One of my pet peeves about the perception of bike commuting is that it requires a) a aerobics-class level of effort, and b) a shower at the end to clean up the stink from said effort. This is really counter-productive, since the benefits of commuting by bicycle can be achieved without (and even run counter to) sprinting your ass off.
This misguided perception comes first of all from the positioning of bicycles in the American marketplace, where they are still largely marketed as sporting goods, akin to a elliptical trainer or a set of running shoes. In a store where the top of the line bikes are the racing team models and "light light light" is the mantra, those who invest in a non-crappy bike are made to feel that if they're not attacking the on-ramp to the Manhattan Bridge as if it's the 21st switchback at Alpe d'Huez, they're doing it wrong. To those, I say: slow the hell down.
In European and Asian countries where cycling is taken seriously as a form of transport, most people ride in their street clothes on practical, upright, slightly heavy bicycles. It's understood that you only get sweaty enough to require a shower if you are making an exceptional effort. On hot, muggy days, you'd need a shower if you ran to work instead of walking. So we walk. It's no different on a bicycle.
So, how to slow down? Here's some things I've learned:
1. Practice. Yes, it takes practice to go slow. My natural tendency (especially riding in New York City) is to go faster than I should. I want to beat other riders to the end of the block. I want to outsprint taxis. I get competitive. It has taken me a while to tell that impulse to shut up and enjoy the ride.
2. Constant effort, not constant speed. I don't have a heart rate monitor or anything, but I've gotten pretty good at listening to my body. If I feel the flush of strenuous effort coming up, I dial back. The idea is to stay below the sweaty threshold. If I'm only looking at my speed (and lately I haven't even been riding with a cyclocomputer), I'll miss the signs that I'm making too much of an effort. The difference in wind (especially on the bridges) means that a 10mph average might be laughably easy one day and brutally difficult the next.
3. Gears: use 'em. I could never commute on a fixie for this reason. Maintaining a constant effort means constantly cycling through the gear choices to find that sweet spot. I find it easier to keep my heart rate down by pedaling faster with lower effort than by pushing hard on a big gear.
4. The ride home. It's cooler in the morning on the way to work, and my mellow, non-sprinty, Zen commute works better on the ride to. Coming home, I may feel the need to blow off steam, and I have a shower there. If I feel a sprint coming on, the return trip is the time to indulge it.
Mar 22, 2008
Feb 6, 2008
sheldon brown
Sheldon Brown, the author of one of the quirkiest, funniest, and most informative web sites about bicycles and bicycle commuting, has passed away. An opinionated, sometimes goofy, always educational voice, he turned a gig as a mechanic at an obscure local shop in Massachusetts into perhaps the biggest resource on bicycle transport and bicycle history on the entire web. He'll be missed; our sincere condolences.
Feb 4, 2008
strida
I've seen a few of these around town, and each gave the impression that an Anglepoise lamp was being ridden down the street. But oddity aside, these look like great little bikes, perfect for stashing in hall closets and toting on buses. Great article, with tons of images from the designer's notebooks.
Feb 3, 2008
saturday night
One of those nights that reminds me why I love bicycling in the city so much. Deb biked in to get her hair cut, and I biked in later to meet her at Temple Korean in the East Village. The ride in was super-fast... I've gotten so used to riding in to work with a heavy messenger bag that I feel free whenever I ride without it. Took the Manhattan Bridge into the city at dusk. It was clear and about 42 degrees, no traffic. Saw two other riders on the bridge but that was it. 25 minutes door to door.
We had a nice meal at Temple, where we usually just order a pile of appetizers one after another. The woman sitting next to us turned out to be someone who live down the hall from me in college. For dessert, we were hoping for the carrot cake at Spring Street Natural Restaurant, which is dairy-free and awesome. We called to make sure they had it on the menu tonight, then cycled the 25 blocks or so down to Soho. Now, at 8:30 on a Saturday night, Soho becomes a parking lot. Traffic from uptown, the Holland, Williamsburg, the Manhattan Bridge and the Brooklyn Bridge all converges, and the streets are packed curb-to-curb with well-dressed party people looking sullen and late. Stressed-out girls in the highest of heels vainly flag cabs that aren't coming because traffic isn't moving. Through all of this we glide across 9th Street, down 2nd Ave, right on Kenmare, and lock our bikes to the signpost immediately in front of the door. Carrot cakes and coffee, sitting at the bar.
