The Romance of Practicality

Has it only been two years since Scamper bounded into my life? As of yesterday, we celebrated our anniversary. It was a cold January day in 2015 as I eagerly awaited my bike, tracking the package like a predatory creature, ready to pounce at each delivery truck that passed. Seven hundred thirty-one days, well, thirty-two if you count today, of adventure. Scamper boasts more stickers on his frame, and patches on his bags. He's taken some damage, his fenders aren't as smooth, there's a touch of rust that I forever tend on his midbar.
       Its fitting, I've taken some damage during those two years too, and added plumage. I'm not the sort of person who counts miles, I prefer to count journeys; from the SODO range, to the Burk-Gilman Trail, the downtown greenways for social rides, up improbable hills, and plunging down angles that literally steal one's breath. Scamper has borne my weight, and the weight of friends, always ready to strap on the basket and become a pseudo-cargo bike, or by bungee haul incredible loads.
      Not just any bike could do what Scamper does, for while any frame could bear me during all of this, no bike could be so constantly by my side. Driven by conditions to take the bus, Scamper comes onboard, folded neatly, and stored properly. I always have to mentally prepare myself when boarding with Scamper. There are stares, some just gawk, while others give a deadpan-thousand-yard-stare, a few tilt their heads like the RCA dog, as if their eyes deceive the nature of the object before them. Once in a while, someone will exclaim, "Its not a wheelchair!" which I chalk up to just how I stand when riding with Scamper. But its not just the stares I'm preparing myself for, its the questions.
     "What is that?" and "Where did you get it?" also, "How can you get far with those little wheels," and so forth. I try not to take umbridge with the latter questions, they can't see the journeys Scamper out mastered a hill over a bigger wheeled bike with a stronger rider. They don't know he's gone as far north as Everett and as far south as the edges of West Seattle (which is south, I seriously do not understand you people, your compasses work down here, so what's up with the ornery directionals?) They don't know at a glance Scamper is capable of bearing up to 250lbs. They see a bike the size of a child's in frame because they come from a 'bigger is better,' mentality.
      I come from mentality of 'right tool for the right job,' and Scamper is just right. He's not so big he is put on the racks outside the bus, and the wear and tear shows on my husband's bike, which does ride on the outside because of it's size. Theft, the worry of which gnawed at my being every shift, became something that actually did happen to other people. Its pretty hard to steal a bike that's folded and stored inside, by a desk or in a closet. Even when I do have to lock him outside, I disable the midbar, which will cause any thief to face plant.
      That closeness fostered a comradery between me and my bike. Is he practical? Yes, but that practicality is so much more. As a child I had... stubby legs, I never felt as fast as I ought to be, frustrating each journey. Once I could ride that changed, I was exactly as fast I thought I should be, mentally, it all fell into place. I started calling my bike my 'legs,' and never really shifted away from that. Folded up, Scamper is at my fingertips, ready to go from stationary to journey. I don't have to go outside to get my bike, just the front room. I'm not seperated from him no matter the manner of transportation.
     I've been tempted by other frames in the past year, those sleek carbon forks, those aluminum frames, and those sturdy bakfiet beauties that grace the trails. Yet the very covetous nature prevents me from seeking one, for if I desire it, than who else also sees it with a cunning eye? Nobody wants to steal Scamper, even left unattended, he's covered in so many bikeindex.org stickers with a #ulockjustice sticker on his u-lock, he looks like the bike of a vengeful rider. Not exactly untrue. And none of those tempting beauties can do what Scamper can do, company and steed, bike and companion.
       Even as time goes on, I'm not sure how I could ever part with him. Scamper brought me to the courthouse to marry my best friend, when I got hit by a car, Scamper withstood and supported my shaking hands. Planning an adventure, how else would I go? Glancing at each sticker adorning his frame I can recall the scratch beneath, or the circumstances of acquisition. Its only been two years, but a lifetime of riding squeezed itself in. Perhaps one day I will need another bike, or Scamper might, (knock on wood) someday be put out of commission.
       Until that day, and probably even after, I'll be a folding filly. Maybe we're not the fastest ride on the rode, well, definitely we are not, but no matter the distance and the hills, we arrive.    
 

