailer and Industry News, a trade magazine.

Lance Armstrong’s seven Tour de France victories provide one explanation why the road bike has seized back ground it had lost to mountain bikes in the ’80s and ’90s.

Another reason: aging baby boomers with worn-out knees have embraced cycling as a low-impact, aerobically demanding alternative to cartilage-grinding sports like basketball and tennis. The explosive growth of triathlons, whose participants need bicycles that will perform at long distances, has created tens of thousands more buyers since 2000. Finally — and not to be underestimated, especially in Manhattan — rich people like to buy cool things.

It’s no secret to anyone who has ever endured an encounter with a grease-stained, eye-rolling, heavily sighing bicycle shop employee that customer service in the industry has historically ranged from sullen to supercilious to overtly hateful. (“It’s one of the few retail industries where a condition for employment seems to be utter contempt for the customer,” said one industry executive.)

Perhaps that’s why many local sellers of custom bikes are newcomers to the market and eager to cater to a discriminating clientele. In January, JackRabbit, based in Brooklyn, opened a store at 42 West 14th Street, near Union Square. It traffics almost exclusively in custom bicycles, mostly carbon and titanium. So does two-year-old SBR MultiSports, at 203 West 58th Street, where Ms. Jargowsky bought her bikes. Signature Cycles opened its appointment-only store at 80 West End Avenue in February.

Although Altheus Cycling and Endurance Center, based in Rye, N.Y., closed its Union Square branch this week, Tom Crawford, the store’s president, said the company plans to open at least one Manhattan outpost in 2007. In mid-April, another store that specializes in custom bicycles, Cadence Cycling and Multisport Centers in Philadelphia, will open an 11,000-square-foot store at 174 Hudson Street.

Customers who buy bikes at any of these shops first undergo an interrogation that bears more similarity to an adoption proceeding than to a bicycle purchase. What are their hopes for their new bicycle? What are their dreams? After the discussion comes the hallmark feature of the custom bike experience: the fitting. An assessment can last one to five hours, and — depending on the store — may involve computerized pedaling analysis, range-of-motion tests and individually designed insoles for cycling shoes (all for $200 to $375).

The cheapest bike at any of the stores costs about $1,600 (a single-speed aluminum road bike), and the most expensive, $23,000 (a carbon time-trial bike sold at Signature Cycles that comes with handmade German wheels at $5,500 a set).

If traditional bicycle shops are to SBR, Altheus and JackRabbit as coach is to first class, then Signature Cycles is a Gulfstream jet. “Very, very boutique,” David Jordan, a cycling coach and former professional racer, said of Signature Cycles. He said that Paul Levine, Signature’s owner, will “offer you a glass of Courvoisier while you discuss your cycling habits.”

At Signature Cycles’ Manhattan store (there is also a branch in Central Valley, N.Y.), there is a massage table for range-of-motion analysis. There is an espresso machine. There is, at the bar, Penfolds Shiraz and Maker’s Mark. Courvoisier, too. There is a shower, because the fitting can be strenuous, and, as Grant Salter, an employee, said, “Our clients are Wall Street guys, and they don’t want to go back to the office after a visit here and close a $5 million deal all sweaty and smelly.”

To cyclists for whom the phrase “close a $5 million deal” has approximately the same relevance as “Why not take a weekend jaunt to the third moon of Jupiter,” bicycles like the ones sold at Signature may represent nothing so much as the glittery and degraded signs of a gilded age’s inevitable decline. Don’t tell that to custom bike owners, though.

A year ago, when Manny Vidal came to Signature Cycles, he was 42 and hadn’t been on a road bike for 20 years, and, at 5 feet 11 inches, weighed 260 pounds. He would go to the gym once or twice a week. He felt tired often.

Since buying his $10,000 gray titanium-and-carbon Serotta, Mr. Vidal, the chief executive of Vidal Partnership, which specializes in advertising in the Hispanic market, has lost more than 40 pounds. He rides at least 5 days a week for 90 minutes.

