Why I Love My Purple Bike

This is an ode of sorts to my favorite bike. My Purple bike. There are several reasons why this bike should be at the bottom of my stable:

1) It's way too big for me. The top tube is 54cm with a traditional geometry. Plus, it has a 100mm negative rise stem. I usually ride a 52.5 with a 75mm positive rise stem. While it doesn't feel that bad, I know that I'm majorly supermaning it.

2) It's not a flashy material. It's aluminum. With a steel fork. So it's heavy.

3) It's older, with older components on it.

4) It has a ton of trail to the fork, which makes it a little laggy and unwieldy. Going handless is difficult.

Combined with the above elements is the fact that it's not really "good" for anything. Cross bike? See numbers 1 and 4. Commuter? Possibly, except that it doesn't come with a mount eye to speak of, neither fender nor racks. Which would mean I would have to get one of those weird seatpost mounted things that look a little disembodied or wear a huge backpack all the time.

But while I was riding it this morning for the first time in months through the frigid winter air, the reaction was unmistakable. I adore this bike. I love it. I will never part with it.

Here's why:

1) It is truly one of a kind. It's a Zunow, supposedly. My boss, who is a world class (literally) expert in all things vintage, thinks that it's most likely a real Zunow, though he's never seen one like it. Ever. As far as he can tell, it's probably either a nice frame with fake decals, or a custom CX Zunow made for some rich guy way back in the day.

2) It's purple. I mean. It's purple.

3) It has awesome old components on it. Back in the day, these were Cadillac, and it's obvious that whoever built it put a lot of thought and love into the package.

4) It has bar end shifters. That's just neat.

5) I can fool around with it and not feel like I'm going to break anything. I was able to set the front derailleur's limit screws so it would ride like a single up front, but then was able to easily retool everything for this mornings ride so I would just be able to access the two outer rings, leaving the inner still inert. I love being able to do things like that and not feel like I'm going to mess things up. Even if I do, it's not a huge deal on this bike.

6) With it being heavy, it's actually a great winter bike, since I can go slower=less wind=much warmer while still getting my HR up where it needs to be.

6) It's purple.

So in spite of everything I've listed that's negative, I have to say, just love riding it. I don't mind that it's too big or handles like crap. Whenever I get on it I grin. So while it will never be my Go To bike, it will probably always remain my favorite.

Bikes of Christmas Past

Children and bikes. A simple, yet natural combination. Something universal. A person's first taste of freedom, a tool to connect to a wider network of friends and places. David doesn't live within easy walking distance, but now that you have a bike, David's house is fair game.

Which is awesome, because David has a pool.

Do you see where I'm going with this?

Your first bike is the first true outlet to new adventures and possibilities and independence.

I remember my two childhood bikes with extreme fondness. The first, a red/white 24" bike that lived at my dad's house. With it, I perfected the swing-your-leg-over-the-top-tube-and-start-running-while-noisily-discarding-the-bike-on-the-lawn dismount. I also crashed it into several trees on a makeshift dirt jump at the end of the culdesac, peddled through streams, and tested how long I could ride on the local golf course without getting chased off by the groundskeepers (along with some neighborhood boys).

At my mom's house, a teal and hot pink Giant Awesome (that's right, Awesome) carried me to every connecting court and side street. Living in a housing development, there was no place to really "go," but I was lucky enough to live close to the smallest National Park in the country: Ball's Bluff. Thinking back on it now, I'm amazed that I willingly climbed the hill, which in my memory was huge, and down a long gravel pot hole filled road to get there. If I were to make that same ride today, I think it would wind me, possibly even intimidate me, but back then? Whatevah.

Because back then, the bike meant nothing but fun. That's it. Fun. When I wanted to have fun on the bike, I rode. When I didn't want to have fun on the bike, I didn't ride. Period. Brand or cost meant nothing. Lord knows I also had a Nintendo and Leggos and Rollarblades and MTV (back when they played videos) to while away the hours. But I still chose to get on the bike.

Which is why I think your first bikes are your best bikes. Your truest bikes, if that makes sense. Now you may have carbon electronic shifting this and titanium single speed fox shock that. But think about number one. Remember? Wasn't that great? Don't you wish you could go back to that?

I sure do. True, there are mountain bike trails, which even I can see have a greater sense of abandon than road riding provides. But you have to suit up, and get the right pedals, and drive to the trail head, and yadda yadda yadda. You don't just run off the bus and throw down your bookbag and grab the bars and go.

Sitting here this Christmas evening, I'm thinking about all of those little kids who ran downstairs to discover that Santa left them a shiny new bicycle under the tree. All of that impending fun in their futures. I'm excited to have been a small part of that.

In fact, I think it's probably the best part of my job.

The Bike is a Fair Weather Friend

It's cold.

No no. Let me rephrase.

It's prohibitive.

A blast of arctic air from Canada means that it's colder in the Carolinas are colder than in Denver, CO.

I'm checking the weather right now, and it says 29, but feels like 18.

18!

Now that the rant is over, let me tell you why I'm ranting.

Last year, I ran all through the winter. Sure, it was cold, but I survived. I ran in Bowling Green, OH when temps were, well, colder than they are here. I decked myself out in the balaclava, silk underwear, Mizuno Breath Thermal base layers, thick winter pants, two pairs of wool socks, a heavy running coat, two pairs of gloves, and a hat.

