What About the Movies?

"Okay. But what about the movies?"

"What about them?.." 

It is one of those circuitous conversations about whether bikes stand a chance in mainstream culture. The kind of conversation that inevitably raises the point that American cities are not Amsterdam. Or Copenhagen. Before moving on to differences in fuel prices, weather conditions, standards in hygiene and typical commuting distances. Quick to tire of this topic, I sip my wine - inserting the occasional comment on autopilot. But now this movie thing is a new twist and I perk up.

"Can you imagine bikes instead of cars in movies? I mean, that would be ridiculous!"

We run through the gamut of pop culture classics that would not be the same carless. James Bond. Ferris Bueller's Day Off. Back to the Future. Pulp Fiction. The list goes on. Re-imagining some of these with bikes replacing cars proves a great source of entertainment. National Lampoon's Vacation with the dead grandma strapped onto a longtail cargo bike. Law and Order SVU, with Olivia and Stabler as bike cops (okay so that's a TV show, but still).

But it's not just about specific movies. It's entire scenarios, concepts. The summer road trip. The iconic car chase. The drive-in and the drive-through. The dead body in the trunk. Romantic joyrides in convertibles. Disastrous family vacations. High school students cruising aimlessly as they come of age in towns where no one understands them. Tragic couples, well-dressed and adulterous, exchanging looks of yearning in the dim light of the dashboard. Secret agents and mobsters getting in and out of each other's sedans in abandoned lots under rusty bridges. The entire kitsch horror genre that relies on teenagers smooching in the back seat, oblivious to the crouching axe murderers ready to prey upon them. And of course there is that scene, where the sleek black Porsche (or maybe it's a BMW) pulls up and, as the driver comes around to get the door, the camera zooms in on a pair of women's legs stepping out - just the legs, in stiletto heels and perhaps black fishnet stockings - a moment in which we, the viewers, know that the creature who emerges will be beautiful and mysterious and utterly unattainable - destined to become the main character's love interest.

Do you mean to take this - all this - away from us and replace it with bikes? that sporty, politically-correct contraption devoid of sex, drama and suspense? That is the panicked subtext of all this movie talk.It is almost as if we're discussing the possibility of some big, bad Bike Lobby censor editing out cars from all our favourite films and TV shows. 

I never know what to say to those who view bike culture as threatening to car culture, and this is no exception. Look, I don't want my Ferris Bueller and Pulp Fiction ruined with bikes either. Jokes aside, it's absurd to imagine bikes in existing films where the cultural context for them is all wrong. Just like it's absurd to imagine films with period-inappropriate clothing, dwellings or slang. But if bikes become more normalised in society over time, things will change - not forcefully, but organically. Bike-centered cultural scripts will emerge and take root, upon which scenarios of future films could be based - complete with naturally-occuring sex, drama and suspense. It does not seem like such a difficult concept to me.  

And the thing is, Vincent's suit in Pulp Fiction aside, it's not all black and white. Don't you remember, when they were talking in the car, how he'd just gotten back from Amsterdam? If you think about it, he probably rode a bike there. In that suit and everything. Briefcase full of drug money dangling off the handlebars of a borrowed opafiets, a miniskirted lady-friend perched on the rear rack... Okay, so it's not in the movie. It was 1994 after all; they didn't want to shock the American public with bikes. But it's implied, okay? Subtly implied. It sets the groundwork.

And with that image, everyone seems appeased. Maybe the movies are safe after all. 

On Passive Transportation

Sometimes I think about the phrase "Active Transportation," as used by cycling and walking advocates. I think about it especially when I find myself on a long distance bus, train or airplane trip, or as a passenger in a car: sitting still, sometimes for hours, as I am propelled through space with no input from my own body or mind. It is at times like these that the notion of active transportation is at its most appealing, because I am experiencing its opposite so keenly. This unnatural stillness as trees and houses flicker in the corner of my eye, this uncomfortable awareness of being carted, transported, delivered is what Passive Transportation feels like to me.

There is a great deal of focus today on encouraging physical activity. Walk more, be more physically active, be healthier. Getting around on foot and by bike are seen as crucial to a more physically active lifestyle. And public transit is included in what active transportation encompasses, because it is typically used in conjunction with walking or cycling. Walk a few blocks to catch the bus or subway, then walk some more to the office. And because there's no car parked at work, walk to and from lunch as well. An increase in physical activity, however small, is the goal.

Comparatively under-addressed are the psychological aspects of active and passive transportation. And here things get a little tricky, because in a lot of people's minds the car wins. When drivers explain why they want to drive and why they enjoy driving, much of it has to do with feelings of independence and control. The association starts early, as suburban American teenagers see their driver's license and their first car as tickets to freedom. The connection only strengthens in adulthood. Driving allows us to actively control our routes, our destinations, our schedule, our speed. Psychologically, this is active transportation.

Except for those instances when it's not - instances that in some parts of the world are becoming ever more frequent, possibly even the norm, and starting to redefine the driving experience. Those who find driving appealing tend to picture the ideal: driving a car along efficient highways or through scenic country roads, arriving at their destination to park directly in front of the entrance. But as many of us know, and quality of life studies are starting to note, this is far from reality today. Traffic controls car travel. In areas where it is heavy, it can slow cars to a crawl, overriding the driver's control over their speed, route selection, and schedule. The difficulties of finding parking, and obligations having to do with city ordinances, create additional restrictions. In an idealised version of the driving experience the driver may be an active agent, but in the real world they are increasingly not only passive but trapped.

Freedom of mobility is important to human beings. There is dignity in being independent, in being in control of one's movements and one's time. We place value in this, and with dignity and independence comes prestige. Modes of transportation perceived as more dignified will carry more prestige than modes that are not, and how the concept of active transportation is framed will play a role in this. Passive transportation users will be receptive to alternatives seen to offer more freedom and control, not just more physical activity.

Positively Biketastic

When I look back at 2012 (I know it's been a while, but I needed time to take it all in!) I remember it as the year when I started to notice a lot of positive changes in the cycling world around me. Positive changes not only in the widening selection of transport bikes available in local shops and not only in the public perception of bicycling, but also in the increasing amount of rapport, cooperation and even overlap between different "camps" of bicyclists. And I think this latter point is just as important as the others. We cyclists can be tribal and divisive; we can be each other's harshest, cruelest critics. But if we insist on identifying within rigid parameters and lashing out against each other's choice of bike, attire, and riding style, how can we hope for positive changes for cyclists as a group? 

When my cycling club, the Ride Studio Cafe, began to blur the lines between the randonneuring and racing cultures, I remember it felt as if a paradigm shift was taking place. They threw a big party, where cyclists of different stripes interacted with each other with a degree of enthusiasm that showed a genuine eagerness. Dynamo lighting, racks, and wool were discussed. Unexpected common interests were found. It was truly an exciting thing to be witnessing. 

