The Master of All He Surveys

The Mechanic Giving Old Bikes, and Old Values, a New Lease of Life

Korné Boekholt, the owner of Fietslab © Jacques Malherbe

At first glance, a conversation with Korné Boekholt is like a conversation with any other businessman. The thirty-five-year-old has a no-nonsense way of speaking. Each word has its place, like the tools on one of his immaculately kept workbenches. He talks matter-of-factly about growth and value, about profit and turnover. All the while his blue eyes flick around his shop, assessing each bicycle that is wheeled past with the smooth sound of a well-lubricated chain.

However, it doesn’t take long to realize that growth and value are terms that mean something very different at Fietslab, where Boekholt has built and sold salvaged, vintage and custom bikes since 2016. “I see my profit as different and I can't calculate it. Yeah, I can financially but that's only money and money is the least interesting,” he says. “What is my social impact?  What's my sustainable impact? That's way more interesting and that's a value you can't put into money.”

This mindset seems to come naturally to Boekholt, something he attributes to his rural upbringing in the Frisian village of Wommels. “That's something we do at home as well, fix up stuff,” he says “I grew up like this.” Though he grew up restoring old furniture and building barns out of recycled bricks, one thing Boekholt did not have was a bicycle-building experience. “My Dad fixed flat tires, but besides that, we went to the bike shop,” he remembers. 

“I see potential in all of these things around”

Indeed, we spend little time talking about the dozens of bikes surrounding us. They seem almost incidental, a means to the ultimate end of creating value out of something others might throw away. “I like bikes, yeah, but I'm not a cyclist,” he says, “I see potential in all things. There’s basically opportunity everywhere.” It’s a philosophy borne out not only by the refurbished bicycle frames hanging from the ceiling, some significantly older than their owner, but also by the shop itself. 

There's the burgundy kitchenette on the opposite wall, built almost exclusively from materials already on hand. “The only thing I had to buy was the tap,” he says “I bought it used for €25.” The workbenches too are built from wood and shelving salvaged from his previous shop. The beams, from which bicycles are suspended at the eye-level, once propped up a stage. Everywhere you look, things are on their second, third or fourth life. “This is not new; this is very old-school. To me, this is the only thing that makes sense, to work like this. It’s logical,” says Boekholt.

One of Fietslab’s salvaged workbenches © Jacques Malherbe

Fietslab is itself a product of this logical, intuitive approach. Starting with the repair of a salvaged bike for his girlfriend, Boekholt began assembling bicycles to sell to fellow students from parts he found around town or for free on Facebook. “It’s crazy what people just give away,” he says. After making his first significant sales of refurbished racing bikes at a market in Hamburg, Fietslab grew to its current size of twelve employees, based in the historical building, which once housed the famous WWII-era bicycle maker, Glaudé. “It all went quite organically,” says Boekholt.

However, he's uncomfortable about the potential pitfalls of unsustainable growth. “I think we're quite big already and I wouldn't want to go any bigger. I want to be able to keep on doing our thing,” says Boekholt, an attitude that was significantly challenged by Fietslab’s award of a Duurzame Dertig prize, a competition for the Netherlands’ most innovative and sustainable companies which carries with it a marketing budget of €50 000. It's left Boekholt ambivalent. “It’s recognition for what we do and that was great,” he says “and I also thought it was funny because, how is it actually possible that I win this prize for doing something very old-fashioned. I find it amazing.” However, he fears that spending additional money on marketing may jeopardize his company’s sustainability. “I can put €50 000 into marketing, but if people start to come in way more, then I can't give them the quality that I promised,” he says, “I wasn't planning on spending that amount of money. It's like a waste of money basically.” 

One senses that, though rapid growth may impact Fietslab’s overall mission of sustainability, Boekholt also resents the idea of having less time for the small details. He keeps a close eye on his mechanics’ work and apologizes for the state of his immaculate shop floor when I arrive, “Normally we would spend an hour cleaning, but one of my guys is sick,” he says.

Everything in its place: Boekholt’s system for keeping track of repairs © Jacques Malherbe

He refers to his employees as “my guys”, many of them arriving with little or no formal training, something he seems to relish. “I had this guy a year ago. I didn’t pick him for his skill as a mechanic, because he didn’t have it. I picked him because I could see this guy shared my values. He was great for the group dynamic and he was great with the customers.” 

It means Boekholt has to be sanguine about the possibility of mistakes. “I don’t care if stuff goes wrong,” he says “I want us to grow. If it’s going up, it’s fine, but I don’t like flat lines.” It seems to be at odds with your average business person but that doesn’t bother him. Profit is not only financial at Fietslab, Boekholt talks instead about profit in all parts of his business, not just the balance sheet.

Social Hub

It’s all drawn from the experiences he had growing up, something he tries to recreate on the shop floor. “I think I was always part of a community. I come from a small village, so you know your neighbors. I went to church, I was going to soccer, I was dancing, I was playing kaatsen, which is a local sport. I’ve always been into social hubs.” 

And it is as a social hub that Boekholt really sees Fietslab’s power, a sanctuary from the rigors of the modern world. “There's no time anymore,” he says “it feels sometimes like time became more valuable or something and we don’t take the time to just sit down, talk and listen to someone.” 

He's determined to create a space where time is restored to something important. “We try to take the time to listen, you know, also be a bit of a social worker,” he says, “It just stands out, not because we are doing anything crazy, just because the rest of the world is moving on and they just don't do these things.” And before I have even left the shop after the interview, he's on the phone with a customer, freely dispensing his advice on what repairs the man might make himself at home. All the while, taking the time to listen.