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 ̒    s   ]  ' - g5 : @ ,L 0^ a e 4m u z    Ρ k       x       &5 < Quiz
1992

        To play the Bicycle Adventure Challenge, choose a level from the buttons to the right. A question will be displayed in this window. Then begin searching for the screen that answers the question. Every time you use the index, globe, timeline, or any other method of interaction with Bicycle Adventure, your score will increase. 
	It will keep increasing until you get to the screen that answers the question. Try to keep your score as low as possible. 
	If you need help, return to this screen and select the Hint button. This will cost you some points, though! 
	When you land on the right screen, Bicycle Adventure will let you know! 

Using Bicycle Adventure
1990

    If you need help using Bicycle Adventure, read the following information. When necessary, click on the down button at the bottom of this text box to continue reading. KEYBOARD USERS: Move the cursor to a down button using the arrow keys or tab key, then press Enter. Tab and Shift-Tab move the cursor to various clickable areas. 
	PICTURE WINDOW 
	By clicking on elements in the picture window, you can travel to a time and place somehow related to the object you click on. If nothing happens, try clicking elsewhere in the picture. 
	TEXT WINDOW 
	You are now using the text window. Move forward or backward in the window by using the up and down arrow buttons below. 
	By clicking on a word in the text window, you can access the index to find other references to that word in other screens. 
	TIMELINE 
	The timeline below the picture window changes to reflect the date of the current screen. To travel to a specific time in history, click anywhere on the timeline. To move forward or backward one screen at a time, click once on the right or left arrowheads at either end of the timeline. You can also pick up the slider by holding down the mouse button and dragging it to any other time in history. KEYBOARD USERS: Press the Plus key to move forward in time or the Minus key to move back in time. 
	GLOBE WINDOW 
	Click on any point in the globe window (in the upper left of the screen) to travel to the nearest point geographically. Move closer to or further from the earth using the slider bar. You can click anywhere on the slider or on the arrowheads at either end of the slider. You can also pick up the slider by holding down the mouse button and dragging it. KEYBOARD USERS: Press Ctl-PgDn to move closer to the earth and Ctl-PgUp to move further from the earth. 
	You can rotate the globe using the four arrow buttons below the window. Or, you can rotate it by holding down the mouse button at any point on the globe. KEYBOARD USERS: Hold down Ctl and press the up, down, left, or right arrow keys. 
	To see the globe in full-screen size, press the expand button just below the globe slider. To return the globe to normal size, press the expand button again. 
	CATEGORY BUTTONS 
	The seven upper-row buttons are category buttons. From the left, they are: History, Racing, Touring, Mountain Bikes, People, and Equipment. 
	You can move sequentially through the history of a category by clicking repeatedly on a category button. Or, you can lock in one or more categories (or unlock them) by holding down the shift key and clicking on them. When a category is locked in, a yellow box appears around the button and your travels using the globe and timeline will be limited to that category, or categories. 
	FUNCTION BUTTONS 
	Function buttons are the seven buttons just below the category buttons. They are Help, Retrace, Game, Zoom, Sound, Print and Library. 
	Help takes you to this screen. 
	Retrace takes you to the previous screen. 
	Game lets you take a quiz to test your science knowledge. 
	Zoom shows you a full-screen picture. 
	Sound plays a sound associated with the picture. 
	Print prints the contents of the text window. 
	Library lets you look up information alphabetically and lets you quit Bicycle Adventure. 

b Exit - Salida - Sortie
1992

        If you really want to quit your current adventure press Quit, otherwise press Continue. 
fAbsent Friends
1978

Northern California 
	In the late 70's I foolishly thought I had real racing potential. The best equipment would help me fulfill that potential, I figured, so that's what I bought. My results continued to be mediocre, but my bikes... wonderful. 
	Best of all was a Team Raleigh I bought in '78 or '79. Red, black and yellow, it was a TI-Raleigh Racing Team replica. Gerrie Kneteman and Jan Raas each had one; so did a young NorCal amateur named Greg Lemond. And me. 
	My bike looked exactly like the ones the stars rode. It cost a fortune; I believe the only more expensive frame at the time was the titanium U.S.-made Teledyne Titan. Luckily, I worked at a shop and could pay for it out of a series of checks. 
	My Raleigh was made from the then-new 753, the thin-walled steel tubing that builders had to qualify to buy from Reynolds. I thought the light tubing gave that bike a lively, responsive ride. It felt nimble, like a light-footed thoroughbred on the road. 
	I loved that bike. I finished second in the cat four Berkeley Hills road race and generally did about as well as I've done on any bike I've owned. I was always proud of my Raleigh; they were rare and SO good-looking. But I sold it. 
	Why? If I remember correctly, I convinced myself that the top tube was too long. I thought I needed a short top tube to get the flat back and 90-degree bent arms I saw in pictures of European pros like Didi Thurau. I probably figured the seat angle was too shallow, too. Hey, I was well into my thirties, but I was certifiably stupid. I sold it. 
	A doctor from Marin, Mike Mandel, bought it from me sometime in the early '80s. I always regretted selling it, though, and I'd think of it now and again and sigh. Then, this summer I got fitted for a new Lighthouse custom frame. My builder, Tim Neenan, calculated I needed a relaxed seat angle and a long top tube. 
	I remembered my red, black and yellow Raleigh and sighed again. Ten years ago I had the right thing and sold it. So the next time I called my old shop, I asked the owner if he'd ever seen my old Raleigh. 
	"The 753?" he asked. "Oh, it's here. The guy who bought it rides his mountain bike all the time now. The Raleigh's hanging in here on consignment. Why? You wanna buy it back?" 
	I went to the store, took the bike down off the hook and looked it over. Mandel had commuted from Marin to San Francisco through salty Bay fog; the bike looked lightly corroded. Chipped spots on the top tube showed rust. Some of the parts on the front brake had lost their plating and rusted badly. 
	On the other hand, the paint was all there and the decals looked pretty good. All the parts but the wheels were original. Originally my choices, that is: those bikes were sold as frames only. You equipped them yourself. 
	I decided the old red rat looked all right. I wanted it, but I had a brand new Lighthouse coming, made to measure, angles and all. Why buy this one? 
	On the off-chance, I borrowed a tape measure and an angle gauge from the shop at Sunshine. Sure enough, the old Raleigh dimensions and angles measured almost exactly the same as my custom frame would have. Maybe there is nothing new under the sun. 
	So I bought it back, lubed up all the (Nuovo Record) moving parts, touched up the paint, replaced the rusted brake pieces and polished it up. Paradise is regained. That old bike still rides like it's alive, like a purebred. It's waiting for me now out back, leaning against my garage, Team paintwork glistening in the early afternoon sun. 
	I don't believe it goes as fast with me on it now as it did then, a decade ago. I do know that, this time, if I'm not on it, it's not going anywhere. I guarantee it. 

6Advanced Rider Class
Anytime

ON A TRAINING RIDE 
	This season, if you can earn either strength or class - choose class. Strength, barely half of a good rider's tools, must be earned and re-earned, year after year. Class, once acquired, stays yours. 
	Class riders know each other instantly. Drop a good rider into a paceline in Poland, Columbia or Italy; he or she will cog right in, top shape or not. Above a certain level in cycling, class, not simple strength, merits respect. 
	Class is the difference between a worker-for-wages and a craftsperson. Between a safe, relaxing riding partner and an irritating accident looking for a location. 
	This piece, written by Maynard Hershon, is male-specific simply for convenience and clarity, and will cover riding solo and with one companion. Some of it will sound hard-and-fast, as if I'm kinda sure of myself. I am. It's all conventional cycling wisdom; I invented none of it. Sadly it's no longer common knowledge. 
	Perhaps you're thinking you're too advanced for the tips in this article; why - you could write it yourself. But if no one's paying you to ride your bike, you don't remember when you couldn't buy Sedisport chains and you think you're hella hot, you're precisely the person I have in mind as I type. 
	
	SOLITARY HABITS 
	When you ride alone, stay as close to the edge of the road as you can. Stay not merely out of the cars' way but out of the consciousness of the drivers. When you block the road, drivers assume you are inconsiderate on purpose. Why else would you do it? 
	Don't waste energy hassling with car drivers. They've got their agenda; you've got yours. Yelling at them is useless. Can you convince a driver that he's an idiot and you're a traffic engineer and level-headed social critic? Your attempt is only briefly satisfying and not a favor to the next cyclist the driver sees. 
	When you yell at drivers, get in their way or flagrantly break laws right in front of them, you mindlessly harm all road cyclists. You poison our well, the highway. 
	
	MUZZY'S MAXIM 
	When you ride in town, take it easy. You won't get fit on Main street. Don't dive into the corner at Second and Main as if it's the last corner at the Somerville Classic. It isn't. The guy or woman who will win Somerville rolls around that corner at no where near the limit. 
	As class vet B. L. Muzzy says, "The better the rider, the slower he goes in town." 
	
	MILES' MANTRA 
	Remember, as the pros do, that you're not going to get fit in a day or a weekend. Finding good form takes time, hours of sitting in the saddle over a period of months. 
	The sense of urgency you may feel, the need to hammer yourself race-fit today, is simply counterproductive. It's anti- fitness. It invites burnout, injury and illness into your life. Take it easy. Rest between rides. You'll get strong and you won't get hurt. 
	On the bike, think ECONOMY. Don't waste energy squeezing a plastic- wrapped aluminum tube; relax your hands. Don't muscle the bars with your arms; let the bike guide itself most of the time. Bend your elbows. Your arms will absorb shock so bumps won't knock you and the bike around. 
	Always try to ride a straight line. Ride smoothly, as gracefully as you can. Keep your knees in close to the top tube. Relax your legs. 
	Monitor your upper body: is it tense? Watch your shadow: does it bob or sway left and right as you pedal? Make sure your saddle's low enough so you can reach the pedal at the bottom of every stroke without scrubbing your butt on the seat. 
	Loop an old toe strap (remember them?) over your handlebar top, opposite the computer, next to the heartrate monitor. Watch it dangle as you ride. Does it hang motionless, or does it swing back and forth? KEN'S COMMENT 
	Stay off the aero bars in town. Stay off the aero bars at sub-aero speeds. If you join a group of riders on the road, and they look like a class act and they'd be fun to train with, stay off the aero bars in the group. 
	
	CAL'S CALL 
	Be friendly when you do meet other riders. Don't EVER draft anyone who's unaware you're back there. Don't wear your insecurity on your sleeve. Don't reveal the pitiful depth of your LeMondean fantasies by jumping hi-lessly around riders who have no interest at all in chasing down the likes of you. 
	When you fall in with a group, be nice; that works off the bike, too. Don't immediately apologize for how slow you secretly fear you are. Don't tell them you been weeks off the bike, just got out of an iron lung and had the cast cut off your leg. Simply say hi and pedal along, talk a little. Try not to ask equipment questions. Don't say the word "aero." Maybe they'll decide you'd be fun to train with, too. 
	Be self-sufficient. Don't borrow money or bike stuff from other riders. That means carrying phone money or a dollar or so just in case. It means packing adequate flat-fixing stuff (a tube, not just a patch kit, if you ride in groups) and a working pump. 
	If you ride sew-ups it means carrying a pre-glued, pre- stretched spare, preferably used. And spares to fit both rims if they're not the same size. Don't make the group stand watching as you remember you left the 26 inch front spare at home. Especially if the ride hardly exceeded 20mph and you rode the totally rad but now useless funny-bike special. 
	Maintain your bike so you know it's safe. It shouldn't jump gear on climbs. Your brakes should work quietly; so should your chain and jockey wheels. Your tires should show tread; sew-ups should be glued securely. 
	If you ride sew-ups ("I love the ride...") and you do not glue them ("Just didn't have time..."), please stay well away from me and my friends. Ride by yourself; you deserve the company. 
	
	TWO-UP 
	Cycling has heroes; races have winners. Training rides just have participants. If you try to be the hero or the winner of a training ride, you simply reveal that you don't understand how things work. 
	
	PETE'S PRINCIPLE 
	A two-person training ride is not a two-up breakaway near the end of a race, each rider trying to leave the other in the dust. Nope, it's a training ride; the idea is to finish together - as fast as the mutually conserved fitness of the SLOWER rider will permit. 
	Mutually conserved - that's the operative phrase. Both riders must husband the slower rider's strength, conscious always of the need to prevent him from becoming exhausted and slowing drastically, thus turning a sunny spin in the country into a glowering death march. 
	Drafting, of course, is the equalizer. While both riders can benefit from drafting, the weaker rider should try to save strength by riding close behind his partner as much as possible, shielded from the resisting force of the air. Riding close behind ("on the wheel") takes much less effort than leading does - at the same speed. Simple, huh? 
	Maybe it's simple, maybe it's not. Here are some tips to help you with drafting technique. 
	When you're in front, you have serious responsibilities. Your eyes are THE eyes; you must watch for unsafe or potentially unsafe circumstances (cars waiting to turn across your path, maybe) and make your partner aware of them. 
	You should point out sewer grates, glass, potholes, railroad or streetcar tracks or rocks in the road. Incidentally, the better the rider the more subtle the signals become; pros use tiny hand flicks and never yell, "hole!," as club cyclists do. 
	
	ROBERT'S RULES 
	While leading, ride a scrupulously straight line whenever you can, obstacles permitting. Ride parallel with the curb or the white line at the edge of the road. Steer a smooth, even arc around corners, always aware your friend's back there depending on you. Ride predictably. Never react suddenly, never brake suddenly, never surprise him. 
	Your companion should follow a foot or so behind, the closer the better, efficiency-wise. Team pursuit riders on the velodrome follow at one inch - but they have zero distractions. At normal speeds, half a bikelength is too far. In town, a bikelength is too close. 
	Technically, the rider following should position himself where he's best sheltered from the wind, where it's quietest. 
	But if you haven't done much drafting and you hate surrendering to someone else's judgment, sit off a few inches to the side so you can see. Ride where you can relax. If you train with good cyclists, you'll get over your fear in time. No hurry. 
	If you're just getting started with drafting, think about your gears. If you have some really low gears, your ratios are probably wide, meaning there's a big change in effort from one gear to the next. That's OK if you ride alone and set your own pace. 
	In groups, other factors will determine your speed. You need just the right gear to respond flexibly to speed changes. You'll need more than one or two in the middle range. Look at your cluster: if you've gotten stronger and you hardly use the largest cog, ask your shop for a freewheel with closer ratios. 
	Speaking of speed, how fast should the leader go? Should the weaker rider go to the front at all? Should he take a turn breaking the wind? Those decisions usually are made by the stronger rider; they're often made wrong. 
	
