Freeze / Thaw

This winter I get the distinct feeling that nature is playing games with me. Constantly changing rhythm, it refuses to let me get comfortable, to allow me to settle down into a season-specific "mode" of cycling. With temperatures below 20°F one day and above 45°F the next, I feel as if I am trying to dance while the DJ alternates between the oldies and thrash metal. My movements are awkward and a migraine is just around the corner.

But if that's how nature wants to play it, so be it, and there is always a silver lining to be found. For instance, my familiarity with mud has certainly grown. There are so many different kinds: liquid mud, viscous mud, mud that looks like packed dirt but behaves like quicksand, mud with a thin crust of ice over it, mud of a slushy-like frozen consistency throughout, and mud that has frozen in big solid ripples. I've been trying to ride on mud in all of these different conditions as part of a radical campaign to improve my balance, and thanks to the freeze/thaw weather I can experience a complete mud menu over the course of a single week. 

Much less endearing is the unpredictable appearance of ice patches that the changes in weather are causing. The last time I went out on my roadbike, I saw black ice on the country roads that pretty much convinced me it was trainer time despite the lack of snow. Going downhill and hitting a patch like that, I am pretty sure there is nothing I could do to prevent a fall. 

With February under way, at least the winter season is more than half over. My ideal conditions for the rest of it would be a couple of beautiful snowfalls (my birthday is later this month and I love snow on my birthday), followed by a swift and complete thaw in the first week of March. Well, I can dream. In the meantime, nature continues the freeze / thaw game and I do my best to keep up. Every winter is different, and I am glad to have a record of this one as I do of the previous two. 

The Emptiness of Those Lives...

Over the weekend I read The Rider by Tim Krabbé.

This is not a review of the book, but I will summarise it as a stream of consciousness account of what goes through a middle aged cyclist's mind as he takes part in an amateur bicycle race in southern France in 1978. I did not know very much about The Rider before reading it, which is probably why I was caught off guard by its apparently famous opening:

"Hot and overcast. I take my gear out of the car and put my bike together. Tourists and locals are watching from sidewalk cafes. Non-racers. The emptiness of those lives shocks me."

After reading these lines, I shut the book and put it away. Needing something to do, I immediately busied myself with making tea. Was I annoyed? offended? angry? and by whom or what - the writer himself or by the feeling he managed to communicate so successfully?

I review the scene in my mind's eye. So here are the racers, getting ready. And here are some spectators who came to support them. I imagine that one is a school teacher, another an emergency room doctor, another a firefighter, another a war veteran, and so on and so forth. And then I replay it: "The emptiness of those lives shocks me."

In the course of my own life, I've been fortunate enough to live and work in the midst of various "important" people - researchers dedicated to finding treatments for diseases, rescue workers in war-torn countries, politicians who have the power to effect change with a single signature, and fine artists whose work is exhibited in the worlds' greatest museums. Not once have I heard any of them refer to others' lives as empty. If anything, they often question their own choices and complain that their work is not as fulfilling in reality as they had imagined it would be. I've also known serious athletes, who, while passionate about their sport, were not consumed by it to the exclusion of all else. But I do know roadcyclists whose thoughts reflect that famous sentence in The Rider. In fact I've met quite a few.

Amateur bicycle racers and racing aspirants have a reputation for arrogance, for "taking themselves too seriously" and truly believing that cycling is the most important and fulfilling thing in the world. For some time now this has fascinated me. Is it posturing? Are those drawn to roadcyling seeking to construct a life narrative of hardship and heroism in the absence of true hardship in their lives (poverty, illness, war, rape, ethnic persecution)? or, in some cases to distract from that hardship? Or is it the other way around - that something about cycling (what? a chemical it releases?) has such a powerful effect on the body and mind that it eclipses all else and turns perfectly sane people into crazed Ahabs on two wheels? 

My curiosity about this is mingled with fear, and ultimately that is probably what made me put down The Rider after the opening passage. Sometimes, when I spend too much time on my roadbike I can feel myself lose perspective in a way I've never lost it before. Not in terms of arrogance per se - for someone with my abilities there is nothing to be arrogant about. But, I don't know, it's as if I can sense the existence of another dimension that I am not sure I want to cross into. Some cyclists I know, they are already there and they are "different." The narrator of The Rider (which I've since read to completion) is certainly there, and he describes that state in devastating detail. 

