Plan B

In his home gym on a sunny Monday morning, the 49-year-old fastens a training belt that’s connected by chain to 120 kilograms of iron. It’s a special construction designed to shift the weight to the hips when you’re doing squats. When he was 21 years old, he ruptured two discs while training with barbells for bodybuilding championships. The accident was the big bang in his story.

The term “home gym” makes it sound small and doesn’t quite seem to fit when you consider the sheer size of it. It’s more of a hall. Dozens of state-of-the-art training machines are arranged close together. How many? “Everything you need,” says Flossmann, laughing. The boxing area is at the back. The window front provides an unobstructed view of the beautiful landscape of Franconian Switzerland, with the morning mist now rising spectacularly from the hills. Flossmann has blocked the day for the Christophorus visit and plans to go mountain biking later. Strength training is part of his daily routine. Bearing the weight of 120 kilograms, he drops to a squat and then rises again to a standing position. The belt makes the exercise possible despite the injured discs. Pure concentration is visible on his face. “Bodybuilding is self-discipline,” he says a short time later, removing the belt. “At competition level, that means 24/7.”

He began training at the age of 13 and put everything on the line for his dream of a professional career in bodybuilding. “I only started my vocational training in office communication to make my mom happy,” explains Flossmann. A short laugh. “And because there was a gym close to the company.” At the end of his day, he’d go straight to the gym to train. Flossmann became a German champion at the age of 20. And then with one false move while squatting, the weight of the iron crushed two of his discs and dashed all of his plans. It was as if a wrecking ball had come crashing through his life. The brutality of the diagnosis sent Flossmann spiraling and put an end to his dreams of bodybuilding. At the recommendation of his doctor, he took up mountain biking to fill the void in his life.

“Another sport that demands everything of you,” he says. After a ride one day, Flossmann was out with a few friends on a dirt trail. The hilly courses provide mountain bikers with the opportunity to perform spectacular jumps. Fascinated, Flossmann watched two teenagers do one stunt after another, their old, rickety bikes in stark contrast to their bold actions. Flossmann asked them why they didn’t have real dirt jumpers, which are mountain bikes, usually with a smaller frame, that are designed for daring jumps. “Too expensive,” was their answer.

“I thought, that’s not right that kids can’t afford a proper bike,” says Flossmann, leaning against the kitchen counter, a cup of coffee in his hand. He turns his gaze to the mountain slope beyond the terrace with pool and takes a drink from his cup. He has the words “Good Times” tattooed on the hand holding his coffee.

According to the results, Flossmann’s strength is that he can’t do anything perfectly, but a lot of things very well, and his creativity is based on logic. Flossmann embraces the topics and has a sense for exactly what the target group wants: mountain bikes that are affordable, but don’t have a cheap image. “You’re selling a lifestyle,” he explains. “Everyone laughed at me at the beginning. They said, you can’t be both a discounter and a cult brand.” 

But that’s exactly what Flossmann is. Even if premium quality comes at a price. He’s a master of emotionalization and has hired Hollywood stars like Mads Mikkelsen and Christopher Walken to appear in commercials for new bikes and create a buzz. For the company’s Christmas party, Flossmann had the Iron Man suit, including its special functions, reproduced true to the original. The party motto was “Superheroes.” But his superpower is normalcy, even if the exclusivity surrounding him would suggest otherwise. Flossmann is an athlete. The opportunity was dangling right in front of him like a climbing rope. He grabbed it, and that’s the story.

“Why do I go mountain biking? Because it makes me happy.” 

Markus Flossmann

It’s now early in the afternoon, and the sun has warmed the air to a comfortable temperature, ideal for a bike ride. Flossmann opens the door to the garage. Even though he’s used to the sight, the cars put a happy smile on his face. He heads straight to his two favorites: a Porsche Carrera GT built in 2004 and a 918 Spyder built in 2015. Two of the most spectacular Porsche right next to each other in one garage. An exclusive sight even for collectors. “They’re both simply extraordinary cars,” says Flossmann. “And still they’re both so different. For me, the 918 Spyder is the perfect super sports car for everyday driving. With its racing clutch and manual transmission, the Carrera GT has an entirely different character – for unadulterated motorsport feeling.”

Here and there, the sun flashes through the canopy of foliage overhead. Aside from the leaves rustling under the tires, the subtle hum of the motor, and the sound of breathing, there is only silence. Flossmann demonstrates his expertise on the trail, which is a spectacular series of turns and jumps. Person and machine – a symbiotic unit. 

The sun is already low on the horizon when Flossmann gets back to the parking space, looking exhausted, but invigorated. Why does he go mountain biking? “Because it makes me happy,” he says, his answer simple and to the point. He’s about to elaborate when a ladybug – a symbol of good fortune – lands on the bike. Though it’s merely a coincidence, it somehow feels as if it were planned. There’s another one on the tire. And on his pants. It’s an actual swarm buzzing all around him. Markus Flossmann stops to take in the spectacle. “The red matches perfectly with the frame,” he says, excited. “I just might get a ladybug painted on the bike.”