Zen And The Art Of Bicycling

This morning I brought home a new set of wheels.

Not a car – taking months off from my day job to do the starvation phase of this project has left me just squeaking by, financially. The title of this article is a bit of a clue though. For the second time in my life I’m the proud owner of a bicycle.

I first walked into the Bike Doctor, a shop a few blocks from my house, on June 12th.  I came with my friend Jim who was interested in making some healthy lifestyle changes, and decided cycling to work in the summer was one that he could easily do.

A girl on staff, pretty in the girl-next-door sort of way, came over almost immediately and asked a series of questions to determine what sort of bike would suit Jim’s needs; after all, the Bike Doctor is one of those shops where they have everything from basic low-cost bikes to carbon fibre wonders that cost more than a used Honda, so narrowing things down saves time for everyone involved.

After seeing Jim as happy as a monkey with a yo-yo once he had his bike, I developed bike envy. At the time I was in the middle of starving myself and even walking a few blocks seemed daunting, but I’d been thinking about getting a bike for a few years. It was one of those things I kept putting off for no particular reason.

I haven’t owned a bike since I was about 9 years old. That one, my first, was a Kuwahara – a dirt bike that was the bees knees back in the day. No gears, no racheting pedals (you could stop just as easily by pedaling backwards as you could by using the brakes), but it was mine, and it was freedom.

My first “girlfriend” and I – did I mention I was 9? – would ride around the neighbourhood together with no particular destination or purpose other than being together and goofing off. Astride my black bike, its yellow and red flames keeping imaginary foes at bay, and with Kim at my side I felt ten feet tall and bullet proof. Nothing mattered in the world but that moment.

You can imagine then how kid-pissed-off I was when I went out to the back yard one morning to find our gate open and my bike gone. Looking back now I still remember the sense of confusion and violation I felt.

A few days later the Victoria police called my mother saying they’d found a bike matching the description she’d given when she called to report the theft. Less than an hour after that call, in a chain link fence cage in the basement of some police station, I was reunited with my bike. I think I cried. Tears of joy, of course. Did I mention I was 9?

Life went on, as it does, and I outgrew the bike. Literally. When I was 12 my mother announced plans to buy me a new one, as I hadn’t ridden in a few years which conspired with my lack of interest in sports to make me a growing boy – if by growing we’re referring to girth. But in the bike store my mom spotted a pair of matching adult and girl’s bikes, so she and my little sister took up going biking together.

I got increased use of the family computer out of the deal, so whether I got hosed or not remains debatable.

Greg, one of the owners of the Bike Doctor, making adjustments to the handlebars of my bike for just the right fit with the new grips he recommended

Long story shor- well, less long,  I’ve not had a bike in a while. As I’m building muscle back up from my self-imposed atrophication (new word. It’ll be huge. tell your friends)  I thought a low impact form of exercise that happens to provide transportation as well would be just the thing.

Little did I know…

I met with Greg, one of the owners of the Bike Doctor, who picked out a cruiser bike for me. Low resistance tires, disc brakes, well within 3 figures with room to spare for accessories, and I even liked the colour. it has no suspension as I wanted it for road riding, not trail riding.

I’m the sort who looks at an item a few times, making sure it’s what I want, before buying it so I returned a couple of weeks later and this time talked to Dave, the other owner, who gravitated towards the same bike when I told him the features I was looking for.

One nice thing about dealing with a local shop for this kind of equipment is it’s most often a labour of love for the owners as it is a source of income. Both Greg and Dave took time to patiently answer what I’m sure were utterly stupid noobish questions on my part; bikes have come a long way since my pedal-braking Kuwahara days.

Yesterday I finally bit the bullet. This time I got Greg again, who helped me pick out a rack, saddle bags, custom grips, etc. based on what he knew I’d use the bike for. He mounted the bike on a “trainer”, a stationary rack that basically turns a bike into a stationary bike for exercising without going anywhere, and had me pedal while he checked the fit of everything.

After adjusting the seat and picking out better grips and making notes on how much of the handlebar metal to cut off, Greg booked the bike into their shop to have all the accessories mounted and the handlebars tweaked to fit me better.

This morning my bike was ready at 10am as promised. Although I live just a couple of blocks from the store I couldn’t resist hopping onto my new toy and trying it out. Before I knew it I’d ridden past my house and was heading for the riverbank park. I did a loop of about 3k, enjoying the feel of the wond on me, the smoothness of the ride, the exhilaration of speed without a metal box surrounding me…

I came home, posted a proud picture of my bike on twitter, changed my facebook status to brag… then grabbed my helmet and went out again.

this time I rode along busy streets. My city has fairly decent bike lanes along the major traffic arteries, and drivers are generally reasonable about sharing the road. With legs pumping furiously I dashed across the river and downtown, pulling up to the store of a friend of mine who i a cycling enthusiast. After a chin wag to show off my acquisition I was off again! Zipping through the downtown core and through another section of the river park.

Clicking through the gears, experimenting, I managed to make it up one of the few steep hills we have in this prairie town, then rode the 6 or 7 blocks home. But as I reached my doorstep I kept going. Back to the river park, down the bike paths, alternating between fast and furious pedalling and gliding along, across a wood-planked bridge, back up the steep hill again, and a leisurely ride home.

If I didn’t have calls to make and appointments to keep, I’d probably still be out there. I plan to go again tomorrow morning – maybe even tonight. Not only is it a healthy way for me to spin my metabolism back up and build some muscle, but on that saddle I can feel that childlike sense of freedom washing back over me. I feel ten feet tall and bullet proof. And nothing matters in the world but that moment.