	HENRY'S HINT 
	If you're the stronger rider, you have to weigh the weaker person's abilities at each point on the ride. The stronger he is, the more often you can let him lead to spell you. If you both have cyclocomputers that read similarly, you can ask the following rider to call out speeds he can handle at certain points. As in other complex relationships, communication is essential. 
	However you communicate, whoever leads must drop back behind the other before he feels tired. Obviously that goes double for the weaker rider. If he miscalculates and stays out in the wind too long, he spends so much strength in useless heroism or simple bad judgment that he may not recover, even after rest. Both of you lose when the pace slows. 
	If, for one reason or another, the slower rider loses your draft, he must immediately tell you. He can speak or click his brake levers, but however he does it, he has to indicate - right away - that he's off. Every second he spends laboring back there out of the draft costs BOTH of you. 
	
	MAYNARD'S MOURNS 
	Hundreds of thousands of cyclists will read this and five will follow the preceding simple instruction. 
	
	MESMER'S RECOMMENDATION 
	New riders should be aware that it's easy to get hypnotized following a wheel. You get used to tracking robotically behind the leader. Then he moves to the left to drop back behind you. You move left with him. He stops pedaling, you don't, he comes back into your front wheel. You fall down. 
	
	NARDA'S NOTE 
	The points when changes are made, when one person goes to the front and the other drops back, are crucial for teamwork; mistakes during changes cost the pair of you the most. 
	Technically, the front person should move over INTO the wind so the follower can move up. Typically though, in the US, the front rider moves to the left, toward the center of the road. 
	Let's say you're leading and are ready to go back behind your partner. Don't stop pedaling. Move to the left just enough to allow room for your partner to move up. When you're safely out of his path, stop pedaling for a moment so he won't have to accelerate to come by you. You're slowing; he's maintaining. 
	When his bike is about half-way past you, pick up your pace slightly and drop in behind him. If you moved over farther than necessary or you didn't slow down, you spent too many seconds out in traffic and out of your friend's draft. And part of his time working in the wind was wasted: it didn't help you at all. 
	
	JERRY'S AXIOM 
	After your turn in front, you're at your most tired; you need to get back in the draft right away. Every second hurts. Your partner (who's been resting) must NEVER accelerate when he takes over the lead. If he speeds up he will "break your legs," especially if he does it when you're out in the wind, before you can duck back into his draft. 
	New (and not so new) riders have to resist the temptation to go hard the instant they see the front. It's an inconsiderate, dumb, remarkably common practice. If you do it, you've got to change your evil ways. 
	Maybe watching your speedometer will help; don't let the number increase even half a mph after a change. Monitor your cadence if you don't have a speedometer. Don't pick up the pace at all. 
	
	ROM'S RULE 
	On hills, when drafting is ineffective, the stronger rider should take it easy. He or she should try not to hang two bike lengths ahead, making the climb look ridiculously easy, eroding the other person's morale. Climbing's mostly a solo act; hurrying your partner will accomplish nothing, if not less. 
	If your buddy is following you on a climb, when you stand up to pedal use the standing movement to put additional downward pressure on the one pedal. Otherwise, your bike is likely to drop back some, maybe into your buddy's front wheel. 
	
	CURT'S COMMANDMENT 
	When you're following up a hill, especially when you get tired, watch that wheel; it can come back more than you expect. No sense following close on a hill anyway; the draft at climbing speeds is pretty puny. AND BACK TO CLASS AGAIN 
	Much of the two-up technique could be summed up as: think about your partner. Cycling (and not just cycling) is more demanding and more rewarding as a team or social sport than as a solo one. 
	If you're the stronger rider, part of your task is making sure your companion doesn't feel like a loser by comparison with you. You want to think that the next time you suggest a ride, he or she will jump at the chance. 
	When you've ridden a certain loop with a friend and he or she not only completed it faster - but had more fun than ever before - that's an accomplishment you can both be proud of. 
	You don't hear people bragging about that kind of "personal best" because they miss the point. The most satisfying "personal best" you can be a part of is someone else's. Recognizing that: that's class. 

IHPVA Racing
1992

INDIANAPOLIS, IN 
	Although bicycles evolved rapidly during tha last years of the nineteenth century, racing rules instituted around 1900 had a chilling effect on the development of cycling machinery.  In order for the sport to emphasize the athlete and not the machine, aerodynamic aids and the use of recumbent or other radical designs were prohibited. The result is that even the finest traditional racing machines have a top speed on level ground of about 40 mph. 
	The International Human Powered Vehicle Association (IHPVA) was formed in 1974 to explore the real limits of human powered transportation with no design restrictions.  At annual competitions anything goes, and it goes fast!  There are timed speed runs through a 200 meter timing area, and mass-start races that test maneuverability as much as speed.  The record speed for a streamlined bicycle is now over 68 mph!  (Although John Howard's Land Speed Record is 152 mph on a bicycle, this was set behind a wind-breaking pace car.  HPVs race without this assistance.) 
	Bicycle technology has helped push the frontiers of human transit on water and in the air with pedaled boats and aircraft.  A series of cash incentives led to the conquest of the air when Bryan Allan piloted a humaan-powered aircraft through a figure-eight course, then to a human-powered air crossing of the English Channel.  While the bikes go fast, the human powered aircraft moves at a walking speed, and its construction pushed the limits of slow flight. The next feat for the human powered aeronauts is the design of a working helicopter. A cash prize of $20,000 awaits the builder of a human-powered craft that can hover for one minute in a ten-meter square, and lift more than three meters off the ground. To find out more detail about the acitivities of the IHPVA or to join, write to the following address: 
	International Human Powered Vehicle Association 
	P.O. Box 51255 
	Indianapolis, IN 46251 

WA Junior
Anytime

GETTING STARTED 
	Bob never sponsored racers but, once in a while, he'd take a liking to some kid and help him a little. He'd make sure the kid had a first-class set of wheels for the races, or he'd loan him his old pickup to get there. He would always be available for advice but never sympathy. 
	I remember Bob helped this one junior, a skinny kid about six feet tall who could climb like crazy and roll pretty good. A pleasant kid, the junior; he smiled and tried real hard. He looked you in the eyes when you spoke with him. 
	I thought the kid had to be at least district-class, maybe national-class. As I said, his climbing was not to be believed. He'd bought his bikes from Bob all along and come to Bob for answers to his getting-started questions. The kid was almost just-right. 
	He had junior problems. Because juniors are not fully formed in body, they ride shorter races than grown men; they're restricted to lower gears. Because juniors are not fully formed in mind and personality, they act like juniors. 
	This kid tended to neglect things, things that turned out to be crucial to his success in big events. He'd get over his disappointment quickly after doing poorly in these events; those of us who'd helped him get so close remembered longer. 
	For example, the kid, an angel of the mountains-type, looked good for Nevada City, the big-time hilly criterium in our area. The Nevada City course is brutal, either grinding uphill or screaming descent. 
	The kid got a great start and led the field at the top of the first climb. I believe he could have simply ridden away; he was that strong. At the bottom of the descent, he fell off his bicycle. He jumped off uninjured but out of the race. 
	When I looked at his bike, I could see the front wheel-rim had broken. The front tire had rolled off the rim, either causing or as a result of, the crash. The tire appeared to have been installed without glue and the rim had very little residual glue on it. 
	He'd been riding his own wheels in preference to Bob's. Bob's wheels, to which he'd have been welcome, were less convenient to pick up before the race. 
	None of us knew what to say; we knew, and you know, that there are some things in life that people HAVE to do. You have to die, eventually. You have to pay taxes and you have to glue your tires. Otherwise, evil will befall you. 
	Like a lot of young guys, the kid had a "no-big-thing" attitude. So he didn't win Nevada City. He had another year as a junior; he'd win next year. How upset can you get over a little rim cement? Many of us, who'd never had a sniff at a chance to win Nevada City, found it harder staying casual about the phantom glue. The kid promised to do better. 
	All season, the kid and his clubmate split the victories, top riders in their class. The other kid was heavier, a far better sprinter and probably a little craftier than our hero. Their rivalry could drive the maturity right out of their adolescent minds. 
	At the district championships, our junior and rider from another club broke away in the hills. They managed to get well up the road from the pack. Our hero's rival, back in the pack, saw that at best he was riding for third. He went to the far side of the road and jumped hard. He got away alone, chased the two-man break and caught, exhausting himself doing it. 
	When he made contact, he sat on, pleading temporary tiredness. That infuriated our hero. Instead of the two of them, clubmates, working together to get ride of the third man, the two began screaming at each other. The one accused his teammate of chasing him down; the other pointing out that now there were two of them in a three-man break. 
	Sure as early-season saddle sores, the sprinter recovered not far from the finish and jumped away to win. Our kid could easily have dumped the amazed third rider and had second place wrapped up. Instead, in anger and frustration at being beaten by his teammate, 30 yards before the line, in front of most of the civilized world, he whipped off his helmet and threw it to the ground. 
	That act earned him an instant disqualification from a surprised and justified official. His second place at the districts disappeared and his trip to the nationals evaporated, at the drop of a hat, so to speak. 
	I saw the kid's father wrangling with the official. I heard the father tell the official that it was criminal to deny such a talented kid his chance at national success. Because of such a momentary lapse, he said. 
	The official refused to budge. The father grew angrier and angrier. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Bob, who'd also been listening, start to walk over to the little conference. 
	Bob and the ref spoke in short sentences, quietly. The ref brought out his rulebook; Bob read it over the ref's shoulder. Bob eventually made the man see that the rules left some room for interpretation; immediate disqualification was not necessarily called for. The ref relegated the kid to 14th, the last place that qualified for the nats. He suspended the kid for 90 days, beginning right after the nationals. 
	By the time Bob and the ref got the decision finalized, the kid had gotten into his dad's car and they'd gone home. He learned of his rescue over the phone. I'm sure he felt grateful. Bob never mentioned the matter again. 
	The season had mostly gone by, by then. We saw less and less of the kid around the shop. The next year, Bob helped a woman who was just getting started in racing. She was not a winner, but she had a great attitude and remained cool at heated moments on and off the bike. 
	I remember she sent him a thank-you Christmas card after that season. I remember the card stayed stapled over Bob's bench for months. 

Alan
May, 1986

NORTHERN CALIFORNIA 
	No one doubted that, of the crowd of young hopefuls who hung around Bob's, Alan was the best natural rider. He could go fast from the first time he sat on a bike. His speed was the envy of us all. 
	I first saw him race in an evening training criterium. He pulled at the front, pulled hard, lap after lap. Eventually he tired and slowed down; someone had to tell him to drop back and sit in a while. 
	The kid was nearly strong enough to get away with it, to ride the whole windy 17-mile race at the front. No one had told him front positions usually rotate. He thought bike race tactics meant going so fast the other guys lost interest and went home. 
	From the first, he impressed me as a genuinely nice kid, polite and respectful to those of us older (if not faster) than he was. He invariably said hi as he passed on the road or in races, usually traveling five mph faster than you were going (or could go). 
	As he learned he could share the wind-breaking chore with his opponents, he began appearing at finish lines somewhat before they did. Behavior of that sort did not long go unappreciated. 
	Bob would take Alan aside now and then for talks. I'm sure Bob knew we had a real find in Alan; the kid had incredible class on the bike and a terrific attitude off it. And, it seemed to me, the better he became, the less important he acted. Even that early in his riding "career," it was difficult not to get excited about his prospects. 
	Right away he began placing well in local Junior races. If he managed to break away solo, he seldom got caught. Still, he worked at the front too much, many times helping craftier sprinters beat him in the last meters. 
	I saw him finish the Fort Ord Road Race, winning by a large margin over a strung-out discouraged field. My own race was long over when I congratulated him. He grinned and forgot completely about his own success; how had I done?, he wanted to know. 
	He won lots of races without ever crowing or expecting things or acting the least bit special. He won the first 25-mile time trial he ever rode, breaking the national Junior record. He foolishly towed a sprinter to victory at Nevada City, finishing second with a huge margin over the field. 
	Bob and Alan still had their occasional quiet talks but people outside our little group were becoming interested in the kid. He spent more and more time away at some training camp or far-off race. People said he might have a chance at the Junior World Championships team. 
	Alan was doing, on a bicycle, what each of us would have given anything to do. And he was doing it with style. Even his football-minded classmates were impressed when the local weekly paper ran a photo and a short article. 
	That season ended. During the winter I'd see Alan coming down from the trails in the nearby hills on his mountain bike, covered with mud. He rode long, hard road miles with the category one strong-man who wintered here that year. 
	Spring races showed him as fit as ever. He and Bob spent less time together, though; the kid must have looked elsewhere for advice and support. We all expected great things from Alan in his second Junior year. 
	But something leaked out of the kid that second season. I heard one fellow say that Alan had simply needed to set himself apart from his peers, and he'd done it. Others said his folks or his coaches had leaned on him too hard; he'd been burned out. 
	Maybe he had too much success too soon, too easy. Maybe it never had the meaning it would have to those of us who merely dreamed of it. He never changed personally at all; he was still the nicest kid around. He just quit racing. 
	He did meet a girl about that time and they fell in love. Probably traveling to distant races would have kept them apart more than they would have liked. 
	He never gave us any reason to believe he'd race again, but some of us never quite gave up hoping he would. He'd been the white hope in our are; we'd produced lots of good riders but not enough great ones. 
	I saw him recently. He looked great, just as trim and fit as ever. He told me he was still with the same girl, and they were doing just fine, thank you. He said he had a bus-boy job at quite a nice restaurant and might get to be a waiter soon. 
	Oh, and, if I knew anyone who might be interested, he had a 22 1/2-inch racing bike he'd like to sell. 

