I Can't Get No Respect

I often consider putting some horsepower between my legs and joining the motorcycle world. What a feeling it must be, zipping the highways, wind in your hair, girl on your back. But where did the biker image come from; did it emerge when Bob Dylan burned down Highway 61, or maybe right after Hunter S. Thompson crossed the line in Hell’s Angels? Hard to say, for now I’ll remain pedal-powered, but how can we (cyclists') elevate our image and promote ourselves as “cool.”

Should we all make vrummmm vrummmm noises while speeding down mountains (something I already do)? Maybe we could have our own bars, gangs, and “turf,” a place to gather and reassure ourselves that we’re cool cats on a two-wheeled mission. I feel we need to cultivate a badass image, instead of the 40 Year Old Virgin portrayal; because let’s face it, the bicycle gets around.

I’m also a bit disenchanted with this hipster business. To me, hipsters will stop riding bicycles when the next fad comes around, my guess, Razor Scooters. Though they surely promote the bicycle, the hipster flag flies directly in the face of what the bicycles all about for me.

I observe the bicycle being about non-attachment, slowed agenda, and reckless abandonment; not cardigans, scarves, and gourmet coffee houses. The hipsters muddy the waters, showing main-stream that the cyclists’ still a nerd.

I don’t desire a world of Mad Max bicyclists’; I’m just looking for a little respect. The bike deserves a fair reputation. So what we lack a motor, that doesn’t mean cyclists’ should be represented as wimps. I’ll die happy when a kid turns to his or her mom and says,”Mommy… when I grow up, may I ride a bicycle.”