Education

Today there was a Bicycle Summit in Santa Fe, with representatives from three independent shops, a distributor, and several local clubs in attendance. The purpose was to round-table some ideas for our local reps to take to the National Summit in DC.
The primary concern of the 25 - 30 people there was, naturally, the streets of our fair city, and the conditions under which we cycle. While it was agreed that compared to 15 - 20 years ago things are immensely better, it was obvious that there is a long way to go. There are still certain arteries that a cyclist takes a higher risk using, but are really the only option.
The other main concern, and one that can be addressed at a national level is education for both motorists and cyclists. My own example to this was the motorist that thought my left-turn hand signal meant for them to pass me. Yeah... you do the math.

If you are interested in adding a voice, or helping out, there are meetings on the 3rd Wednesday at rob and charlie's, and you can watch the NM Bike Coalition site for info. I think the SOB's update for advocacy too.

Props to Lisa and Nathan from BTI for putting it together.


(and for those still watching; 2 years, 1 month, 25 days)

Lash

Part of me wants to flay the skin off the "cyclists" that only acknowledge their own, moreso the ones in cars, driving to their trail, or starting point.
Today, I rolled down the hill, in search of music, and malted adult beverages. The Cowgirl was celebrating 15 years with a dozen local bands, and I had a ticket to Cowboy Junkies at the Lensic. Memories of the Really Posh Guys almost crushed me, but that's another story.
As I rolled down said hill, a car with a couple bikes came up. I waved. I was ignored.
Perhaps because they were transporting mountain bikes, and I was riding La Gazza Ladra, perhaps they didn't notice me in the hundred yard visibility. Perhaps they were self-absorbed pricks who felt adding $3,000 of wind resistance to their car was cool.
It really doesn't matter after all... whatever rant I built on the way to town was washed away by the days events.
And perhaps that is the lesson. To me, to the pricks, to the people who make music for us.

And I signed a marriage certificate Saturday. No, it wasn't mine.
And I can't remember how many days it's been since I had a cigarette. More than five months...

Factions (part deux)

Why?
I'm used to road versus dirt, racer versus rider, people who are "training" sneering at people who are commuting... Used to it, but I still don't understand it. We all ride bicycles, we love our bicycles; why do we hold such animosity for those who worship a different style?
And now, as I explore deeper levels of our addiction, I find deeper animosity. Fixie riders who sneer at other fixie riders; ninjas who are too cool to be seen with the cruisers, students in one school who won't ride with students from another school, label-whores who won't stoop to be seen with anyone "generic"...
Why?
A thousand years ago, when I began riding, all that mattered was two wheels. Oh sure, the Stingrays got the style points, but they didn't hold up to the Western Flyers and Jet Pilots. Those 26"-wheeled behemoths could survive anything, even being t-boned by a '60s Cadillac (personal experience). But we never divided into factions, we just rode. Every kid in the neighborhood from 6 to 16 that had a bike would be out in force, doing crits around the 'hood, blasting through vacant lots, roosting off every piece of transition we found. We all had bikes, we all loved our bikes. Eventually some of us "grew up", and bikes (as well as the semi-religious experience of riding them) faded into memory. If they returned, it was not to the fold, but into a boutique-based self styling that harkened the factionalism we have today.
Why?
Roots, people, remember your roots. Diamond frame, cranks, chain, two wheels. The most efficient machine ever invented. No matter how technologically advanced the components become, it still boils down to a bicycle. The basis of it all.

Factions

There is a rant fermenting inside me, but it hasn't peaked; hasn't reached critical mass (pun intended). It's all about factions and divisions, clique versus clack, who will ride with whom, us versus them...
so until it comes to a head, I want to share this passage from Greg Moody's book Perfect Circles. It has a lot of my underlying current running through it.

"There are those who say that France has lost it's passion for cycling - forgotten the sport of Jaques Anquetil and Raymond Poulidor, Bernard Hinault and Louison Bobet - but the rolling enclosure that was Haven still stirred something in all it passed; the brilliant white of the Colnago frames, the whirring perfection of the Campagnolo gears, the knife-edge hum of the Mavic wheels, a flock of black-red-and-gold jerseys, all in rhythm, speeding, as one, down a French country road, north of Paris in the middle of June, stopping one and all, controlling the pavement like an army on maneuvers.
Jean Jablom stepped out of his bicycle shop as the caravan sped past. He eyed Richard Bourgoin, the French team leader, and waved to Will Ross, the American lieutenant - a regular in the shop, for conversation more than gear - then watched the team disappear over a hilltop, then reappear in the distance, then disappear and reappear again before losing themselves over the horizon.
Jablom turned back to his shop and reached for the door. He stopped. Inside, a group of French teenagers was looking at mountain bikes. The few road bikes Jablom still stocked were virtually ignored. The passing of Haven, the premier cycling team in France, had not caused a stir among any except the faithful. And there were far fewer faithful today.
As he watched the teenagers spin the wheels of the mountain bikes, a tear ran down the wrinkled moonscape of Jablom's face. This year, it will change, he thought. This year, a Frenchman will win Le Tour de France.
And you, he silently raged, looking at the teenagers, just missed him."