Anatomy of a Bicycle
Nice color, huh ?

YOUR BIKE 
	All bicycles have two wheels, a frame, handlebars, saddle, pedals, chainwheel, chain, and hub sprocket(s). And although the details may differ, the names of the main parts will remain the same. 
	Several design factors affect the handling and feel of the bicycle, accounting for the very different look of the different types. Light weight makes a bicycle easier to propel, so racing bicycles use light frames, components, and wheels, and tires. Very light components may not be so robust or long lasting, so other bicycles may use stronger fittings, particularly in the wheels and tires. A racer may find advantage in using exotic and highly expensive materials such as carbon fiber, which might be too pricey for the recreational rider. At the other extreme a mountain bike has to stand up to pounding over rough ground, so strength takes precedence over weight. 
	The actual shape of the bicycle frame and forks is important. A steeper frame, with more upright head and seat angles, with straighter front forks and a shorter wheelbase, responds more quickly to the rider and therefore, accelerates faster. This steeper design, however, absorbs fewer road shocks and can feel twitchy. For this reason touring bikes and mountain bikes have shallower frame angles. In short, the racer takes the risk and confronts the harder ride while the tourist and mountain-bikers go for durability, comfort and reliability. 

	American National Sport
1920

CHICAGO 
	Bicycle racing takes alot of guts. Especially serious bicycle racing. It is a grueling, punishing sport. It tests the competitors capacities way down deep. Bodily strength and will power, skill in bike handling, a knowledge of strategy, an instinct for tactics, the ability to make split-second assessments of your own and your opponents capacities, and then the courage to act on them, the ability to withstand pain, the ability to go places inside and find that extra bit of energy at the time when it's most needed -- these make up the requirments to win bicycle races. 
	Women and men alike have been racing on bicycles since the instant they appeared on the scene. Official races took place just five years after the production of Michaux's first velocipedes. As bike racing took hold, it began to take on various forms. People raced against all manner of things, not just other people, but against horses, trains, carriages ---whatever was going fast enough to give them a run. 
	Today, there are few people who are aware that bicycle racing was prominent in America, indeed, that American riders dominated world competition in track-racing events for a long time. That bicycle racing was almost the national sport. 
	This list of American champions begins with Arthur Augustus Zimmerman, known to his fans as "Zimmy." He became a professional in 1894, after winning just about every amateur contest in sight. When Zimmy raced, the event would draw huge crowds, approaching 30,000 fans, a very large number for those days. After Zimmerman, another international champion from America followed by the name of Marshall "Major" Taylor. He was an African-American from Indianapolis. Taylor's was specialty was sprinting and his career lasted more than fifteen years most of which was spent abroad where he is still much better known than he is in America. 
	Although the list of champions goes on, Frank Kramer was champions' champion. Primarily a sprinter and track racer, he broke into professional cycling in 1900, when, as a complete unknown, he took second to Major Taylor in the national sprint championships. During his twenty-two year career, Kramer was to be sprint champion eighteen times, with sixteen of them won consecutively. This awesome racer was revered on the same scale as Babe Ruth and Jack Dempsey. Frank Kramer had an austere and disciplined lifestyle that was an irreproachable model for people young and old. 

_Life Awheel
Anytime

AMERICAN CYCLING It's got to be the going there that's good. --Harry Chapin, "Greyhound" 
	Fifteen years ago if someone had said to me, "You're going to bicycle 1,100 miles down Baja and pedal across Iowa five times; you will brave airline regulations and stubborn cardboard boxes, lugging your 18-speed everywhere," I would have thought him mad. Not that I was sedentary; I just hadn't discovered bicycling. 
	No more. I am one of millions. One of approximately 93 million, to be semi-exact, who, according to the Bicycle Federation of America, commute or travel or ride recreationally on or off road. There's the BMX contingent, those on tricycles, recumbents, tandems, racing machines, and water bikes--wonderfully imaginative versions of the standard bicycle, courtesy of members of the Human Powered Vehicle Association. Of course I can't forget single-speeds, 5-speeds, track bikes, and those which are yet to come. Folks from two to ninety are buckling on helmets and participating. We're not crazy or exercise obsessed; we just know what the sport feels like. 
	Bicycling is sweet movement. It's the pleasure of getting where you want with a kind of ease muscles and mind moving instinctively. Cycling revitalizes that old Latin phrase carpe diem, seize the day. Check out the world as you sweep by--blue cornflowers, the warning scree of blackbirds, the curve of a brownstone's steps--bicycling is noticing details and listening to your senses. It's about being in the moment, unencumbered as the sun. 
	Life on a bicycle is simple. Go from point A to point B. Have fun. Earn a few more calories. Exercise. Feel the wind, rain, and stars (apologies to St. Exupery) on your face. Meet people of like-minded interests. Swiftly do errands, parking with astonishing ease. Ride without effort. Downhill, for example. Move quietly on trails like a deer. On a bicycle you can always take the road less traveled. While cycling, I am part energy, part road. I am part of the dirt paths and I am in the meadows I slip by, the red poppies and bright daisies. 
	Bicycling is the closest I believe I'll ever come to flight (sorry, no jumping out of airplanes for me). When I glide down hills, I am flying. The wind sucks at my knees, hair whips from under my helmet, and I tuck into the handlebars, gripping the top tube with my knees to keep the bike stable. 
	Poor mythological Daedalus, seduced by the sun and his own hubris soared too high, but I'm solid, just floating fast and far Fitting that the contemporary Daedalus 88, a seventy-pound human-powered aircraft constructed of carbon fiber, Kevlar, and Mylar, was kept aloft by Greek cyclist Kannelos Kannelopolus on a seventy-four-mile flight over the Aegean Sea from Crete to Greece. Hell, even Orville and Wilbur Wright, who took their bicycle-shop know-how to Kill Devil Hill, North Carolina, evolved parts of their airplanes from the simple bicycle. 

USA's Pioneer Stage Racer in Europe
1955

EUROPE 
	Although there are still relatively few women cyclists today, the 1950's turned into a landmark decade for any woman who wanted to ride. A woman led the way as the first U.S. rider, man or woman, to compete in a European stage race. She was Nancy Neiman Baranet of Detroit, and she first made her mark on the sport by getting the Amateur Bicycle League of America officials to recognize her as the national women's champion, not girls' champion. 
	"When I started, national championship divisions were men's open, juniors, which referred to boys fourteen to sixteen, and the girls' division," she recalls. "I said, 'Enough of this.' When I won the national girls' championship for the second time in 1954, I told the ABL officials that I was twenty-one and was no longer a girl. I said I wanted the name of the division switched to women's, and it was." 
	Baranet, a small brunette, was one of about a hundred women racing cyclists in the 1950's, compared with about a thousand men. Her mother didn't think racing was ladylike. "Her main objection was not the consequences of a spill," Baranet said, "but what the neighbors would think." 
	Women entered the sport either through their families, like Doris Kopsky, or like Baranet, by joining local clubs. Baranet began cycling as a tourist in 1951 when she took an American Youth Hostel trip that toured Cape Cod and Martha's Vineyard. When she returned home to Detroit she joined a local club that offered the best coaching around, from an Italian named Gene Portuesi, whose strictness matched the name of the club, Spartan Cycling Club. Their training began as soon as the mercury rose above five degrees Fahrenheit, and they rode in small groups. Baranet worked out with the men. By April they were riding 300 miles a week, and they began sprint training in May, when they had about 2000 miles under their legs. 
	"The level of women's racing in this country in the 1950's was as good as we could get," Baranet points out. "The drive was there, but we had no facilities to take advantage of like there are today. We worked regular jobs from nine to five, and trained after work. I was a secretary. We lived for the sport, but we had to put food on the table. Nobody took care of that for us." 
	In 1955 she went to Europe to race for the summer because she felt that was "the thing to do." She wrote to Eileen Gray of the British Cycling Federation, who set up racing engagements for her in England and France. Baranet paid her own from savings and couldn't expect any reimbursement. "Absolutely nobody even breathed the word money in those days," she says. " You didn't want to lose your amateur status." 
	The highlight of her three months of racing in Europe came in August when she tied the world record for 200 meters (200 yards) at the Paddington track in Leicester. Baranet went 14.4 seconds to equal the mark that Daisy Franks of England had set. Baranet also went to Paris and raced on the Parc des Princes Velodrome where other Americans like Walthour, Taylor, and Heid had competed. 
	In 1956 she returned to France to compete in the Criterium Cycliste Feminin Lyonnaise-Auvergne, billed as the women's Tour de France, an eight-day stage race in late July on narrow secondary roads in central France. 

cBayliss-Thomas "Ordinary" Bicycle
1879

ENGLAND 
	This bicycle is representative of the directly-driven high, or 'Penny-Farthing' bicycle of the period. The simple design comprises a main tubular-backbone frame which curves downwards from the large diameter front wheel to the small trailing wheel at the rear. The front forks are hollow and are carried up through the steering head to the handlebars. The front wheel is 55 inches in diameter and has 68 radial spokes, and the rear wheel is 20 inches in diameter with 24 spokes. These spokes can be tightened by screwed nipples. The wheelbase is 36 inches. Both wheels run in plain bearings and are fitted with solid rubber tires. The pedals are rubber and their radius on the crank is variable from 3.5 inches to 6 inches to suit the rider. The method of attaching the saddle was patented by J. C. Garood in 1879 and its position can be adjusted so that about 90 per cent of the weight of the rider is supported by the large front wheel. 
	A mounting step is provided just above the rear forks. In its day the 'Ordinary' was a popular type of bicycle and was much in demand, even though it weighed 49 pounds. 

Ridin' in the Backcountry
Anytime

BACKCOUNTRY, USA 
	It's 6pm, and you're ten miles out in the backcountry. You have paid your dues for five hours, and now it's time for the downhill plunge; you figure you can still make it for your 8pm dinner date. Unfortunately, the next time you shift down to climb a short hill, your derailleur shifts past the biggest cog into the spokes. The bike stops instantly, catapulting you toward a shrubbery. Whoa, whoa, whoa. No physical damage, but your derailleur looks like a worrier's paper clip, and several of your spokes look like two-hour linguini. Major malfunction. If you don't have a tool kit and some extra spokes, you will spend the night in the woods and, worse yet, miss that dinner reservation. 
	Recommended Tools: Pump, patch kit, extra tube, tire irons, extra spokes, freewheel remover, spoke wrench, chain tool, Allen wrenches, needle nose pliers, crescent wrench, screw driver, spare brake cable, lubricant, and rag. 

Beach Peace
Anytime

WATER'S EDGE 

	I had been riding. 

	Hard. 

	My mind was full of angry energy. 

	I wanted it empty. 

	Empty of all thought. 

	I just wanted to be. 

	The ride was helping. 

	It took me to the ocean. 

	Ebb and Flow. Ebb and Flow. 

	The ocean said, " Give me your chaos. Take of my peace." 

	Ebb and Flow. Ebb and Flow. 

	I did. 

	And I did some more. 

	I sat there and let the lullaby of the ocean wash over me. 

	I began to feel an old familiar feeling. 

	The anger was gone. 

	I was finding my peace. 

The Big Ring
Anytime

DANVILLE, CALIFORNIA 
        Our local club consisted mostly of tourists. We liked that, because tourists would promote and work at bike races. We just wanted to ride 'em. Many of those tourists pedaled long miles just like us racers; while they didn't develop all the skills racers did, some of them sure got strong. 
        We got to talking about strong tourists one day down at Bob's shop; a six-foot powerful guy named Dave told this "Big Ring" story. A "Big Ring" tale describes someone's breach of training-ride ethics (at least according to the storyteller) and the revenge taken by the righteously indignant narrator. 
        The stories are called "Big Ring" tales because many of them feature the phrase, "and then I put it in the big ring." Followed, typically, by the storyteller's description of placing the offender's nose RIGHT in it. Here's Dave's story: 
        "Four of us went out the flats. It was a kind of gray day, a little windy. But it didn't look like rain and I felt good. We weren't going too hard; we'd raced on Sunday and were gonna race again Saturday. Loosening-up miles. That's what we were doing. 
        "Ten miles out we passed a group of cyclists from the club. I waved and one of us said hi. They'd spread across the whole lane in a rough formation. Several wore colored cotton shorts with lots of pockets; some had handlebar bags. Unmistakably tourists. I recognized most of them. 
        "After we rolled by them, we continued in our single paceline, each guy pulling about a minute. When I'd taken my turn and pulled off, a guy I didn't know came through. He was thin and had a tan. He looked good on the bike but he wore the tell-tale khaki shorts. I noticed he had a large black saddlebag hanging from the loops on the back of his seat. 
        "I nodded at the guy and he smiled at me. He sat on the front of the line and picked up the pace, little by little. None of us had to change gear; you almost couldn't tell at first that it got faster. As I dropped back, Al and Tim glanced at me. I guess we all wondered how long it would take the guy to decide to quit and go back to his friends. 
        "As I slid in behind Al at the back of the line, I noticed the pace had picked up a bunch. No one pulled off after I did; the tourist just sat on the front towing the four of us along. I could see him once in a while past the other guys; he didn't look like he was straining. Just kept rolling down the road. 
        "The five of us kept going faster, but the increase was deceptively gradual. I shifted up once, then twice, just starting to work hard enough so I noticed my breathing. I began sweating hard, even though it was cool out there. I began to wonder just who that fellow could be. 
        "I could hear Al breathing more and more raggedly in front of me. A gap started to open between him and Tony. I jumped to Tony's wheel and, just that quickly, Al was gone. Tony wasn't pedaling smoothly, struggling to keep up on what was supposed to be a rest day. Then Tim swung out of the line, shaking his head, saying that was enough for him. 
        "Tony bridged the little gap up to Martin but that effort took all he had, and he was gone. I looked past Martin and saw the tourist clearly for the first time. He looked like he was working, OK, but not thrashing around on the bike. He looked ready for more. 
        "He was riding a mustard-yellow Claud Butler. The bike had no front derailleur and only one chainring. Except for the black canvas bag slung from the saddle, it was all business. Martin seemed like he was doing all right on the guy's wheel but, when he looked back at me, I could see the strain on his face. 
        "I kept to the curb side of Martin's wheel in case he blew up. Sure enough, he began dropping back, inch by inch, until he clearly was out of it. I jumped around him, feeling the effort myself, and there we were. 'Thee and me,' I said to myself. 'Ride me off your wheel, buddy; you'll know you had a workout.' 
        "I settled down on the handlebar drops, sitting on the front of my saddle. The road was slightly uphill and the wind came over my right shoulder, not too strong. The guy rolled the gear along without visible effort. I couldn't get over how strong he was, pulling like that for miles without a break. 
        "I could just see the Danville city limit sign ahead. The road leveled out a little and I got a breather for a few seconds before he shifted into his highest gear and began to hammer. I still had my secret weapon, the state of the gearing art, my as yet unused 12 cog. 
        "I jammed the lever forward to the stop with the heel of my hand, into the 12, my Armageddon gear. I charged for the city limit sign with every fraction of horsepower I had. I started to come around him on his downwind side about 100 yards before the sign. I drew even with him so slowly I thought I might be riding into a wind tunnel. 
        "I beat him to the line by about six inches, I think. I know I had deprived myself totally of oxygen; I was nearly out of my head at the line. 
        "The tourist slowed down for just long enough to ask me, 'Scuse me, gov'nor, how far is it to Danville?' 
        "And possibly long enough to hear my croaked reply, 'I don't know, man, I'm not from around here.'" 

