The Great Adventurer in Front of the Local Library

I have a good friend who loves to live large. He’s always planning another grand adventure, from hiking the PCT from Mexico to Canada, to soloing the Northern Tier, to motorcycling from Alaska to Tierra Del Fuego. I have great respect for his fearlessness and tenacity; I secretly wish I was a little more like that.

In reality though, I’m pretty boring. I’m pretty much a homebody and a creature of habit. I’m perfectly happy exploring the back roads and shortcuts around my neighborhood. I love to ride across town for coffee then take an unexpected detour to see a friend or pick up a book at the library. And when you throw weather, late trains, changing schedules, and crazy drivers into the mix, my daily multi-modal commute is plenty of adventure for me.

These little adventures of living car-lite keep my wanderlust well-satisfied. I’ve always fancied the idea of taking some grand adventure-of-a-lifetime when I retire, and maybe someday I’ll do that. But in the meantime I’m living the life I have (and love) and making the best of it by looking for a little adventure wherever I can find it.

Nobel Prize winner Daniel Kahneman’s research into the emotional quality of people’s everyday experiences found that commuting by car ranks dead last. My own experience bears this out; I would hate to go back to commuting by car. Bike commuting has made me a calmer, happier, more relaxed person. How has bike commuting affected you?

One of the things that has always attracted me to recumbents is their varied and ingenious designs. Even after 30+ years of development, there is very little consensus within the recumbent community on what constitutes a “standard” design. Sure, comfort, good handling, durability, reasonable weight, and many other traits are universally considered desirable, but the designs created to meet these criteria are still quite varied. The fact that a carbon lowracer and tadpole trike both fall within the definition of “recumbent” shows what a wide realm these bikes encompass.

Upright bike designs, on the other hand, are far more standardized. Touring bikes, racing bikes, hybrids, cruisers, and commuting bikes may differ in components, wheels, frame material, and geometry, but these differences are insignificant in comparison to the wildly differing designs seen among recumbents. Even a bike as radical as the Big Dummy is still pretty much a standard upright bike with a long tail on it.

Combined with their inherent complexity and low production numbers, this lack of standardization among recumbents makes them much more expensive than uprights. Comparing like materials and similarly priced components, recumbents can cost as much as 50-100% more than upright bikes of similar quality. I now believe this is the biggest obstacle the recumbent industry must overcome to have any hope of reaching the mainstream (the perception that recumbents are “strange” is a big one as well). No amount of marketing, racing achievements, or clever designs has a chance of offsetting this price imbalance. When a newcomer can purchase a perfectly serviceable commuting bike for under $500, yet a similarly outfitted recumbent is closer to $1000, the recumbent is not going to sell unless the customer was already predisposed to purchasing a recumbent for some other reason (this may explain why so many riders take up recumbents only after suffering through physical issues on upright bikes).

None of this is intended as a dig on recumbents; quite the contrary. I still believe recumbents are ideal for a variety of uses and offer many advantages over uprights in certain circumstances. I’d love to see them take a more prominent place in the market. They have the potential to bring many new people into cycling that would otherwise not ride a bike due to comfort or balance issues. But no amount of added value is likely to overcome the extreme disadvantage resulting from pricing that is completely out of sync with the larger industry.

When I was a kid my mother always told me to sit up straight and eat my vegetables. Moms always know best, and I think that was good advice, particularly the part about sitting up straight. See, I like sitting up straight when I ride. It’s the most relaxing and sure-footed way to ride. It’s how we all started riding when we were kids, and it’s how we all rode until we were infected with the go-fast bug. It’s how we sit when we drive our cars (God forbid), it’s how we sit when we work at the computer, and it’s how we sit when we enjoy a good meal. It’s still a good way to ride.

Bikes set-up for this kind of riding have bars that sweep up and back from the stem, placing the grip area within easy reach. This usually means the bars will be higher than the saddle, sometimes by as much as a few inches. This position, combined with a wide saddle that’s adjusted with the nose slightly uphill, places almost all of the weight back on the sit bones and very little on the other “parts”. The sit bones are a good place to sit (that’s why they’re called sit bones - duh..). Our sit bones are well-conditioned for sitting because we sit on them all of the time (double duh..).