At this same party, I finally met Maureen Bruno Roy, a Massachusetts-based professional cyclocross racer. In her off time Mo leads a regular life, and part of that regular life involves riding her pink mixte for transportation. For me, seeing Mo so happy and casual on her city bike was an encouraging moment: I had not encountered an athlete-cyclist outside of Europe before who saw value and usefulness in such bicycles. But to Mo the value is pretty clear, and she credits her attitude to her time racing in Belgium. "There were these Dutch bikes, and I rode them to get around when I wasn't racing; it was great!" 

Around the same time, a local man named Jeff Palter got himself a Brompton folding bike and began commuting on it, posting excitedly on Twitter about how much he enjoyed that. If you're outside New England that name might not mean anything to you, but Mr. Palter happens to be the CEO of the Northeast Velodrome and the owner of Cycle Loft - one of the biggest roadie shops around. CycleLoft is also the main sponsor of the Northeast Bicycle Club - the largest local racing club and the very club that offers the "infamous" paceline rides that so divided my readership two summers ago. Until recently, it would have been difficult to imagine anyone associated with this camp entertaining the idea of riding around on anything but a racing bike with a backpack. I was more than a little surprised when Jeff approached me about sponsorship, explaining that CycleLoft was expanding into the city bike market. 

"Looks like the war is over," said a local cyclist when I shared this news with her. I guess sometimes, with all the insults flung about, it can indeed feel like a war - especially when some are described as "riding tanks" and others as being "weekend warriors." With a chuckle, I pictured an army of speeding Cervelos clashing with an army of menacingly rolling Workcycles (incidentally - a Dutch bike company founded by an American, who got his start at Fat City). 

Some time in December, I was approached by Bicycling Magazine and invited to write a weekly online column about "city bikes and gear." I was initially skeptical about what they had in mind, but it seemed pretty straightforward: They wanted to expand their coverage beyond racing, to encourage people to commute by bike, introducing them to a variety of bikes and accessories for the purpose. I agreed to write the column. It's a short-term contract and I may not be the one doing it in the long run, but I hope to give it a running start. Or rather, a re-start: Historically, such coverage is not new for Bicycling. A 1978 copy I found of the magazine includes articles such as "Choosing a Three-Speed Commuting Bike" and "Road Test: the Bickerton Folding Bicycle." These things are cyclical. Hopefully the current cycle, with its interest in transportation and city bikes, will be around for a while. 

A few days ago I read a story in the New York Times about a man who, a couple of times a week, commutes from the suburbs outside New York City to his office in Manhattan on his racing bike. It's a 40 mile ride and he uses the milage for training. He does it year round, sometimes in snow. I thought it was a cool story, especially after the cyclist himself provided additional details on Velocipede Salon. Then today I read a story in Atlantic Cities in response to it, about ordinary New Yorkers commuting. The author mentions that some readers criticised the NYT piece for "alienating [ordinary people] who might want to ride to work," but I am glad the author herself did not go that route. Instead she gave examples of some interesting New Yorkers who ride and urged cyclists to unite in promoting their shared interests. 

For those of us who have been cycling in major North American cities over the past few years, it is hard not to notice that things are changing. Now more than ever, I feel there is room for everyone who loves to be on a bike to promote their style of riding without criticising others in the process. Whether 4 miles or 40, whether in a business suit or a skin suit, whether on a cheap or expensive bike, bottom line is: It's all positively biketastic. The more we understand that, the better off we will be.

From Strange to Familiar

For the first time in a long time, I've been riding for transportation along routes that started out as uncharted territories. As it often goes, at first these routes seemed hostile, strange. Unfamiliar towns. Different patterns of motorist behaviour than what I'd gotten used to. But over time, the trips grew familiar, peaceful, and therefore unremarkable. This reminded me why I write so much less frequently now about transportation cycling than I used to: because nothing "happens." Whether my commute is 2 miles or 22 miles, nothing about the process is really novel anymore. With roadcycling, there is still the rush of going a longer distance, discovering a new route, learning a new skill, riding with a new group or partner. But with commuting, things have become automated. 

Most of all, I tend to forget the spectacle I make of myself when I - a woman in a long belted overcoat, knee high boots and a beret - ride a weird bike through areas where such sights aren't as normal as they are in Boston Metro. Drivers roll down their windows in freezing temperatures just to get a better look at me. No one has honked or gotten angry with me yet for being on the road; I think they are too stunned to.

The other day I was just riding along, heading homeward, when I sensed a car hovering behind me. I looked over my shoulder and saw it was a white minivan. The sun was in my eyes and I could not make out the driver. I got a little nervous and moved over to the right encouraging them to pass me, but they kept hovering. Finally, the van did pass, only to pull over to the side of the road in front of me. A woman jumped out and started waving her arms wildly, beckoning me to stop. Out of the windows I could now see several children's heads peeking out. So I braked and put a foot down tentatively, hoping this was not some trap to kidnap me and harvest my organs. And the woman shouted "Oh my God, I just wanted to tell you I love your bike and your outfit!" She asked some questions about the bike and where I was going, and was stunned by my answers. What about a bike that could fit her kids? (Just two kids, the others in the van were the neighbours'.) Yes, there are those kinds of bikes as well, I told her, and described the different options. She was so excited, it was really quite marvelous. A little extreme to pull the minivan over to talk to me, sure, but I'll take it over driver hostility any day. What started out as being strange to her became familiar. These are good encounters.

Bicycle Bans in Parks and Cemeteries

A number of public and private parks in the Boston area do not permit bicycles on the premises. Some cyclists complain about the ban, because the green spaces make for pleasant and convenient shortcuts through congested parts of town - for instance, the Public Garden and Harvard Yard. Others find it perfectly reasonable that some parks are reserved for being enjoyed at walking pace. I am mostly in the latter camp, and so it did not bother me to learn that the historic Mt. Auburn Cemetery I planned to finally visit this weekend did not allow bikes.

A morbid paradise of Victorian design known as America's first garden cemetery, this enormous park offers visitors miles of roads and winding trails. There are ponds, botanical gardens, wild woodsy areas, birdwatching opportunities, and a number of remarkable architectural landmarks. Although the cemetery is still active, the administration promotes it as a park and encourages both local visitors and tourists. A brief list of rules asks to be respectful and refrain from activities such as picnicking, sunbathing, jogging and cycling. However, as I learned during my visit, motor vehicles are allowed. The ban on bicycles is not part of a vehicular ban, but a recreational one, which puts things in a different light. What of those who use bicycles for transportation? The reasoning behind cars being permitted, is that it can be challenging for the average person to explore the vast grounds on foot. The noise and exhaust fumes the cars produce, as well their effect on the pedestrian visitor experience (those walking must stop and move aside in order for a car to pass on the narrow roads) are all excused to accommodate their transportational function. Would bicycles really be more of a nuisance? It seems to me the logical and fair solution would be to either close the park to vehicles entirely (except for maintenance work and funeral processions, of course), or to allow both cars and bicycles.

