Bike Tribes: A Field Guide to North American Cyclists

173 Pages·2012·5.67 MB·English

by  Mike Magnuson

This book is for the Heckawee:
Executive Counsel Dale Aschemann, Roberto “Bob” Barrios,
Big Tom Harbert, Michael “Molteni” Humphries, David
“Champ” Neis, Mike “Napoleon” Pease, John “Chief”
Reimbold, and Professor Darren Sherkat.
May we forever not care how long it takes us to get there or how
much Cave Creek we may drink along the way.
CONTENTS
We Shall Call Them Bike Tribes
Minding the Store
The Wrench Who Keeps Us Rolling
BMX
The Overwhelming Majority
The Occasionally Dirty
The Shrinking People
One Part of Three Parts
Riders of the Century
Thousands upon Thousands of Us
The Mothers of All Centuries
Roadies
Those Who Chase Each Other in the Woods
When in Doubt, Cyclocross
The Legend of Rando
The Happy Wanderers
The Commuters
The Mass Is Critical
We Can Fixie This
What Vintage Do You Prefer?
Beach Cruisers
Together
Acknowledgments
WE SHALL CALL THEM BIKE TRIBES
Sometimes the hardest things to understand are the easiest to explain. Like
breathing. That’s easy enough to explain. If we stop breathing and don’t start
breathing again in a jiffy, we’ll die. Little kids can understand that. Little kids
can easily understand sunshine and green plants and where oxygen comes from,
too. Their teachers have explained how the sun strikes the leaves and feeds the
plants and the plants in turn feed us and how, when plants breathe, they make
oxygen for us. Without sunshine, all little kids know, there would be no life at
all.
But how do plants breathe anyway? How can plants eat sunshine when
human beings are getting burned by it? And why do schoolteachers say if we
stare at the sun we’ll go blind? Little kids will blow their minds on the spot if
they think about that sort of stuff too long. Same is true of grown-ups. There’s
just so much we don’t know. In fact, I’ll bet probably fewer than one person in a
thousand can explain, in accurate detail, the actual chemical process of human
breathing, respiration—the way oxygen passes from our lungs into our
bloodstream and makes us strong of body and of mind and of spirit and yet still
crazy enough to ride bicycles with our friends 25 miles on the back roads to the
next town to buy a Snickers bar and then ride the 25 miles back home. Because
that’s what respiration does, right? Makes us want to ride bicycles? And is that
what’s known as the Krebs cycle?
Forgive me. For one thing, I’m obviously not a scientist. For another thing,
I’m a lifelong cyclist and somehow have developed an involuntary habit of
twisting all avenues of inquiry toward cycling. There are scientists who are
cyclists, of course, as there are cyclists from every conceivable walk of life. I’ve
known filthy rich cyclists with garages full of bikes, and I’ve known cyclists
who were unemployed and flat broke and begging other cyclists for spare inner
tubes and a new chain and a couple of extra energy gels to tide them over till
they can catch a break. Some of the cyclists I’ve known have been brilliant,
some not so brilliant. Some of them have been the nicest, most interesting people
I’ve ever met. Some have been total jackasses in every possible connotation of
the word. I have been a jackass from time to time, too. I admit it.
Being a jackass is not unique in cycling. Ask any cyclists you know. They’ll
say the same thing. We have nice people in cycling and mean people and
middle-of-the-road people. We have every personality type you can imagine.
What cyclists share, incontrovertibly, is this: Deep down, we wouldn’t be happy
without cycling. In this sense, we are all the same.
SO THIS IS a book about people who ride bicycles. I wish it were a book about
bicycles without the people attached to them, to tell you the truth, because
bicycles are not the most complicated things on this earth, at least compared to
human beings, which are unbelievably complicated according to anyone who’s
ever had anything to say on the matter.
I’m not necessarily an authority on people, either, other than I’m 49 years
old and am foolish enough, and proud enough, to believe that age adds up to
wisdom. Some days, I’m not sure it does—like when I’ve forgotten my list at the
grocery store for the third time in a row or when I can’t remember my own
phone number (and who calls themselves anyway?) or get hopelessly lost on a
bike ride in the countryside. But not even the wisest soul is wise 100 percent of