14 Months Without a Car

We have been without a car since last December. The "anniversary" of this date was so unremarkable, that it came and went unnoticed. But I've had some requests to post a 1-year report about what it has been like, which made me realise it's already been longer than that. I want to make it clear that being without a car is not a political statement for us and is not wrapped up in our sense of identity. For that reason I do not use words such as "car-free" or "car-light," or any of the related terminology. We simply do not have a car, for the time being.

Living on the border of Somerville and Cambridge, MA, we are lucky to be in a location that happens to be convenient for getting around the Boston Metro area by bike. Before moving here 4 years ago, we lived in rural Northern New England - where we did a great deal of driving and each had a substantial vehicle with off-road and hauling capacity. As soon as we moved to Boston, we sold the larger of the two, because it was clear that keeping both was impractical. The Co-Habitant's car was sold, and mine was to become the shared car. However, what happened instead is that I simply stopped driving at that point entirely, preferring to get around on foot and via public transportation. When later I started riding a bike, that became my main mode of transport. I have not been behind the wheel of a motor vehicle since late 2007, and I even let my driver's license lapse for some time. But I still co-owned our shared car, and rode in it as passenger.

We used the shared car mainly to travel out of town and for trips that involved transporting or purchasing bulky items. The majority of everyday transportation we did by bike, simply because both of us found it more convenient. When the car broke down in late November 2010, we realised that we did not really feel like getting it fixed and preferred to make do without it instead. So that is what we did.

The winter of 2010-2011 was a brutal one, and interestingly getting through it was what cemented our decision. It snowed so much and so frequently, that we often relied on resources close to home - which made us realise that it is possible. If there was too much snow on the roads to cycle, there was a grocery store and pharmacy within walking distance. They may not be our preferred grocery store and pharmacy, but nonetheless they are there for us to simply walk to in case we needed milk at 10pm in a snowstorm. Further afield there are coffee shops, restaurants, a post office, and other destinations that could be reached on foot. The Co-Habitant could even walk to work if really necessary, though he had no problem cycling through snow. I could also walk or take public transportation. If anything, we felt that we had it easier that winter than drivers - who constantly complained about having to dig out and defrost their cars, and about the horrible driving conditions. A bike and a pair of winter boots require much less maintenance.

Once that winter was over, everything else was a piece of cake. Owning a car in Boston now seemed like a burden and inconvenience. How did we ever manage with all those fees and maintenance responsibilities? Not owning a car was so much easier, not to mention that we now magically had more money. And that's really all there was to it, as far as everyday stuff was concerned.

That is not to say that we never used a car. We still occasionally needed to travel to remote out of town locations and to transport bulky items. And, ironically, I occasionally had to transport bikes in various states of assembly for Lovely Bicycle related projects. But the key word here is "occasionally." Once we got the hang of zipcar and car rental, using these services in addition to the occasional taxi proved to be sufficient for us to not feel that we needed to actually own a car. The main limitation of zipcar, is that you cannot always get one on the spot, and we tend to do things spontaneously rather than plan everything out carefully. But over time we got better at planning and also became more savvy/psychic about zipcar rental. After a couple of initial glitches, it has mostly been okay. I even moved into my art studio with the help of a zipcar pickup truck, which went very well with fairly minimal planning.

Our only frustration so far has been with the public transportation system. Without exaggeration, the T (subway) has gotten stuck between stations most of the times I've taken it over the past year, making me late for appointments. The buses are habitually late by as much as 20 minutes, to the point that the bus timetable is not meaningful. The buses are also very full and taking fragile items on board is not practical. The commuter rail runs infrequently and not at the times we seem to need it, so that going somewhere via commuter rail can mean having to spend an entire day at the destination instead of the 1.5 hours we need to spend there. Also, many of the commuter rail stops are not handicap-accessible - which also means not bike-friendly, since they have these super long and narrow staircases leading down to the platform from overpasses. Whenever I criticise the MBTA, inevitably someone gets angry, as if public transportation is some holy thing no matter how good or bad it is and I should be thankful for it. But with all due respect, having used public transportation successfully in cities where it works, the MBTA is a disgrace in comparison. I cannot pretend to be thankful for the frustration and wasted time it causes me nearly every time I attempt to use it, and I am certain that it is the reason why more people in the greater Boston area do not feel comfortable without a car. 

