Moved this blog I did.

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The Transportation

And then there is the transportation gang, often heard before they're seen with squeaky chains propelling haggard old bikes, for whom there is no choice...or perhaps the choice is to ride or hoof it, as the bicycle is their sole means of speedy A to B. Maybe they ride to work, maybe they're unemployed. Maybe they’re homeless, lost their license, or simply cannot afford the many hidden fiscal trappings of automobile ownership. Do they prefer to ride? No, no way; they are forced to by circumstance. To them the bike is a vintage tool, a rusty shovel among backhoes, a rake among leaf blowers, not a meaning-filled symbol or a recreational activity.

These three broad groups make up the majority of cyclists. Do they get along with each other? I don't think so. They sure don’t ride together unless it's incidental, but then again, they’re not really competing for resources, yet anyway...and that's a big "yet", I mean, if there were a world of just bicycles in the streets...would they eventually begin to flip each other off and relish in name calling belittlement? I’m all but sure this would happen, as space on the road would still be a premium and thus competed for. In fact, I was just talking to a kid working the front counter of a hotel in downtown Sacramento, Ca about his commuting on the bike I saw safely locked up out front as I checked in. I asked him how getting around town was, if the city was "bike-friendly", how the infrastructure was (bike paths and the like), and the general attitude of drivers toward cyclists. All where favorable but what he added as afterthought...musing that possibly more troublesome than the inherent hazards a cyclist's fragile body encounters whilst commingling with heavy automobiles on the street were the droves of club riders who often speed up from behind in large packs on the city's many established bike paths, rude with shouts of “on your left” and often squeezing him and his bike from the narrow pavement as they sped by.

When I heard this, I have to admit, I got a little defensive as I've been in those groups that have taken the path with shear speed and Lycra-clad numbers, but until that point never thought of my actions as rude, quite the contrary...but then again, I had never heard firsthand or imagined the consequences of my actions from another's point of view.

Think about it...just look at how your attitude changes when you sit in auto traffic. Blood pressure and Cortisol levels rise, anger creeps in, what little mindfulness you have goes out the window with an urge to shake your fist, road rage begets the “effenheimer” and the entire day starts out on the wrong foot because your once peaceful and unified "group" began infighting over a resource. You are very alone at that point, a group of one, competing with other motorists for your piece of precious pavement...


Look, here's the deal...bikes and cars? They're just two machines that got in the middle of the proverbial human condition simply by giving us another way to label each other. A human condition that's been brewing and evolving within us since the Miocene...a constant struggle between our reactive, animal brain and our thoughtful, processing, symbolic brain. For years, bikes and cars, taking the blame for something they have nothing to do with but, again, giving us another way to label one-another as different, to group ourselves, to pick sides. A mere separation of the two I'm afraid, without really understanding the root problem, will just pass the buck to a different arena.

Groupism is at the root of this problem. To solve it, I'm convinced we can, we need to see this bigger picture, leave bikes and cars out of it and work on the mess that's between our ears. Limbic System be damned...we must overcome.

The Recreational Cyclist

To another group within the group "cycling", the club riders and racers, the bike is a recreational activity; like hunting, fishing, or...er...umm...Irish road bowling. The problem here is, seeing the bike as a pastime and the paved road a playing field has with it inherent contradictions to the motor-dominated status quo, no?

As a recreational cyclist, you're not out there trying to get anywhere, or go someplace in particular; you're just trying to get some miles in, work off the bear claw you ate for breakfast***, and catch up on a weeks worth of gossip with your buddies. Many rides, whether organized events or off the cuff fartlek style, are very social occasions...and when harassed by an automobile in this social context, it feels like someone just streaked the pitch and stole the game ball before security could lay on a good tackle. Party-pooper. And from the driver's perspective, seeing someone constantly playing in the office when you're trying to get down to the business of work has got to be akin to a good slap in the face. Socialist pig.

But stepping back and seeing both sides here, one group seeing the road as a utility and another seeing it as recreational...you can really see how this dichotomy adds to the competitive roots of the conflict...we are after all, whether we realize it or not, competing over road space.

