Sunshine Cycle finds new groove with help from Swamp Rabbit

Venturing inside Sunshine Cycle usually means staying longer than you intend to.

All day long, cyclists stream in for air or new spokes but wind up swapping tales of recent rides with owner Mike McMillan and his staff.

They walk through the showroom, past the bike-shop wall hangings and the service station that smells of chain grease, and eventually they join the crowd around the counter.

"Come here in the afternoon, and it's like a pub back there," McMillan says.

One reason Sunshine has endured for decades is this bond with customers formed by McMillan and his old partner, Skip Snow, who founded the business in Clemson in 1976.

McMillan, 56, was then a college-age bike enthusiast who wanted "real cycling shoes like in the magazines."

He and a friend went to Sunshine, a tiny shop strewn with tools and chains and six pairs of shoes stacked up in the window.

Five years later, Snow opened a second store in Greenville and in 1983 moved to Sunshine's current location at 1826 N. Pleasantburg Drive. The metal dome-like building is a relic from Donaldson Air Force Base and comes with the perk of being hurricane proof.

McMillan was in his 30s and a friend of the shop. He worked in exercise science at St. Francis Hospital and raced mountain bikes on the side.

He liked racing bikes more, however, so when Snow put the Greenville business up for sale in 1996, McMillan bought it, reopening that same day.

Not a lot has changed since. Sunshine was a strong business with a good customer base. McMillan says he just refined the operation and kept the ball rolling in what is now one of the Upstate's oldest locally owned bike dealers.

He also learned to grow with the cycling community.

A few years ago, most of Sunshine's customers were middle-aged men — serious, hardcore cyclists who spent thousands of dollars on their bike habits.

Then the Swamp Rabbit Trail was built, extended and extended again. Cycling in Greenville, perceived for a long time as a spandex-only club, turned into a family affair.

Instead of riding around the block, folks were able to go somewhere on their bikes for the day, McMillan says.

Sunshine adapted as well, expanding its two bike brands, Giant and Felt, to include women's and hybrid bikes.

The curvier, low-key hybrids now take up a prominent wall inside the shop, selling faster than road or mountain bikes. Hybrids are a cross of the two categories, sort of like an SUV in the car industry, McMillan says. The bikes feature soft saddles, a more upright seat and fewer gears, which is ideal for the relatively flat Swamp Rabbit.

Another recent shift McMillan says has occurred across the industry is that more women are buying bikes at all levels.

In fact, of the estimated 450 bicycles the shop sold last year, nearly half were bought for women, according to McMillan.

In this new family-oriented environment, Sunshine has thrived.

The shop currently offers small group rides and a rental fleet of high-performance, full suspension mountain bikes. A day's ride costs $45 to $65 while the weekend rates are $80 to $115.

McMillan and longtime manager John James say they pride themselves on customer service and knowledgeable staffers who are attentive to both the novice reader and the person who rides 100 miles a day.

Typical of their customers on a recent Monday are the college coed who brings her cruiser in for a tune-up and the father and daughter eyeing two mountain bikes. Over the next hour, more folks trickle in.

Most everyone is greeted by name. They linger.

Anyone could get a cheaper bicycle from a big box or online, one regular says, but at Sunshine he knows the bike will come safe and ready to go. There's never any worry.

"We don't just air up the tires, take your credit card and then send you out," McMillan says.

That's not to say owning a bike shop is easy or profitable. Owners have faced consolidation and competition from discount retailers in recent years closed three shops.

The secret to Sunshine's success? They just don't take themselves too seriously.

"We hang onto good staff and pay well," McMillan says. "It's just a lot of fun."