MBTA frustrations aside, we did manage to go on a 2-week vacation via bike plus commuter rail over the summer, and it was a lot more fun than renting a car would have been. No traffic jams, no gas station stops, no looking for parking - just the freedom of bikes. We brought all the stuff we would normally have taken with us too, including two weeks worth of clothing, books, laptops, and basic camera equipment. It's amazing how much you can stuff into heavy-duty bicycle luggage if you try. 

When we first discussed the idea of giving up the car, it was important for both of us not to feel as if being without it would be a struggle, or would limit our freedom. And over a year later, I can say that at no point did we feel that way. At this stage of our lives not having a car gives us more freedom, not less. We do not miss the responsibilities and the spendings that come with owning, parking, fueling and maintaining a vehicle in the Boston Metro area. We also simply never talk about it anymore. We neither lament our carless state, nor do we congratulate ourselves for it; it's just become one less issue to worry about. 

By no means is this narrative intended to be an "if I can do it, you can!" sort of thing. Our circumstances happen to be conducive to getting along without a car, but others' circumstances might not be. There is also no question in my mind that at some point in the future we will have a car again, and I will even drive it - since my ideal place to live is in the countryside in the middle of nowhere. In the end,  it's not about fixating on the car as an object - be it an object of desire or an object of evil - but about deciding what works best for improving your quality of life. Car ownership for its own sake has become such a given, that it may simply not occur to some people that there are circumstances under which they might be better off (i.e. waste less time, be in a better mood, have more disposable income, feel better) without a private vehicle. When I lived in Vienna, I once asked an elderly socialite - the wife of a wealthy politician - whether she and her husband owned a car. She cringed and fanned herself. "Goodness no dear, sitting in traffic is so undignified! I take the trolley and I love to walk. For me, these are life's luxuries." The concept of luxury is, after all, relative.

Taking the Lane with Elly Blue

Following the online presence of Portland-based bike activist Elly Blue over the past year, her perspective seemed so different from mine that it was as if she wrote from another planet. Critical Mass, relentless activism, political organising, and the accompanying stylistic elements - It's not my world and it's not my way of thinking. But when faced with swathes of difference, it often happens that the littlest suggestions of a common thread begin to stand out and attain significance. For me, the first of these was Elly's post My So-Called Out of Control Life - a non-bike-related essay that expressed my own unease with the hyper-confessional style of writing so popular with females of our generation. It was odd to read my own thoughts echoed in this piece, and to recognise our shared cultural references.

Shortly thereafter another common thread emerged: We both decided to quit facebook, independently and at around the same time. But what's more, is that right before I quit I noticed with amazement that Elly Blue appeared to be a "friend" of one of my real-world friends. How could they know each other? My very good friend L. has nothing to do with cycling, activism, or Portland. She does not read bicycle blogs (and, like most of my friends, has no idea that Lovely Bicycle exists). So how were they connected? I didn't feel comfortable asking at the time, but found myself paying closer attention to Elly Blue as a result of this discovery. When she announced the publication of Taking the Lane Volume 5: "Our Bodies Our Bikes," I bought one with intent to review it. She then included a couple of other volumes, so that I could get a better feel for the zine as a whole. I will be distributing those locally once I am done with them.

"A zine is like a small book or a large pamphlet, but with extra magic," explains the editor. And that it is. The compact format and eye-catching cover design make each zine inviting, pick-up-and-readable. My first thought: Is this a subversive tactic? Are these zines essentially vehicles for political agitation, which the attractive exterior and diminutive size are meant to ease the unseasoned reader into? But the Taking the Lane zines (a quarterly publication "about women and bicycling") are not quite that.

If I had to choose two words to describe my impression of the Taking the Lane zine, they would be "feminine" and "folkloric." Feminine because the various pieces of writing come across very strongly as being written by female authors and for a female audience. And folkloric, because the tone of each piece is narrative and subjective. The authors do not attempt to speak for everyone, and they do not attempt to convince; they simply share their own experiences and thoughts - in a manner that is almost alarmingly unguarded in an era of self-conscious and self-defensive blog writing we are all growing increasingly used to. It is essentially lots of stories, told in lots of individual voices. In each zine, a theme emerges - and this emergence is organic, not forced. Reading a zine is like seeing the pattern reveal itself in a woven tapestry or piece of knitting, which comes back to the "feminine" feeling again. While I realise that associating femininity with folklore and traditional craft is loaded, nonetheless it is what went through my mind when reading the zines - I had the sense that I was listening to stories told in a knitting circle of contemporary-minded women.