Here in the U.S., somewhere along the way (I think it happened during the 1970s) somebody convinced us that we need to be hunched over on a drop-bar racing bike to be a “real” bike rider. Speed became king and the wind in your face became your enemy. But here’s a secret for you: they were lying to us and it was probably more about marketing than anything. Most people in the world (other than in the U.S.) still ride sitting bolt upright. There are an estimated 500 million (!) FP roadsters on the road today, all with their pilots sitting upright. These are serious bike riders that use their bikes for transportation (arguably the most serious way to use a bike). I mean, what could be more serious than a guy on a bike in a suit and tie, or a woman in pumps riding her bike to work?

I rode racing bikes for years and suffered through the sore neck and numb hands and other numb things where things should most definitely not be numb. It got so bad I quit riding for awhile, then eventually I went recumbent. I started out ‘bent on a laid-way-back high racer. It was pretty comfy and super fast and not a bad way to travel if you only ride on quiet country roads, but it was downright silly (and arguably dangerous) riding in city traffic with my feet at chin level. Uphill starts in the left-hand turn lane with a dozen or so cars behind me were a real comic treat for the drivers that were lucky enough to witness my Fred Flinstone starts. This got old pretty quick. Long story short, I eventually ended up on an upright recumbent with my feet near the ground and a straight spine. That was a cool bike; no numb parts and no neck pain. It was a good bike for riding around town and a great bike for tripping in the country, but with a 5′ wheelbase it was a pain for parking at the grocery store, or the post office, or the restaurant, or the… ad infinitum. And what about taking it on a train or bus? Forgetaboutit. No chance.

So now I ride mostly non-recumbent bikes that are set-up for sitting-up. These currently include an English roadster and a conventional touring bike modified to mimic the roadster riding position. They’re as different from drop-bar racing bikes as drop-bar racing bikes are from recumbents. They manage to side-step the physical issues associated with go-fast bikes while being comfortable, fun, and easy. Their no nonsense, sit-up-straight-and-eat-your-vegetables style would make Mom proud.

Like most enthusiasts, I like nice bikes. I mean what bike nut doesn’t get excited over the artistry of Sacha White or Joseph Ahearne. There’s a lot to be said for a bike that’s custom built specifically to fit your physique, with every detail carefully attended to. Such a bike can be a once-in-a-lifetime purchase and acquiring one usually involves a major investment in time, effort, and expense.

I’ve been lucky enough to own a full-custom bike, and I’ve also owned many semi-custom bikes based upon production frames, but built-up from bare framesets with each component spec’d to my liking. Most of these bikes have been a joy to own and ride. Besides being a pleasure to look at, photograph, and work on, for the most part they’ve performed flawlessly on the road.

But there is a drawback to expensive, high-end bikes. I always take good care of my equipment, and custom bikes, more so than run-of-the-mill production models, demand to be handled with kid gloves. Somehow I can’t get comfortable riding a really nice bike in the rain everyday, locking it up to the bike rack in front of the grocery store, or hanging it on a hook in the baggage car where it will bang against other bikes. These restrictions handicap the day-to-day usefulness of these bikes and limit their full potential as tools (of course, others may not have this same aversion to using their custom bikes as their daily rides).

Because I’m now using my bikes as tools for transportation, I find myself gravitating toward less extravagant production models that are only slightly modified for personal preference. My thinking has changed from always looking for the optimal, to looking for a certain mid-level functionality that will get the job done without going overboard and triggering that urge to baby the bike. My Pashley, my Brompton, and my soon-to-be Surly LHT fall into this category. Unlike high-end custom bikes, they’re workhorses that I’m not afraid to use and abuse… and even put a few scratches on.

When I come to an intersection, in my mind’s eye, I draw a bird’s eye view of my path and the potential paths of all the vehicles in my range of vision. In other words, I visualize a mental map of potential collision points in a plan view, like a GPS display, but showing not just where to go, but also where the potential threats are coming from. All of this happens semi-subconsciously in the blink of an eye. I’ve done it for many years, and I admit this sounds a little weird, and I don’t know how it got started, but I think it helps keep me safer on the road.