Mr. Vidal admits that his Serotta is sometimes more than just something he pedals. “Oh, it’s definitely an accessory,” he said. “People stop you and comment on the bike. They’ll want to talk about it, ask you about it. They’re the same kinds of looks I used to get when I drove a Porsche.”

Ms. Jargowsky, who rides 60 to 70 miles a week, also confesses to a special bond with her bikes.

“The first time I had to check my triathlon bike for my race, I really noticed it missing in my home,” said Mr. Jargowsky, who finished three triathlons this summer. “I would look out in the hallway and it wasn’t there. It was kind of sad.”

An accessory? Sad? Are these the sentiments of serious cyclists or well-heeled fanatics? Is there a difference? Dr. David Levine, an orthopedic surgeon at the Hospital for Special Surgery in Manhattan, took up cycling three years ago. Now 39, he rides three or four laps around Central Park every weekday morning, with a group of other doctors from the hospital. They average about 16 minutes for a 6-mile lap, or 22.5 miles an hour. Dr. Levine (no relation to Paul, the Signature Cycles owner) rides a carbon Colnago, which he got from an Italian anesthesiologist who, he said, “has a nice connection to a bike shop in Como.”

Yes, he said, riders of high-end bikes notice other high-end bikes. Is there wheel envy? “I’m not sure I’d call it that,” he said, adding that it’s more a matter of proud owners comparing the advantages of their bikes’ technology.

Dr. Levine bristled slightly when it was suggested that people like him may be a little, um, obsessed with what is, after all, just a bicycle.

“You do feel a connection with it,” he said. “But I don’t think anyone in our group takes it to a psychotic, unreasonable extent.”

He paused. “But my wife might disagree with that.”

Richard Caseby, cycle addict, on his quest for perfection with a custom-made £4,000 dream machine

Like all the worst addictions mine began innocently.

One day I thought I’d try cycling to work.

But it’s quite a journey from commuting on a beaten-up mountain bike to the point where you’re eyeing up a custom-made titanium racing machine with a £4,000-plus price tag. Well, that’s the story of my addiction. From spliff to crack den in three years flat.

When the mountain bike was stolen I bought a hybrid that was much faster on the five-mile spin to the office. Just when I began to enjoy the glow of regular exercise, my pusher moved in.

Howard, a bean-counter in our finance department, sidled up and asked whether I’d ever tried a “proper” road bike. He had one and he did epic rides on it.

He showed a few snaps of himself and his pals hurtling down Alpine passes at 60mph. This was the real rush — a stage of the Tour de France, just like a pretend pro. Wouldn’t I like to try some of that? So I blew £2,000 on an Airborne road bike.

Of course, you then pedal about 5,000 miles a year to get fit enough to do the bike justice, and justify the expense. Then you need a goal to focus all the training. That means you sign up for one of the continental cyclosportives — a mass race which takes you 100 miles up and down three or four classic cols. By that point you’re truly hooked because the sense of wellbeing in the saddle is almost like a meditation.

It got worse. I started snapping up rusty bike frames from eBay, smuggling them into the house like a dirty secret. A classic 1950s Cinelli is hidden in the loft begging for a paint job. I even logged on to bike forums so I could swap nerdy information with other hopeless cases. And then I discovered a company called CycleFit and it all went off the scale.

These people understand. They ride bikes, race them and engineer each model for the physical idiosyncrasies of each customer. They are the Savile Row of cycling, the final destination for addicts like me.

THE FITTING
The basic double triangle of the bicycle has not changed in 130 years. Even Jeremy Clarkson — who regards cyclists as no more than potential roadkill — can appreciate that this design is the one engineers got right first time: their hole in one.

What CycleFit does is fine tune the riding position until you arrive at the sweet spot — the perfect fit that produces the most effective and comfortable transfer of power.