"Our Bodies Our Bikes" (volume 5) contains snippets of personal experience as diverse as surviving cancer, worrying about body image, and having orgasms while cycling downhill. "Unsung Heros" (volume 3) contains some of the most compelling and disarming descriptions of bicycle activism I have ever read, precisely because it focuses on human experiences and not on the activism itself. "Sexy on the Inside" (volume 4) is an entire issue dedicated to the analysis of the bicycle dance troupe the Sprockettes that goes off on interesting tangents about the history of punk culture and various types of feminism. To explain the content of the zines in any more detail than this seems impossible, because by its very nature the content is resistant to summary. When there is no one succinct point, the writing is unskimmable, and the reader ends up reading everything. The message in Taking the Lane sinks in slowly and stays with you - even if you're not sure what that message is.

Whether these descriptions are making the zine seem good or bad, interesting or dull, I am not sure. It is a unique publication and reactions to it are bound to differ. Most if not all of the contributing writers seem to be from Portland, OR and the surrounding areas, which gives the zine a local feel, and as an East-coast resident I find myself not always sure that I "belong" in the audience. If this is something the editor wishes to change, she could invite writers from other regions to contribute. Based on the subject matter covered and on the glimpses we see of the writers' background, there is also a distinct sense of cycling being portrayed as a fringe subculture, which some readers may find difficult to relate to. As someone who feels passionate about cycling and bicycles, but whose style of dress, social life, and political views do not revolve around cycling, I sense that I am different from the zine's writers and intended audience. If this is not intentional, then perhaps some diversity on that end could be introduced into future issues as well. [Edited to add: East-coasters and non-cycling-subbaculturalists are welcome to email submission inquiries to "elly[at]takingthelane[dot]com"]

Publishing content in the form of a zine in itself signals that the content is of an "alternative" nature, and there are so many ways to play with that idea - which Elly very much does. How she develops the zine in the future depends mainly on what type, and how large of an audience she seeks.

As I read through the volumes of the Taking the Lane, the final question for me was whether these publications "needed" to exist in printed format. Can the same not be said online, in a blog? What would compel the reader to pay $3 per pamphlet when there is so much free content around covering many of the same topics?  In the end my impression is that this writing would not in fact exist in an online format, simply because the internet discourages it. Whereas print was once a means to disseminate information as widely as possible, it can now function as a means of limiting our audience. In that context, the writers feel safe to express themselves in a manner they perhaps would not in a blog post, and the reader benefits from thoughtful, unself-conscious writing offering new perspectives on cycling, women and activism.

When I read Elly Blue's blog and twitter feed I disagree with her as often as I agree, but I am also fascinated with the way she expresses herself. Who knows, maybe one day we will meet and will either get along or not. Until then, I enjoy her writing online and in print.

The 'Psychic Spouse' Fallacy

Talking to people who cycle with their spouse, I consistently discover for how many couples this does not really work. Despite both partners being into cycling, they just can't ride with each other - to the point than they each go off with separate cycling clubs or riding partners. After nearly three years of cycling together, I have to say that the Co-Habitant and I are sort of in that category. We do ride together, and it can be nice. But we seem to have such different approaches and styles, that it can get overwhelming. When two people are compatible as romantic partners, how can it be difficult to ride together?

A fellow cyclist recently voiced a theory that I think may hit the mark. Romantic partners - and particularly those who have been together for a long time - tend to function on the assumption that their spouse is at least somewhat "psychic" when it comes to gauging their intentions and needs. This comes from living together long enough to understand each other without having to explicitly spell everything out. And it then gets falsely transferred to cycling. Whereas with a stranger, we would never assume that they can anticipate a maneuver which we do not signal, or will experience energy bursts at the same time as us, or will know which way to go at an intersection if the route is new to them, with a spouse we sometimes do erroneously assume exactly that, without even realising it. The spouse is sort of like an extension of ourselves, and therefore is expected to "just know" these things... But of course they can't possibly know things like when you intend to turn left, or stop for water, or whether you prefer to weave through traffic vs wait it out, or whether you feel up to climbing that next hill. Is it possible to treat your spouse as you would a stranger when you ride together, without assumptions about them intuitively understanding you? I don't know, but it's an interesting idea. At least it might help to keep in mind that your spouse is not actually psychic.