kTouring Across the USA
July 4, 1976

MISSOULA, MONTANA 
	There are plenty of maps for cars, but which way do you go to get across the country on a bike?  Before 1976 there was no good answer to that question.  
	In 1973, a group of cyclists got together with the plan of mapping a network of cross-country touring routes in time for the nation's 200th birthday and the hundredth anniversary of the introduction of the bicycle to America.  They called their effort Bikecentennial.  
	During 1974 and 1975, members mapped, rode and researched routes, and by the next summer the TransAmerica Bicycle Trail had been identified. The effort included far more than mapping routes.  Bikecentennial had to work with federal, state, regional and municipal agencies, and also secured assistance from a number of corporations. 
	In 1976, 4,000 cyclists ranging in age from 7 to 86 and representing 16 different countries rode the trail, with 2,000 completing the coast-to-coast route.  Since then, tens of thousands more have used the Bikecentennial services to plan their tours, and the mapped routes have been extended to all parts of the country. 
	The story of Bikecentennial does not end there. Other goals of the organization were to promote bicycle safety and usage among the American public, and to gather and disseminate as much of the published bicycle literature as possible.  These have been ongoing projects, and have resulted in the most comprehensive set of bicycle maps of the United States.  These maps are designed to fit in a clear pocket on top of a handlebar bag, so the cyclist can refer to them without stopping. 
	Bikecentennial, P.O. Box 8308, Missoula, MT 59807. 

 Bicycling is Ageless
1990

MISSOULA, MONTANA 
	Robert Hammersmith is 79 years young, and a retired engineer. He is the oldest known individual to have ridden Bikecentennial's TransAmerica Bicycle Trail. His 78-day crossing included only 8 rest days, and for 57 of those days he was alone. He camped most of the time, and used only 9 motels. His total mileage was 4487 miles. 
	"My wife is very supportive of my cycling activities but says this will be the last of the 2-3 month trips away from home. I can't really blame her so my next ones will be in the 2-3 week range which she will agree to. Maybe Canada, the Great Parks North Route, a loop through the Northeast, or part of the Mississippi River. I do not yet know where it will be, but I do know that, God willing, there will be another bicycle touring trip for me." 

UA Recumbent Devotee 
1990

PALMERTON, PENNSYLVANIA 
	Ray Hoffeld, a 40-year old machinist from Palmer, Pennsylvania, was riding from Missoula, Montana, to Reno, Nevada when this picture was taken. He began making long tours in 1980 and had ridden four 2000+ mile tours. In 1985 he converted from a standard bike to the Avatar 2000, and became a devotee of recumbents. 
	"It's a shame that the century-old recumbent design has been suppressed for whatever reason over the years, because, for paved-road touring, there cannot be a more enjoyable way to ride. The ultimate comfort. There are no significant disadvantages. " 

4300 Miles and Only Two Rest Days
1990

MILAN, ITALY 
	Gianni B. Scandelli, 55, of Milan, Italy, made a 55-day crossing of Bikecentennial's 4300-mile TransAmerica Bicycle Trail. He reported that he took two rest days, had 14 days of rain and one of snow, and wore out four tires. Gianni is a long time cycling tourist and previously had toured most of Europe. 
	Gianni: " My solo TransAm was great, really great. I was much impressed by Montana, Wyoming, Colorado and their rivers, parks, forests and mountain passes. The Teton Range from Colter Bay is really beautiful and Yellowstone Park incredible! I didn't like Kansas winds and storms. I got a bit mad on the thousand hills of Missouri, Kentucky, and the Blue Ridge of beautiful Virginia. " 

GThe Dukes of Georgia
1986

BARNESVILLE, GEORGIA 
	The Dukes family, of Barnesville, Georgia, crossed the United States on Bikecentennial's TransAmerica Trail on three tandems in 1986. Jean Dukes, mother, 46: "The children did much better than I ever thought they would be able to. Even though we oftentimes spent long, tedious hours on the tandems they never once said, 'This is a terrible idea; I want to go home', 
	"The trip was harder than I expected it would be. We were in good shape physically before we left, but I don't think there is anything that can prepare you for long hours in the saddle for 90 days. It was a great adventure, and yes, I would do it again. Cycling with the children on tandems definitely has its advantages: it's difficult for them to fight with each other! " SARA BETH DUKES, oldest child, 16. "This is definitely not how I thought I'd spend my 16th birthday! All I have to say is that if any teenager is going on the TransAmerica Trail and not looking forward to it, cheer up. I didn't want to go (to say the least) but I went, endured, and in spite of myself I had a terrific time. " 

First Tour at 14-Months Old
1990

MISSOULA, MONTANA 
	Greg Siple, 42, art director of Bikecentennial, Missoula, Montana, is pictured with 14-month old son, Zane. The Siples: Greg, June, and Zane, rode from Missoula to Helena, Montana. 
	"Our trip was only five days and 200 miles but it was plenty for Zane's first time on tour. He slept most of the time in the trailer and we made frequent stops for feeding and diaper changing. He was just learning to walk and enjoyed exploring every time we stopped. We stayed in motels two nights and camped the other two. Zane is five years old now and quite used to getting about in the trailer because we haven't owned a car since he was born. " 

The Bike Messenger
Anytime

ANY BIG CITY, USA 
	Being a bicycle messenger is not a job for just anybody. In fact, it's not a job at all, but a lifestyle. Generally, young adults who have nerves of steel and are skillful in maneuvering a bicycle in city traffic make up this very distinct subculture of our society. Their clothes and accessories are as much a part of their identity as their function. For instance, cycling shorts, clip on shoes, and goggles to keep out the city grit are the essential elements. A shoulder bag is preferred to panniers because it saves time and holds more. Their two-way radio is secured close to the chest so that it may be answered without having to stop and loose time. 
	The messenger's bike is fast, agile and reliable. It must also be too ugly to steal, so messengers will generally opt for unattractive bicycles. Many messengers wind black tape around their bike's top tube, protecting the paint and concealing the real value of the bike from thieves. The gear levers are mounted on top of the handlebars which contributes to saving time. 
	When working, the bicycle messenger is a no-nonsense kind of person. He or she has opted for this type of job because of the freedom from being constrained to a desk. But mostly, bike messengers are devoted cyclists who have found a way to make money doing something which keeps them physically fit and brings them joy. What more could a person ask of a job? 

Inventory, Sign, and Map 
2000

WESTERN UNITED STATES 
	If you are wondering who identifies, signs, maps and maintains those trails that allow you and your mountain bike to enjoy the wilderness, well, wonder no more. It is the Bureau of Land Management. In the western United States, anyway. 
	The Bureau of Land Management, or the BLM as it is more commonly referred to, manages over 272 million acres of public land which are located primarily in the west. This amounts to 1/8 of the land of the United States. Lot of land. Lot of trails to inventory, sign, and map. 
	With the ever increasing popularity of the mountain bike by both Americans and international visitors, the BLM, in 1990, instituted a program of policy making and strategy setting for the integration of mountian bike use of public land. 
	The BLM recognizes  mountian biking as an apporpriate use, states that all roads and trails are open (unless designated closed), and trails are for multiple use with exceptions clearly marked. One of BLM's activities has been to set up strategic partnerships to assist in identifying trails, building trailheads, signing trails, and creating informational brochures. They also have requested from the bicycling community to instill a responsible riding ethic among cyclists. An example of one of these strategic alliances is with the Eastern Sierra Institute (ESI).  Youth from throughout California and as far as Beloit, Wisconsin have ridden donated mountain bikes on dirt roads to remote archeological remains, to disturbed areas to restore natural landscapes, and to desert oasis ponds to study the ecology and habitat of dime-sized pupfish. The bikes have been a spectacular success in the program. As part of the bike use in wildlands areas, the participants learn about "Leave No Trace" outdoor ethic so their mark is imperceptible. 

Track Racing
Anytime

RACING AT THE VELODROME 
	Track racing has maintained a strong following throughout the years. Each year it culminates with annual amateur and professional world championships. The sport is made up of several standard elements including sprints events, individual pursuits, team pursuits, devil-take-the-hindmost races, time trials and paced races. 
	Track riding has always had a degree of specialization with the application of the latest technology. While staying within the limits as set forth by the Union Cycliste Internationale, recent track bicycles have featured extensive aerodynamic styling, the result of wind-tunnel testing. Expensive and exotic metals give weight reductions, and unusual frame dimensions result from computer-aided designing. The frames are designed to have steep angles, straight or almost straight forks, and high bottom-bracket clearances to account for the banks in the arena. Track bikes are lighter than road bikes because they have no brakes and variable gears, though they are not especially built for lightness. In fact, a bike for a burly sprinter will be built for strength, with a sturdy seat and chain stays. 
	Track bicycles have wheels which are sturdy for sprinters, lighter for pursuers. Almost all have large flange hubs, with spoking according to events. Sprinters have 36 spokes which are very often tied or soldered together where they cross. The track bike has a single fixed gear, with a chain width of either 1/8 inch or 3/32 inch. The single chainring is easy to change; part of the tactics of track racing is to have just the right gear for your physique and the conditions. 
	Cranks tend to be shorter than the 170mm which is normal for road bikes. Handlebars are deeper and less square than on the road; they have sloping stems with deeply sloping stems used for the sprinting events. 
	Trackmen began the move toward skinsuits, as they did the study of aerodynamics in general, because on the track speeds are higher, and the wind is less of a factor thanks to the natural protection of the banking. 

BMX ACTION!
Anytime

GO FOR IT 
	Bicycle Motocross, usually abbreviated as BMX, is the most popular cycling sport for kids of all ages all over the United States. BMX is patterned after motorcycle motocross, and got its start in the early '70s when kids on 20-inch bikes started emulating their favorite motorcycle racers in vacant lots. At first the kids used whatever bikes fit their purposes, the most popular being the Schwinn "Stingray," but manufacturers soon recognized the market and started providing specialty bikes for it. Now the small race machines are every bit as sophisticated as those used for road or track racing, and can be just as expensive. Still, at the entry level, most kids can use their regular bikes. 
	As the sport evolved, it took on the form of motorcycle motocross, with the exception that the races are very short, in most cases under a minute. This allows multiple heats to be run during an afternoon of racing, and after each heat the top riders are advanced to the next "moto," leading to a final event. Racing is broken down by age groups.  
	The track includes banked curves and jumps, just like a motorcycle course, and usually includes a downhill start to get things rolling quickly. BMX riders are masters of control, doing tricks on their machines that are beyond the capabilities of riders on big bikes. As they get older, many BMXers switch to off-road, where the handling skills are also a premium requirement. One of the world's most famous mountain bike champions, John Tomac, got his start as a nine-year-old BMX rider. 
	Unlike road and off-road racing, BMX is not sanctioned through the worldwide cycling federation that administers most bike racing. There are now two sanctioning bodies in the United States, each of which produces its own national championship events.  For more information on BMX, contact: American Bicycle Association (ABA) P.O. Box 718 Chandler, AZ 85244 (602) 961-1903 or National Bicycle League (NBL) P.O. Box 729 Dublin, OH 43017 (614) 766-1625 

BOOMBOX
June 14, 1992

SAN FRANCISCO, CALIFORNIA 
	The seventh annual American Youth Hostel Benefit Ride took place with a record number of cyclists showing up to ride around the City By The Bay. The ride started from Moscone Field and ran through 15 panoramic miles of cycling over city streets virtually free of motor vehicle traffic. 
	As a participant in the ride, I was pedaling along deep in my own thoughts. The usual city noises were not imposing on my ride nor my thoughts. There were people of all ages and abilities on the ride. Some were alone, others were there as part of a larger group. Miguel was part of a group of about eight buddies riding the route. Miguel stood out from the rest of the group. 
	I was hammering up a particularly steep part of the route. When riding hard, I need all the concentration I can muster and then some. So, here I am riding hard up this hill, expending much energy when all of a sudden I am overcome by this loud booming music. I look up and find that I am passing this guy with the most elaborate stereo system mounted on the back of his bike. 
	At the end of the ride, I spotted him and introduced myself. The system was more elaborate than most people have in their homes. It cost more than $3000 and included a multichanger CD player and the most incredible speakers. It weighs about 150 pounds which didn't seem to bother Miguel at all and his buddies were very happy to him in their pack. 

