Bike Snob Page 14
Obviously, you can still crash if you follow every single traffic rule in nerd-like fashion, but the fact is it does improve your odds considerably. That’s all I’m saying.
Ride a Lot
The more you ride your bike the better you get at it, and the better you get at riding your bike the more likely you are not to fall off of it. Unless you’re Cadel Evans. That guy crashes all the time.
Don’t Drink
Cyclists love to vilify people who drink and drive, yet we are almost completely unwilling to address the problem of drinking and cycling. The truth is, many of us drink and ride. I know I do, and I admit I’ve crashed into things as a result. Still, we manage to congratulate ourselves for not driving home from the bar despite the fact that we’re weaving home on our bikes like First Avenue is a loom.
Drinking and cycling is like drinking and flirting—it’s pretty likely you’re going to wind up hitting something, and the results are probably going to be ugly. And while it’s relatively easy to avoid a person afterwards and pretend sex didn’t happen, giving a lamppost a fake number isn’t going to make either it or your swelling go away.
Don’t Listen to Other People
(A moving and cinematic personal account—film rights available.)
A particularly potent cause of crashes is peer pressure. You might think that the likelihood of peer pressure—related crashes decreases as you get older, but this is not the case. At least not if you’re me.
The year was 1984. The movie 1984 had just come out, Van Halen had just released the album 1984, and I was partying like it was 1984, which meant riding around the neighborhood on my BMX bike with a bunch of other kids, looking for places to do tricks. At some point, we happened upon a table with folding legs, the sort upon which you might play bridge, or atop of which you might find a platter of cold cuts at the VFW hall. If you’ve seen Close Encounters of the Third Kind, you’re familiar with the moment when Richard Dreyfuss accidentally lops the top off the mountain he’s sculpting and suddenly realizes where the aliens are going to land. Well, we had a similar eureka moment when we folded two of the legs in and realized this cheap folding table kind of looked like a ramp.
As you probably realize, a good ramp looks kind of like this:
It does not look like this:
which is what the card table looked like. Nonetheless, we all looked at each other, waiting for someone to try it first. Thinking that riding off this card table at full speed would land me in the annals of local BMX history, a Hutch sponsorship, and eventually on the cover of BMX Action magazine, I volunteered. Instead, it landed me on my head. I played it off like I was fine, rode home in a daze, and passed out. I’d like to say I recovered, but it wasn’t long after that my grades dropped and I started poking holes in my earlobes and smoking. I can’t say for sure if this behavior was simply the result of adolescence or of the untreated head injury—though I can’t help thinking that if I’d let Lance Bernstein try the jump instead, maybe I’d be writing a book about quantum physics instead of about riding your bike. I guess I’ll never know.
It’s also worth noting that over twenty years later I broke a rib on my mountain bike after I rode off a drop for no other reason than Paul DeBartolo told me to do it. Mind you, Paulie didn’t ride the drop himself. I was following him, he stopped before the drop, looked down at it, and then told me to do it. It’s the same kind of stupidity you display when someone tastes something, spits it out, tells you to taste it, and you do. Anyway, I landed the drop—unfortunately, though, I landed it on my face and underneath the bike. I can’t blame adolescence for that one, so maybe the card table thing did determine the course of my life after all. In any case, take it from me: don’t ride off card tables, and don’t listen to Paulie D.
Sometimes the worst thing about crashing is that it can keep you off your bike for a while. This can be very difficult. What happens when you can’t do your favorite thing? Certainly, this is when it pays off to be a well-rounded person with other interests and lots of stimulating relationships, but we can’t all be this way—I know I’m not. If you’re a narrow-minded person who focuses on cycling to the exclusion of all else and you’re forced off the bike by an injury, just try to treat it like I treat climbs: it’s something you wish wasn’t happening, but if you’re forced to deal with it you might as well use it to your advantage. At the very least, it’s an opportunity to focus on cycling-related projects like bike maintenance. In fact, not riding can be just as important a part of cycling as riding. After all, music could not exist without the notes’ relationships to one another and the silence between them; pleasure could not exist without pain; time on the bike could not exist without time off the bike. Your incapacitation could in fact prove to be the key to your true cycling enlightenment.
Or find other fun stuff to do that doesn’t involve riding. That works too.
Bike Pain
If you’ve ever worked in a bike shop, you’ve experienced the customer who’s got vague complaints about comfort. Usually, it involves the saddle, which they “don’t like.” But other stuff can be uncomfortable for them, too. Sometimes it’s the shoes, or the handlebars. Sometimes it’s the pedals. Sometimes they think the bike is too harsh, or their back gets sore, or there’s just something wrong that they can’t really articulate.
These complaints can be legitimate, and sometimes an adjustment or a part swap is all that’s needed. At the same time, though, bicycles are not sofas, or beds, or easy chairs. They are machines, and they are minimalist vehicles. They are not designed for comfort without compromise. They are designed to be ridden without actually hurting you as long as you use them correctly. It’s not surprising many people don’t understand this. We’ve come to expect that life can be a completely pain-free experience, provided we’re prepared to spend enough money. There are pills to soothe your body, and pills to soothe your mind. There are driver-coddling cars, first-class seating, heated floors, and ergonomic toilet brushes. Why should cycling be any different?