Mark Kirkman, CycleFit’s exercise physiologist, spends two hours measuring body symmetry (my right leg turns out to be shorter than the left), flexibility (middling for a desk jockey) and cycling style (I’m an inelegant masher).
He looks at the way I stand (abnormally long legs) and measures the tilt of my feet — valgus or varus (tilting out or in, respectively). All this is based around an interview: do I suffer pain in knees, back or hands? What is my training schedule, how far do I ride, what are my ambitions? It’s clear I’m very much a type — a middle-aged white-collar worker chasing his youth. “You said it, not me,” murmurs Mark.

Many of CycleFit’s customers are City types who train hard for continental races like the Etape du Tour and La Marmotte, another classic leg-breaker. In terms of a midlife crisis it’s like buying a Ferrari and having to supply the engine yourself.

The sizing is based around the Sizecycle — an infinitely adjustable static bike — which reveals any poor posture or defective pedalling.

As I spin, Mark studies the co-ordinates using a goniometer, a giant protractor, to measure knee angles, then a plumbline to check the position of my knees over the pedal axles. He sorts out the saddle position in relation to the pedals before moving on to calculate the ideal top-tube length — the horizontal distance from the top of the seat tube to the top of the head tube. This will affect handling and comfort.

Are the legs extended to the optimum angle? Is the chest open to allow deep breathing on a long climb? He then uses a light beam to check the alignment of my legs in action.

Mark films me on the Sizecycle, plays back the result and then invites other technicians to check my cycling position. My knees were blushing at all the attention. It was like a once-over by Trinny and Tranny.

If one leg is even minutely shorter than the other it can throw the pelvis out of kilter. This is sorted with shims under the shoe cleats that also correct variances to foot tilt. By the time I’ve been fitted with custom moulded footbeds, my pedalling position is confirmed as passing muster.

All the data are fed into a computer by Phil Cavell, the CycleFit boss, and out comes an ideal geometry — the bike I was born to ride.


THE BIKE
Ben Serotta bikes are among the classiest in the world. His top of the range carbon fibre and titanium model, the Ottrott, will cost you £4,150 — for the frame. Throw in forks, wheels and other components and you’re looking at the thick end of £7,000. So why so much for a double triangle that’s been kicking around for over a century? It can take as many as 60 hours to build a Serotta frame, from the selection of the double-butted titanium tubes (internally thicker towards each end), through welding and finishing.

The tubes are designed to deliver strength and compliance exactly where they are needed — thicker near the cranks where you put down the power, for example, with thinner tubes running from the rear fork ends to the seat tube, for shock absorption. Each tube is handpicked for the individual rider and each dropout for the wheels carved from a solid ingot of titanium. This must be one of the most over-engineered bikes ever made.

The carbon forks come in three stiffnesses to suit the rider’s weight and multiple angles to match the chosen handling characteristics — shorter for a lively ride, longer for more relaxed.

All my data is sent to Saratoga Springs, New York, where the chief designer builds my frame — a matt-finish Concours. Five weeks later it arrives in London. Since this is a dream bike there is no stinting on the rest of the components — full Campagnolo Record groupset and Mavic Ksyrium wheels. Total price: £4,300.


THE RIDE
After the final build in Covent Garden brings frame and parts together, the bike is put on a static turbo trainer and I’m asked to ride it under the watchful eye of the CycleFit gang. The handlebars and stem are tweaked and I’m ready to take to the open road on a work of art.

On the first 50-mile loop down to Kent and back up to London I could have wept — of all the bikes I’ve ridden this was the One. It feels like an extension of the body — just a welcome extra limb. No ache or twinge. The bike simply feels like it isn’t there.

When you put down the power the stiffness comes through and yet it feels beautifully compliant on a fast, uneven flat. Eight hours in the saddle is a pleasure.

“We sell dreams,” says Phil Cavell, “but our job is to match that dream to a reality — the reality of what you are and how you ride.”

All I need now is a new engine — but that’s what money can’t buy. Or maybe I just need fuel injection. So pass the testosterone patches, Floyd.