Aesthetics of Use

This morning I came across the phrase "aesthetics of use" when it appeared in Bill Strickland's description of his muddy cycling shoe. It is a term I often hear thrown around by artists and designers. In essence, it means that to see an object in use is beautiful - that an object reveals its true self not on display, but in action. Some makers like to think of the aesthetic direction their objects take in the new owners' hands as a happy surprise. Others try to control it. Others still encourage what might be called hyper-use (or at least superficial signs of such), believing that distress enhances the appeal of their creations. These attitudes can be discerned in the manner manufacturers describe and promote their products. Owners' attitudes run the gamut as well. Some emulate the manufacturer's vision in their use of the object, while others are intent on making it their own. 

Thinking of these differences, I am reminded of Pamela Blalock's bicycles. A local randonneur who probably spends more time in the saddle than not, she has a few bikes and they are very nice ones. At some point I had it in mind to test ride and feature some of them here. But the more I examined them, the more I realised that the bikes say more about Pamela herself than they do about the manufacturers and models they started out as.

Befendered, weathered from winter commutes, and covered in all manner of curious contraptions, "Cielo Cross bike" hardly seems like an apt description for the magnificent creation that is the Green Queen - Pamela's transportation bike. Fixed gear, rear rack, dynamo lighting, possibly more than one bell - these things make sense to her; the bike is clearly built with a purpose.

Neither is it really accurate to describe her roadbike as a Seven Axiom and leave it at that. While I do not think Pamela was the first to put dynamo lighting and bar end shifters on a Seven, she certainly managed to do it in a way that looks eye-catchingly unusual - blurring boundaries between racing and utilitarian riding and making others question their own understanding of these boundaries. The visually distinct setup reflects preferences that developed out of personal experience. Pamela came up with these ideas from doing years of long brevets and endurance races. It's what works for her in use, and the aesthetics are merely a by-product. 

We all have our own ways of using objects, of gaining experience, and then of changing the way we use objects as a result of what we learn from experience. We can follow a manufacturer's vision, we can imitate those whom we admire, we can heed the advice of the more knowledgable. But ultimately we each have our own trajectory to follow. Aesthetics of use are personal; they are not generic, rigid ideas of how an object ought to be utilised. 

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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. 

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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. 

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.  

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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Overthinking the Pink

A couple of weeks ago I got the inexplicable urge to redo the handlebars on my Rivendell with pink bar tape. I don't know. One day I was looking at the bike and suddenly felt that the earthtone and twine thing was getting kind of oppressive. The bike wanted to break free. With the streets growing more dreary with each passing day, a burst of colour was sure to break up the monotony. And that it certainly has: Now I feel as if I am riding a bike made of watermelon, or an enormous piece of tourmaline. It's nice and cheerful.

Of course, unlike other cheerful colours, pink is somewhat charged with meaning because of its associations with stereotyped femininity. So I was not entirely surprised to receive an email from a reader eager to discuss my new handlebar tape. She was disappointed that, while my choice in bicycle colours and accessories had hitherto been "the antithesis of girly," now here I was reinforcing the industry stereotype of women wanting pink on their bikes.

Heavy stuff. And as usual I find myself disagreeing and agreeing all at the same time. On the one hand, there is Elly Blue's post about "reclaiming pink." There is also the fact that originally, pink was considered to be a colour for boys. Finally, there is the Maglia Rosa of the Giro d'Italia - shouldn't that association trump the girly one?

On the other hand, I've heard too many women express frustration at the fact that the bicycle industry slaps pink colour schemes and floral motifs on everything that is designed for female cyclists ("shrink it and pink it") - from bike frames, to panniers, to cycling jerseys. I too find this annoying. But having thought about it for a couple of years, I suspect the real frustration here is that women-specific bicycles and products are oftentimes worse in quality than those designed for men. So the pink and flowery stuff, in combination with the inferior quality, is seen as a slap in the face: "Our marketing team believes you care about pretty colours and flowers more than you do about substance, so that is what we are selling you." 

Ultimately, I think that pink is a more versatile colour than we give it credit for, particularly in the context of cycling. It is really all about presentation. I will probably not keep the pink bar tape on this bike in the long run, simply because it overshadows the elaborate lugwork that really deserves the starring role here. But for now I quite like it, stereotyped or not.

What comes to mind when you think of pink bicycles or bike related products - Giro or girly? or something else entirely?

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Discussing Our Bodies in Mixed Company

image via kaputniq

Yesterday I came across a series of delightfully entertaining illustrations by kaputniq, modeled after a Victorian instruction manual for lady cyclists. "Women Wheelers! Don't say 'Feel my muscle,'" warns one. "Don't ask 'Do you like my bloomers?'" admonishes another. While things have changed since Victorian times, in some ways maybe not so much. When I wrote a post on female saddle discomfort some time ago, I received comments and emails from male readers indicating that they were made uncomfortable by the topic. To a lesser extent, the same happened when I brought up the subject of bras in a recent post, and likewise whenever I mention my leg muscles or (heaven forbid) butt in the context of cycling.

During the time I have spent around those who ride bikes, I have observed that male cyclists are not shy about discussing their bodies - be it in real life (conversations that take place in bike shops and at various cyclist gatherings) or on the internet (discussions in forums and blog comments). Thanks to this, I know all about their "taint" and their infertility worries, and how they have to move stuff out of the way when dismounting a bike with a tall top tube, and so on. No big deal. It's a good thing that men feel free to share such things. 