Rules regarding bicycles in parks are a reflection of cultural perceptions. Are bicycles inherently offensive in a cemetery because the very sight of them suggests recreation? Or are they legitimate vehicles that - unlike cars - will help protect the tranquil nature of the grounds, flora and fauna?

How a Grocery Store Won Me Back

There is a grocery store nearby that I've always neglected despite its proximity. They did not have a great selection of foods. They often sold stuff that was spoiled or expired. At the the checkout, the cashiers would argue with me when I declined plastic bags. And the bike parking outside was iffy. This store is so close I could easily walk to it, but carrying bags of groceries is just easier on a bike. And since I did food shopping by bike anyway, I figured I might as well shop at the stores I preferred, even if it meant riding further. 

I suspect that other residents of our neighbourhood felt similarly, because about half a year ago the nearby store began to aggressively reinvent itself. They cleaned up, reorganised their merchandise, added an organic foods section. They expanded their selection of produce. The quality control is much improved. They now sell reusable shopping bags and don't argue when customers decline plastic. 

But best of all, they allow me to roll my Brompton inside and use it as a shopping cart. No questions or comments, other than the occasional "Look, it's a bike and shopping cart in one!" Considering that other shops have thrown me out even when I've walked in with the bike fully folded, the permissive attitude of this store came as a pleasant surprise. Walking in with a small-wheel shopper is really no different from pushing a huge shopping cart; they get it. Now I shop there almost exclusively. Not only have they improved their store, but they've made shopping by bike a breeze.

While those of us who ride small wheel shoppers are in the minority, many cyclists report that their shopping preferences are guided by the store's bike-friendlieness. This can refer to a number of things, from adequate bike parking, to the parking lot being safe to navigate, to the location itself being reachable via a bike-friendly route. Do these considerations play a role in where you do your grocery shopping?

Sharing Space with Pedestrians

As cyclists, when we are not sharing the roads with cars we often share space with pedestrians: mixed use paths (MUPs), off road trails, certain types of crossings, even the road itself in areas with no sidewalks. To new cyclists this usually seems like a safer option to riding in traffic, but they soon learn that mixing with pedestrians presents its own challenges. People on foot move differently than those on a bike and their behaviour can be difficult to predict. Compared to cyclists, pedestrians are less likely to keep a consistent line of travel and more likely to make unexpected stops, which makes passing them tricky. Children make sudden u-turns. Dog walkers let their canines loose. Couples shove each other playfully across the path. Joggers zig-zag obliviously with their headphones on. Even seemingly predictable walkers moving at a steady pace can stop without warning if they get a phone call or notice something interesting. These things happen. 

A local woman new to bicycling once told me she was hurt and baffled to discover how much pedestrians, whom she had considered allies, dislike cyclists - not only failing to apologise, but inevitably blaming her for the near-collisions they cause. (I can certainly relate: Just earlier this week a man whose undisciplined dog lunged at my wheel as I passed them cursed at me for not being "more careful.") I think the reason for this is simply that we, as cyclists, are perceived as more aggressive because we are operating machines and moving faster than walking speed. Despite whose fault an incident is, we are seen as the dangerous ones. 

It doesn't help matters that pedestrians might not hear a cyclist's approach, or might not know how to react even when they do. In my 4th year of riding in Boston now, I have still not found an ideal way to gently warn those on foot of my presence. If I ring my bell, they might freeze or panic. If I say "on your left" they might instinctively jump to the left. If I say "excuse me" they might misinterpret this to mean "get out of my way" and get offended. And if I say nothing at all and don't ring a bell, they might move into my line of travel at the exact moment I try to pass them. No solution is guaranteed to work.

When sharing space with pedestrians, I have now simply learned to accept the inherent unpredictability of it; the need for vigilance and reduced speed. I expect inconsistency, especially when children are involved. I pass carefully and never assume my approach is heard or understood. I am mindful of dogs even if they appear to be on a short leash (those things are sometimes expandable). When in doubt, I slow to a crawl or stop altogether. And I do not enter into altercations: If a pedestrian at fault fails to apologise or even shouts at me, I just let it go. While these incidents can be frustrating, I try to keep in mind that as a cyclist I am the fast and scary one; I am the one who is operating a machine. 

When I voiced this philosophy to the woman who'd complained of being disliked by pedestrians, she pointed out that cyclists are no less vulnerable in a collision and therefore such a distinction is unfair. Maybe so, but I don't think it's a matter of fairness. I suspect that pedestrians' response to cyclists as "fast machines, therefore dangerous" is a visceral one. Should parents be taken to task for not supervising their children and allowing them to run across the path? Should dog walkers be reported for not obeying the leashing laws? Maybe, but on some level that seems petty to me and I just don't see it making a real difference. The only reasonable solution, in my view, is to separate the infrastructure and not group pedestrians and cyclists together. Until then, we must make do with what is available, cycling responsibly and cautiously in the shared space. 

Bicycles in Product Branding

Having dabbled in marketing in the past with an emphasis on branding, I am always interested in the associations manufacturers use to add appeal to their products. And of course when bicycles are involved I take notice. Looking at how bikes are presented in product branding, there are multiple themes. For instance here is a cycling cow selling ice cream. It's a cute image but why that specific cute image? Well, let's see... The cow is riding a vintage delivery trike loaded with steel dairy containers. So the idea here is to associate the brand with old fashioned methods of production and distribution. This is echoed by the word "creamery" in the name.

And here the idea of cycling is subtly used to associate the "zero calorie" lemonade with weight loss, while the penny farthing imagery goes nicely with lemonade's old fashioned appeal. There's the "honest" thing as well, which I've noticed in other foods that picture bicycles on the label. Do we associate bicycles with honesty?

Wholesomeness maybe, or nature - suggesting that the food is organic and "honestly" obtained regardless of whether that is so? Could be.

Penny farthings are used as symbols of old timey-ness across product categories. This perfume manufacturer uses it to suggest vintage elegance, congruently with the antique look of the bottle and the distressed label. Curious, I smelled the perfume. Sort of floral and dusty, but not too heavy. I suppose it goes with the vintagey presentation, though personally I associate cycling with fresh air and not perfume.

At the same time, bicycles can just as well be used as symbols of contemporary culture. 

I see more and more clothing and accessories where bicycle references serve as shorthand for a "hipster" identity.  "This garment is for the cool urbanite who rides bikes, or wishes they did."