***Because you have the self control of a starving dog you chubby bastard...ah, self-deprecating humor is so fun.

Inter-group Conflict: The Symbol

You can't look for a solution without seeing that groupism, with it's sharp and divisive claws, has torn apart what it means today to ride a bicycle on the American road. For those that do so are split into three main groups as far as I can tell: the commuter class, the club riders and racers, and the simple transportation types. Or to look at it another way, there are those that see the bike as a symbol, those that see the bike as an activity, and those that see the bike as a tool.

Choice defines this first group (which can be further classified within a spectrum ranging from those that own a car and use the bike when convenient to militant hardcore bicycle activists who have forgone four wheels and a motor entirely). For them the bicycle, whether because riding one is simply fun or provides for some higher moral calling, is a brand that's worn, identifying the commuter and defining them as someone who's made the very conscious choice not to use a car because of what it means not for just the transportation it provides.

In the context of groupism, this defining of oneself aides in the segregation on the streets with thoughts of things like: I am a cyclist, apart from the auto or from the motorist perspective, There's another damn cyclist, out in the road where they don't belong. Through a more inclusive lens however, a broader-group worldview, the definition looses much of it's meaning and a commuting cyclist's presence in the street is merely seen as adding to the great diversity of road users.

To some of these folks, the bike has come to symbolize a future free of fossil-fuel dependence; a human-powered and Eco-friendly transport attracting a kind of rider that speaks of cars as their nemesis, or even evil incarnate (bud-um bum). They have no car because in choosing automotive abstinence they are, in their minds, taking the moral high-ground in a junkie, petroleum addicted, world.

While I don’t think you can argue about our current dependence on foreign oil being a road-block to growth, that doesn't make cars evil. It makes our nearsighted view of the world a bit immoral…it makes our consumerism suspect to sustainability…it makes corporate greed seem tangible, a wet-blanket heavy on the face...but it doesn't make cars evil. If you can’t find beauty in the lines of a ’68 Ford Mustang Fastback or find mellifluous the purr of eight steel cylinders humming in mechanical perfection then maybe you’re just not a "car person", but they’re not evil. For me, I’ll always find appeal there and the sound my Honda motorbike makes when I twist the throttle open will always be music to these ears.

Maybe some of those militant cyclists do have a point though. Do any of us really want to be tethered to the teat of the gas pump for the next thirty years? I’d like to think not, yet here we are nursing away, afraid to be weaned for fear our economy will suffer for our conservatism; afraid to swallow that bitter pill even though it will make us well in the long run; afraid that to do so would spell the end of our beautiful, beautiful cars.

Maybe it's just that it doesn't feel life threatening…yet. Maybe things have to be literally life-threatening for action in the US. Our glaciers have to melt entirely along with the Antarctic ice-sheet (hey, more shipping lanes right?), the ocean must acidify wiping out fish stocks and the rising sea level shrink the great phallus of Florida...maybe then we’ll act. Too bad we couldn't see global climate change as an evil fascist dictator, hell-bent on acquiring nuclear weapons, committing genocide, or wanton world-domination. Then perhaps?

I'll quit babbling with this; if your use of the bike is driven by hate for the burning of fossil fuels...will a roadfull of plug-in electrics charged with the sun's power bring about a new peace? Or will a Nissan Leaf right-hook you just the same as a '59 Caddy?

European Distrust

What I’m asking here is, though the people come and go, can a feeling, a sentiment, or responses linger on? Of course it can, safe in the continuity of a civilization's ethos. Much like the schoolyard game of telephone, where one child would say a short phrase into another’s ear, then that phrase would get passed on again and again to a new child each time. The original was often scrambled, mutated and lost resulting in a copy without an original, a simulacrum. So that's the question posed here, have we in essence created a simulacrum with regards to bike hate?

Perhaps most people don’t remember a specific reason for the distrust of those Lycra-clad roadies, but some mutation of a sentiment conceivably lives on subconsciously, a copy of a copy of a copy whose original is long gone and had nothing to do with today’s bicycling enthusiast. Yet, somehow written deep in our collective mind, alive through the centuries, interwoven with the very history of this great country we keep at it; feeling a twinge of distaste when we happen upon one, an intrinsic urge to harass those people who ride bicycles on our roads with, at the very least, a cruel thought, or raising the bar...a dirty deed. Bullying perhaps?