However, female cyclists are unlikely to discuss their bodies in a similar manner, except in the vaguest of terms. Until very recently there was virtually no public internet dialogue about female-specific bicycle discomfort, and I rarely hear any such talk out loud. I don't think I'd be out of line in saying that it is still considered inappropriate in our society for women to be "immodest" - which is how discussing our bodies in mixed company is perceived. If a female mentions her toned legs, let alone her private parts, even in the context of cycling it can easily be interpreted as flirtatious or sexually provocative - whereas if a man does the same it is interpreted as merely clinical.

Despite the double standard, it is clear that female cyclists want to discuss these topics - and to do so using concrete terminology instead of polite abstractions. There is a growing feeling that information is unavailable to us because of our own embarrassment to share that information with each other, supplemented by a palpable male discomfort (or excitement - which is more intimidating?) when we do share it. While I am not the right candidate to spearhead a revolution in this regard, I am relieved to see that there is one underway. From the frank discussion of yeast infections on bikeskirt, to Elly Blue's article on menstruation in Grist, to an entire compilation of female writings about their bodies and cycling coming out in zine format (Our Bodies, Our bikes - order your copy here) it's as if a floodgate has opened, so to speak - mixed company be damned. Let's hope the trend continues. It should not be any less socially acceptable for female cyclists to discuss their bodies than it is for male cyclists.

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On Holidays and Travel

With all the talk about skyrocketing costs of airplane tickets for Thanksgiving, many people I know have decided to stay home this year and keep it low key. But rather than being upset about it, they seem relieved: A casual Thanksgiving with the immediate family instead of a full-on family reunion and hours spent in airports? The very idea seems to be an instant de-stresser. 

The decision to live far away from friends and family - combined with the expectation that we still ought to be close and get together as frequently as possible - creates an uncomfortable predicament. Though many are reluctant to admit it even to themselves, getting together with loved ones for the holidays often brings more stress than joy, fanning the flames of family conflicts and fostering new resentments. And when it's over? Well, so is the long weekend, and back to work you go. 

But people are not built to function like this - moving from one set of stressors to another, with no sense of relief. A holiday is meant to be a break, a time to relax. Airports and airplanes are not relaxing to most people. Neither are hours spent driving. Despite our society's quest for an ever-better quality of life, it seems that we've unwittingly designed our lives to maximise stress. 

Why bring this up on a blog about bicycles? Because the travel-induced stress of the holidays strikes me as the same type of problem as the stress of commuting long distances to work in a car or via public transportation. There is a great deal of new research coming out about the effects of travel and transportation choices on physical health, mental health, familial and social relationships, and overall quality of life. In retrospect, all of the findings are common sense - which only highlights the fact that society as a whole has been moving away from common sense notions of well-being. For those of us who are trying to get back to those notions, the bicycle has been a great help - not only in the immediate sense, but also in the sense of helping us realise all of this at the most basic and visceral level.

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Bicycles and Curb Appeal

One aspect of a bicycle that usually gets omitted from reviews, but I feel is nonetheless important, is "curb appeal" - how noticeable or attractive it is to passers-by (who are not usually bicycle aficionados) at first glance. I've had bicycles in my possession that, while considered excellent and gorgeous by those who know about bikes, are virtually invisible to "normal" people. And then there are bicycles that barely allow me to make it down the street without strangers asking about them. 

While it may seem like a superficial thing to care about, the "curb appeal" factor can be important from several perspectives. From the manufacturer's and retailer's point of view, bicycles that are appealing even to those who are not into bikes have the potential to draw in new customers - who may then grow to become serious cycling enthusiasts as a result of the initial lure. From the customer's point a view, a bicycle that is admired by others in their community can enhance their feelings of satisfaction with the purchase and can even result in their riding more often. Even from the point of view of cycling activists, bicycles that are attractive enough to draw in non-cyclists are good news for the obvious reason that they will get more people cycling, or at least thinking about cycling. 

On the other hand, some may specifically not want a bicycle with the so-called "curb appeal." Getting constantly approached and asked about one's bike by strangers is a negative thing for those who don't like to attract attention. There may also be a heightened concern of theft to worry about.

Either way, I feel that the extent to which a bicycle is appealing to and noticed by the general public is meaningful and worth mentioning when discussing bicycle design. Have you noticed the "curb appeal" of your bicycle? 

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The Everyday Spooky

I am going to be honest here: I considered doing a contest or a funny story for Halloween, but I am just not in the mood.

After a few days back in the US, I have to admit that cycling here has required some major re-adjustment on my part. Having initially set out with the same relaxed attitude I'd acquired after only a couple of weeks in Vienna, I immediately experienced a "welcome home" reminder consisting of close-calls with doors flinging open, drivers refusing to yield when I have the right of way, the works. Cycling here is spooky. Having not ventured abroad for over a year prior to my recent trip, I guess I've managed to trick myself into forgetting that.

Once in a while I write about how much conditions have improved here in Cambridge and Somerville since I began cycling in Spring of 2009. But just as often I question myself: Have they really improved that much, or have I just become more aggressive, less sensitive, and more willing to accept risks in response to the reality of how (bad) things are? Probably a bit of both, and it's so difficult to see objectively. Coming back from Las Vegas a month ago, cycling in Boston seemed like paradise. Coming back from Vienna, it seems like a war zone. 

While I maintain that I am "not an activist," of course I care about cyclists all over the world having safe and pleasant travel conditions. Everyday cycling should not be a scary experience, and some day I hope it won't be. 

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