On such a clear, cool night, I figure that the view will be sweet on the Brooklyn Bridge and the tourist load will be low, so we head straight down Lafayette, on a new, wide painted bike lane. There's only about ten other people on the whole bridge, most of them on bikes (of course, not counting the honking rows of unmoving cars fifteen feet below us). The skyline has that hyperreal quality Manhattan gets on exceptionally clear days. We slow at the top to take in the panorama (from straight ahead, moving to the right: the east tower, the Promenade, Red Hook, the Verrazano, Staten Island off in the distance, the tiny Statue of Liberty, the Financial district, the west tower, Chinatown, Midtown looming with the Empire State Building all blue for some reason, the other two East River bridges, Dumbo...), but we don't stop.
We had a nice meal at Temple, where we usually just order a pile of appetizers one after another. The woman sitting next to us turned out to be someone who live down the hall from me in college. For dessert, we were hoping for the carrot cake at Spring Street Natural Restaurant, which is dairy-free and awesome. We called to make sure they had it on the menu tonight, then cycled the 25 blocks or so down to Soho. Now, at 8:30 on a Saturday night, Soho becomes a parking lot. Traffic from uptown, the Holland, Williamsburg, the Manhattan Bridge and the Brooklyn Bridge all converges, and the streets are packed curb-to-curb with well-dressed party people looking sullen and late. Stressed-out girls in the highest of heels vainly flag cabs that aren't coming because traffic isn't moving. Through all of this we glide across 9th Street, down 2nd Ave, right on Kenmare, and lock our bikes to the signpost immediately in front of the door. Carrot cakes and coffee, sitting at the bar.
On such a clear, cool night, I figure that the view will be sweet on the Brooklyn Bridge and the tourist load will be low, so we head straight down Lafayette, on a new, wide painted bike lane. There's only about ten other people on the whole bridge, most of them on bikes (of course, not counting the honking rows of unmoving cars fifteen feet below us). The skyline has that hyperreal quality Manhattan gets on exceptionally clear days. We slow at the top to take in the panorama (from straight ahead, moving to the right: the east tower, the Promenade, Red Hook, the Verrazano, Staten Island off in the distance, the tiny Statue of Liberty, the Financial district, the west tower, Chinatown, Midtown looming with the Empire State Building all blue for some reason, the other two East River bridges, Dumbo...), but we don't stop.
bogota
"A protected bicycle path is a symbol that a citizen on a $30 bicycle is equally important as one in a $30,000 car."
A conversation with the Mayor of Bogota, Colombia. Many great quotes about people-centric planning vs. car-centric planning.
A conversation with the Mayor of Bogota, Colombia. Many great quotes about people-centric planning vs. car-centric planning.
Feb 2, 2008
moving with a bicycle
Yes, that's "moving" as in "moving to a new apartment".
I recently purchased a Bob Yak trailer, and I've been amazed at how much I could carry (recently took 5 kitchen garbage bags of old clothes to the Salvation Army in one trip). I could never get away with this (too many pieces of large, uncollapsable furniture), but I applaud the effort. Bikes can carry a lot more than most people think.
I recently purchased a Bob Yak trailer, and I've been amazed at how much I could carry (recently took 5 kitchen garbage bags of old clothes to the Salvation Army in one trip). I could never get away with this (too many pieces of large, uncollapsable furniture), but I applaud the effort. Bikes can carry a lot more than most people think.
Jan 17, 2008
wah-mei birds
Starting a list of things I love about my commute, in no particular order. Today's is the Wah-Mei Bird Garden, on the north edge of Sara Roosevelt Park at Chrystie and Delancey.
Many mornings, when passing this corner, I hear a burst of loud, clear, beautiful bird song. Apparently the Chinese men who keep these songbirds bring them to the park every morning to allow their pets some fresh air. Once or twice, I've turned into the park and walked my bike up the steps to take a look and say good morning. The birds are pretty, but not the rococo beauties that the songs would have you expect. Their collective song is a note as clear as a tuning fork above the diesel/horn/subsonic subway rumble that comprises the usual Chrystie Street soundtrack.
This morning, cold and clear and, inasmuch as my commute doubles as meditation, the bird song banished a bit of darkness from my thoughts as surely and completely as a gong in a Himalayan temple, driving out the demons of disorder.
Many mornings, when passing this corner, I hear a burst of loud, clear, beautiful bird song. Apparently the Chinese men who keep these songbirds bring them to the park every morning to allow their pets some fresh air. Once or twice, I've turned into the park and walked my bike up the steps to take a look and say good morning. The birds are pretty, but not the rococo beauties that the songs would have you expect. Their collective song is a note as clear as a tuning fork above the diesel/horn/subsonic subway rumble that comprises the usual Chrystie Street soundtrack.
This morning, cold and clear and, inasmuch as my commute doubles as meditation, the bird song banished a bit of darkness from my thoughts as surely and completely as a gong in a Himalayan temple, driving out the demons of disorder.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)