Brompton Folding Bike
Anytime

A WAY TO WORK 
	In many areas of the world, the bicycle is a means of primary transportation for the general population. China, Japan, and the Netherlands are some examples. Indeed, statistics show that probably the majority of the world's population uses the bike for its utility. 
	In the West, however, this is not the case. But, as the trend toward environmental awareness continues to gain momentum, the bike will gain in popularity for its utilitarian value as well as its healthful and fun aspects. 
	Several companies have pioneered the design of the bicycle for commuters. The result is folding bikes for the masses. Small and lightweight, the folding bike can fit into a bag, be carried onto a commuter train, and is easy to maintain. Several models including the very popular Moulton AM, the Bickerton, the Micro, and the Pocket have gained some inroads. The Brompton Folding Bike, is one of the more elegant designs. It was designed in England and sells for about $550. 
This is a Century ?
September,1989

OJAI, CALIFORNIA 
	My wife and I put my bike in the car last September and drove down to the Central Coast of California. We spent a night or two in Ojai and Santa Barbara, neat places, especially for people who like to ride around on bicycles. 
	In Ojai I learned about a regular training ride in nearby Ventura Sunday mornings. After getting lost twice, I pulled into the shopping center lot where the ride began. 
	There were more people unloading bikes there than I'd ever seen for a training ride. I noticed that people oddly seemed to be pulling out of the lot in small groups. When I asked about that, someone said it would all sort out down the road. I nodded as if I understood. 
	I jumped into a likely-looking group of about 15 people, two or three women and guys from about 20 to 40 years old. Right away I liked the pace and the almost flat terrain. You could sit in the saddle and pedal in, say, the 52-17. I liked it. 
	About 15 miles out, I asked the guy next to me in the paceline how far these rides usually went. I'd had in mind around 30 or 40 miles. After a moment of confusion, he told me that I had connected with an event called the Bunny Hop Century. 
	Our group, he said, was headed for downtown Santa Barbara and back, about, as I remember, 72 miles. 
	I thought, hey, I can ride 72 miles, especially in the big ring at 20-plus mph. Also, I thought, I don't believe I can find my way back to the start by myself. So it was Santa Barbara or bust with the hard-riding Mystery Cycling Club, of Deleted, Calif. 
	As we motored up the coast highway one of the women in our group got dropped and drifted back quite a bit, riding alone. 
	Because I am a super human being and a road cycling powerhouse, I dropped back and offered to tow her up to the group. I can't keep up, Susan said. Let's try, I asserted positively. 
	She sat on my wheel and I brought her back to her double- pacelined clubmates. After a few miles we came to what is called a hill in that area, but might be called a rise or roller elsewhere. Again she lost a few feet and the draft. I watched as she slowed and began to struggle. Inevitably, without the draft the gap in front of her grew rapidly. 
	Once again, I dropped back, telling her she COULD hang in, that she was only a LITTLE weaker, that we'd bridge again and she COULD hang on. I said all she needed was to pick a smooth wheel to sit on and she could stick. 
	No, YOU'LL see, she told me, I HAD a smooth wheel. I towed her up again anyway, watched her merge into the back of the group, and rode up to the front. 
	One guy up there seemed to me to be the unofficial ride leader. He spent lots of time at the front and had a watchful, serious way. He looked like a bike rider. I said to him, Steve, Susan can almost hang on. If we could hesitate just a second at the tops of the rises, she could ride the whole way with the group. 
	She's a big girl, Steve said (let's call him Steve); she can take care of herself. I admitted that that was one way to look at it. I went to the back and thought about our little exchange. It was their club and their ride and not my business. They had evolved their way of dealing with slower people over years of group rides. 
	Still I didn't like the coldness of it. I'd known groups like that before; they felt that if new people wanted badly enough to ride with them they'd do what they had to so they could. If new riders didn't (or couldn't) get fit enough, it was good riddance anyway. 
	I told Susan, who had just gotten sawed off again, that I'd asked the gentleman in front, the one up there with the red helmet, if the group could just wait the least little bit. I told her what his answer had been. 
	She said that's just what she would've expected. She said she'd ridden with that same club for years. Some years she'd gotten really fit and couldn't be dropped. Other years she couldn't quite hang on. They'd see her when she reached wherever they were headed. She knew of other, slower, friendlier clubs in her area, she said, but she liked this one, even when she couldn't keep up. 
	She said that when she first rode with them the effort of trying to hang on just one landmark further made her fast. At that time, the club had not been friendly to women riders; she'd had to prove she could be fast enough and safe enough to qualify. 
	Eventually they accepted her. It was clear to me that even when no one would wait for her, Susan felt proud of that acceptance. 
	Susan prizes Steve's friendship. She defended him valiantly when I told her about his "big girl" remark. She said that all along he's been the enforcer of the "no favors" code the club practices. After a long period of not being impressed by him, now she wouldn't change anything about the guy. 
	What a tough woman, I thought. I don't believe that way of initiating new riders would work with me, were I to start all over again. Nothing encourages me more than a little success. Showing up weekend after weekend, only to lack the horsepower or pack-savvy to survive the crunches in the group, would get me down. I'd like to think I'd sense how neat it'd be to be one of the boys, so to speak, and keep on trying, but I bet I'd weaken. I know I'd give up long before Susan apparently did. 
	Clearly, the way Steve and the Mystery Cycling Club dealt with new riders worked great for Susan, as she will tell the world. Strong folks like her will persevere, enduring mini- failure after mini-failure until, ultimately, they triumph. 
	Also clearly, some folks are more easily dismayed, me for instance. Still, folks like me might learn to survive just as well as she did. They might be just as proud of their progress as Susan is, just as protective of their leaders, if given an occasional few seconds of patient encouragement. Ride leaders should find plenty of opportunity to provide such encouragement, right at the tops of the hills. 

~Buying a Mt. Bike
Anytime

BETWEEN SAKS AND K-MART 
	Typical in these times is that the first decision you'll need to make concerns the size of the check you want to write. Mountain bikes range in price from just under $200 to well over $3,000. How much to spend depends on, of course, your checkbook balance and the type of riding you plan to do. 
	Since we're talking about mountain bikes, I assume that you'll want to take the beast out onto some dirt roads and trails. For a basic mountain bike that performs with some degree of precision on dirt roads and trails, you'll need to wring at least $350 from your wallet. 
	Beginning with this price you can expect a lightweight frame, alloy wheels, and an adequate set of components. As the price goes up, two things happen: first, the weight of the bike drops and, second, the components will last longer, perform better, and look like they came from Saks rather than K Mart. After the mountain bike reaches the $1,200 threshold, you are paying for art. Up until that point though, mountain bikes really do get light and better, and the average rider can feel the difference. Counterpoint: a $300 bike will get you there. 

|Can You Tell ?
November, 1990

NORTHERN CALIFORNIA  
	Back in the brutal winter of '90, my old modest but adequate dedicated word processor deleted itself. I had to make do with a typewriter.   
	How crippling could that be? I wrote plenty of stories people   liked on a typewriter. But I'm spoiled: working with a mere auto-  correcting electronic typewriter would be tough.  
	So I spent big bucks for an IBM clone with a hard disc and   expensive software, a high-performance outfit I would not soon   outgrow. It'll do 618 stunts I'll never need, all described in a   book as thick and readable as a Rumanian romance novel.     
	But, hey, it's high-performance. Responsive. And FAST, so fast   the software ads warn you might want to "throttle it back."   You've heard ad claims like those before. Dozens of products are   sold with similar hype.     
	Well, I went for it. Now I assemble stories as electronic   signals. Editing is blissfully easy. My equipment is as good,   I'll bet, as Garrison Keillor's, or (fill in name of writer you   admire)'s. My writing, sadly, still is not.    
	Based on software ad claims, you should have detected a giant   leap in quality in my work. I use top-flight wordsmithing gear:   my columns should read like New Yorker features. I'm afraid,   though, that you have not noted such a quality jump. Am I failing   my equipment?     
	Probably not, huh? The ads ignore or devalue the human component, the element no one can sell you. They'd like you to forget that the writing machine doesn't tell the story and pro cameras don't   guarantee pro photos. The lightest, highest-tech, most expensive   bike doesn't make the greatest ride.   
	Many things can make a ride memorable. Most're not for sale. Good friends can make a ride terrific, good weather, and fine roads.   And that mysterious bike/rider synthesis that happens all too   seldom. Way down the list is technical stuff and details like the   brands of the parts.     
	I remember great rides long after I've forgotten what I rode or   how it was equipped. I remember people and places. I remember   Owen and Flip and Curt and DMO and Ramona and Danny. Tim. Chris Petralia.    
	I remember suddenly chilly little valleys in Sonoma County. I   remember the smell of the trees around Booneville, CA. I remember days of slanting rain and riding anyway. I remember the guy with   the drum of ice-packed towels at the Hotter'N Hell Hundred.     
	I remember world-class rides on bikes with 41 inch wheelbases,   centerpull brakes and leather straps on the pedals. Evidently I   didn't know any better; I thought it all worked great.     
	My best memories are of moments when I felt especially alive or   connected with people. Not one of those moments had to have a   brand name attached to qualify.     
	I'd like to remind you that bicycles are fun, all of them, or   almost no one would ride. The variation in performance, bike to   bike, within categories, is tiny. Unmeasurable, except in ads,   where a millimeter's as good as a mile.     
	No bike or brand-name or widget will change your life, though   clever people will bust their subtle butts to convince you it   will. They'd like you to imagine their widget will unlock all   that athletic potential you imagine lurks within you.     
	Or they'd like you to think that, to be the person you secretly   lust to be, to impress what you'd love to call your peer group,   you must purchase some "imagey" industrial product or other.     
	One would hope the circle you aspire to will not be so easily   dazzled. I wish you better than a crowd that'd embrace or ignore   you based on what you own.    
	If you can't buy your dream bike, the one you think your   sensibilities demand, get on the one you already own and ride it   around. I'll bet you like it. People do.    
	To make a point, I wrote this piece with a sharp rock on a sheet   of slate. I took it to the post office on an early-70s Carlton   Raleigh. No heart monitor. My editor proofread it by lantern   light.     
	Ride your bike, even if it fails to draw admiring glances at the   post-ride cafe. Even if the self you see in your fantasies   wouldn't be seen on it. The ride's the thing. See you out there   on the road. 

Sunday Central Park Traffic
June 7, 1992

CENTRAL PARK, NEW YORK CITY 
	So I was in New York, wherever that is, visiting grandma and grandpa. It was my first time. They asked me if I wanted to go ride this four wheel machine in the park. I said I guess so, even though I didn't know what they were talkin' bout. I never heard of any four wheel machine before. Heck, I didn't even know where this place was. 
	So, we went outside and were gonna walk to the place to ride this machine. I saw lots of stuff I never seen before. Lots of bicycles and people. And horses pulling people around. Usually at home, when I would go to the park with mom, it wouldn't have so many trees, and I would be able to see to the other side and there would be swings and stuff like that. There were lots of people here. People sleeping in the grass, and playing around and some cars but not many. Grandpa said they wouldn't let cars in on weekends. I wish that's what they did back home. 
	So, we get into this big thing. I get to sit right up front, and grandma and grandpa have to do all the work. There's lots and lots of bikes and different ones too. And the horses, poor horses, are pulling people all around the park. I'm glad we're riding this four-wheeled bicycle. I'm right up front and get to see everything. And the wind is blowing in my face which feels good 'cause it's really hot. Granpa asks me if I want a ice cream cone. Heck, yeah. Who doesn't? I like this place. I wanna come back and visit again and ride this four-wheeled bicycle in the park. 

Chasing Down the Break
May 1992

THE NORTHEAST CORRIDOR 
	The pack was riding hard, chasing down the four man breakaway that had pulled away only six miles into the race. Although none of the break riders were a threat to the race leaders, the peloton always seems to have a natural desire to reel in the courageous in the final laps. From a high lead of 8:11, the gap had been whittled down to 1:43 on the last lap. The main group began to snake out as the pace picked up. The courageous remain ever the courageous, always giving all others something to work toward. 

City Neon Ride
July 4, 1992

NEW YORK CITY 
	The economy's in tough shape. When the boss decides to trash the relaxed, crockpot attitude for the rocket-fuel approach, tension builds and the singe left for free time isn't worth a disposable bic. This workaholic-as-status quo ethic eliminates the traditional mountain biking venue, i.e. the mountains, since, for most folks, it takes time to get to them mountains. Pressed for time, mountain bikers store their bikes in the basement, and pursue less time consuming activities. Bad move. 
	Some of the best mountain biking around could be just down the street. Here are two suggestions: Although many city parks around the country prohibit mountain bikes, every city has plenty of greenbelts, and they often provide great bicycling. Usually located on undesirable property under or next to highways, along gas line or power line right-of-ways, or in places ill suited for building, greenbelts can be thought of as informal parks. Most of the time greenbelts don't supply miles of nice trail, but you can usually find some short fun loops, and you see the city from another perspective. Keep your eyes open for these places you probably pass by every day without thinking about them. 
	Now aim your bike at the downtown core of the city. Monday through Friday bike messengers scurry around the streets and sidewalks while you trot up the steps of tall buildings, briefcase in hand. But on weekends when everyone holds up in their suburban homes, stick on the helmet and dark glasses (so you won't be recognized) and go scurry around the streets, sidewalks, alleys, steps and stairs, parking lots and garages, vast mega-building entrances, and small walkways available all over downtown. Trials riding here we come. 