The bicycle can also suggest fun, whimsy, levity. Drinking from these cups promises to be fun because of that bicycle imagery. To some extent this might also be behind the increasing popularity of bicycles on alcoholic beverage labels.

Do bank notes qualify as a product? I guess they do. Someone designs them after all, with both function and aesthetics in mind. While in Antrim, I was intrigued to discover there is an antique path racer on the Northern Ireland 10 pound note. I looked it up, and learned it is in honour of John Dunlop, who invented the pneumatic tyre whilst living in Belfast. So here the bicycle is part of a narrative about heritage - with additional implications of self-sufficiency and freedom of travel. More than anything, I find it delightful to know that about a million people in Northern Ireland are walking around with pictures of vintage bicycles in their pockets.

There is always talk among bicycle activists about how to create positive associations with cycling in the public's eye. Meanwhile, other industries harness the already existing positive associations to enhance the appeal of non-bicycle-related products. Interesting how these things connect, overlap and feed off of each other. 

I wonder to what extent it is cyclists who find bicycle-branded products appealing because they identify with the bicycle, as opposed to non-cyclists whose imagination is engaged by the mere idea of the bicycle. I suppose it is probably both. 

On the Road without a Roadbike

I like fast roadbikes, clipless pedals, bicycle computers, GPS, all of it. I do not subscribe to any philosophy that maligns these things in favour of the "slow bicycle movement" or whatever is the latest catch phrase to describe plain old regular bike riding. But I do believe in plain old regular bike riding, and sometimes I prefer it to any other kind. What are those times and what determines them, I couldn't tell you. It just happens.

When I went to Ireland last month I could have arranged to borrow a roadbike there, but opted against it - instead bringing along a folding bike that would have me riding upright the entire time. I knew I'd be slower and have more difficulty in the hilly areas, but somehow it just felt right to do it this way. I did not bring any cycling clothes. I did not bring a bicycle computer or a GPS device. Every day I simply looked at the map before setting off, then wrote out directions on a piece of paper. I explored interesting backroads and allowed myself to get lost. Occasionally I stopped to ask for directions. I did not miss my GPS. And I felt fine having no idea how fast or slow I was going. What did it matter if I stopped every 20 minutes to take pictures anyhow.

Probably at least part of the reason I chose to do things this way, was to see how I would feel after more than two weeks without a roadbike - without that rush I get from the speed, without the reassuring glare of the computer screen and without the ritual of putting on the special clothing I'd gotten accustomed to.

But moreover, I have found that I prefer to ride slower and more upright  when the focus of the ride is on exploring the surrounding area and not on cycling in of itself. Having never been to Ireland before, I really wanted to experience it as a human on a bicycle, rather than as a cyclist. And yes, there is a difference. Even the wearing of regular clothing and shoes played a role in this. The way people react to me is different, and the way I feel in the environment is different.

Now that I know the place better, now that it's more familiar, next time I would love to do some fast road rides along the Antrim coast. To ride through the glens on skinny tires, bent over my handlebars and pedaling as fast as I can. Bliss. A different sort of bliss than this time.

The more experience I gain with different types of bikes and different styles of cycling, the more I feel that the main thing is just to be out there, on your own terms. We like to define things, to draw boundaries. But often those boundaries are self-imposed. The road is calling. The bike is up to you.

Lucky

Overheard while doing errands in a local suburb:

Woman Walking Out of a Gym: Oh, what a nice bike! 

Woman on a Roadbike: Thank you.

Gym Woman: How lucky you are to have time to bike. I wish I could, but after work and cooking dinner I'm just exhausted. 

Bike Woman: Oh I'm sorry. But it's nice that you get to go to the gym, isn't it? 

Gym Woman: Sure. But, you know, I have to. It's such hard work! 

Bike Woman: How often do you go? 

Gym Woman: Hmm... Four days a week I guess? 

Bike Woman: Oh wow. And how long is your work-out? 

Gym Woman: Usually an hour. Sometimes the pilates class is an hour and fifteen minutes. 

Bike Woman: That's impressive. And how long does it take you to get there and back? 

Gym Woman: What? Oh, I don't know. Let's see... maybe 20 minutes in the car? 

Bike Woman:  Each way? 

Gym Woman: Yeah, I guess so. 

Bike Woman: Well you know, my bike rides are only 2 hours long - you can ride a bike instead of going to the gym if you want and it would be the same. 

Gym Woman (giggles nervously): Really? No, that can't be right. I'm only at the gym for an hour. Plus I have to work out or else I gain weight like crazy... You're lucky you're so thin...

It's hard not to feel defensive when receiving backhanded compliments about how "lucky" we are to have all this supposed free time to ride a bike. I've gotten plenty of comments like this. But I have never, not once, heard the same reasoning applied to people who go to the gym on a daily basis. After all, the gym is "hard work" and going shows that the person is disciplined and responsible about staying fit. Cycling on the other hand, apparently shows that we have too much leisure time. It is not logical, and it is not "fair," but the perception is nonetheless there, and I think it goes a long way toward explaining why non-cyclists dislike cyclists - roadcyclists in particular. Lucky us indeed.

Do Cities Need Bike Lawyers?

For some time now I have seen references to "bike lawyers" on various cycling websites, and wondered whether this was a genuinely useful service or a gimmick. Do bicyclists really need a special brand of lawyers, or are lawyers just trying to capitalize on the momentum of the bicycle culture? 

My skepticism softened a couple of years ago, as I got my first glimpse into how powerful this profession can potentially be in the world of bicycle advocacy. I was living in Vienna at the time and was introduced by several friends to the local bike lawyer - Johannes Pepelnik. Well known for his annual bicycle-themed street parties, for representing cyclists pro bono, and for publishing several books on bicyclists' rights under Austrian law, he is a well-liked and respected figure in the Viennese cycling community. More importantly, he is credited with helping change the balance of power of the city's cyclist-driver relationship in the bicyclist's favour. That struck me as pretty significant.

More recently I became acquainted with Josh Zisson of Bike Safe Boston - Boston's own bike lawyer and creator of the Bicyclist's Accident Report cards - and we've since spoken a lot about the role this profession can play in American cities. Obviously, bicycle law specialists provide paid services and profit off of them; that is how they earn their living. But they can also benefit cyclists in a number of ways with no cost involved. 

In the US, bicycle law is an informal specialty within what's known as personal injury law. And typically personal injury lawyers get paid only if and when their clients receive a financial settlement from the party at fault. This means that consultations with bicycle lawyers tend to be free of charge and cyclists can approach them for legal advice at no cost. 