I’m only guessing, but I suspect this habit of visualizing a “collision map”, if you will, may be a result of the fact that I’m a graphic designer that works (and consequently thinks) in two dimensions all day. Among other things, I create a fair amount of technical graphics and maps. The mapping in particular seems closely related to this unusual habit. (My wife is always confounded with my keen sense of direction and ability to read maps, while I’m continually confounded by her ability to remember precisely what someone said in a conversation three weeks ago… LOL. I think this demonstrates something about the left brain versus right brain paradox.) But I’ve terribly digressed, so back to the point…

I believe one of the most important things we can do to stay safe on the road is to anticipate the actions of our fellow road users. That’s why I use a rear view mirror; if I see a car drifting onto the shoulder or into the bike lane I have an extra split-second to take evasive measures (this has saved my life at least once, maybe twice). The same holds true for left and right hooks (the deadliest of all one of the more common accident types); anticipating that a car might hook you by visualizing its potential path buys a split-second that may be just enough to avoid getting hit.

I’m not suggesting anyone make a conscious effort to draw a virtual map in their mind every time they come to an intersection (that’s far too distracting unless it’s something that comes naturally), but I am suggesting it behooves all cyclists to get in the habit of anticipating where other road users are headed. Doing so is arguably the best defense against a collision.

Across the spectrum, from the most utilitarian to the most high-performing, the range of bicycle designs is a continuum of subtle differences. As much as we like to categorize bikes, when we line them up, it jumps out that it’s actually a small series of steps that takes us from one end to the other. I attempted to illustrate this with the above graphic (click the “zoom” button).

Starting on the left is a carbon lowracer recumbent, and on the far right is a carbon time trial bike. In the middle we have a beach cruiser and a city bike. The lowracer and the time trial bike give up everything in user-friendliness to gain the most in performance. The beach cruiser and city bike give up everything in performance to gain the most in user-friendliness. The bikes between the two extremes are bundles of conflicting priorities, each making compromises to reach a middle ground between utility and performance.

There’s more to performance than aerodynamics, but reducing wind resistance is by far the most dramatic way to increase efficiency (at 20 mph, wind resistance makes up approximately 90% of total resistance). The cyclist’s torso generates a tremendous amount of wind resistance, so for maximum efficiency the body needs to be laid down inline with the direction of travel. But doing so dramatically reduces a bike’s user-friendliness because an upright torso position (with the rider’s feet near the ground) is the most natural and confidence-inspiring. Recumbents with high bottom brackets, and upright racing bikes with extremely low handlebars, both put the rider in positions that, while being highly efficient, are unnatural and limited in their practicality. And, of course, bikes that place the rider in an upright position, while providing excellent user-friendliness, are limited in their efficiency. (Fairings bend the rules by allowing an upright seating position with good aerodynamics, but they increase complexity, weight, and cost, thus reducing practicality.)

No particular type of bicycle is necessarily better or worse than another (though an argument can be made that it may be prudent to focus on practicality over sport at this particular juncture, but I digress). Each attempts to fill a need; the trick is finding the type that best fits an intended use. Bikes that fall in the middle ground between pure performance and pure user-friendliness (like hybrids and low-end MTBs) are popular because they’re versatile (and consequently, relatively inexpensive). But like other “all-purpose” tools, they tend to do a lot of things reasonably well, but very few things exceptionally well. So pick your medicine: lots of performance, lots of utility, or a little of both. When it comes to bikes, like so many other things in life, you can’t have your cake and eat it too.

I seem to get an inordinate number of questions about bike commuting from my coworkers and people that I meet on the train and bus. I suspect the fact that I ride a folder contributes to this, though it may just be that I attract questions because I’m enthusiastic and eager to chat with people about one of my favorite subjects (bikes) and it shows on my face.

People are typically curious about how far I ride, how long I’ve been bike commuting, what I do in the winter, how much my bike cost (that always shocks them a little, but I remind them how cheap it is in comparison to a car), how much money I’m saving, etc. And they’re often congratulatory, saying what a great sacrifice I’m making for the environment, what a big commitment it must be, how nice it must be to ride past the gas station, and how they “could never do that” (though they most certainly could, and I tell them so).

But here’s the big secret: bike commuting is no sacrifice at all. As a matter of fact, I often feel a pang of guilt for doing it. It’s so much fun, and I derive so many benefits from it (health, wealth, serenity) that my subconscious mind assumes I must be cheating, that I must be doing something bordering on the unethical or illegal, because nothing in this world is free (right?). But bike commuting, so it seems, defies this capitalistic logic of getting what you pay for, and actually gives you what you deserve; not in the negative sense of retribution, but in the most positive sense of reaping the rewards of trying to do the right thing.

