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When I meet custom bike- builder James Kennedy outside his workshop under a railway arch in Hackney Wick, he is sporting a topknot and clutching a take-away lunch of tabouli and avocado. So far, so hipster. But what are those strange grey streaks on his forearms?

“My wife and I have got into the habit of buying each other ‘skills’ rather than useless tat for our birthdays,” he says.

“I got her violin lessons: she got me a pottery class. Anyway, come in…”

Under a spectacular canopy of freshly painted bike frames, next to a workbench adorned with the artisan-grade tools (strangely shaped hammers long believed to be extinct), Kennedy recalls the origins of his one-man empire.

“I started building bikes for friends, selling them at cost or chucking them on Gumtree,” he says.

The inspiration to go full pelt with his “kitchen table” enterprise came after a fruitless trip to a bike superstore.

“I naively looked into whether you could build something better and, unfortunately, I discovered that you could,” he jokes. “So I didn’t really have any choice — I had to quit my job.”

It proved to be an inspired decision. Kennedy City Bicycles (kennedycitybicycles.cc) now has a three-week waiting list brimming with keen urban cyclists.

If you are one of them, your glistening calf muscles may well be twitching at the thought of a delivery date.

London’s post-Olympic love affair with cycling has been well documented — and it doesn’t look like anyone wants to slam the brakes on. But while pedalling an anvil-heavy Boris bike certainly gets one’s blood pumping, good luck drawing admiring glances at the lights.

That is where the custom-built bike craze comes in. Last year, the £200 Rapha jersey — cycling’s equivalent of Prada — proved to be the ultimate ­expression of individuality. This year it is made-to-measure bikes.

But aren’t fancy, custom-made bikes the preserve of wealthy sprocket-heads and the Lycra-clad elite? Not any more, says Kennedy. He is managing to keep prices affordable — from £500 — by starting with pre-fabricated steel frames.

London's bikesmiths - in pictures 6 show all London's bikesmiths - in pictures 1/6 James Kennedy (Picture: Matt Writtle) 2/6 James Kennedy (Picture: Matt Writtle) 3/6 A Rusby bicycle 4/6 A custom-made black Rusby 5/6 Made to measure: a blue Rusby 6/6 Welded from scratch: a worker at Saffron Frameworks in Woolwich 1/6 James Kennedy (Picture: Matt Writtle) 2/6 James Kennedy (Picture: Matt Writtle) 3/6 A Rusby bicycle 4/6 A custom-made black Rusby 5/6 Made to measure: a blue Rusby 6/6 Welded from scratch: a worker at Saffron Frameworks in Woolwich

“Modern steel is much lighter than it used to be, so my bikes are about nine kilos — my nan could pick up one up. Steel bends, and, in a city with roads as bad as London, it’s useful to have a little flex in your frame,” he says.

Craftsmanship aside, another big attraction is that custom bike-makers have sliced out the margin men.

“We only sell direct, so we can give a level of service that the big boys just can’t,” Kennedy says proudly.

“And we don’t spend money on ­anything but bike parts and rent. We’ve spent zero pounds on marketing in the past year. So instead of spending just 20 per cent of your money on parts, we can spend 70 per cent on parts.”

Purists might argue that Kennedy Cycles are not “proper” custom wheels. They offer a “build-your-own” menu of handlebars, saddles and paint finishes — “Over 200 possible combinations” — complemented by three frame sizes. In response, Kennedy points to his satisfied clients, ranging from 4ft 10in women sick of having to ride purple bikes with flowers on them to 6ft 8in men who make “off the rack” bikes look like kiddy trikes.

Of course, if you have the liquidity then you can always kick things up a gear with a fully custom-frame, welded-from-scratch bike from the likes of Woolwich-based Saffron Frameworks (saffronframeworks.com). Founder ­Matthew Sowter was a keen amateur racer until he was laid low by chronic fatigue syndrome. “I couldn’t ride,” he tells me, “so building bikes was the nearest thing.”

His “from-scratch” bikes will set you back around £3,000 and take around a week to braze, weld and finish. The bad news is there is currently a six-month waiting list: the good news is thatyou will be treated like rouleur royalty in the meantime. It all starts with a fitting on a high-tech jig.

“A camera and a 3D scanner measure everything from the length of your bones to your flexibility. Sensors are attached to your joints to see how they move through each stroke,” says ­Sowter.

With data in hand, Sowter crafts every inch of the bike to fit his client’s physical geometry. Finishing touches include lettering on the frame. Names are not a good idea, for obvious reasons, but quotes are.

“It never gets easier, you just go faster” — coined by Tour de France rider Greg LeMond — is a popular choice.

East Dulwich-based boutique bike- builder Jake Rusby, of Rusby Cycles (rusbycycles.co.uk), employs similarly “old school” techniques. It’s not just about a well-fitted bike, he says, but the personal connection.

“It feels more special to ride something made for you — something that should last you a lifetime,” he says.

Back in Kennedy’s Hackney Wick workshop, I ask what is fuelling London’s unquenchable thirst for small-scale, hand-made products — whether it is bikes or craft gin.

“I think it’s a way to get that sense of creative fulfilment that is missing from modern laptop lifestyles,” says Kennedy.

“Not that I’m against laptops, but I do think that making things ourselves is in danger of becoming a novelty.”

So maybe we should ask for a “skill” for our next birthday? Then again, that ­petrol-blue two-speed with the bullhorn handlebars would kill it in Clapton…

@tombaileywriter