But in a more general sense, when bicycle law specialists establish themselves in a city, their advertising campaigns often go hand-in-hand with promoting cyclists' rights and educating the public about those rights - either on their websites, via community outreach, or on various on-line forums. And in a sense, spreading this information in a way that is comprehensive to a layperson, is a public service: Thanks to bike lawyers' promotional materials, cyclists can easily look up answers to questions about bicycle law in their home state; they can be better informed.

Finally, I would argue that the prominent existence of a bike lawyer in a community can act as a deterrent for motorists - simply by making them aware that there is someone around who is eager to go to battle against them on the side of the cyclist. Once in a while there are articles published that ask why so few drivers who injure and kill cyclists get convicted. The answers vary, but the bottom line is that there are no real incentives for motorists not to hit cyclists if they know the legal system favours them no matter what. By aggressively advertising their services, bicycle lawyers actually have the power to change that perception. 

All of these are reasons why I am in favour of community-minded bicycle law specialists, and believe that the more they promote their services, the better it is for everyone. Maybe some day, fear of litigation will make cautious, courteous motorist behaviour common practice.

Top 10 Ways to Bike Uphill without a Helmet while Breaching the Gender Gap

So a few of us were debating what makes a good sensationalist headline in the bicycling blogosphere, and the title of this post seemed just about perfect. Sure, it's missing a couple of  things. I considered adding "...while cycling vehicularly on a low-trail bike dressed in Rapha and listening to an audio book of Grant Petersen's the Shoes Ruse." But in the end I decided less was more and went with the shorter version.  

And as posts rarely live up to the promise of the titles that lure us to them, I will remain true to this tradition of disappointment by informing you that I will, unfortunately, not be traveling to California at the end of this month. It has nothing to do with my preparedness for the ride and I hope to take part in a different AdventureCORPS event in the future; the organisers have been very understanding. Stuff happens and - well, that's all really. I will practice my top 10 ways to bike uphill closer to home for the time being.

One reason sensationalist titles are on my mind lately, is that I've been getting more emails than usual with requests to host "guest posts" from various marketing entities, or to write such posts for other websites, or to embed commission-generating links into my content. I think these people find me because my titles are somehow "SEO'ed" without my realising it or doing it intentionally - a thought that for some reason depresses me. It also makes me extremely self-conscious about providing links to products, businesses, online stores, etc. in my posts, be they sponsors or not. Does it create the (false) impression that I am getting commission from those links? Or do I indeed derive some indirect benefit from it, such as showing the businesses I link to that I can drive traffic to their sites and thus encouraging them to sponsor me? Once I start thinking this way, the whole bike blogging racket starts to feel like one giant minefield and then I need to snap out of it before I can write anything unselfconsciously again.  

A little while back a reporter contacted me for an interview and I declined. She responded by demanding that I prove that I am "real" and not a marketing hoax. I was offended and kind of shaken, though in the reporter's defense this was around the time of the "Amina, Gay Girl in Damascus" scandal and the idea of hoax identities was popular. I sent her a polite email with the contact information of a local reporter who had met me in person, and that was the end of it. But it left a bad taste in my mouth, as did meeting some industry people at Interbike later who confessed they'd thought it was my husband and not me who actually wrote the blog while I merely posed for pictures. Ouch?

I am starting to ramble and free-associate, but I guess the common thread for me here is the theme of absurdity. The absurdity of using catchy titles to get people to read bland content, the absurdity of making plans and announcing them, and the absurdity of this blog. I hope my readers not take any of it too seriously. Instead, let's go ride our bikes... regardless of gender, stance on helmet use and approach to elevation.

It's Electric! A Case of Fear and Loathing?

Every once in a while I am asked why I do not write about electric bikes, and the answer is simple: because they do not interest me. Maybe in 40 years they will, but at the moment I do not find myself longing for a sweet e-assist ride. Still, I have nothing against electric bikes and their usefulness is readily apparent to me: cargo bikes and pedicabs, upright bikes in truly hilly areas, and bikes with assistance for the elderly and others who have a hard time pedaling on their own power. What's not to like?

Yesterday I was cycling across town and a middle-aged man on an e-bike was pedaling in the bike lane just ahead of me. He was going pretty slowly, so I passed him, not giving it a second thought. Then behind me I heard another cyclist passing him, and then I heard that cyclist shout: "Get the f- out of the bike lane you retard!" There was more, and the abuse was directed toward him riding an e-bike - which the regular cyclist did not feel belonged in the bike lane. That was not the first time I'd heard this sentiment. From Interbike last year, I know that the e-bike industry is trying hard to push e-assist onto the cycling market, and I also know that there is resistance among those who see e-bikes as a threat to "real cycling." But I figured meanies will be meanies and soon forgot about the shouting incident. 

Then this morning, I saw a link to this article in the Gothamist, debating whether a $1000 fine for riding an e-bike was overkill (the previous amount was $500). I had not even known that e-bikes were illegal in NYC, but apparently they are. It is illegal to ride them and it is illegal for bike shops to sell them. And now the city is considering a serious crack-down, because the food delivery guys on their "souped up" bikes are out of control, terrorising the peaceful citizens by going as fast as 30mph. 

What bothers me about the NYC situation is not specific to e-bikes. It's that instead of the government regulating public behaviour with strictly enforced laws, perfectly useful objects are criminalised. 30mph is a speed that any decent roadie can hit on their racing bike without the help of e-assist. Yet racing bikes are not outlawed in NYC as far as I know. If speed-demon delivery boys are causing problems, set and enforce a speed limit. But the blanket targeting of e-bikes is not logical. When posting a link to the Gothamist article, a bicycle blogger wrote: "NYC is flat and small enough that no one needs an e-bike here. Ever." What she means of course, is that she does not feel the need for an e-bike in NYC. Neither do I in Boston. But that line of thinking can just as well be applied to us by others. "Nobody needs to be riding a bike on the road!" is something I've heard too many times. The fear and loathing of e-bikes is just as irrational. 

If we're going to outlaw stuff, I personally would like to see a law for motor vehicles to be stripped of doors, since doorings are responsible for countless cyclist injuries and deaths in cities. Make car doors illegal and problem solved. Maybe NYC should get on that.

They Think You're Eccentric

"I don't want to go around in a car all the time.  I don't think it's healthy.  But if they see you walking on a road out there, they think you're eccentric."

These words were uttered by "Little Edie" Beale, the reclusive cousin of Jacqueline Kennedy, as an explanation for why she finally decided to sell the dilapidated Long Island estate Grey Gardens where she'd been holed up for decades with several dozen cats.The irony of this statement coming from her aside, there is undoubtedly a truth to it.