30 Days of BOOM!

     The Greenwood explosion is becoming a memory, as the community heals some things will never be the same, other things will be there, but not in the same way. Much to everyone's, not just myself I swear, G&O Family Cyclery will be opening a temporary location just a wee bit north of where they were before (the address will be 8554 1/2 Greenwood Ave N, Seattle, WA 98103), so its no hardship if you regularly ride your bike to the shop. As of yet they are not open, so please watch their blog, Twitter, and Facebook for updates. 
     Sadly, I wasn't able to get Scamper back, and up and running, in time for this year's #30Daysof Biking. I had debated a LOT about whether or not I was going to do it this year. On the one hand, it does support a great cause. On the other had I already ride my bike pretty much every day. It was one of the problems I had last year, which was a lot of biking up and down the driveway to be honest. You see, I don't own a car, and I rely a lot on my bike, with public transit bridging the gap left. So if I don't have to go anywhere one day, I'm not going to invent an excuse to go for a ride, nor make my probably-hurting-body go someplace it doesn't want to go. After all, 30 Days is about the joy, not a punishment. But with the addition of supporting the World Bicycle Relief Fund I had considered doing it again this year. 
    I also missed out fulfilling my literal dream of biking on the freeway. It broke my little heart quite sincerely, as I have dreamed of this since I first rode Seattle's freeways. And, rhetorical aside, isn't the  moniker "freeway," ironic since it is neither free to build, nor does it connect, in fact, it usually divides neighborhoods, puts up walls, and indentures us to the fossil fuel method. However, Scamper's mishap on the Georgetown train tracks, followed by being in an explosion, and then the epic day of washing, did have one or two positive effects.
     For one, I don't really care for Barry, (my husband's bike), with all respect, he's just a big boy. I thought it wouldn't be an issue since both our bikes are very adjustable, but my poor knees disagree. So much for making my back up bike a Miami. But it made me aware of just how much I put into making Scamper shine. Sure he's got a lot of stickers, but each one is a story, his stickers are his tattoos, and every dent I hammer out of his fenders, a hit he took for me.
    Secondly, it made me rethink what bike events and challenges I want to do. If Scamper had been operational, I probably WOULD have done 30days, and that would be a shame, because regularly joyful riders are probably the only ones who don't need to participate.    
   Also, it's made me eager as hell to be out on my bike. A Trader Joe's opened by my home, but too far to walk, though I guess I could walk to transit. However, I despise having my shopping on a schedule. or pushing a clerk to make a faster check out so I don't miss the bus. So we waited. A new pet supply store opened. We waited. We needed to go to other stores to grab other things. We waited. (You can see why, even though I really wanted to wait and go to the temp location for G&O this wasn't really feasible). 
    This brings me to the last positive thing to come out of the mess. I recall, some time ago, Critical Lass ended their ride at R+E Cycles, which had this amazing bike rack out front showing how many bikes could fit in a car slot. I was reluctant to take Scamper just anywhere, not just because he's a folding bike, but I want to support local bike shops that are inclusive and foster the kind of cycling culture I want to see carry forward. From what I could vaguely remember (be fair, there was some really good beer) the people were nice, so after a brief call I took a freshly scrubbed Scamper down to see if they could help. Not only were they able to get him back up and functioning, but they stuck around until I could get back down to get him. They understood that Scamper wasn't just a bike, he's my independence, my freedom, and without him, I'm goddamn SOL. 
    Its not everyday you find a great bike shop, especially not when your local one has been exploded. Having a chance to go back and get to know the folks at R+E was the bit of silver lining I needed to this cloud.
And so my friends, I am back in the saddle. Right where I belong.  

And so it begins!

     Its the first weekend of coffeeneuring and the clear blue skies call every cyclist, participating or not, to sample the asphalt one last time before it becomes part river, part roadway. At least, here in the Pacific Northwest. I recall the same sweet call back North, before the snow completely  buried the pavement.
     For my first cofffeeneuring trip I put on the socks I'd been eager to don, I think every female cyclist has this pair at this point:

   Theme firmly beneath my personal firmament, we began our ride. As Barry is still down for repairs, Ben rode Pinkie Pie, not his favorite ride, but sill nice she got to come along again for the first trip since she was my ride last year.  One Cup is close to our home, making the whole trip 2.2 miles, though we probably could've extended it, or made it even shorter, but we went through the residential streets instead of doing a straight shot to Aurora. Besides, I love riding down 165th and riding the gap  between speed humps. Its fun because cars will try to speed up to pass you, but then they have to break on the hump while you cruise through. Exceedingly satisfying.
    Sadly, we did have to go down Aurora eventually, and I denote it as sadly because Ben always points out that "they ruined the Main Street of this town by making it a highway," and he's right, but its sad, and seeing it sad. Ugh. On the curious side, the Uber garage is right next to the Uhaul, which is right next to a car dealership, which is right by a motorcycle shop. The insane level of car-centric shops right next to homes is just... Well I digress, but its just so symptomatic of the street, and that shapes Aurora into the sort of place that encourages it into the sort of place that every store along it requires a key for the bathroom. Where I'm from that's just the prerogative of gas stations.
    We arrived at One Cup and I have to admit I was hopeful, I mean it did appear to be a very coffeeesque place

note the car dealership nearby

But alas, it had no bike rack. In spite of clearly catering to the college crowd it had a fucking railing as an excuse for a parking spot. Naturally I just folding Scamper and took him inside as Ben lashed Pinkie to the railing at the end of the handicap ramp of the church. Because its Shoreline, so of course its a coffee shop connected to a church.
        The set up inside was the perfect storm of Northwest awkward. Lots of bar stool seats and communal tables, big leather chairs all set close to each other, and a kids table off in a corner away from anyone trying to study, but without a spot for their adult to hover nearby. We ordered our drinks, coffee for him, hot chocolate for me, and after picking a suitable spot, placed Scamper by the table.