Well, when it comes to bikes, there is such a thing as normal discomfort. The more time you spend on a bike at a stretch, the more uncomfortable you’re going to get. You’re going to get tired. Your body is going to ache from staying in the same position. Even your bed with the down mattress cover and high-thread-count sheets will revolt against you and give you bedsores if you don’t turn over every once in a while. Obviously some of this discomfort can be dialed out of the bike by making adjustments and part changes, but at some point the only way to get more comfortable on the bike is to ride the thing more and train your body to deal with it better—and even then, eventually you’re just going to have to get off the damn thing and stop riding, just like eventually you’ve got to get out of bed. Sometimes you’re uncomfortable because of your parts or your bike fit. Sometimes you’re uncomfortable because you’re riding wrong, or you’re thinking about riding wrong.
But discomfort is a great way to justify new stuff, and some people use discomfort to justify the most coveted of all cycling purchases—the custom-built bicycle. All cyclists love to drool over custom, handmade bikes, and I’m certainly no exception. There are also a lot of great reasons to get them. Not only are you supporting a craftsperson, but sometimes you also need a bike that’s simply not available from a mass manufacturer. Perhaps you live in the rain forest and commute to a job in a research station so you need a 29er mountain bike with racks, pontoons, and a front-end machete mount. Or perhaps your proportions are unusual and you simply need someone to build you a bicycle that will fit. All of these things make sense.
However, some people of common proportions well supported by the bike industry and with cycling needs that are well addressed by pretty much every bike company out there still convince themselves that they need a custom bike to be “comfortable.” If you’re having a bicycle built for you with a custom seat tube angle that could just as easily be achieved on your current bicycle by sliding your saddle forward or backward by two milli
meters, than you may want to consider the possibility that you’re indulging yourself. And there’s nothing wrong with indulging yourself, but if left unchecked indulging yourself can lead to deluding yourself. Perfection doesn’t exist, and the more doggedly you pursue it the more elusive it proves. Before you know it you’re broke and trying to sell your custom road bike with the 72.89485-degree seat angle and 57.90204-degree head tube angle on the Serotta forums to a bunch of people whose needs are equally specific and similarly unattainable.
So if you’re uncomfortable, think about why. Don’t be afraid to move stuff around, and don’t be afraid to ask questions. But also understand that cycling involves sensations, and not all of them are pleasurable.
* * *
*If you’re European or pretentious, simply convert Fahrenheit to Celsius and substitute Steve Guttenberg with Gérard Depardieu.
CORROSION OF CONFORMITY
Rules vs. fashion
I’m the paté on the universal cracker. I’m the grout holding your shower tiles on. I’m out of the saddle, sprinting up that hill and eating glazed donut bracelets off the right arm of Jesus.
—Charles Manson
Cycling is full of rules, and rules are tricky things. Generally, rules are created for a good reason. Take sell-by dates on foods. Rules against selling food after a certain date are a good thing, because they prevent us from becoming violently ill, and while certain things only get better with age there are very few circumstances in which you should eat “vintage food.” However, rules often hang around so long that people forget why they were created in the first place. Kosher dietary laws, for instance, are the sell-by date of three thousand years ago. Back then, there was a cult that followed a god called Astarte. (This is not to be confused with the professional cycling team, Astana.) This cult used to have a big party which involved boiling a kid (as in a young goat) in its mother’s milk. This must have been quite delicious, because these parties were popular enough that the Jewish leaders had to make a rule that prohibited Jews from “eating the kid that has been boiled in its mother’s milk” in order to keep them from defecting over to the Astarte cult. This rule is still on the books today (those books being the Torah), but now it simply means that observant Jews can’t eat cheeseburgers. And while cheeseburgers aren’t exactly good for you, the rule isn’t about health. It’s simply a historical accident. I’m sure if some rabbinical leader had gotten nailed in the eye with a piece of gefilte fish a few hundred centuries ago then observant Jews wouldn’t be able to eat that either.
Well, cycling equipment choice and setup are governed by as many rules as any supermarket or religion. And like any body of rules, some of them make sense, and some of them once made sense but are now simply ways that initiated cyclists can identify other cyclists as “newbies.” These are common rules that have a nucleus of practicality:
Always Align Your Tire Label with Your Valve Stem
This is an oft-cited rule. While you’ll rarely see a bicycle depicted in an advertisement that doesn’t adhere to it, in practice some people adhere to it and some people don’t. Personally, I adhere to it like globs of jelly adhere to gefilte fish, and I find a misaligned tire as visually irritating as a tag sticking out from the collar of a T-shirt. However, just like you usually don’t feel the errant tag while you’re wearing a T-shirt, you won’t feel the misaligned tire while you’re actually riding, since it has no effect on performance.