the time. I’ve seen some things over the years, I guess, and like most people my
age, I’ve spent considerable periods of my life trying to understand why people
think the things they do and why they do the things they do. My general
conclusion about people is not very encouraging, but whenever I lay it out there
for discussion, I receive support for it. Here’s what I believe: People are
difficult. That’s just a fact everyone agrees on. The other fact people agree on is
that no human being, ever, anywhere, has figured out exactly why people are so
difficult.
But bicycles are just bikes. What could bikes possibly do wrong? What could
bikes possibly say to offend you? Or misinterpret what you said?
In the most general sense, a cheap bicycle for sale at a department store
chain is essentially the same machine as a fancy carbon-fiber road-racing bicycle
that you might see in a Pro Tour cycling event. The fancy bike and the cheap
bike both have two wheels, a frame, a fork, a crank, pedals, a chain, a seat post, a
saddle, and a handlebar. They both smell like rubber and grease when they’re
new. There is some relatively complicated engineering associated with even the
simplest bicycle, for sure, and with a Pro Tour bicycle there is some profoundly
complicated aerospace-style engineering involved. But these differences in
engineering are salted-in-the-shell peanuts compared with the intricacies of
people who pedal these machines. I say this with nearly complete ignorance of
engineering, mind you, and with only the fanatical belief that human beings are
always more interesting and important than machines. Not all cyclists, it goes
without saying, agree with me on this.
But even a dog, the sworn enemy of cyclists since the invention of the
bicycle, can wrap its mind around this kind of math: Bicycles + People =
Cycling. This means that understanding cyclists should be easy, but the hard
truth about cyclists is that very few of us understand each other.
This is how the misunderstanding happens: Millions of people are involved
in cycling worldwide. Some ride bikes for transportation. Some ride for exercise
and fresh air. Some ride for competition, racing bikes on the road or on the track
or on trails or in fields of mud or across the United States or on a long loop
around France every July. Some people are as dependent on their bicycle as a
heroin addict is on heroin. Some people ride their bicycle one time a year and
think that’s enough. In general, cycling itself is a highly individual, highly
idiosyncratic activity—the type of sport where people quite regularly get into it
by riding alone and without having to submit to the greater will of a group. And
as a consequence, the people who are drawn to cycling seem to be spirits who
follow their own advice, their own guidance, their own ways of thinking about
the world and how they ought to be riding bicycles in it.
Nevertheless, for very human reasons, because we don’t want to be alone,
cyclists tend to gravitate toward other cyclists with whom they feel the highest
degree of “alikeness.” People who race mountain bikes hang out with other
people who race mountain bikes. People who ride bikes for fun hang out with
people who ride for fun. It’s a matter of group self-selection. Once cyclists
become comfortable in their groups, they identify with these groups to the point
where they occasionally think things like This is the way we do it. That means
this is the only way to do it. Once cyclists think things like that, it becomes
harder for them to appreciate that they are part of a larger community consisting
of millions of people who ride bikes; instead, they are part of a smaller
community consisting of a specific type of cyclist.
Most cyclists typically spend their entire cycling lives functioning within
these small units: road riders or mountain bikers or fixie riders or triathletes or
cyclocross racers or track racers or people who load their Chihuahua in a basket
on a beach cruiser bicycle and ride off in the direction of sunshine and music and
groovy people who don’t want to sweat life’s details.
Each of these groups has its own culture and history and a set of rules and
normative behaviors. Let’s call these groups Bike Tribes. Each of us is part of
one tribal group. Each of us is curious about the other Bike Tribes, too, because
in that one special way, because we love having two wheels under us, we’re all