World War II…could there be a bigger unbleachable shit stain on the britches of humanity than the atrocities that took place during these dark days? Here we are nearly eighty years later and the name Hitler still rattles the very soul of our collective humanity, a bleak reminder that we all harbor truly wicked potential deep within. A malevolence thankfully remaining most of the time safely ensconced behind the sanity of our good conscience yet that sadly peeps out now and again in a violent thought or subtle act with a cruel intention.

Europe depleted and America the savior: a pervasive belief existing in America that without D-Day, Hiroshima, and American sacrifice all those years ago, the entire globe would be celebrating the fermentation of kimchi or sauerkraut all the while sprechen Deutsch. A fact perhaps–but one that only added to the feeling of superiority the United States had toward Europe that began well before the framers began to frame, good Earl Gray began to steep in the cool waters of Boston Harbor, or quill hit parchment in the penning of the US constitution.

Years prior to any shots being fired at Lexington and Concord, the British colonies along the east coast of the future US were filled with English and other European immigrants  Whether they themselves made the trans-Atlantic journey or were born into the colonies, they were well versed in the centuries of war between England and their neighbor across the English Channel. As such, the English colonies almost certainly still harbored an ill trust toward the French, and the royal lineages that sent so many invading troops across the English Channel, weaving their thread of suspicion into the fabric of the toddling colonies. Could this seventeenth century distrust of France still persist in American culture after four hundred years?

So what am I saying? Does the current cold war between cyclists and motorists in America have its roots in colonial America? In the distrust ex-pat English had for England and by extension, France and monarchs like Louis XIV? Does it begin to heat up centuries later with the Eisenhower Administration’s move toward interstate highways and Detroit’s move toward faster cars to cruise them…the bicycle's return to the streets in a time when muscle cars and motor heads ruled the pavement and for decades prior, bicycles were what children rode before they were old enough to drive? Could it run that deep? Think about it. What country comes to mind when you think of the word "bicycle"?

Could the aura of the Tour de France and the fervor it brings to the countless swarms lining the French mountaintops or millions watching on television once a year cast a shadow on the entire sport of cycling in the collective American psyche? Perhaps it works to drive a wedge that deepens the division between cyclists and motorists? I mean, it plays so perfectly into deep seated American fears…Does it awaken those long simmering, centuries old feelings of European distrust, or perhaps more contemporary, indignant feelings of a counter-American way of life–dare I say it–socialism?

Cycling enthusiasts watch excitedly as nearly two-hundred fit men suffer through twenty-one consecutive days of oxygen-deprived agony. Their attractive physiques, muscles and shaved legs straining under skin tight and colorful Lyrca garments that taken out of context, or taken away from their bikes could certainly resemble something of a gay pride parade to the eyes of the uninitiated...a threat to someone's "manhood"?

The race now over, the fans have gone home or turned their TVs off yet are still full of enthusiasm for a good long spin on the bike. They’re gung ho to dress like and emulate their cycling heroes, little different from wearing a team jersey on game day to show your loyalty. Then take these same enthusiasts-turned subconscious incarnations of European, socialist, peculiar looking men and women and place them on an American road (indeed now truly out of context) that was paved never meant to feel the light touch of a bicycle tire, full of American cars and American love of all that’s auto, an America that cries foul at the mere word “socialism”, an America that has real issues with discrimination, and what do you get? You get what we have here today. A reflection of the closet intolerance we have become as a nation all wrapped up in a moment of time on the edge of the road...the passing of car and bike. Pay attention.
 

Mindfulness Takes Time

I had the opportunity to go on a ten day meditation retreat several years back. It wasn't what you think–no cult, no deity worship, no fasting, no saints, no sinners, just a secular exploration of the vast expanse that is this human mind. Ten days, it turned out, without making eye contact, without speaking, without even acknowledging fellow meditators sitting right next to you. The idea was that you strictly had to be with your own thoughts and those thoughts alone for ten days straight. No television, no books, no magazines near the toilet, no diversions what-so-ever to take your attention away from what it was that was going on inside your head.

Prior to the course, I thought I knew what it was to be mindful, paying attention to my thoughts and actions. As it turns out, I knew nothing. We spent the first three days focusing on the air moving in and out of our nostrils, concentrating on how that felt. At first, minutes would go by where my mind was elsewhere, daydreaming, and then I’d remember what I’m supposed to be doing and be back focusing on my breath, in and out, in and out, then I’d be gone again for several more minutes as my mind wandered once more. My mind a chaotic ride on Boston's T. Thoughts were everywhere, in, out, and jostling my attention like a train full of commuters.