Climbing and Streamcrossing
Anytime

THE GRIND 
	Uphill: The idea here is to get to the top the easiest way possible. During the transition between level or downhill riding and uphill, shift to a lower gear before you lose momentum. By keeping a quick cadence through the transition, more of your energy will go toward getting up the hill rather than yelling at the derailluer. During a steep climb, stay seated so your weight stays over the rear wheel to keep it from spinning. At the same time, however, make sure enough of your weight remains forward so the front wheel doesn't pop up unexpectedly. If you don't make it to the top of a hill, it usually won't be because the wild pigs got you, rather because your rear wheel spun out and you tipped over. On longer, more gradual hills, stand up occasionally for power and muscle variety. Finally, concentrate on deep, relaxed, breathing; avoid locomotive breathing. 
	Streams: Inevitably, the mountain biker will come forehead to forehead with a body of water that needs to be navigated. And sometimes navigate is the right word, when water reaches the seat post, and you're thrashing and churning to stay vertical, hoping the current doesn't sweep the bike away. When you encounter a stream, keep these things in mind: First, it's smart to know what the bottom of the stream looks like; aim for the smoothest route across. Second, don't let the shock of entering the water freeze your legs, keep pedaling until you reach the opposite side. And most importantly, pay attention to the environment; don't rage across small, delicate, dirt-bedded creeks stop and walk. 
	Walking your bike: Walk the bike? This sounds like a non sequitur (or worse), like the combination of words "mountain" and "bike" sounded, say, fifteen years ago. The whole point of the concept bicycle is that walking becomes extinct. Well, if you want to ride a mountain bike in the woods, you're bound to do some walking. Absolutely every serious mountain biker walks at some time, usually after trying to ride over a bus-sized rock or around a pit of poisonous snakes. Walking up a hill will almost always help extend the energy in your already knotted legs, and this will make the remainder of the ride more enjoyable. Remember, be cool to the earth: walk instead of leaving tractor marks. 
	Traffic: Ten speeds are dainty and smash easily under cars, like dancers or distance runners. Mountain bikes are beefy and dirty, like football players or the neighbor next door. But just because you're on a mountain bike doesn't mean you're bullet-proof. Watch out for traffic. 

Clunkers
September 1974

MARIN COUNTY, CALIFORNIA 
	While off-road riding dates back to the first days of cycling, the modern mountain bike is a descendant of hybrid bikes variously called "Clunkers," "Bombers," or "Cruisers." These bikes started life as old 'thirties-style balloon tire bicycles. In the '70s they were rescued from basements, garages and barns, modified with the addition of drum brakes and derailleur systems, and taken out on trails. 
	While the technology of these machines was limited, they inspired a new generation of cyclists to ride and race off-road and to experiment with more modern developments in frame design and construction. 
	A typical Marin County "Clunker" from the mid-seventies had a tandem rear drum brake, either a drum or cantilever front brake, wide handlebars, motorcycle brake levers, thumb-shifters or stem shifters mounted on the handlebars, and wide range derailleurs. Weight was in the neighborhood of fifty pounds, which was probably the reason why the sport was confined to a fanatical few. One accessory that was considered vital was a pair of Vise-Grips (tm) clamped to the seatpost. Along with a Swiss Army knife, this was the tool kit. If a part couldn't be repaired with these tools, it probably could be clamped together for the ride home. 

n	Commuting to Save the Earth
Anytime

MILL VALLEY, CALIFORNIA 
	Marilyn Price is a woman who lives her values. Not only does she commute one hour and fifteen minutes each way, five days a week, she is the founder of Trips For Kids, a program which takes youths from low-income and otherwise under-privileged lives in the Bay Area on day-trip mountain bike rides. Marilyn is an example of how mountain bikers are using the sport to help expand the lives of others as well as their own. 
	A sad paradigm shift has occurred since the dawn of mountain biking just over a decade ago. Before mountain biking began, bicycles sat smack in the middle of the conservation movement, often pushing it forward -- people commuted to work and went for Sunday rides instead of Sunday drives. Bicycling was a good thing. But since mountain bikers began riding through the foothills and mountains and into the few primitive areas that remain in this country, bicyclists have been unjustly labeled environmental pariahs by hiking and equestrian groups. True, it's easy to point at a few riders with horrendous riding habits and zealous magazines that print inane, inflexible editorials. But most mountain bicyclists have the same interests in the conservation movement as hiking groups. We want to save the earth, too. 
	Mountain bicyclists are environmentalists, and here's why: 1] Many mountain bikers commute to work, lowering auto emissions and easing the need for more streets and parking lots. 2] Parking lots continue to encroach on our small reserve of recreational public lands. Mountain bikers can pedal to the trailheads rather than drive, increasing the beautiful spaces in parks and wildlands. Fewer parking lots, please. 3] Everyone wants a quiet, uncluttered experience when they venture into the woods. This presents a problem since there are fewer trails than twenty years ago but many more people. Mountain bicycles help spread people out since they can travel more distance in a day than other trail users. 4] Mountain bicyclists usually don't camp, eliminating that impact on primitive areas. 5] Mountain bicycling gets more people into primitive areas so they can enjoy the pristine quality those areas offer. Although more people means slightly more impact, it also means there are more people willing to fight for that land when it's due to be logged or mined or sold or neglected in other ways. 
	Mountain bike safely and be cool to the earth. 

SA Bike of Many Parts
Anytime

COMPONENT GROUPS 
	The first component groups for mountain bikes were gathered from many sources. For example, a 1979 Ritchey had TA chainrings, Magura brake levers, Mafac brakes, Suntour shifters, Campagnolo headset, Phil Wood hubs, Simplex front derailleur and Huret rear derailleur.  By 1983, Shimano and Suntour had designed equipment groups for mountain bikes, and today every large component manufacturer has such a group. 
	Component groups have evolved rapidly, and the biggest change is in the drive train. Rear clusters went from five to eight cogs, shift levers became indexed, changed to a double lever system, and moved from above to below the handlebars. 
	Cassette hubs have largely replaced the freewheel.  Even chains have been redesigned for faster shifting, and made narrower for the increased number of cogs. 
	Cantilever brakes have improved, and now they are challenged by other systems, such as hydraulic brakes, the "roller-cam" disc, and drum brakes.  Designers have found ways to use cams, worm gears, and other forms of mechanical advantage in order to increase braking power. 

%If It's Not One Way, It's The Other
1984

CONTINENTAL DIVIDE, COLORADO 
	If you ever take a trip across the United States, you will cross the Continental Divide. It runs the length of the continent, starting up in Canada and ending in Mexico. 
	The Rocky Mountains form part of the Divide which separates rivers draining into the Atlantic or Arctic Oceans from those flowing, eventually, into the Pacific Ocean. 
	If you go through the Continental Divide, for instance, at Tennessee Pass in Colorado, you will have climbed 10,424 feet. The ride down the other side could be a lot of fun! 

What A Day For A Ride
May 16, 1992

MARIN HEADLANDS, CA 
	We woke up this Sunday morning to the sound of fog horns. We rolled over. Sleep was still heavy upon us. 
	We thought about it. Yes, we did. 
	We considered spending the day indoors. We considered staying in bed for another oh, ten or twelve hours. 
	But the thought of our new bikes just waiting to be ridden beckoned both of us. So, we donned our riding clothes and set out across the bridge. What a glorious site and feeling it was to break out of the fog and see the bridge down below us. 

"Coventry" Tricycle
1876

COVENTRY, ENGLAND 
	This illustration represents a type of two-track cycle which, for over a decade, became one of the most popular machines on the road. The first models, known as Coventry 'Lever' tricycles, were introduced in 1876. On these tricycles the treadle lever-type drive to the rear wheel proved heavy and unreliable, so the Coventry manufacturers changed over to the more simple method of an endless chain drive. The Coventry 'Lever' tricycle was patented by J. K. Starley and in 1877 sold for about ten guineas. It proved to be one of the most comfortable and safe machines of the period. 
	The solid iron frame consists of a longitudinal bar carrying at each end a small wheel inside a conventional cycle fork, the wheel being free to swivel in a plain hole in the frame member. A large side wheel is attached to the frame stub axle mounted on another member attached to the side bar. The seat for the rider is carried on two flat springs attached to the frame holding the side wheel. 
	The driving mechanism consists of pedals on levers which are in turn attached to the cranks by lengths of chain. These chains, when in tension, act as connecting rods and so pull the cranks round. 
	The large side wheel is 50 inches in diameter and the small front and rear wheels are 24 inches. Solid rubber tires are fitted. The Coventry tricycle has a wheelbase of 5 feet, an overall length of 7 feet and is 3 feet wide. 

Into The Sunrise
Anytime

SOLO RIDING, ANYWHERE 
	Camping is cheap, fun, and is the best way to go for cyclists who don't want to be tied to schedules, routes, and the availability of a roof over their head each and every night. When you camp, you can stay where you please, as long as it is legal. National forest land and other areas are for the use of all, and there are usually beautiful spots not far from the road. Campgrounds are OK when you need a shower or want the camaraderie of others on the road. Often times if you ask a farmer, they won't mind if you pitch your tent out in the field, and occasionally you'll get invited in for a meal. One of the best things about camping is that you are not tied to reaching a certain destination each night. If you feel like taking it easy or pushing real hard, you can stop where you want, not where the hotel happens to be. 
	Youth hostels are one step down from camping. Often located in rustic or scenic spots, youth hostels are bare bones cooking and sleeping places. They are often filled with young travelers and are good places to meet people. 
	Bed and Breakfasts are an especially nice way to travel. Often located out in the country or on the outskirts of towns, B&B's are usually run by a family and offer a warm, homey environment for the traveler. Sometimes the kitchen is available for cooking your own evening meal, and hearty full breakfast is included. B&B's are more tolerant than hotels and probably won't mind as much if you park your bike on the porch or in the garage. 
	On occasion, often when going through a city, you may find yourself in a hotel. It is a great opportunity to take a hot bath, but you'll probably long for simpler lodgings by the next morning. 

IModern Cruiser
Anytime

LEARNING TO RIDE 
	Learning to ride a bike can be a natural extension to children's sense of play. This is possible if they are given the opportunity to discover how to ride a bike. A common mistake is to add a set of "training wheels" or stabilizers to the two-wheeler. This prevents experiencing the balance that cycling requires. The following process is one way that works because it is built around letting the children learn at their own pace. 
	A child should learn on the bike that she will be using regularly. It should be set up so that the child can reach the brake levers easily. The seat height should be lower than optimal until the child has learned to ride. All of these are confidence builders. 
	To allow for the discovery of simple balance and control, remove the pedals from the crank arms. Starting off on flat, open, grassy ground, explain to your child how to use the hand-brakes, and encourage her to just push along off the ground using alternate feet. Once she's rolling, encourage her to experiment with the brakes. This will allow her to get the feel of slowing and stopping the bike. 
	When your child is ready, suggest that she propel the bike forward using both feet at the same time. In those first few seconds when both feet are off the ground and the bike is rolling forward, she's experiencing that exhilarating sensation of simply freewheeling. Find a short and shallow slope, and let her build up speed while beginning near the bottom. Your child will know when she is ready for a longer, steeper start. She will ask for it. 
	As your child gets the hang of freewheeling, suggest she rest her feet up on the cranks. If she feels happy and comfortable with her feet in that position, offer to put the pedals back on. Of course you can do this because you have remembered to bring a wrench with you. Once the pedals are back on, use a slope to freewheel down and suggest that she tries to turn the pedals once or twice as the downward momentum runs out. This is the magical moment when a child first experiences the freedom of cycling. Don't forget to bring a camera to capture it ! 

aCycling Societies: China
1988

CHINA 
	What sets apart the handful of countries that, in a world seduced by automobiles, have chosen to embrace the bicycle? These few cycling societies are not notably different, in terms of living standards, geography or climate, from their non cycling neighbors. A study by John Pucher of transport systems in 12 North American and Western European countries confirms that wide variations in people's transport decisions are not chiefly influenced by levels of income, technology, or urbanization. The difference lies in enlightened public policy and strong government support. 
	Chinese authorities recognized decades ago that human powered transport could move more people more cheaply than any other option. They began investing in low-cost, mass production of bicycles when most people were still too poor to own one, and directed infrastructure improvements to non motorized travel. When commercial access to villages was opened in the early sixties, it was largely over rural tracks built for people moving on foot, animal carts, or bicycles. 
	Special bicycle avenues with five to six lanes each are common in Chinese cities. Motorized traffic is often separated from pedestrians and cyclists on three-track roads, and some cities set apart space for load-carrying bicycles. Convenient guarded bicycle parking is plentiful, as are services for maintenance and repair. In addition to Beijing's 173 registered repair shops, more than 1,000 independent sidewalk mechanics repair bikes along the capital's streets. Throughout China, city governments have long used bicycles to relieve pressure on overcrowded buses by paying commuters a monthly allowance for cycling to work. China has thus provided high quality transport to large numbers of people while postponing the need for heavy public transit investments. 
	This policy did not, however, foresee the bicycle boom of the eighties. The Kingdom of Bicycles now suffers from traffic jams, with bicycles and rickshaws fighting motor vehicles for road space. Some Chinese planners propose that bicyclists, just as car commuters in the industrial countries, should be encouraged to use the expanded fleet of public buses for longer commutes. Yet China's buses are crowded enough as it is, and the country will need an estimated 200,000 more buses by the year 2000 just to keep up with projected growth in demand. Commuter data suggests that, if half the people who commuted by bicycle in Beijing, Tianjin, and Shanghai in 1985 had decided to take the bus instead, roughly 12,000 more buses would have been needed in these three cities alone. 
	Chinese authorities are trying a number of other solutions to bicycle congestion. Among them are efforts to move workers nearer to their workplaces and develop local business centers. Working hours are also staggered to spread traffic volume over more of the day. Professor Li Jia Ying at the Northern Transportation University in Beijing suggests giving priority to buses in some intersections and marking safe detours for bicycle traffic. Li further proposes to separate bicycles from each other by designating sub-lanes for cyclists riding at different speeds. 

Cycling Societies: Denmark
1987

DENMARK 
	The Netherlands' closest peer in cycling is Denmark, where, as Copenhagen's Mayor of Traffic notes, poets have celebrated the bicycle and sculptors have made statues of cyclists. The share of bicycles in Denmark's traffic counts, though slightly lower than that in the Netherlands, is equally impressive; 20 percent of personal trips in Danish cities and towns are made by bicycle. Danish rail stations typically accommodate several hundred bikes at a time. A 1983 survey revealed that 32 percent of peopled to work by bicycle, and an additional 9 percent commuted by pedaling to the train. 
	Since 1982 the national budget has allocated $7 to $13 million each year for building commuter cycle lanes along major roads. Today some 75 percent of major roads in Denmark have cycle tracks. Much of the cycle network is the result of the Danish Cyclist Federation's efforts, since its founding in 1905, to pressure authorities to accommodate cyclists with special facilities and traffic management. 
	Use of cycle paths by cyclists in Denmark and the Netherlands has traditionally been mandatory where the paths parallel major high-speed roads, causing some controversy among riders. Experience has shown, however, that if they are of high quality, cyclists will readily use them whether mandatory or not. 
	Denmark has also sought to tame the automobile through taxation of car ownership and use. Gasoline prices are among the highest in Europe, and the Danish Ministry of Transport describes the 186 percent sales tax on new cars--compared with 47 percent in the Netherlands and 5 percent in the United States--as paying for three cars and getting only one. 