As a teenager in a New England suburb in the 1990s, I was among the very few students in my high school who did not drive. My boyfriend was another such anomaly. We walked home from school together almost every day and it was just under 3 miles, taking us down the main street that stretched through the center of town and then along a woodsy park road that wound around a lake. I remember these walks vividly, because together with the scenery and the endless deep conversations there was always a degree of dread mixed into it. Everything would be wonderful until someone would drive by and shout something nasty at us. It could be students from the school or it could be adults from town, and the harassment usually varied from random hooting to things like "Whatsamatta kid, too poor to drive your girl to the woods?" On occasion, even a police car would slow down to make sure we weren't up to no good - just because we were walking.

While mostly we were okay with all of this and even found it funny, it would be a lie to pretend it did not get to us on some level. One Valentine's Day we got into an argument, because we wanted to go for ice cream, but both secretly dreaded the idea of walking or riding our bikes there - kind of difficult to maintain a romantic mood while getting harassed. When I think back on this, the absurdity of it overwhelms me. But that's really how it was in our town, at least in the 90s.

In the American suburbs getting around other than in a car is not normal, and I think we underestimate the extent to which this social element is an obstacle to walking and cycling. The majority of people do not wish to be perceived as poor, eccentric, or even "different" as they go out for ice cream on Valentine's Day.

New Perspectives on Hemlines

In a local clothing shop yesterday I overheard a conversation between two young women.

Young Woman 1: This dress is cute, but I totally can't wear it on my bike (lifts hem and stretches it to show how narrow it is).

Young Woman 2: Yeah it sucks when a skirt is too tight and I can't bike in it. I'm like always looking for A-lines and pleats now.

YM1: Yeah I know! Or pants.

YM2: Nah I'm not really into pants. Oh but the stretchy miniskirts are good too.

YM1: Oh yeah! I just saw some over there (points at some shelves and they walk off in that direction).

Eavesdropping on this exchange, a few things went through my mind. First, that cycling really is becoming an ordinary thing in our area. These young women - the way they dressed, carried themselves, talked - did not stand out from other women their age; there was nothing identifying them as part of a cycling "subculture." And yet both used bikes to get around. That is like kind of cool, right?

Second, to me this conversation underscores the fact that women's attire - more so than men's - really does call for "bikability" considerations. There are some in the cycle chic camp who argue that we can cycle in absolutely all of our ordinary clothing, and that to look for cycling-specific features is to overly complicate things. But in my experience, even the most stylish women on bikes do not always feel that way. Skirts can be too narrow, trousers can be too constricting, shoes can be slippery, even blouses and jackets can pull at the shoulder seams making cycling uncomfortable (a co-worker in Vienna once tore her top this way cycling to work). Much of this has to do with the fact that apparel designed for women is more form-fitting than that designed for men; there is simply less leeway and less give. Women's apparel also tends to be made of more delicate, flimsier fabrics, more prone to wear and tear. For most women I know who ride a bike, cycling-specific considerations play an important role in their wardrobe selection even if their clothing appears "ordinary" (i.e. not cycling-specific) to the outside observer.

But the more interesting question for me, is that of whether and how clothing manufacturers will respond to cycling-specific demands of their target market, as this increasingly becomes a popular concern. I am not talking about designing cycling-specific lines of clothing; that would be unnecessary. But how about simply designating existing articles of clothing as "bike friendly" when appropriate? Particularly when it comes to online shopping, I think that could be such a useful feature that I am surprised no one has done it yet. When ordinary women start to choose hemlines with cycling in mind, this could be the beginning of something interesting.

Passion and Mediocrity

Prior to my interest in bicycles, I seldom seriously pursued activities that I wasn't good at. Mostly this was because I did not enjoy them. I always hated mathematics, chemistry and physics in school - subjects I was bad at, while I loved literature, history and art - subjects I was good at. Playing most sports was living hell, whereas performing in plays was exhilarating. Once in a while it would happen that I was good at something, but did not enjoy it: chess, tennis, leadership roles, jobs involving sales. But it almost never happened that I enjoyed something I was bad at. Doing something that we cannot do well is discouraging, embarrassing, and literally painful in the case of sports. Even if we like the idea of the activity, it is difficult to enjoy actually performing it, when all it does is highlight our weaknesses and make us experience failure again and again.

As a teenager I fell in love with Chopin, and got it into my head that I had to learn how to play piano or life was not worth living. So I learned. For a late starter (I began at age 15), I wasn't bad. My teacher said that my ability to communicate emotion was ahead of my technique - which she meant as encouragement, since in her view the emotional part was more difficult. But I was terribly disappointed in myself. The more I practiced, the more aware I became of my technical limitations. I was sloppy, my fingers were not flexible enough, and I could not grasp music theory. For my 2nd year recital my teacher agreed to help me prepare two beautiful pieces that I had no business playing: Chopin's Prelude in E-minor and Tschaikovsky's Autumn. As far as "serious" music, these pieces are not difficult. But still to play them well required experience I did not have. I made no blatant mistakes. But I just didn't have sufficient control over my hands for the more nuanced passages and as I played in the recital I felt this acutely. The parents in the audience were thoroughly impressed by my performance. But after the recital one of the guest instructors approached and shook his finger at me: "Young lady, that was beautiful. But you should not be playing those pieces until your technique improves." And as he spoke, I knew that I did not have it in me: that I would never improve beyond mediocrity and would never be truly good enough for these pieces, no matter how much I slaved over the keyboard. I could use my ability to play "emotionally" to mask poor technique, but I would feel like a fraud. It was painful to be aware of this and my personality was not strong enough to withstand it. I quit piano within a year and took this as a lesson to save my energy for things I could truly excel at. Piano would never be one of them.

And, of course, neither would skating. No matter how much I loved watching the figure skaters on television and wished to be one of them in my younger years, it seemed stupid to waste my time to pursue something where my natural ability was so far below average. Yet now something's changed, and I find myself putting my self-esteem to the test at local skating rinks - shuffling around like an injured duckling as others around me execute graceful spins, jumps, and other displays of skill. The Co-Habitant tried to skate a week ago, and turned out to be a natural. Others too get on the ice for the first time in their lives, and after a half hour they are already gliding easily. Clearly I am a special case of ineptitude when it comes to skating. I am trying to decide how this makes me feel, and oddly it's not too bad. I am not even embarrassed, I just accept it. I also accept that even if I throw myself into learning how to skate with an obsessive passion, the end result of my dedication and hard work will be mediocrity, at best. Maybe I am older now and my ego can take it, because knowing this feels okay: I want to learn how to glide smoothly, how to turn, and how to stop without falling, and maybe if I am lucky, to eventually execute a leg lift like the girl in the picture. Those are my meager aspirations, and somehow they seem worthwhile despite the fact that I will likely have to work 10 times as hard as "normal" people to achieve them. 

