they are NOT messing around!

Perhaps learning by pushing against boundaries is just a part of being human. As kids, we all fight against rules and we push limits set for us by parents, teachers, grandparents, etc., until we understand exactly where we stand in this big, confusing world. As older kids, it remains equally enticing to push against boundaries, to read a sign beginning with the word "NO" or containing the word "PROHIBITED," and then to go and do precisely the opposite. Just to see. How serious are those little signs? Does anyone actually care? Will anything ever happen to me if I don't follow that silly little sign?

Like I said, maybe it's just human.

I've always seen those signs posted on pedestrian malls that tell bicyclists to dismount and walk their bikes, but I guess I never really knew if anyone actually cared about them. Apparently they do. Either that, or I've just had a string of bad luck. Well, not that bad, really. Just enough to learn.

In Denver, pedaling down the bus lane of the 16th Street Mall, two cops called me over while I was stuck at a red light. They didn't give me a ticket, but they did write me a very official warning to let me know that, yes, they did in fact care about those dismount bicycle signs, and yes, they do actually write tickets that require the payment of punitive fees with actual money for not following this rule. Lesson learned.

In Boulder, after grabbing a quick bite to eat, I hopped back onto my bike, coasted probably 20 yards at most until getting back onto 14th. At the red light, a cop pulled up next to me, and told me that they regularly issue $50 penalties to people cycling on the mall. Even after arguing that I had only rolled a short way just to get onto the actual road, she told me, "20 yards, 50 bucks." Again, I lucked out with the warning, and I learned that some cops really do care about those dismount signs.

I don't know if this is really worth anything, but for what little it may be worth, I've definitely learned to avoid the pedestrian malls on my bike. There really are people – typically people with badges and the ability to write expensive tickets – who actually care about the dismount rules spelled out on those signs. In the long run, it's definitely easiest, fastest, and entirely pain-free to keep it simple and stick to the bike lanes.

Another One Bites the Dust

Well, it happened again. I broke my frame. That's makes two in the last few months. Granted, these weren't high end carbon frames, or some similarly expensive technology, just beater road frames. However, the lack of value the frames held didn't help offset the loss.

The former of these two fatalities, suffered its "coup de grace" upon impacting the front end of a Manhattan taxi cab. It happened one afternoon, while I was pushing the "red light window". I arrived at the intersection a bit too late, and got caught. The driver's side nose, of the front bumper, struck me just behind the right leg, slightly in front of the derailleur. There was a minor hold up while I picked myself up, and remounted my bike. The cabbie and I exchanged our usual scripts of accusatory expletives, and we were both on our way. No big deal, I thought.

What I didn't notice that day, were the two hair line cracks on my chainstays the cabbie left me with. I didn't become aware of them until about a week later, as I was riding the cobbles across Varick St. At first, I noticed a "bounce" to my bike, like an unfamiliar softness. Eventually, I began to sink, and my frame grew longer beneath me. I knew something was amiss.

Apparently, t

he tension of my chain acted as a fulcrum, that eventually pulled the chain stays apart.

The above photo was taken shortly after my bike entered "that great criterium in the sky".

The latter frame met its end in much the same way. However, this time, the death was more prolonged.

One day, while cruising down the top end of 7th avenue, I was somewhere in the mid 50's, about to time it through an intersection. Imagine a real life game of Frogger.

No one was going exceptionally fast, as the spirit and pleasantness of the day discouraged it. I was about to slip between two cabs, when all of a sudden, the one projected to be on my left side, slammed on his brakes, and I ran into the last 3 inches of his rear bumper. I went flying over the trunk, while my bike stayed put. I actually got up in time to see it fall over. I picked my bike up and gave it a once-over. Upon inspection there were no visible breaks or deep crimps. However, the impact of the crash had ever so slightly bent the head tube. The damage appeared minimal. Moreover, being a steel frame, I assumed it was fine and continued on, unaware of the cancer that now grew within my bike.

So, months later, today in fact, after tons of miles, working and commuting, the malignant tumor that was growing within, surfaced. This happened in the lamest of places, too. I had just clamped my ride down to a communal bike stand, in front of a bunch of bike nerds, with the intention of showing it off. There it was. The death rattle was heard by all. I was so embarrassed. I played it off as best I could, but I was horrified. How could I have not noticed this? It never made a sound until that day. But sure enough, it was curtains.

My frame near decapitation:

If you can't see it, its the obvious tear that runs along the top of the lug and across the body of the head tube. Over hundreds of miles, the slight imperfection in the head tube eventually developed into a serious weakness. One day, the stress became two much, and the frame was severed.

Currently, my bike is still in the "wake" stage of bike death.

Well, I guess these things just happen. If you ride a bike long enough, you come realize that it has a lifespan, and chances are, you will outride it. Whether or not you personified your bike in any way, at one time or another, it was a trusted friend that you depended on. Whether it was to make it to class or work on time, or just blow off some steam, it was there for you. Bikes have memories attached to them. Eventually, they carry sentimental value. To lose one, is enough to ruin your day. Especially when you have to take that bus ride of shame.