So I’ve started telling people about this. When they ask why I bike commute, instead of launching into the ecological and economic benefits, I first talk to them about how much fun it is, how good it makes me feel, and how little effort it takes. I tell them about the things I see along the road (birds, kids, dogs, turkeys, hawks, squirrels), the way it clears out the cobwebs in the morning and flushes out the stress in the evening, what a relief it is to be free of driving related stress and anxiety, and that you couldn’t pay me to go back to driving a car everyday.

I hope that by sharing my big secret—the fact that bike commuting is not a sacrifice at all, but instead is a richly rewarding endeavor—people will be more likely to consider it for themselves.

How’d you get that bike locker?

It’s beyond me why our local transit agencies don’t make their services and policies more user-friendly and visible to the general public. Around here, figuring out how to piece together a long, multi-leg, multi-modal commute is not a simple thing. In my case, it took a bit of desperation and quite a lot of research to sort out my 60-mile round-trip commute.

The biggest challenge is ferreting out the needed information from the various agencies’ poorly-designed, data-dense, websites. For example, a number of our local transit agencies honor commuter passes from the other local services, but hardly anyone, including their drivers, seems to know this (I carry a print out from their websites in case I need to provide a little “education”). You’d think this would be published in an obvious place online. At least once a week, someone asks me how I got on this bus, or that train, with a pass from some other transit service. When I tell people about this policy they often act as if I’m nuts, even though I’m sitting on the train right next to them, flashing a bus pass from the other transit service.

Another service I often get quizzed about is our City bike lockers. At various “park-n-ride” lots and transit hubs throughout the city, free bike lockers are offered to city residents. All that’s required is proof of residency (a utility bill will do) and a note explaining how you’ll use the locker. If you meet these minimum requirements, the locker is yours for a year, with guaranteed renewal for a second year if you so choose. People frequently approach me as I’m parking my bike to inquire about the locker, and they’re always astonished the lockers are available for free simply for the asking. Why isn’t this service more widely promoted?

I’d love to see more public outreach in this area. I’m convinced more people would consider using transit if it was a little less confusing. People are already looking for excuses to stay in their cars; minimizing the barriers by making the transit option as simple, cost-effective, and user-friendly as possible seems like a no-brainer.

Cars distort our perceptions of time and space. They act as portable extensions of the shelter offered by our homes, numbing us to the reality of the distance travelled and blinding us to the topography we travel through. By using massive amounts of energy, cars reduce the physical effort required to move through the world to nothing more than a twitch of the toe and a flick of the wrist; a physical effort on par with flipping through television channels or surfing the web.

Cars also cut us off from the reality of weather. Headwinds and tailwinds have no meaning from within a car. Rain is only an inconvenience. Freezing temperatures only require adjusting a knob on a thermostat. Experiencing a storm from inside a car is akin to watching a nature movie in a comfortable, temperature-controlled, personal theatre.

Cycling, on the other hand, makes us more keenly aware of the nuances of the landscape and the energy required to cover a distance. Cycling takes us out of the sedentary womb of comfort and convenience provided by the automobile and immerses us in the real, physical world of weather, hills, car exhaust, barking dogs, natural smells, and beautiful sunsets. Driving a car is so effortless, hardly a thought is given to whether a trip should or should not be made. Cycling for transportation requires concerted effort, and consequently, encourages consideration and efficiency. Cycling, by its nature, discourages wasted energy.

We pay a heavy price for the convenience offered by the automobile. Dependence on foreign oil, global warming, smog, traffic fatalities, and many other problems are all part and parcel of our desire to extend our creature comforts beyond our homes by driving our cars. The question is whether it’s worth it, and if not, what we choose to do about it.

We humans are funny creatures. We can’t help but divide, then divide again, into ever smaller groups, pulling up the drawbridges and fortifying the ramparts after each successive cell division. This strange behavior seems to be hardwired into our psyche.