	Cycling Societies: Japan
1988

JAPAN 
	Japan is a cycling society in which bicycle trips for practical use far outnumber those for leisure or sport. Census figures for 1980 showed that 7.2 million commuters--approximately 15 percent of the total--rode bicycles to work or to commuter rail stations. Bicycle ownership has climbed from an average of 1 per household in 1970 to 1.5 today. Though recreational cycling is quickly gaining enthusiasts, most bicyclists ride for everyday shopping and commuting to work or school. 
	Many of Japan's rail passengers pedal daily to train and subway stations. Since the sixties, Japanese transport has been dominated by commuter railroads that link urban centers to the rapidly growing suburbs. As development fanned out farther from the rail lines, many commuters switched from slow feeder buses to bikes to reach suburban stations. By the mid seventies, "bicycle pollution"--a phrase coined for the hundreds or even thousands of bicycles crammed in front of some railway stations--spurred the government to promote bike parking as a way out of the chaos. 
	National legislation passed in 1980 empowers local governments to require that railways and private businesses build ample bicycle parking. The central government provides funding to help pay for construction. Today there are more than 8,600 official and private bicycle parking sites, with total capacity for 2.4 million bicycles, roughly half provided free of charge by national or local jurisdictions. Bike parking is also common at Japanese apartment complexes and in recreational and shopping areas. 
	Limited land space in urban Japan--where downtown real estate can cost over $7,000 per square foot--has inspired the building of bicycle parking towers. Dozens of transit stations have multi-story structures in which automated cranes park thousands of bicycles. Another way Japanese planners save space is through suburban rental systems. These facilities hire out hundreds of bicycles, many of which serve more than one commuter a day. 
	Cycling is likely to become even more important in Japan as the country is forced to control its growth in automobile use. The government makes car owners pay a $2,000 registration fee every two years for the entire life of the vehicle. If cycling is to take up the load as people seek less-expensive transport, local authorities will need to join such measures with more attention to cycling facilities and revamping the country's extensive but poor-quality cycle paths. 

|2Cycle City 2000
January 2, 2000

SEATTLE WASHINGTON, USA 
	We're about to take you on a trip to the future, but you'll have to leave a lot of baggage behind. There's no room for cynicism, preconceived ideas, or a closed mind. You'll ride on a human powered urban transportation system that's inexpensive to build, simple to use, safe, non polluting, virtually self sustaining, and capable of handling 20,000 people per lane per hour. It won't work everywhere, and it won't render cars, buses, and trains obsolete. But it can make cities much cleaner, quieter, and less congested. 
	It also will probably never become reality. Not because the technology doesn't exist. It does. Not because it's too physically demanding for most people. It's not. And not because we can't afford it. We can. This system won't happen because we don't think it can. Americans are too dependent on their cars. Nobody's done it before. We should use the highways and rail lines we've got. It's too. ..ridiculous. Then again, what if there's another Mideast crisis and gas goes to $5 per gallon? What if the experts are right and the average speed on some freeways is 11 mph by 2010? What if people start dying of air pollution instead of just getting sick from it? Then our current transportation system is going to look pretty ridiculous. 
	The system you're about to use was created by Jim Kor, a professional engineer and vice president of KOR Product Design, a firm in Winnipeg, Canada, that's invested 3 years of extensive research into alternative transportation to show that it could happen. It's up to us to decide whether it should. 
	"Time to get up. It's six a.m. Time to go." Your feet hit the floor and the voice alarm automatically stops. You stumble into the bathroom, avoiding eye contact with that nasty looking person in the mirror. So much for New Year's resolutions about not staying up late, chugging beer, and watching Exxon's Collegiate Super Bowl. 
	Gotta get ready for work. You can do it. Pop hangover pill. Brush teeth. Get electro massage. Put on cycling clothes. 
	Drink breakfast. Check TV weather: "Rain, heavy at times." Shoot. "Acidity level low. Protective clothing not required if exposure is less than two hours." Oh, good. 
	You sprint down your block to the garage, a converted auto supply store. Inserting a special plastic card, you enter, walk past the other 399 compartments belonging to neighbors, and unlock your bay. And there's your baby; an 80 pound, pedal powered, carbon fiber and titanium, 4 wheel recumbent bike with automatic transmission, hydraulic brakes, full Kevlar fairing, and a small computer for steering and navigation. At $3,000, it's the top of the line commuter from that new U.S. human powered vehicle conglomerate, Trekalized. 
	You could've bought a cheaper, heavier model, or a tandem, or if you were elderly or disabled an electric model. But you wanted speed, performance, and prestige. No matter what you buy, though, every commuting vehicle must meet government standards for safety, weight, and cargo space. You put your briefcase, work clothes and lunch into the small trunk, then wheel the vehicle to your neighborhood entrance to Skyway. You're about to enter a high tech transportation system that combines the personal comfort of freeway travel, the people moving efficiency of a subway, and the ecological bounty of a bike path. 
	When Seattle's Skyway was completed last year, everyone said it looked like a giant waterslide. It's a network of enclosed tubes made from plastic and aluminum. A single tube is 4 feet in diameter, just wide enough for the vehicles, which are 2'2" feet high, 3'4" feet across, and 10 feet long. In high traffic areas, tubes are wide enough to handle 3 or more vehicles abreast. The top half of the tube carries inbound traffic; the bottom half, outbound. Designed with only gradual elevation changes and gentle turns, the system accommodates even novice and out of shape riders. 
	Skyway was constructed by a giant machine that extrudes the tubing on site, like a spider spinning a web. It's similar to paving equipment used during the twilight of U.S. freeway construction in the early '90s. But Skyway's construction costs are much lower than those of conventional transportation systems, as little as one fourth the cost of a freeway. 
	Skyway's tubes often follow existing roads, though they're also built under ground and in the air, on concrete supports. Downtown they generally rest on existing buildings, usually on second or third floors. Thanks to generous tax breaks, most office and retail complexes provide parking garages. A Skyway prototype was built in '97 in the college town of Palo Alto, California, using private funds and government grants to cover the $1.5 million cost. At first people made fun of the system, calling it a toy for rich, liberal tree huggers. But Skyway started to catch on. Car traffic declined. Smog levels fell. The city enacted tax credits for Skyway users. Cost projections indicated that user fees would enable the system to pay for itself within 4 years. The breakthrough came when President Colin Powell flew to the West Coast to take a ride on Skyway and declared it "an American success story." 
	Seattle, always a progressive, bike friendly city, built the first full scale Skyway soon afterward. Engineers projected that the 100 mile network would cost $210 million over 10 years, including construction ($100 million), maintenance ($4 million annually), electricity ($1 million annually), and interest payments ($60 million). This sounded like a lot, but planners argued convincingly that the system would pay for itself in a decade by charging a user fee of 30 cents per mile for the estimated 70 million miles of annual Skyway travel. 
	Though supporters conceded the system wasn't suitable for sprawling megalopolises such as Phoenix or Los Angeles, they hailed it as an ingenious solution for cities with a centralized working district. Intrigued, mayors in Boston, San Francisco, Chicago, and other cities sent transportation planners to study Seattle's system. 
	Now, one year later, you realize Skyway seems just as much a part of Seattle's skyline as the Space Needle. You punch "Work" into the garage computer, which is linked to Skyway's main terminal. Desired speed? That hangover pill is working its usual magic, so you select "Top Speed." This will automatically guide you to the system's fastest lanes. You climb into your vehicle, click into the pedals, and fasten the seat belt. 
	The main computer knows the exact path you'll take within the network, continuously operating like a giant array of sensors and constant communication with all on board computers running within the system. The main terminal tells your unit which passageways to take and provides continuous updates until you reach your destination. This master brain even reroutes you in case of delays or accidents, though so far Skyway's safety record is spotless. You're not even required to wear a helmet, though many people do. 
	The central computer also keeps track of your mileage and bills you monthly, just as the phone company charges you to use long distance lines. This user toll subsidizes the entire system. The charge of 30 cents per mile is a bargain in this era of a $1 per gallon federal gas tax and the hefty fees that companies levy on employees for scarce parking spaces. 
	Ironically, Skyway's computer technology comes from the automobile industry. The main computer isn't much different from the one used in the '80s by the Los Angeles Traffic Operations Center to control flow on the Santa Monica freeway. And its on board computers are an offspring of electronic navigation systems that began appearing in car dashboards in the '90s. This is poetic justice, considering that the earliest automobiles relied heavily on bicycle technology. 
	The traffic lights in the passageway are green, so your computer tells you to go. You start pedaling down the entrance ramp and the vehicle accelerates instantly, like a fine racing bike. The solid rubber tires drop into the metal tracks, creating a nearly friction free ride. You hear a low hum from the tires and the drivetrain as you quickly reach a cruising speed of 35 mph. The on board computer steers, monitors traffic, and automatically shifts gears so you can maintain optimum cadence. You relax and tune your helmet radio to a golden oldies rap station. 
	You think back to your first Skyway trip, when it felt like you were driving a slot car on a toy race track, similar to the ones our parents used to play with as kids back in the '60s. Even today it's hard not to chuckle at the sight of all these shiny, low slung vehicles whirring along the track, swooping through corners, and passing each other. 
	Pedaling harder as you warm up, you're grateful to be out of the cold rain. Though it's 40 degrees outside, the passageway air is a refreshing 62. Inside air temperature varies slightly with the weather, but heat exchangers and solar panels keep it pleasant in winter and summer. The vehicle's vents keep cool air washing over you, and if it's hot you can slide back the canopy for more ventilation, though this increases drag. 
	You feel a blast of air behind you while passing one of many "boost stations'" fans that drive the passageway air at an average speed of l0 mph. Besides assisting pedaling, the fans circulate fresh air through Skyway. They're driven electrically from energy produced by the wind and stored in batteries. Today you can feel that there's plenty of power, but on days when it's low the main computer turns on the fans only during rush hour. Occasionally the fans run out of power, but that doesn't reduce average speed too much. 
	Leaning back, you watch rain fall from the leaden sky and splatter against the clear upper part of the passageway. You started on an elevated track in a residential area, but now you've descended to ground level while following Interstate 5, a main highway that's jammed with cars driven by people wistfully watching you speed by. Later, suckers. There are 4 parallel passageways now and you're passing dozens of vehicles in the slower tracks. It's peak rush hour. 
	As a cycling enthusiast, you still ride your upright bike in the country on week ends. But you've come to prefer Skyway for commuting. Sure, it lacks the flexibility and freedom of cycling, but it's much more comfortable and safer. Fact is, urban cycling in the '90s just became too dangerous. If smog and acid rain didn't get you, motorists and Rollerblade gangs would. Some purists still ride their uprights in town wearing Pearl Izumi body armor and Giro respirators, of course but most people prefer Skyway. 
	You see high rises ahead as you climb back onto an elevated track. After passing several cloverleaf interchanges you take a gradual left. You feel the g forces as you glide through the gradually banked corner. The track shoots into a building and artificial fluorescent light replaces day light. For the next mile you glide in and out of buildings as the track snakes through downtown. Not only does suspending the track save money, but it also lessens the impact of Seattle's steep hills. 
	As you approach a slower vehicle from behind, the on board computer gently applies the brakes until you're "linked" by your bumpers. Soon other vehicles link with the 2 of you, forming a train traveling about 45 mph. These trains can stay together for miles, especially in the faster through lanes. When you need to leave the train your computer gently and automatically applies the brakes and steers you to your exit. 
	Your office is just ahead so you unlink and turn into a collector area that leads to your building's garage. You automatically slow and then stop in front of your compartment. 
	It's 8 a.m. You've just completed a 15 mile trip in 24 minutes at an average speed of almost 38 mph. You've had a pleasant workout on a miserable day and commuted to work without fouling the air, clogging the roads, or using any energy sources beyond the nourishment you had for breakfast. You stride to the shower room (required by city code) feeling calm, invigorated and socially responsible, which is more than you can say for your idiot boss, who's just pulling up in his big, black Cadillac after fighting traffic for the past hour. 
	Some people just can't stop living in the past. 
	Comfortable, fast and ecologically sound, Skyway's vehicle can average nearly 40 mph and burns no fossil fuels. This 4 wheel, 80 pound recumbent bike features automatic transmission, hydraulic brakes, Kevlar fairing, storage compartment, full ventilation, retractable canopy, padded seat, and navigational computer. The solid rubber tires slot into metal tracks for a low friction ride, and the bumpers are designed so a string of vehicles can link to form a fast moving, super efficient "train." The cellular phone is optional. 

