I bought a new bike.
The “old one” had started causing me problems. By it’s last couple of trips, I couldn’t change down in gears at times, which considering I live in a hilly part of the world, is a major pain in the backside.
Historically I’ve taken the bike back to where I purchased it, nine miles down the road in Worcester but after digging online, I came across what looked like a viable alternative just a few miles away in Malvern.
The distance wasn’t the issue, it was the time it takes to cover the distance and the convenience of access to the shop.
The nine mile journey into the city was often blighted by traffic and the location of the shop meant parking in a multi-story and lumping a bike frame and a wheel down numerous flights of stairs.
Not my idea of fun.
Turns out the more local option has been around for just as long as the other supplier and yet I never knew it was there. I can’t claim to be surprised, the business wasn’t marketed well and its website was woeful.
Not exactly smart considering Malvern is hardly the economic centre of the world, the shop itself is half a mile away from main footfall in the town and it’s tucked away, well off the beaten track, on the road which circumvents the Malvern Hills.
That’s not all.
When I checked Google maps and saw where the cycle centre was located, I couldn’t believe my eyes. Virtually every Sunday morning for the past year and a half, I’ve ridden past the front door of this business on my usual 30-mile route around the hills.
How blind can I guy be?
The answer is, not very. You had to look very hard to discover this place even when you’re passing.
Bearing in mind I’m the guy “wired” to look out for a cycle centre. I’m also the guy “wired” to spend a significant amount of my hard-earned cash in such an establishment given how cycling is such an important part of my fitness regime.
And yet I didn’t see it, time and time again.
Contrary to popular belief, the line between outstanding business success and abject failure is wafer thin. Just how thin was plain to see in this instance.
Without question, the proprietor of the cycle centre (a thoroughly nice guy called Paul) is sitting on a goldmine. I’m not exaggerating when I say I could help him triple, if not quadruple, his profits in one year alone.
I’m living proof he’s got a massive, untapped market spending bountifully elsewhere for one reason and one reason only – they’re not aware of his business and he doesn’t have a relationship with them.
On the other side of the coin is the fate of his next door neighbour, a now empty unit Paul hopes to one day occupy, vacated recently by a carpet and upholstery retailer after dying a slow, uncomfortable death.
It’s so unnecessary. The struggle. The frustration. The “just keeping the head above water”. The mediocre return on days, weeks, month and years of long, hard graft.
Success doesn’t come to those who work hard. That’s one of the most misleading ideas in entrepreneurial life. No, success comes to those who work hard on certain things.
Paul’s problem is not his business. Paul’s problem is not his location. Paul’s problem isn’t the amount of hours or hard work he puts into his business.
Paul’s problem is his current level of awareness. He’s the lid on its potential, he’s just not aware he is.
Paul can extract the gold from his goldmine, he just needs to know how.
Wealth is a choice, just as mediocrity and abject failure are.
Christian Simpson is the UK’s leading coach and mentor to business owners and entrepreneurs. For COMPLIMENTARY ACCESS to tried, tested and proven entrepreneurial success strategies, click here