Watching the figure skaters practice at the Skating Club of Boston reminds me of my first visit to the Velodrome in Vienna. Seeing how unattainable the track cyclists' level of skill was for someone like me did not put me off road and fixed gear cycling. I realised then that I saw value in pursuing cycling as a sport independent of my ability to succeed in it. It was good for my character to have to work hard at something I loved, even if it yielded disappointing results, rather than to accept praise for being "talented" at things I was naturally good at. Talent, after all, is not an achievement - it is simply there. 

My pursuit of cycling over the past 3 years - starting from a place where I didn't know how to turn other than using the handlebars and needed to have both feet flat on the ground while in the saddle - has been one of the most rewarding experiences of my life. This may seem ludicrous to those who know me in person in light of my other "achievements" and life experiences. Nevertheless, my passion for this activity that I am at best mediocre at, has taught me more about myself than I probably wanted to know. It broke down some of my defenses that kept me from understanding my true goals in life and it has made me more comfortable with myself overall.

It is hard to say whether, generally speaking, there is value in pursuing things we are bad at. Sure, we can make the argument that facing one's limitations and attempting to work through them - whether successfully or not - builds character. But we can also make the argument that it is more worthwhile to pursue the things we are good at, in the hopes of achieving true excellence - which could benefit not only ourselves, but in some cases society as a whole. In the end it is about the individual's life journey. During mine I found that passion and mediocrity can co-exist.  

The 'Psychic Spouse' Fallacy

Talking to people who cycle with their spouse, I consistently discover for how many couples this does not really work. Despite both partners being into cycling, they just can't ride with each other - to the point than they each go off with separate cycling clubs or riding partners. After nearly three years of cycling together, I have to say that the Co-Habitant and I are sort of in that category. We do ride together, and it can be nice. But we seem to have such different approaches and styles, that it can get overwhelming. When two people are compatible as romantic partners, how can it be difficult to ride together?

A fellow cyclist recently voiced a theory that I think may hit the mark. Romantic partners - and particularly those who have been together for a long time - tend to function on the assumption that their spouse is at least somewhat "psychic" when it comes to gauging their intentions and needs. This comes from living together long enough to understand each other without having to explicitly spell everything out. And it then gets falsely transferred to cycling. Whereas with a stranger, we would never assume that they can anticipate a maneuver which we do not signal, or will experience energy bursts at the same time as us, or will know which way to go at an intersection if the route is new to them, with a spouse we sometimes do erroneously assume exactly that, without even realising it. The spouse is sort of like an extension of ourselves, and therefore is expected to "just know" these things... But of course they can't possibly know things like when you intend to turn left, or stop for water, or whether you prefer to weave through traffic vs wait it out, or whether you feel up to climbing that next hill. Is it possible to treat your spouse as you would a stranger when you ride together, without assumptions about them intuitively understanding you? I don't know, but it's an interesting idea. At least it might help to keep in mind that your spouse is not actually psychic.

Did Not Wearing a Helmet Save Gene Hackman's Life?

film still via the gothamist

As some may know, 81-year-old actor Gene Hackman was hit by a truck while riding his bicycle in Florida last week. As the media has made a point to note again and again and again, Mr. Hackman was not wearing a helmet during the incident. It is now known that Mr. Hackman has survived the collision.

So... Does this mean that not wearing a helmet saved Gene Hackman's life?

Don't answer that, I know what you are going to say: My God, of course not. That would be absurd. What an insane conclusion. Right? Well, don't worry, I agree. Of course the fact that a helmetless cyclist survived a collision does not mean that this favourable outcome resulted from them not having worn a helmet. An accurate way to describe the situation is that the two facts coincided: He was not wearing a helmet, and he survived the collision. As everyone who has studies the scientific method or statistic knows, correlation does not imply causation.

I am glad we are on the same page now about the absurdity of implying that Gene Hackman's lack of helmet saved his life. Because if you agree about this, then surely you will see the double-standard of finding it entirely logical when helmeted cyclists who survive collisions report that wearing a helmet saved their life. It is a powerful emotional argument, but logically, statistically, and scientifically, it is erroneous for the same reasons it would be erroneous to say that not wearing a helmet saved Gene Hackman's life. If a cyclist wears a helmet and they emerge from a collision alive, that implies correlation, not causation.

Bicycle helmets have some protective properties under some conditions, but these properties are limited and do not extend to colliding with moving motor vehicles. Bicycle helmets also have some drawbacks, including their ability to cause rotational injuries. After reading lots and lots and lots of studies (the studies themselves, and not the media's digested, distorted, misquoted and sensetionalised versions of the studies), I believe that the evidence pertaining to bicycle helmet effectiveness is mixed and inconclusive. And this is talking about effectiveness itself, without even delving to the larger, social implications of the helmet debate. We are all scared of getting hurt while riding our bikes, and we would all like there to be a magic device or talisman that makes cycling safe. But it is erroneous and even dangerous to over-attribute protective qualities to the bicycle helmet. Personal accounts of surviving collisions are tremendously affecting, both for the person recounting their experience and for the listener or reader. And I by no means wish to undermine these accounts. But it is also important to recognise that as human beings, we are "wired" to be more susceptible to affecting narratives. Things that are not in fact logical make sense to us under emotionally charged conditions, and "a helmet saved my life" is a textbook example of that.

Be angry at me if you must for the title of this post and the things I write here. But also try to understand my point. Accepting emotional, subjective beliefs as evidence does not actually contribute to safety. It only contributes to a false sense of security, to hysteria, to witch hunts, and to the media now making it a point to state whether a cyclist hit by a motor vehicle was wearing a helmet or not, thus normalising the "blame the victim" mentality in reports of cyclist deaths and injuries. How did we let this happen? That is something we ought to think about very carefully.

On Bicycle Pricing and Its Discontents

At the moment there is an engaging dialogue going on about the cost of bicycles, which I believe many readers here will find informative: Last week Jan Heine of the Bicycle Quarterly published a post entitled Why Buy an Expensive Bicycle, in which he argues in favour of custom-built bicycles costing 5 times as much as mid-tier production bikes. In response, Kent Peterson of Kent's Bike Blog explained why he prefers inexpensive bicycles, presenting an almost diametrically opposite viewpoint. Together, I think these two posts and the reader comments that follow make for some truly thought-provoking reading, and I invite you to check them out.

Having read both posts, I find that my own opinion on this matter does not fit into the dichotomy of the debate. But I will try to explain it in my own way, without framing it as an "expensive vs inexpensive" issue.