Cyclists, being the highly-evolved members of the human race that they are (ha!), take this behavior out to the edge of absurdity. First we have bikes; then we have road bikes and dirt bikes; then we branch off into the various subdivisions of single speeds, 3-speeds, cruisers, recumbents, roadsters, folders, tri-bikes, road racing bikes, BMX bikes, crit bikes, cyclocross bikes, commuters, cargo bikes, etc. Then finally, it gets crazy, with long-wheelbase recumbents versus short wheelbase recumbents, 16″ folders versus 20″ folders, 29ers versus downhillers, and on-and-on, ad infinitum.

Don’t get me wrong, I love diversity. Having such a plethora of bikes to choose from is incredible. But it’s pretty weird how we quickly gather into our little groups and defend our ground against the “others” on their strange bikes. And as much as it bugs me, mostly I’m as susceptible as the next guy to this odd form of bicycle induced xenophobia, though at least my position as a bicycle double-agent places me in a unique position to see the absurdity of it all.

See, I’m a bike defector; I crossed enemy lines from uprights (what recumbent riders call “wedgies” with a snicker) to recumbents (what upright riders call “lawn chair bikes” with a sneer), and now I’ve come full-circle back to uprights. Well, I shouldn’t really say “I’ve come full-circle”; it’s more like I drank the Kool-Aid and the Crystal Light. I still ride bents and uprights, as well as folders and roadsters and tandems and…

Somewhere along the way, after all this sleeping with the enemy, I figured out that all bicycles are really cool. Fixies, velomobiles, trikes, SUBs, Chinese roadsters, Dutch city bikes, bents, tandems, unicycles (really!), you name it; I think they’re all amazing. As I outlined in this rant from a couple of months ago, it would be very nice if mainstream dealers stocked a more balanced selection of bikes, but in actuality, we’re pretty damned lucky to have such a smorgasbord of bike goodness at our fingertips.

So maybe we should try expanding the borders a bit, out to a place just this side of car culture. Maybe we should attempt to be more inclusive and focus on all the good things we have in common, instead of getting lost in the minutiae of our differences. Maybe we should take a risk and take a ride on one of those strange bikes sometime, just to see how the other half lives. Who knows, we might be pleasantly surprised by what we find.

A Healthy Alternative

Given the general perception that cycling is dangerous, we may take comfort in the fact that bike commuting is actually very good for your health.

According to a 1996 study funded by the Australian Department of Transport, regular cycling reduces over four times as many heart attack fatalities as it increases in collision fatalities¹. By choosing not to ride to work, you’re substantially increasing your probability of dying prematurely, even when weighed against the risks associated with cycling in traffic.

A similar 2000 study, funded by the Danish Medical Research Council and the Danish Heart Foundation, found the dangers of cycling are far outweighed by the health benefits derived from the daily, moderate exercise that is typically associated with bike commuting. From the study: “Even after adjustment for other risk factors, including leisure time physical activity, those who did not cycle to work experienced a 39% higher mortality rate than those who did.”

Clearly, even when weighed against the increased risks associated with cycling in traffic, bike commuting is very good for your health and longevity. And when considered along with its other significant benefits such as reduced costs, reduced pollution, and reduced traffic congestion, travelling by bike makes a tremendous amount of sense.

It was Grant Petersen that first coined the term beausage in reference to bicycles (some say he invented the term, but I swear I heard it elsewhere back in the 70’s). According to the Urban Dictionary, beausage is, “a synthetic combination of the words beauty and usage, and describes the beauty that comes with using something.” Good examples of beausage are Yo-Yo Ma’s cello and this cockpit of a vintage Mercedes. Beausage comes from consistently using something, while taking great care of that thing, over a long period of time. Beausage is not the result of carelessly abusing something and prematurely wearing it out.

Many of the bikes I’ve seen described as having beausage are pretty beat up. I’ve seen bikes with badly scratched and chipped paint, dangling bar tape, and even rusting frames, all described as having beausage. I don’t get that. Maybe a better word to describe these bikes would be abuseage. When I think of beausage, I think of a Brooks saddle polished to a high sheen from long use, or shellaced cork grips wearing through to the raw cork, or primer showing through at the top tube from being lightly brushed by knee warmers for 10 years.

There are tangible rewards for using a high quality tool or instrument on a daily basis over a long period of time; with familiarity comes understanding and fluency. Taking great care of that tool only adds to the rewards. A chef has his treasured knife, a musician his treasured instrument, and yes, even a bike rider can have a treasured bicycle. The great beauty in beausage is that it cannot be bought; no amount of money, no amount of buying and selling bikes will produce that deep patina that can only be acquired through long use and mindful care.