By the third day however, I could stay focused on my breath for a whole sixty minutes without interruption pretty easily. If a thought came up and threatened to pull my attention away into a daydream, it was acknowledged and allowed to move on, no dwelling on it. The busy subway car of my mind was beginning to quiet down.

After the third day we began focusing our attention to other parts of the body one bit at a time. We were trying to establish a flow of attention that began on the head and moved down the trunk to the tips of the toes then back again. This was pretty hard as some parts were easier to put my attention than were others, parts of my back in particular proved a challenge, who pays that much attention to their back? There were brief, though amazing, moments however where my whole body was the object of my focus at one time. Heavenly, really.

During the times I wasn't formally meditating, my ability to pay attention to things around me was in such a heightened state that, for instance, when I would walk to meals in the dining hall the crunch of gravel underfoot was absolutely palpable as were individual pebbles pushing unevenly on the thin soles of my shoes. Walking had slowed because that’s what I was doing, just walking, my attention was there in the act without a mind full of the future, of the past. I could eat an entire meal literally savoring every bite, feeling the meal mash around in my mouth, flavors mixing, pushed around by my tongue, feeling the mouthful of good home cooking slide slowly down my throat.

At the end of the class, I was not the same person that walked in to the facility ten days prior. I had become an observing machine. The five hour drive home was amazing and done sans radio; I didn't need the diversion it would have provided, driving was plenty. I was driving with an awareness not seen since I was sixteen and my mother handed me the keys for the first time, drivers permit in hand.

Arriving home, things that bothered me before the class, like the sound, believe it or not, of my dog licking his paws, didn't anymore. Again, I had become very objective, it was just a sound and I was just an observer. If a thought popped into my head about the sound of dog tongue on dog paws it wasn't about how irritating it was, it was more about the qualities of the sound itself and the fact that was just what the dog does, lick his paws. I was okay with that.

Today, having not kept up in my practice of mindfulness, the ability is all but gone. I hate that sound again and almost always shush my dog when I hear it. But the idea of mindfulness remains, the idea and the knowledge that such laser-like attention to my own thoughts is possible and the experience of how those thoughts affect my emotions and mood remains foundational to who I am today.

Mindfulness takes practice.

Keep practicing.

Ride the Power

Take the human out of the equation and you might just get something like this:

“Where’re you going?” says the bicycle to the car.

“Just for a spin up to the lake; why do you ask?” says the car.

“You gotta take me with you! I’d give my front brake to know what 85 mph is like! I’ll ride the roof…”

“No way, you don’t belong on the road with cars like me.” 

“What?! Really?! You’re going to go there! Why not just kick me in the crank set you two-ton, gas-guzzling bastard!”

“Jeez, did I hit a nerve or what? I was just kidding… I’d never say you don’t belong on the road and really mean it. Heck, it's just pavement...and you two-wheelers were on the roads well before we four-wheelers were around in any great numbers. But really, a “gas-guzzling bastard”? Bike, that’s pretty harsh! You've got quite a mouth on you.”  

“Oh … it just came out, I’m cranky, my chain's kind'a dry and frankly,(whispering)I'm in need of a bit of oil. I’m sorry. Will you please forgive me?" 

“I suppose so.”

“Can I ride the power then? C'mon Car, be a pal!”

“All right, you can ride the power. Hop on up there and we'll get going. To tell the truth, I’ve always admired your simple design, your connection with your rider, your…uh…how you say, je ne sais quoi.”

“A French car huh? Never would'a guessed. What are you a Peugeot? Citroen?”

“No! I'm a Ford, American muscle…I just figured you bikes were all French so I’d throw a little of your native tongue at you, to make you feel at home.”

“Whatever, muscles! Let’s just go for a cruise.”

“You got it friend…here comes ninety.”

“Ninety! What, are you trying to peel my grip tape?”

So, what am I saying? I'm saying, strip people from the machines and the machines would get along just fine. Strip cars and bikes from their people and you're left with just people...no labels, no groups--no cyclists, no motorists--just people...let's not forget that next time we buckle up or throw a leg over a top tube. Just people. Expand your group.