     There was wifi, but it wasn't issued with the receipt, which seriously, who doesn't give you your change and tell you the wifi password? Places that have it posted by the drink pickup, right? Not here. No parking, no wifi. How was the hot coco?

     Meh. I mean it wasn't bad  but foam for a hot coco? I uh, I guess I'm used to whip cream or such. It was quite creamy, so I'll classify it as "okay," or at least something warm to sip while I looked around. 

     

      Finding neither the drink nor the decor had much to offer I debated whether or not I would come back. I supposed perhaps, if I was with other people who were stopping there, but not of my own volition. Overall, I'd rate the place a C- if you're a cyclist. I mean, don't get me wrong, its Shoreline, so its not like they'll put in a rack. I bet, much like the Coffee & Pub place the Bounty, they'll be satisfied with people locking up on railings. Bully for them, but I'll take my business elsewhere. While its a pretty nice ride, the ride does not the destination make.

     Speaking of elsewheres and destinations, I'll be snarkily sipping at Cafe Aroma next. Cheers! 

Taking my business elsewhere

It took me a day to calm down enough to write this. To be honest, I'm still not entirely calm about it, but here it is:

My husband got kicked out of McDonalds for bringing his bike inside with him. 

Let's rewind this to a couple weeks ago, when my husband's ride, Mute, gave up the ghost, rolled up the choir invisible, or in terms cyclists get; the pedal shafts were stripped, the gear-sprocket shot, & it was declared unfit for riding (safely). Ben got Mute the same time I got Pinkie Pie, and Mute certainly did put in his time, though short. Mute hauled groceries, Christmas purchases, surprise delights, and most importantly, my husband's finely sculpted butt, all over. But time and tide got the best of the big boned Magna, and, beyond repair, it was time to get him another set of wheels. 

He bucked the notion of a folding bike at first, it was fine for me, and my needs, but he liked to break out the trailer. (If we had kept on driving, I'm pretty sure my husband would've bought a minivan by now) While he favors using a back pack for daily use, he wasn't keen of having a bike that lacked a trailer capacity. Unfortunately, most folding bikes do not have the capacity to have a trailer attached, and he hates using Pinkie because "its hauling a tank" though he does like the upright.

However, after a lot of discussion he ended up purchasing a spanking sparkly Citizen Miami. Which he named Barry. 

After Dave Barry. Yep. I still love him. 

Within two weeks he's become a folding fool, and strangely, he's able to keep up with me a lot better on a bike with smaller wheels than his previous one.  Barry's wheels are only two inches bigger than Scamper, my beloved ride, making him equally portable, but more easy to load on a bus. Ben takes pride in Barry like no other bike he's owned, I caught a glimmer of love in his eyes as he pulls it onto the driveway and asks, "Ready?" before each ride. 

So yesterday he took his bike to the McDonald's I went to after a fellow folding bike rider got the cops called on him for bringing a folding bike into, last year. You see, I found the story so upsetting last year I promptly took my own in to a local McD's to see if the same would happen. 

 I didn't get funny looks, and I most certainly didn't get kicked out. 

Ben, in his enthusiasm, went to do the same, and was promptly kicked out. He tried showing them how small Barry folded, but no dice. They didn't let him order, didn't offer to let him go through the drive through instead.

Oh, did I mention this particular McD's is off the Interurban Trail and has NO BIKE RACK?  Yeah, they apparently, even in the face of plummeting sales, aggressively, turn away business.

Now maybe I didn't get kicked out because my skin tone is that of a saltine cracker and he is swarthy (those handsome Mediterranean looks have gotten him mistaken for all kinds of different ethnicities). But I can tell you it had NOTHING to do with his personality without even having been there myself. You know why?

My husband is possibly the kindest man who has ever walked the face of the earth. Like maybe he's Saint Francis reincarnated. He is ridiculously genteel and absurdly understanding. His empathy rivals that of Diane on StarTrek-TNG. He is soft-spoken, with an even emotional keel. Oh, and before you chalk it up to how he was dressed, he's no middle aged man in lycra, nor does he dress like a "punk" or whatever we're calling young miscreants these days.

So why could they have possibly kicked him out? Was it his race? Was it his gender? Because if you let a woman-who-can-totally-pass-as-white bring in her folding bike do it, you have to let everyone bring their bike in. Or install a rack. Like anyone in Shoreline does that!

