Bikeforums.net is a forum about nothing but bikes. Our community can help you find information about hard-to-find and localized information like bicycle tours, specialties like where in your area to have your recumbent bike serviced, or what are the best bicycle tires and seats for the activities you use your bike for.Schiek
06-17-04, 09:49 AM
Heresy Alert: This post contains text portions detailing use and enjoyment of multi-geared bikes.
I ride my fixed-gear bomber everyday to work and for running errands around the ‘hood. My commute takes me through some tough areas and folks on the street occasionally toss out less than welcoming proclamations about whom I am and where I need to go. However, I have never felt unsafe or threatened riding through these parts of town. I’ve had mechanicals and flat tires, and have never been hassled taking my time to fix my bike on the sidewalk or on somebody’s stoop. My normal commuting attire consists of rolled up or cut-off pants and a t-shirt. Recently, because of the heat, and an attempt to be fashionable for my Europhile friends, I’ve been sporting a Galatasary SK football (soccer) jersey…It wicks. Anyway, in a true example of ‘the clothes make the man.’ I feel like part of the scenery in this get up.
Rewind to last Saturday morning. My wife has to be at work at 7am. Being the good husband I am, and not being able to fall back asleep, I get up, make her breakfast, see her off, and decide to take the road bike (the one with gears…it’s steel, at least) out for some intervals at the National Arboretum. The arboretum is about two miles from my house. I live in North East DC, and like any other city; NE has its good and not-so-good areas. To get to the arboretum, I have to travel through a greater proportion of the not-so-good. And, all of the sudden, I’m a bit apprehensive about making the ride. Normally when I ride the roadie I throw it in the car and head out somewhere rural. In these instances, I don’t think twice about throwing on some spandies, a jersey and the Look compatible Sidis. However, the thought of riding two miles through my neighborhood dressed in geeked-out cycling gear had me thinking twice.
Put me on the fixie dressed in my urban assault gear and armed with the mini-U or NY chain and I’ll take all comers…within reason (read: unarmed). Put me on a road bike and dress me like an aerodynamic clown, and I get worried. Maybe I’m just naďve and will get my ass kicked on my commute someday. But I don’t think anybody will be proactively looking to start trouble as they might if they see what looks like a typical weekend-warrior roadie riding through the projects. Possibly I’m being self-conscious and suffering from a bit of spotlight effect, and nobody really gives a crap, but I tend to think my chances of getting hassled are much higher dressed like a Performance catalog model.
Needless to say, I stuck true to the rebellion. Said eff-you to my self-doubt and headed off—dressed like catalog page 18—to the arboretum for some hill work. Got there in nothing flat (I think I averaged speeds in the high twenties the whole way). COASTED up to the front gate and was greeted by a rent-a-cop who told me they weren’t open until eight. It was 7:30. Tried to explain I was only there to ride around the roads, not visit the gift shop, and I promised not to steal a cherry blossom tree or smuggle a banzai out in my shorts. But it was to no avail; she had a job to do and authority to exert. So I went back home, changed into a t-shirt and some knickers length cut-offs, swapped the roadie for the fix, and headed off for some coffee…feeling confident, secure and ready to take ‘em all on. I’m not there five minutes when two guys on tricked out carbon fibre machines roll up to the shop. Dressed in Mapei and QuickStep team issue kits, including team issue arm warmers pushed down to their wrists (its already 85 degrees out, for eff’s-sake), they klop-klop into the place without a worry in the world, order their lattes, and start chatting about how far they had ridden—this evidently was there turn around point before heading back to the Maryland ‘burbs. As they are leaving, Simoni (or was it Cunego) gives me the once over and a bit of a tsk-tsk, like I’m the freak. Ah well. At least he didn’t kick my ass.
I ride my fixed-gear bomber everyday to work and for running errands around the ‘hood. My commute takes me through some tough areas and folks on the street occasionally toss out less than welcoming proclamations about whom I am and where I need to go. However, I have never felt unsafe or threatened riding through these parts of town. I’ve had mechanicals and flat tires, and have never been hassled taking my time to fix my bike on the sidewalk or on somebody’s stoop. My normal commuting attire consists of rolled up or cut-off pants and a t-shirt. Recently, because of the heat, and an attempt to be fashionable for my Europhile friends, I’ve been sporting a Galatasary SK football (soccer) jersey…It wicks. Anyway, in a true example of ‘the clothes make the man.’ I feel like part of the scenery in this get up.
Rewind to last Saturday morning. My wife has to be at work at 7am. Being the good husband I am, and not being able to fall back asleep, I get up, make her breakfast, see her off, and decide to take the road bike (the one with gears…it’s steel, at least) out for some intervals at the National Arboretum. The arboretum is about two miles from my house. I live in North East DC, and like any other city; NE has its good and not-so-good areas. To get to the arboretum, I have to travel through a greater proportion of the not-so-good. And, all of the sudden, I’m a bit apprehensive about making the ride. Normally when I ride the roadie I throw it in the car and head out somewhere rural. In these instances, I don’t think twice about throwing on some spandies, a jersey and the Look compatible Sidis. However, the thought of riding two miles through my neighborhood dressed in geeked-out cycling gear had me thinking twice.
Put me on the fixie dressed in my urban assault gear and armed with the mini-U or NY chain and I’ll take all comers…within reason (read: unarmed). Put me on a road bike and dress me like an aerodynamic clown, and I get worried. Maybe I’m just naďve and will get my ass kicked on my commute someday. But I don’t think anybody will be proactively looking to start trouble as they might if they see what looks like a typical weekend-warrior roadie riding through the projects. Possibly I’m being self-conscious and suffering from a bit of spotlight effect, and nobody really gives a crap, but I tend to think my chances of getting hassled are much higher dressed like a Performance catalog model.
Needless to say, I stuck true to the rebellion. Said eff-you to my self-doubt and headed off—dressed like catalog page 18—to the arboretum for some hill work. Got there in nothing flat (I think I averaged speeds in the high twenties the whole way). COASTED up to the front gate and was greeted by a rent-a-cop who told me they weren’t open until eight. It was 7:30. Tried to explain I was only there to ride around the roads, not visit the gift shop, and I promised not to steal a cherry blossom tree or smuggle a banzai out in my shorts. But it was to no avail; she had a job to do and authority to exert. So I went back home, changed into a t-shirt and some knickers length cut-offs, swapped the roadie for the fix, and headed off for some coffee…feeling confident, secure and ready to take ‘em all on. I’m not there five minutes when two guys on tricked out carbon fibre machines roll up to the shop. Dressed in Mapei and QuickStep team issue kits, including team issue arm warmers pushed down to their wrists (its already 85 degrees out, for eff’s-sake), they klop-klop into the place without a worry in the world, order their lattes, and start chatting about how far they had ridden—this evidently was there turn around point before heading back to the Maryland ‘burbs. As they are leaving, Simoni (or was it Cunego) gives me the once over and a bit of a tsk-tsk, like I’m the freak. Ah well. At least he didn’t kick my ass.