When I was riding predominately for sport and fitness, I had the freedom to choose when and where to ride. Consequently, I mostly rode during off-peak times on relatively low travelled roads or bike paths, avoiding those areas I knew to be congested and dangerous.

Now that nearly all of my riding is for transportation, I don’t always have the option to pick and choose my routes, and I often find myself riding during peak hours. This new exposure to intense, and sometimes dangerous traffic has forced a rethinking of my approach to urban/suburban cycling.

For the longest time I was an advocate of John Forester’s “vehicular cycling” principles. Vehicular cycling is described as “the practice of driving bicycles on roads in a manner that is visible, predictable, and in accordance with the principles for driving a vehicle in traffic.” That sounds good and reasonable, and in some situations I still use a vehicular approach. But there are times, while encountering difficult and complex traffic situations, that adherence to strict vehicular cycling techniques no longer works for me.

For example, on some of our 6-lane suburban “parkways”, it is nearly impossible to ride a bicycle in a manner that is “in accordance with the principles for driving a vehicle in traffic.” Cars on these roads travel 3 abreast at 50-60mph; because the speed differential between cars and bicycles is so great, and the distance from the right shoulder to the left turn lane is so far, it’s not realistic to “drive” a bicycle on these roads as a part of the normal flow of traffic.

One alternative in these dangerous conditions is to ride on the sidewalk and behave as a pedestrian at intersections, using crosswalks and pedestrian traffic signals to navigate. A majority of the sidewalks on the major parkways in our area are completely under-used by pedestrians, and are separated from the road by a grass median (see main photo at top). In every way, they closely resemble what other cities might label “separated bikeways”. For the longest time, due to the stigma associated with riding on sidewalks, I avoided these pseudo bikeways, choosing instead to ride out in the traffic lane at all costs. But over time, I’ve come to the conclusion that given the option of a 40mph speed differential with cars, or a 10mph speed differential with pedestrians, the sidewalk option can be a wise choice if the conditions warrant it. (Of course, in a dense urban environment, where sidewalks are full of pedestrians, and business store fronts face the sidewalk, cycling on sidewalks is ill-advised.) This is an example of a change in tactics I should have made sooner, but didn’t, due to my overly strict adherence to a particular school of thought.

As my cycling habits have evolved, so has my overall approach to cycling tactics. Now, whatever the difficult traffic situation, whether it be a 6-lane parkway, a narrow shoulder, a vanishing bike lane, or something else, I try to use a little more pragmatism and little less dogma. This more flexible approach has made my cycling experience safer and more enjoyable.

Coasting downhill is the cycling experience that most closely mimics flying. It’s the perfect natural consequence and just reward for the hard work of getting to the top of a hill. There’s nothing quite like finally cresting a hill and feeling the pull of gravity take you down, down, down the other side, while you silently glide and swerve, dodging potholes and weaving between the dotted yellow lines like a hawk floating on an air current.

“Serious” cycling, that being cycling for sport as in road racing, mountain bike racing, time trials and the like, took away from me this most enjoyable aspect of cycling. Serious cycling would have the cyclist pedal all the time at the same cadence; uphill, downhill, into the wind, with the wind, all the while frantically shifting between 27 (or even 30 now) gear combinations, turning the rider into a humanoid Lime drive. Serious cyclists don’t coast.

Of course, if a person is racing, there’s good reason to pedal all the time; the object, after all, is to get to the finish line first, and coasting doesn’t contribute to forward momentum. Where it all breaks down though, is when edicts from the Racing Gods trickle down and infect the thinking of average, non-racing schmucks like me. The latest How to Win the TDF manual may suggest that it’s most efficient to keep your cadence high, constant, and within a narrow range, but that doesn’t necessarily mean it’s an appropriate technique for a leisurely ride to the coffee shop. [Note to self: Efficiency has its time-and-place and we do well to recognize when-and-where it is-or-isn't required.]