Meanwhile, if you're looking for a place to grab a bite, as a cyclist, if go just a little further down the trail, past the Sears, there's a Shake N'Go, the owner WANTS you to bring your bike inside. Went there last week and our bikes were just as welcome as our bodies. In fact, we were going to park outside, but he insisted we bring our rides in, fearing they'd get stolen, or just that we wouldn't enjoy our meal if we were worrying about our bikes.

In telling me about getting kicked out of a McDonalds for bringing his bike inside, my husband expressed confusion, "They're on Main Street, right next to the trail," he grumbled, "why didn't they put up shop on a highway if they didn't want bikes?"
"Main Street?" I asked, "Aurora isn't main street, its a highway!"
"No baby," he patiently explained, "The I-5 is a highway,"  he pointed, "the I-90 is a highway," he pointed again, "and the," I stop him before he starts listing every interstate route Washington contains.
"My Love," I tell him, "Aurora IS a highway, its the George Washington Highway, the I-99, its not a main street like we know main streets, its a honest to goodness... Like expressway," I finish.
"What? No, it runs right through the middle of town. That's a main street. It should have people walking on it, and store fronts that,"
"But they voted on it," I interrupt. I have no idea why he puts up with me just doing that, "They decided before we got here that they didn't want a street, they wanted a corridor,"
"That's stupid, it cuts right through the middle of town!" he grumbled. I sighed. We both stared down the stretch of Aurora.

Aurora is a nice street... if you're a car. Or a motel. Or a fast food joint. Or if you want to buy or wash a car. But it isn't good for anything else. Especially its community.

Dirty little sneak

      I have a confession. I've been cheating on my bike. Don't get me wrong, I love my little Schwinn, I'm not selling her anytime soon. But... I've been cheating on her, looking at other bikes, ogling different frames, pondering different pedals, gazing on different gears, and even, dare I confess? Yes, dreaming of a riding a different saddle.
     I shouldn't be that ashamed, I know many cyclists who have more than one bike, some bikes are better suited to different things. I, however, have always been true to one ride at a time, making one bike work for all things. Its not a marriage, not exactly, and not like my bike is an animate object to be jealous or angry with me, but those little bells do sound a bit condemning these days.
     You see I've been thinking very hard about getting a folding bike, better suited for my commutes than for grocery runs. Pinkie Pie, my current ride, is great for those. Her frame can stand the weight of the trailer, her basket is lovely for Mac or a smaller bag. However, she's a big girl in terms of weight, and pushing her up Greenwood has begun to strain me, and lifting her onto the bus rack hurts my shoulders. A folding bike makes sense for my commute in many ways, and for my random adventures near and far, should the sun leave me bereft of strength, or the journey too much, resorting to public transit would not become a perilous chance of dice (how many times after an event have you waited and waited for a but with a free rack spot?)
     In fact, it was, on the bus on my way home, where I began looking again at other bikes.
     "Oh, look at her rack," I whispered, not realizing I said it aloud. The mother across from me shot me a nasty look and, conscious of my error, I quickly turned my phone to show her the bike. She smiled, probably feeling better she wasn't sitting across from a pervert.
    The gentlemen to my side inquired as to the bike I was looking at and I showed them.
    "That looks expensive," one of them frowned, "Set you back about two thousand, am I right?"
    "Nope," I smiled, "She's only a hundred sixty four, not counting tax of course,"
    "You're kidding me," he exclaimed.
     "Oh no, folding bikes aren't just for rich folks, more for every day folks," I said. The woman sitting next to the mother craned her head, and I showed her the bike.
    "Oh, I could use that," she said, "Except on the hills, those little wheels," she shook her head. I laughed.
    "Actually, its better to have little wheels if you have a lot of hills," I explained.
    "How's that?"
    "You ever notice how quick a rabbit or a dog goes up a hill?" I asked, "Its because of how they're pushing their weight up. We walk upright, so we're pushing a different fulcrum to achieve momentum,"I showed the motions using my hands, "Smaller wheels keep you close to the ground, and they my make better use of the surface ratio,"
    "Won't it just collapse on you someday?" the other man asked. I showed them a couple videos of folding bikes, showing how they worked, and the conversation moved to electric bikes and the difference between an assist bike and a full electric, and the different bikes we'd all had through our lives.
     The weekend before Christmas Ben took my bike out to help me haul a cat tree home for the kids. Sadly he didn't take any pictures when he brought home our tree that way, but we did get a couple shots of the cat tree.
     Even he agreed, while Pinkie is good for a haul, or a free style ride, she's not really practical the for the length a challenges of my commute. Which means, my dear readers, in the new year I'll be adding a new stead to my stable. Hopefully I'll be able to shake the gnawing sense of guilt.
    In the meantime, am I missing a trick, or does Seattle not have a bike podcast?