I was fine. After a few minutes of warming up, it was actually pleasant. The scenary? Gorgeous. The town? Charming. And coming home, I peeled off layers and received home baked cookies from smiling friends.

Even while in Greensboro, running on the trails in winter was a wonderland experience.

So why should cycling be so different?

Why indeed.

First off, and most importantly, the wind. Oh the wind. I used to run at a stunning 6mph, and most of that was shielded by the trees. On my bike, I'm out in the open, going around 15/16 mph on the slow side, and when that wind comes up, it takes your core temp instantly down a few notches, no matter how hard you've been working up to then.

Second off, I'm breathing harder, which means more cold air is sucked into my lungs.

Third off, my hands and feet, despite neoprene and ski thickness gloves, always go numb.

Fourth, my water bottles freeze. And yes, there are ways to prevent this, but please. Do I really have to start out my ride with hot water in the bottles?

Fifth, all of the added layers make riding a bike a bit, well, cramped. The gloves, for example, make riding the drops impossible since I don't have a confident feel of the brakes, plus grabbing the bottles (when they're not frozen) requires a bit more concentration.

Sixth, the scenery alongside the road is bleak and depressing. I can ride past trailer parks in the spring, summer, even fall. But winter?

Seventh, it's hard to find people to ride with in these temps. Even if I'm crazy enough to go out, most people are not. And some of my friends commute no matter what, but that's not 2+ hours worth of slogging it out on an endurance ride.

I know I need to HTFU and ride. It's hard, though. Harder than I thought it would be.

The trainer, the alternative, is not much better for endurance rides. For intervals? Awesome. Bring it. Trainer me. But for base rides? Even watching Whip It didn't make the time pass much faster.

And it's only mid December.

I know the weather right now is colder than average, but to me all that means is that I'm missing what little possible outdoor time I've got left.

But I also know that my dilemma is a standard one for the cycling ages. The pro riders in Ireland and England right now, where the weather is beyond insane, are logging 15 hour weeks on their trainers.

Things could be worse.

It's a bit of a let down to come to terms with the fact that a bike is a fair weather friend, though. I knew the theory behind it, but this is the reality. This is what everyone warned me about.

But at least all cyclists in the area share the same reality, and can commiserate with one another. Even if our bikes lose some of their romance, there's still a sense of community in the peleton. And ultimately, for me, the community is what it's all about.

Not "if" but "when"

Earlier this week, my Mom IMed me on Facebook, asking if I had read the article in the Times (as in NY) about cycling and crashing.

I said no, but asked what it was about.

"Well, it was about someone who crashed and broke their collarbone."

I waited for more information, but that appeared to be it. So I said, "that's it?"

That was it. I told her that lots of people I knew had done that very same thing. She said yeah, that sounds right.

Curious as to how such a commonplace cycling event made All The News That's Fit To Print!, I went back and read the article:

http://www.nytimes.com/2010/11/30/health/nutrition/30best.html?pagewanted=1&_r=1

Just FYI, it's an essay, not an article.

I came away with a sense of overblowness about the whole thing. While I certainly feel for the author, and sympathize with the suckiness of a broken collarbone, I'm not sure that it was so bad it would force me off the bike if I were placed in the same situation. I can't really imagean accident so catastrophic that it would force me off the bike forever. Unless godforbid it involved paralyses or death, (Hi Fate! It's me! Want some icecream? Yumm!), which it COULD involve, because ycling, due to cars, high speeds, pavement, and other things (blown tires, slick patches, gravel, dogs) is inherently dangerous. Even mountain bikers have their fair share of lurking peril.

The other thing is, LOTS of things involve paralyses or death, including living. Living is hazardous to your health. I mean, take driving. Every time you get into your car, you are risking your life. But we don't turn the key and constantly think about this fact; it would debilitate us.

Just like every time I hop on the bike, I don't constantly think about every car that passes or every dog that comes barking up to the shoulder. It would debilitate me.

The essay winds up centering around the statement that crashing on a bike isn't a case of "if," but "when," and this fact drives some people away from the sport. But, many many sports have this mantra (skiing, horseback riding, gymnastics, etc). Some people can get up and get back on. Others feel like the risks aren't worth the payoffs. This is a personal decision, not a judgement against the activity at hand or a reflection of worth/intelligence/bravery of the decider.

To extend the example, the same person who can cycle after being put into traction may never ever consider hopping onto a horse because it's "too dangerous." An avid horseback rider who retrains problem youngsters for a living may look at a bike and think, "why would anyone in their right mind share the road with that deathtrap?" Is one person smarter than the other, or better? Does one person "wise up" while the other lives in ignorance, or worse, denial?

So given that fact, I guess what miffed me the most about the essay is the tone that yes, this is in fact the case. People should "learn their lesson," and that lesson is learned in minor crashes for more intelligent people, and sometimes takes calamity for thicker people. Or some truly poor specimens never end up learning, despite crash after crash. Cyclists who choose to get back on are somehow stupid or crazy for riding the bike, given the "inevitable" disaster that awaits us across that wet metal bridge, or from that crazed squirrel, or maybe that squirrelly new rider in the paceline. Ultimately, cyclists in general are crazy.

Sure, NY Times, crashing may be a "when" not "if" aspect of cycling. But I would argue that crashing is also a "when" not "if" aspect of living. Cyclists are not naive for embracing that mantra.

We are the most reality bound of realists.