But as arbitrary and nitpicky as this rule seems, there is good reason for it. If you’re repairing a flat tire, you first need to locate the cause of the puncture. Sometimes, that’s difficult to do. But if you inflate your tube and find the hole, you can then look at how far it is from the valve. And, since you’re an observant, anal, rule-obsessed cyclist and you always align your tire label with your valve stem, you can then zero right in on the point of entry on the tire. And when you’re fixing a flat in the rain on a cold autumn day and your fingers are rapidly becoming numb, every second counts. This is doubly true if there are wild animals around, in which case every half-second counts. Yes, aligning your tire label and your valve stem can actually save you from being torn apart by bears or rabid monkeys. So AAYTLWYVS (Always Align Your Tire Label with Your Valve Stem).
Always Make Sure Your Quick-Release Skewers Are Properly Closed
Many cyclists have no idea how to properly close a quick-release skewer, which to me is only slightly less strange than not knowing how to operate a zipper. A leisurely spin through any area where recreational cyclists congregate will reveal an absolutely stunning number of people whose wheels are on the verge of ejection from their bicycles. And if you don’t think it’s happening, trust me—it is. I once found myself riding up a hill behind a rider with an improperly closed rear skewer, and just as I noticed it the rear wheel left the dropouts and the rider wound up sprawled on the pavement. (I’m not qualified in first aid, but I am qualified in pedantry, so I opted to administer a quick-release closure lesson in lieu of medical attention.)
I’m not going to go into a how-to with regard to skewers, because this information is best conveyed in person, but I will say the most common mistake seems to be simply twirling the skewer while in the open position until it stops. Please remember—it’s a skewer, not a wing nut (and by wing nut please note that I am not referring to Gary Busey). Closing it properly is the most important thing. Having the lever on the correct side of the bike and at an attractive angle is simply a bonus.
Always Keep Your Saddle Level
The symbol of peace is the olive branch. The symbol of communism is the hammer and sickle. And the symbol of the fixed-gear bicycle fad might as well be a bicycle saddle with its nose pointed directly at the ground.
As much as I believe that comfort is paramount, and that people should opt for what works for them over what other people think should work for them, the truth is that if your saddle is more than a little bit off-kilter, something is wrong. Actually, few cyclists keep their saddles dead-level. Many prefer a slight upward or downward tilt. However, if the nose of your saddle is actually pointing directly at your front hub this means there is a problem and you’re simply compensating for it. This problem could be that your bars are too low, so you have to angle the saddle down in order to spare your poor, suffering taint. It could also mean that your saddle is too high and you’re angling it down in order to be able to straddle it. Or it could simply mean that you’re using a saddle that doesn’t fit you well and you should try something else.
Indeed, the quest for the perfect saddle is an important—dare I say mythological—one for a cyclist. It is a voyage of both self-discovery and self-crotchal discovery, and it’s one that can take minutes or years. You could buy your first bike and be perfectly comfortable, or you could try saddle after saddle for decades, only to discover that the saddle that’s best for you was made briefly by an Italian company in the seventies. Either way, it is a process of trial and error and of experimentation, but after a while you do come to know which shapes work and which don’t. And if the only way you can get your saddle to fit comfortably is to angle it down like a wind sock on a still day, you should probably try a different one.
Misconceptions:
Rock It First; Rationalize It Later
While some practical ideas eventually just become rules of thumb, other choices specific to a certain group of people can ultimately evolve into fashions. Here are some current cycling fashions that Don’t Always Make Sense:
The Messenger Bag
Along with fixed gears, the messenger bag has become extremely popular. In fact, it’s become so closely associated with cycling that many people automatically think it’s the only type of bag you should even consider for riding. It’s rare these days that a new rider will purchase something else.
Messenger bags for non-messenger use is nothing new, and they’ve been popular with non-cyclists for decades. They actually crossed over to the mainstream well before messenger-style bikes did. This makes sense,
because messenger bags are durable and they hold a lot of stuff, and they’re a much better fit for the typical urban person than a leather briefcase.
However, for on-the-bike use, messenger bags aren’t always the great choice everybody thinks they are. This is because they’re designed to swing around from rear to front quickly and without being removed. This is great when you’re stopping every two blocks to deliver a package; but it’s not such a great thing when you’re just going from one place to another and you keep having to push your bag back around every five minutes. If you’re not constantly going in and out of your bag, you very well may be much better off with a regular backpack.
Still, urban cyclists will continue to choose the messenger bag. Actually, the messenger bag has become less a bag than another article of clothing. People often opt for the most capacious messenger bag they can find, but since they’re not delivering packages these bags just remain mostly empty. And empty bags don’t swing around; instead, they simply wrap around your body. Really, a better name for messenger bags might be “hipster capes.” The U-lock still resides in the back pocket, and the keys still hang from the waist. And the messenger bag is wrapped around the shoulders, and the shoulders are hunched over ridiculously narrow handlebars. The result is riders who look like James Brown at that point in the concert when he’d fall to his knees and they’d drape him with velvet. “Ladies and Gentlemen—the Godfather of Pointlessness!”