However, there is a secret guilty pleasure in losing a bike. You get to replace it.

the weight of guilt

This will be a bit of a confessional, so bear with me as I unload my guilt.

I often pride myself on being well-versed in the ways of traffic laws and bike-car relations. Yet I sometimes run red lights. Sometimes stop signs. I always get upset when car drivers cut me off. In these instances, I start yelling, ranting, raving, and foaming at the mouth about what idiots they are for not understanding traffic laws and for putting me at risk through their ignorance or refusal to follow these rules.

I'm feeling now like a hypocrite.

Months ago, while on a short bicycle tour, I ran a red light. It was a small side street, and I checked to be sure no cars were coming. So I rationalized it away, and rolled on through. When the light I had just run finally turned green, a woman in a car pulled up next to me, rolled down her window, and called me out on breaking the rules. "If you want to be on the streets, you've got to follow the rules like everybody else," she told me. My pride hurt, I wanted to fight back, to somehow make her wrong and me right, but in the end, I had to face it: she was right.

Just last night, I had a similar experience. Riding home along Folsom, I approached a fellow cyclist, who was waiting at the red light. Rather than stop, I passed him and zipped on through, the light turning green when I was about 3/4 of the way through the intersection. Thinking nothing of it, the cyclist soon caught up with me and asked me to not run red lights, especially when cars are present (which they were), because it gives cyclists a bad name. Again, my pride hurt, I began arguing with him, attempting to somehow twist the facts and place me in the right and he in the wrong. I was a real jerk. A punk.

So, first off, to that cyclist that I fought with: I apologize. Second off, and the main point here, cycling responsibly really is important for the cycling community. It not only allows us to ride safer (which in the long run provides the confidence to ride faster and harder), but it also presents a face of unified and responsible legitimacy to the rest of society. I know I'm definitely guilty of irresponsible biking from time to time (and I hope this confession will absolve me of my guilt), but trust me, in the long run it's best to simply avoid these problems by riding responsibly, because if nothing else, it hurts when that old lady in the Buick calls us out and we're forced to admit she's right.

Periodic Table of Cyclists

The physical world is comprised of various fundamental elements, organized by scientists for ease in understanding and conceptualizing into a periodic table. The cycling world may similarly be broken into its constituent and fundamental components. While this proves to be an ongoing study, the following represents a preliminary, and therefore largely cursory, effort at organizing these bicycle cultural elements into such a table...

Hr: The Hipster – most definitely rides fixed gear bicycles. While flashy color coordination, tight pants, ironic T-shirts, and large glasses may dazzle the eye, don't be fooled! – the bike behind the appearance is likely plagued by loose bearing surfaces and shoddy mechanics.

Pu: The Purist – like the Hipster, the cycling Purist may also ride a fixed gear, but the Purist will claim to have been riding in this manner for far longer than their Hipster counterparts. Also expect hardtail mountain bikes, rigid forks, and, seemingly paradoxically, 29er wheels.

Cr: The Cruiser – the Cruiser, regardless of actual location, is always at the beach. May often be found featuring recreational variations including costumes, lights, and electronic music playing devices.

Cm: The Commuter – covering a potentially wide range of bicycles, the Commuter is typically well-equipped with lights, fenders, racks, bags, sacks, rain gear, panniers, first aid kits, duct tape, old inner tubes, sleeping equipment, emergency food supplies, candles, and self-power-generating crank radios.

Re: The Recumbent – generally, a breed unto itself. The Recumbent refuses to conform with the uncomfortable and nonsensical norm of uprightness, and thus, tends to include flags, mirrors, and for the male Recumbent, long gray beards.

Rd: The Roadie – spandex, color coordination, all-around aerodynamics, the appearance of team membership, and hyper-concern regarding small measures of weight.

Fa: The Family – The Family stretches itself along bike lanes and paths in a veritable parade of jean shorts, dome helmets, tag-alongs, and trailers. Typically invokes smiles and happiness in viewers.

An: The Anarchist – appearing to share similarities with the Hipster, the Anarchist may ride either geared or fixed, but only a bicycle refurbished at the local DIY anti-establishmentarian co-op. Unlike the Hipster, however, the Anarchist's machine is most likely in fully working condition, allowing for the pedal-driven destruction of authority and the state.

Hs: The Hardcore Stoked – the Hardcore Stoked pedal ONLY downhill bikes bearing closer resemblance to motorcycles than bicycles. If they must ride away from sheer cliff faces or monster dirt jumps, expect them to be on the constant look-out for walls, stairwells, and cops.

Bs: The Department Store – typically noticed audibly before visually, the Department Store generally doesn't make it very far, and typically expends large amounts of energy to cover what little ground they do. Expect squeaks, plastic pie plates, bent derailleur hangers, and seized brakes.