Put simply, for me it is about the bicycle and, more importantly, about the cyclist's experience - not about the price. Bicycles are made for riding, and in order to ride them (and be inspired to ride more) the cyclist's experience must be positive. Not everyone is mechanically inclined and able to fix even minor issues when things start to go wrong. Not everyone's body can withstand poor (or even mediocre) ride quality. Finally, not everyone is inspired by a bicycle that is so crudely made and generic-looking as to be utterly without character. Now, we can criticise people for their lack of mechanical skills, their sensitivity to discomfort and their preoccupation with aesthetics. Or we can accept these traits and turn our attention to the bicycle itself - defining a "good" bicycle as one that will inspire people to ride. And by "people" I mean people as they are, with all their flaws and biased preferences and love of pretty things and mechanical ineptitudes.

Based on the huge amount of feedback I receive from readers who are either would-be cyclists or fledgling cyclists, I believe there are three characteristics a bicycle must have in order to attract those who are not already committed to cycling: (1) it has to work properly without a lot of fussing, (2) it has to feel comfy, and (3) it has to look nice. And it makes sense that a person of average financial means who desires to ride a bicycle, will naturally strive for the least expensive option that satisfies all three of these criteria.

And therein lies the first glitch.  Based, again, on the feedback I get from readers, it is quite challenging to find a bicycle nowadays that both satisfies all three of the criteria listed above, and costs what most first-time buyers consider to be a reasonable amount. When I quote the $500 figure as a first-time buyer's typical budget, I am by no means making fun of this figure or disparaging persons with such a budget. On the contrary, this was my budget as well when I first began shopping around for a transportation bike. Unfortunately, $500 or thereabouts is considered "low end" by the bicycle industry today. Sad as it is, if you walk into a bicycle store right now, $500 will afford you only the lowest quality bikes available. The salesperson may even tell you, holding back a laugh, that with such a budget shopping for a new bike will be difficult. It is what they told me in 2009.

Now let's get back to this fictional person who, on the one hand, wants a nice bike, but on the other hand is discovering how tough it is to find a bicycle that satisfies their requirements on a modest budget. At this stage they have a choice between two main options: (a) compromise on one or more of their criteria, or (b) increase their budget. Many choose the former option, which, granted, seems very reasonable. However, I kid you not that I now receive perhaps half a dozen emails a week from persons who are unhappy with their bikes and are not enjoying cycling as a result of a budget-driven compromise. The biggest complaint is that of frequent failures. The cyclist is not experienced enough to deal with them, and moreover does not want to deal with them. They also do not have time to constantly take the bike to the shop. The second biggest complaint is that of severe discomfort and poor ride quality. With all these problems, the bicycle does not get ridden very often and the cyclist begins to lose faith in cycling all together.

So you see, it is not the price I have a problem with. It is this outcome. By no means do I believe expensive bicycles to be better simply by virtue of costing more; that would be absurd. When a $500 bicycle becomes available that I believe to be reasonably well made, comfortable and attractive enough to make new cyclists happy, I gladly herald it here and post lots of sexy pictures. Unfortunately, I find few bicycles in this price range to be of good quality, and I refuse, absolutely refuse to promote manufacturers who churn out overpriced bike-shaped toys by giving them exposure here based on their "low" prices alone. If a person cannot afford a well-made new bike, I recommend buying used or vintage.

Now that I've finished that rant, the next question might be: So what is my idea of a high-quality new bike and what would it cost? Unfortunately, I have no definitive answers for you. Unlike Jan Heine, I do not believe that a $5,000+ custom bicycle is necessarily the solution. Customers are not always experienced and informed enough to truly know what they want, and builders make mistakes all the time. Also, the custom process takes forever and by far not everyone is willing to wait a year or more for a bike. Moreover, I agree with Kent that beyond a certain price point the anxiety over potential theft and damage may diminish a bicycle's utility.

The truth is that what constitutes a quality bicycle and a good value often depends on the person. It depends on their needs. It depends on their standards. It depends on the kind of riding they do, on their body's sensitivity, on their terrain, even on their climate. It depends on their level of mechanical skill. It is impossible to profess "the answer" that will be applicable to everyone.

In conclusion, my view is that it's not about pricing; we are way too focused on pricing. If you are serious about cycling, determine the criteria you are looking for first: What kind of bicycle makes you want to ride? Because that is what ultimately it is all about. Then find a way to buy that kind of bicycle, without compromising on those criteria. For some this may be doable at $500, for others it could be $5000, and most of us will fall somewhere in between. It does not matter to me how much a bicycle costs, as long as the owner loves it and wants to ride it all the time.

Being in Nature

Walking into an outdoor clothing and gear retailer today, we invariably see an expanse of merchandise that is stylised to portray outdoor pursuits as highly technical activities. Fabrics of unnatural textures emitting an otherworldly sheen, colour schemes that don't exist in nature, motifs based on jarring geometric forms, aggressive logo placements - the overall feel is decidedly inorganic. And perhaps that is the key to why I find the aesthetics of today's outdoor industry so disturbing: How can clothing and gear designed for an intimate relationship with our natural surroundings be made in a way that is so at odds with them?

As a teenager in the 1990s I noticed that it disconcerted me to go hiking and see other hikers decked out in this high-tech gear. Watching them move through the landscape, they seemed to be invading nature, not striving to be a part of it. I found myself wondering how long those garments would take to decompose once discarded after a season or two, and what effect their decomposition would have on the beautiful scenery. It particularly disturbed me that outdoor enthusiasts did not seem to be aware of this contradiction. Carrying food and drinks in a myriad of plastic containers, they tramped through meadows and forests clad in aggressively styled garments made of artificial fabrics - an alien presence in their own world.

No doubt as a direct reaction to this I found myself drawn to natural fabrics and materials in everything from clothing, to furniture, to the everyday products I used, and also drawn to aesthetics that harmonised with my surroundings. And early on I felt that content and form went hand in hand here: When a particular aesthetic style becomes popular, it informs what is socially valued. And this has a huge overall impact on what kind of things get made and on how they get made. The aggressive, sporty, techie look has grown absolutely ubiquitous in outdoor gear - so much so that wool outdoor clothing manufacturers looking to become mainstream have taken to imitating the look of artificial fabrics in order to visually convince that their product is equally functional. The fact that what makes wool functional is its natural properties is laughably lost when this tactic is employed.

But recently the outdoor industry has experienced a small but noticeable backlash against the high-tech, and this includes the realm of bicycles and bicycle-related products. The growing public awareness of fringe brands such as Rivendell Bicycle Works and Archival Clothing have made both consumers and manufacturers rethink the aesthetics of an outdoor lifestyle. Some interpret this phenomenon as nostalgia-driven, and some see it as a form of consumer elitism. But I believe there is at least some element here of a rising collective desire for products that are more harmonious with our natural surroundings. Reverting to traditional looks, fabrics and manufacturing processes is simply the byproduct when things are made in this manner. The return of the steel bicycle with the waxed canvas bag is not so much about "re-enactment" as it is about rethinking ways of being in nature.