It took a decidedly inefficient bike, and the desire to avoid soaking my street clothes, to reintroduce me to the joys of coasting. A 50-pound bike with a 5-speed transmission is not conducive to maintaining a “high and steady” cadence. As a matter of fact, a 50-pound bike with a 5-speed transmission pretty much discourages anything remotely resembling such behavior. A 50-pound bike wants to go at its own pace, not unlike a stubborn mule that knows the route and will take you to your destination at her pace, thank you very much. What you learn, when riding a mule masquerading as a bike, is that working with the bike, not against it, is the only reasonable approach. And you also learn that a mule-bike requires extra effort from the rider to get to the top of the hill, but it doubly rewards the rider by going down the other side like an anvil dropped from a third story window.

Most people don’t consider excess weight to be a desirable quality in a bike. As a matter of fact, many people spend silly amounts of money to shave even sillier amounts of weight from their already silly-light bicycles. Uber-light bikes go uphill like crazy, but they’re no good at all for encouraging a coasting state of mind. They’re the most serious of serious bikes that demand to be pedaled continuously. And while they may be “light as a feather”, without a willing engine they go downhill about as fast as a feather on an updraft. A 50-pound anvil-bike smokes an 18-pound feather-bike in a downhill coast-off.

But I digress. Of course, as a famous cyclist once said, “It’s not about the bike.” Whatever your ride, coasting is actually a state of mind, a desire to experience again the free rides and the long glides of youth, a chance to let go of the trappings of serious cycling and once again fly like an eagle.

Photo © Jonathan Maus, BikePortland

A majority of mainstream bicycle manufacturers marketing to the U.S. audience would still have us believe bicycles are primarily intended to be used for entertainment by baby boomers with an abundance of discretionary income and leisure time. In the U.S., bikes are marketed as fashion statements, requiring replacement every couple of years for fear of looking passé. They’re marketed more as fitness machines and “healthy lifestyle enablers” than transportation. Carbon fiber frames and uber-lightweight components and wheels only feed into this consumerist, disposable bike mentality.

In the U.S., bikes are marketed as fashion statements, requiring replacement every couple of years for fear of looking passé.

Stroll down the main aisle of any large, mainstream bike shop and on one side you’ll see mostly carbon fiber and aluminum racing bikes with spindly wheels, splashy graphics, and pencil thin, high-pressure tires. On the other side you’ll see mostly mountain bikes with crazy monocoque frames of every shape and configuration, complex long-travel suspension, and bristling knobby tires. In front of the shop, you’re likely to see a line-up of brightly colored 50 lb., one-speed retro-cruisers. And if the shop is keyed in to the latest fashion trends, they may have a half-dozen pseudo fixed gear track bikes to cater to the suburban high school crowd, which seems to have bought hook-line-and-sinker into the gritty, urban courier image (it’s more than bizarre to see suburban teenagers cruising to the mall on “fixies”, though at least they’re on a bike and not in front of the television). I’d volunteer that all of these bikes are only marginally useful as anything other than toys.

If the shop happens to be located in a large urban center and is somewhat progressive, you might find a small section of “commuter” or “utility” bikes sequestered in the back near the restroom. These bikes are the ugly ducklings of the bike world (only recumbents are more disdained) and don’t garner much attention on the sales floor. They look clunky with their fat tires, fenders, racks, lights, and upright seating positions that conjure up images of your mother’s 3-speed junker. They’re heavy and they have subdued graphics, they lack curb appeal and they make an anti-fashion statement: “Look at me, I’m a clueless nerd.” Sadly, these are the bikes most people need if they’re going to use them for anything other than entertainment, but they get lost in a sea of glitz and glamour.

Since when did bikes become fashion statements, with their design and functionality being driven by marketing and image over practicality and usefulness? As recently as the late ’80’s you could walk into a bike dealer and find a balanced selection of practical bikes on the floor. Somewhere along the way to 2008, the emphasis went from building practical bikes for real people to ride everyday, to pumping out Tour De France and World Cup look-alikes to fulfill aging baby boomers’ racing fantasies.

I’d like to suggest that it’s time we start thinking about bikes as tools again. With gas prices approaching $4 per gallon, peak oil on the horizon, and the looming environmental catastrophe that is global warming on many peoples’ minds, there’s never been a better time to seriously look at bikes as a legitimate alternative to the automobile and give up this ridiculous idea we have in the U.S. that bikes are only playthings for the well-to-do.

Posted by Alan in Op-Ed | 6 Comments | Share This Post