Pt: The Pathlete – for a comprehensive review of the overly competitive cycling element known as the Pathlete, refer here.

Desperate Living: Coping with the Inability to Ride

Sickness. No, not the kind of "sickness" that ensues from one "busting" the latest triple ollie shifty front side nose-grab mule kick, but actual illness. Good old fashioned, debilitating, hyper contagious malady. Recently, I had my own bout with a particularly nasty strain of viral infection. Imagine if the flu and streptococcus had a child, and I was the babysitter. It wasn't pretty.I was bedridden for days. I missed multiple days of school and work. I was a leaky mass of self-pity and boredom. As I lay upon my altar of wadded Kleenex and empty Robitussin kegs, I longed for one of my roommates to "pull an Old Yeller" on me. It wasn't the assignments I would have to make up or the loss of hours at work that bothered me so much. Rather, it was my sedentary state that drove me to near dementia.

I am a very active person. Much of my activeness is derived from pedaling a bike. I spend a fair amount of time in the saddle; I commute by bike; I do long road rides; I climb short distances uphill. For me, riding a bike is an outlet. It gives me time to breath, sort things out, relax. My riding is as therapeutic as it is invigorating. When that outlet

is taken away, I become anxious, grouchy, even neurotic. So, when faced with this latest episode of infectious incapacity, I had to dig extra deep to self-preserve.

To help pass the time in bed, I borrowed a pile of old race movies from my local bike shop. This did little to ease my desire to ride. I found myself half heartedly mounting my Eddy Merckx while imagining going head to head with Erik Zabel in the finishing sprint of the Milan-San Remo. However, once the nausea and faint crept in I had to

secede and let "big E'' take it at the line. Phil Liggett was there, too, I think.

It's a funny thing to be passionate about something, especially pedaling a bicycle. The appeal of riding cannot be fully understood until you do it. Not only is it the kinesthetics involved; moving within the medium of mechanical advantage, but it's also the synergy with your machine. There's just something very satisfying about self-locomotion, whether it be shifting through a magazine of cogs, or simply rolling a huge gear around the track. I feel this connection every time I ride, with all my bikes. Some days, the bike feels like an extension of myself, responding almost involuntarily. Other days, we seem miles apart, in constant argument. Mostly, we tend to disagree on distance and gradient. Although, it's usually mewho's doing the complaining. The point is, I miss my bike.

As I near the end of my hill climb time trial to recovery, and my Z-Pac of steroids, those first

few days of fever induced hallucinations seem a distant memory. Following my disinclined return to school and work, the next step is to get back in the saddle. As I fantasize over the first commute to campus, I can only imagine the layers of anxiety it will unfold. Even that short distance will reawaken my legs, and whet my appetite for some real miles. I can't wait. Unfortunately, that is still a few days away. Until then, I am reduced to commuting by bus and envying my fellow Boulderites mounted atop two wheels. As they say in Green Bay, when speaking of Brett Favre, "enjoy it while you got it.'' Because, if it isn't the flu season or old man winter, those lovely Fall rides a finite experience.

Keep it greased!

it's a bike LANE!

There's a good reason it's called a bike lane. There's a good reason why these lanes are marked off with white paint. Why that white paint is the same paint used for all those other painted lines out toward the middle of the street. It's because a bike lane is a real-life lane of real-life traffic made up of real-life human travelers!

Anyone who has ever regularly ridden a bike has undoubtedly run into the problems of bike lanes not being respected as such. These problems primarily include car drivers who help themselves to right-hand turns without glancing behind them, kamikaze style left-hand turns which cut right across the bike lane with no thought by the drivers except for how quickly they can get through the intersection and on to McDonald's, and the always popular drivers-who-sneak-around-the-other-eight-cars-in-front-of-them-to-turn-right-at-a-red-light-but-who-then-can't-quite-fit-so-they-just-park-right-there (yes, that's their name) . . . in the bike lane!

All these scenarios are crazy because no car driver in his or her right mind would do these things to another car lane. Nobody would just suddenly cut across a whole lane of traffic to make a turn without using their blinker and carefully checking to be sure the lane they're about to cross is clear. No car driver would ever just decide to park at a red light with 70% of their car intruding into the lane next to them. Yet these things happen all the time to bike lanes, and every time they do, it puts a biker's safety in jeopardy.

Bikers, when following the laws and pedaling in designated bike lanes, are entitled to all the rights of a car driver. We all use the same roads, have our own lanes, follow the same laws, and therefore ought to be entitled to the same safety and consideration.

Respect all traffic lanes as such, and we can all just get along nicely. There's no need for bikers to ever get crunched by inattentive drivers. Finally, this respect goes both ways: if us bikers demand respect for our bike lanes, we have to use them properly as well, and that means hand signals, lights at night, and overall common sense. With that said, don't be discouraged from giving that car that just cut you off a nice, loud whack on the trunk and a shaking fist of fury!