Bicycling to Bliss

     Spring is near upon us, and that turns every young-old man's fancy to bicycling (well, not exclusively). We used to call it "biking" in the old days but motorcyclists stole that from us, and you don't take back what "bikers" have stolen -- at least not without doing yourself almost as much harm as getting clipped by an eighteen-wheeler at 60 miles an hour.

     Popular discourse on "cycling" (hey, we still own that word, don't we?) usually centers on one of two things:  1) those who have recently returned to cycling and are now annoying prophets of the past-time, prepared to proselytize as readily as Jehovah's Witnesses (you know, maybe the latter would be more successful if they rode bicycles); and, 2) those who have recently returned to cycling, and discovered that bicycles are legitimate road vehicles, and now want all legal (to say nothing of moral) authorities to take their side in a religious crusade against the automobile. My wife and I once lived in Maastricht, Netherlands, and within a week, we were ready to start a movement on behalf of pedestrians against those swift and silent bicycles that zoomed across our cross-walks. This latter group of complainers on behalf of cyclist rights is not content (nor am I) with bicycle paths or routes (motorists seem to view signs marking bicycle routes with amusement, as if they read:  "you should take this route, there are fewer cars to get in your way." Bad drivers; drivers on cell phones, whose 

peripheral vision narrows to blot out any view of cyclists; drivers with malicious intent; drivers who don't stop when you have the right of way; drivers who do stop and dumbly treat you like you are a pedestrian, even when you are occupying a driving lane -- these are the bane of all cyclists existence. Feel suicidal? Have a death wish? Don't have a thrill park nearby? Take up cycling.

     The  bicycle itself is the Rodney Dangerfield of vehicular traffic.  How can anyone take

seriously a slight machine that is all skeleton with only a few tendons and ligaments attached. Many apparently see bicycles as a fossile remnant of an antique age. Weren't they just a brief, awkward, unsuccessful evolutionary step between the horse and the automobile? Speaking of evolution (or rather its critics), think of William Paley's argument about coming upon a watch, and examining it. One could only conclude, he declared, using the watch as an allegory for the workings of nature, that a purposeful designer was behind its construction. Now, if you are fond of Paley's argument (I am not, nor have been most philosophers), substitute bicycle for watch. What have you got then? A creator with a sense of humor? A creator that doesn't quite have it all together? A creator that isn't infallible?

     The outward appearance of the bicycle itself is only half of the equation. If you watch the "Tour de France," as I do (despite my suspicion that the top ten riders on any given day are using the newest version of designer drugs), you might find some beauty or elegance to the whole thing. After all, these riders are fit athletes with about 0.0% body fat. One would think

this would allow them to wear skin-tight outfits and maintain the sex appeal of Circe de Soleil performers. But it does not. Something about hunching over handlebars on a pretend seat drains away any latent sexiness. Well, sitting on a bicycle does have a profound negative effect on male prowess (but, hey, so do those steroids). I know of few women or gays who find the Tour de France particularly titilating, no matter how fit the body or meager the outfit. In other words, even professional cyclists look a little bit alien on these machines. When creatures from outer space do appear, I have no doubt they will look a lot like Lance Armstrong on a bicycle (you heard it here first!). What is even worse, most of us ordinary cyclists don't have the bodies to look good even standing on a street corner, let alone after swinging our posteriors up on a saddle that seems to promise some clever torture to follow (which it often does). In short, (and by now you are saying, please cut this short), bicyclists are comic figures riding high ona machine that appears too scant and frail to support the adult human body.

     But what a ride! Bicycles are made for the rider, not the observer -- open air, speed, the wind and elements right in your face, gliding along with minimal effort (except up hill; this contrast to gliding largely proves the existence of the devil and evil). Looking out from atop a bicycle (if you can forget how others see you who are not on a bicycle) is a grand way to encounter the world (well, except for encounters with cars, of course, which may explain the popularity of trail biking). Those of you of a certain age will remember Schwinn and other bicycles that figuratively weighed nearly as much as your father's Buick, and which literally did weigh as much as a modern Honda Civic. But the modern bicycle has almost no relationship to the old Schwinn. In fact, the bicycle has evolved more technologically that it has in appearance. In some ways, those who produce modern bicycles (Specialized, Giant, Kona, and several even more elegant brands) are more advanced in engineering than car manufacturers (although, given the state of the auto industry, this may not be claiming too much for them). They are light. An ordinary $500 bicycle today may weigh less than an expensive hand crafted bicycle twenty years ago. They have improved brakes and cranks and pedals and shifters, etc., thanks to Shimano and other companies that can now make quality parts at ordinary prices. And, they roll out on silky smooth bearings and improved wheels and tires. Altogether, riding a good bicycle (not even the top of the line bicycle) is like taking a quality sports car for a drive.

     Wait for a nice spring day, and take one for a test ride.