YCycling Societies: The Netherlands
1987

THE NETHERLANDS 
	The Netherlands represents one of Europe's exemplary cycling societies. "Bicycle tourism" is a major industry, with thousands of people taking extended trips along country roads to enjoy diverse landscapes and visit picturesque towns. Like elsewhere on the continent, pro-bicycle planning for utilitarian purposes in this country and in Denmark is part of a recent search for alternatives to automobile dependence. But the bicycle's top two champions owe their current lead in cycling policy to having had a head start. 
	The Netherlands has a long tradition of cycling both for recreation and everyday transportation. The bicycle's role declined, as in other industrial countries, in the fifties and sixties as more people bought automobiles. But cycling resurged when the repercussions of growing car use were dramatized by energy shocks and ecological crises in the seventies. 
	Dutch officials realized that fostering cycling would not only improve the urban environment but also enhance the transport sector without having to pave over historic town centers or spend large amounts of public money. Between 1975 and 1985 the national government spent some $230 million to construct cycleways and parking, and increase transit access through bicycle facilities at rail stations. Highway construction expenditures, by contrast, began to decline; by the early eighties, funding for bicycle projects exceeded 10 percent of capital spending on roadways. 
	In 1986 the Netherlands' cycle paths covered 13,500 kilometers (8389 miles). Perhaps even more significant than this achievement, however, are Dutch efforts to create direct, uninterrupted cycling routes--thus making riding practical, rather than simply getting cyclists out of the way of other traffic. As a result, the share of trips made by bicycle in Dutch towns and cities is typically between 20 and 50 percent. 
	Groningen, the largest city in the northern Netherlands, has found an integrated approach more effective than providing isolated cycling facilities. Bicycle parking and cycling routes combined with well-planned traffic measures have raised the share of bicycling to half of all trips in the city. The city of Delft's cycling provisions include underpasses and bridges across dangerous intersections, and innovations in traffic management. For example, some traffic-activated signals, normally sensitive only to motor vehicles, detect bicycles as they arrive at intersections. Pavement lines at intersections allow cyclists space to stop ahead of other traffic and move first. Cyclists are also permitted to ride against the traffic on some one-way streets. 
	Rather than replace the automobile, the Netherlands has sought to balance auto transport with bicycling, public transit, and walking as a national policy goal. Pedestrian-only streets and reduced speed limits are common in Dutch towns, and car parking is prohibited in many city streets. Residential streets are often transformed into woonerven, or "living yards," a traffic-calming concept introduced in the seventies. In a woonerf the road becomes a paved courtyard. All means of transport are allowed, but bicyclists and pedestrians have priority and cars enter only as "guests." 
	A current car boom, however, is challenging Dutch officials to put their energies into simply maintaining the present popularity of cycling. In 1988, Dutch Transport Minister Nellie Smit-Kroes announced a bold plan not only to head off the expected growth in automobile numbers from the current 5 million to an estimated 8 million in 20 years, but to encourage a decline to just 3.5 million cars. Taxes will increase the costs of buying and driving a car by about half, while public transit will receive an extra $5.7 billion (Gilder 9.4 Billion) per year. A new electronic system will log the number of kilometers each car travels, and "excessive drivers" will then pay additional taxes. 

lWay, Way Before Its Time
1493

SKETCHES OF BRILLIANCE 
	The recent restoration of Leanardo da Vinci's Codex Atlanticus revealed for the first time, the reverse side of a number of pages which had been pasted to mountings and   hidden for the past 400 years. Of the various drawings there is an amazing depiction of a bicycle. Although the sketch is drawn by a youthful hand, it was completed under the direction of the brilliant mind of da Vinci. 
	The bicycle is apparently made of wood, with equal-sized wheels and with a rear-wheel chain drive. The two wheels were drawn with a compass which opened slightly while completing the rotation. The chassis is entirely horizontal, with two gears to hold the wheels. Against the back hub are propped the braces supporting the large saddle, which has a third point of support at the center of the chassis.  The strange looking handlebar is in the form of a T, from which a bolt projects. It is connected to the front hub by two arched and probably flexible rods. The wheel is provided with a guard to prevent these parts from rubbing it. To the center of the chassis is fixed a gear wheel with large wooden teeth, of cubic rather than pointed shape, in order to withstand traction. It is not clear how the front wheel can be steered. 
	History books place the beginning of the modern day bicycle at around 1817. If you look at the development of the designs since the date, you will find  the same elements but never in the same vehicle at the same time. The earliest bicycles were made of wood, but they lacked the chain-drive mechanism. By the time the rear wheel chain-drive mechanism was "invented", the bikes were being made of metal. 
	Leonardo da Vinci's bicycle sketch has been brought to life in 3-D animation, and with the inconsistencies removed, it is testimony to the fact that the bicycle as we know it today was invented about 400 years before the history books show. 

^Exercising Demons
Anytime

CENTRAL COAST, CALIFORNIA 
	I'm not feeling too good right now. I just heard that five cyclists out training on the Central Coast of California got nailed by a car. A driver swerved across two and a half lanes and hit them, killing one guy and hurting another badly. 
	The driver was drunk. 
	And not just kinda drunk. He'd raised his blood alcohol level to .025 by 10 o'clock on a weekday morning: two and a half times the legal limit of booze-in-his-bloodstream. 
	Thinking about drunk driving always makes me a little crazy. 
	I know we take chances out on the road. Obnoxious motorists and close calls come with the territory. I figure if I want to ride the road, I have to deal with its hazards. 
	A drunk, though, is another thing, the wild card in the pedaling (or motoring) deck. 
	You can do everything right: stop at stop signs, signal your turns, wear a helmet (hell, wear TWO helmets) and bright colors and reflective clothing. Wear a suit of armor, anything. 
	None of it'll help if some half-loaded dude in his Firebird drops a lit Marlboro in his lap at 60 mph. By the time he's sure he won't burn his whatchacallit, you and he may have tried to occupy the same space on the road. A hassle for him, a hospital visit for you. With luck. 
	And we protect that drunk driver in this country. A drunk driver's thought of as a solid citizen who's made a judgment mistake; a good man or woman, probably, caught in awful circumstances. Jail? No, not for a single momentary lapse. Even if the consequences were tragic. 
	But, hey, what can you do really? I do know one thing that won't make a bit of difference, but it feels right. We can be examples. 
	We can not drink. We can absolutely not drink if we're going anywhere near our bikes or a motor vehicle. We can realize that if we believe a little alcohol is OK but more is too much, we're fooling ourselves the same way drunk drivers do. 
	A little alcohol is just less poison than more alcohol. 
	We can gently make our anti-drinking feelings known to friends. We can make it convenient not to drive for persons we know to be drinking. 
	Sounds hard-line, doesn't it? Maybe drinking's OK. Some people appear to get away with it quite well. The spirits industry surrounds us with images of men and women enjoying alcohol in moderation, men and women we'd like to know, like to look and act like. 
	People in the booze ads (and the cigarette ads) apparently live terrific, fulfilling lives, unlike our boring, not-nearly- perfect lives. They refresh themselves spiritually and physically with alcohol. 
	We don't meet those people though, do we, in our world? We never get to walk with them through balmy early-summer fields, wearing loose clothing and satisfied (but never smug) smiles, carrying wicker baskets of bottles and brie and smoking because we enjoy it. 
	We meet the people who enjoy alcohol out on the grimy edge of the highway. We appear in our salty lycra; they're driving home after enjoying fine refreshing spirits in the company of friends. 
	Sometimes, after such adult, sophisticated libation, they make navigational errors and rudely drive into us, surprising us. A tragic mistake but not life-changing, not for them. Somebody down at the bar will know a good lawyer. 
	It occurs to me that certain terrific cycling events are brought to us by the gentle folks who make the spirit beverages I'm begging you not to drink. I love those events; I'd hate to lose even one of them. 
	But - even if every one of you reading this quits drinking today and quietly advocates temperance forever, the sales curves of brewers and distillers will not droop. We'd quit because we thought it was right, not because it would work. 
	Look around, you'll see billboards, magazine and TV ads featuring worthy individuals enjoying adult beverages in festive, supportive surroundings. The booze industry can afford to place opinion-shaping ads anywhere they like. 
	But I can't. And I'm trying to shape your opinion, too. I'd like you to look at those ads (and the drinking they promote) a new way. This article is my own black and white ad for non- consumption: a note in a bottle floating in a sea of drinking-is- hip propaganda. 
	Think of it as a reminder. Booze ads are expensively produced, clever and effective; it's easy to forget that they lie. Why, even the party animal is a fake, a fictional device, created for effect. Spuds is a dog someone clever invented, like Cujo. 

\Quintessential Outdoors-person
Anytime

OUT THERE, SOMEWHERE 
	If you look up the word "outdoors-person" in the dictionary, you will probably find Dennis Coello's picture as the definition. Although is resume identifies his occupation as a free-lance writer, photographer, and editor, he is really an outdoors-person who has figured out how to make a living being where he wants to be and going where he wants to go. He attributes his love of the outdoors to his grandfather. 
	His resume also reveals that he has visited 20, count 'em, twenty different countries and that doesn't include the United States which of course he has been all over. 
	Dennis Coello made his first cross-country bike tour in 1965, and his first around-the-world bike ride in 1974. He has also gone on cross-country retracings of major historic trails, including Lewis&Clark, Sherman's March, and Santa Fe. 
	Some of the most stunning photographs of cyclists have been taken by this multifaceted man who teaches photography workshops. His photographs have appeared in numerous magazines and books covers, postcard series and bike company posters, and calendars. 
	He has written 12 books including the Mountain Bike Repair Book. His many articles have appeared in a multitude of outdoor magazines. 
	But above all of his talents and travels, Dennis Coello is a really nice human being. Talk to him sometime, you'll see what I mean. 

Over the Pass
1984

DEVILS SUMMIT 
	Finally over the pass. This was the last big one on the ride and it had been tough. Starting in the dessert of Nevada, the pass rose quickly and sharply into the Sierra Nevada. Car loads of incredulous tourists voiced their encouragement with yells, honks, and the occasional mindless pop can. They say that the pollution from LA has reached the Sierras, but on this day it nowhere to be seen. 
	I'd rather climb a vertical wall than deal with those cars.... 

A Little Distance
Anytime

THE RIDERS SPIRIT 
	To the riders, the Tour de France is never merely one more race in a long season. Through the rest of the season, though, I've noticed pro riders don't turn each race into a life and death saga. Here's what I mean. 
	On the Tour Du Pont BMW tech motorcycle, mechanic Greg Miller and I follow Fabian Jecker (2nd place) up Wintergreen mountain and across the finish line. Sky's black, thunder cracks, lightning forks down through the clouds. Spitting rain; soon it will pour. 
	Miller hops off, I park the motor, drag my yellow Mavic slicker out of the tank bag and walk back to the finish area. 
	A few riders have crossed the line but most have not. The brutal four-mile climb (seemed farther to me) blew the field apart. I stand maybe 10 yards past the line and watch one totally wasted racer after another pedal across. 
	Steve Hegg (Suburu-Montgomery), soaked with rain and sweat, rolls across the finish line. As he passes, he looks over, says, "Yo, Maynard. How're you doin'?" 
	Hegg takes his job seriously but he doesn't act serious. He keeps a little distance. You sense it if you're around these guys a while. The attitude. 
	Before each stage, guys would roll by, warming up. Some would stop a minute, say hi, maybe ask about the motor. "How do ya like that thing. Run good?" 
	Or during races, riders would drop past us on the way back to their team car for water or to chat. Or we'd have some occasion to pass up through the group. Guys would notice us there and say hi by name, "Hi Greg," or "Hi Maynard," as if they weren't 80 hilly miles into a hard day in the most important stage race in the US. 
	Perhaps you saw this one on TV: a rider who'd been fooling around for a TV camera fell and took down maybe 50 guys. No one suggested finding a rope and a cottonwood tree. Guys shrugged it off, even Nate Reiss, who broke his arm and had to abandon. Reiss turned his palms up. "That's bike racing," guys said. 
	When we did wheel changes or helped racers who had problems, the guys we helped were always relaxed, cool. Miller would do the service, push them down the road. One guy calmly ate his food and watched the caravan go by while Miller laboriously unwrapped the cotton musette strap tangled in his rear axle. 
	Doing their jobs... those guys ride lots of races. The race organizers, the announcers and the press, also doing their jobs, will try to convince you that this race today is probably the most important, toughest, biggest-money race ever held. 
	But pros know, and "pro" amateurs, that (Tour de France excepted) today's race is another bike race, much like the one last week and the one they'll ride a week from now. Can't win all of 'em. The season's long. You pick your places or places pick you. 
	All these guys chose, obviously, to make their living (or at least devote a period of their lives) to racing the bike. Just as obviously, they have to love it. It can't be just a job, just a thing to do. Too hard. 
	But that commitment is a given among their peers. It goes without saying. And having to endure pain and frustration simply comes with their territory. Davis loses lots of sprints. Greg only wins a few races a year. Guys have bad days or bad luck at bad times. 
	If you ride 150 races and win 10 you're a superstar. You lost over 90% of the time but everyone wants your autograph. 
	Even though they are devoted to bike racing on the most intense level, mostly, when you see them, pros don't much want to talk about the race. And when you do hear them talk about races, the descriptions sound different from ones you hear on club rides. 
	You don't hear guys talking about how much they suffered; they seem outside of it. They describe running out of steam and having to slow down without mentioning, as mortals would, the pain of "blowing up." 
	"It was fast," you might hear, "I could hang - or I couldn't." 
	They do what they can. Maybe it's enough at the time to get the job done, maybe it's not. You hear it all described as if they'd observed it, not lived it. Minimum drama. 
	We impose the drama, you and I. To the racers, after dozens or hundreds of races, each one's a task, part of the job, just "bike racing." 
	I watched Erik Breukink calmly win the Du Pont at the last minute in the Wilmington Time Trial. Breukink, just doing his job, pedaled (Beemer speedo) 42mph on flat sections, 25 up short hills, seemingly as calm as my mailman, who just delivered today's mail. 
	Two men at work. I'd rather watch Breukink. However nonchalantly he might describe his job, it looks awfully dramatic to me. 

What a Strange Sight!
May, 1992

SAN FRANCISCO, CALIFORNIA 
	We were riding along in the American Youth Hostel Benefit Ride when we came upon the strangest sight! Two people riding the same bike and sitting side- by-side. I had never seen one of these bikes before, but it turns out that the design is almost as old as the history of the bicycle. Back then, though, the machines were tricycles or quadcycles, but were used for the same purpose that these bikes are finding themselves in ---social, fun riding. 
	We promised ourselves that we would find a dealer and take one out for a test ride. Or call Richard Ballantine or Richard Grant, the authors of Richards' Ultimate Bicycle Book. They are photographed on one of these attention getting machines. 

EDursley-Pedersen Bicycle
1893

EUROPE 
	The first successful bicycle to incorporate a frame designed on scientific principles was the Dursley-Pedersen bicycle created in 1893. To obtain the maximum amount of lateral rigidity Mr. Pedersen designed his cycle frame in a series of triangles. Each triangle was arranged to absorb the principal stress at its apex. The various duplicated small-diameter tubes give the whole frame structure an increased torsional stiffness, and all joints are brazed to increase frame rigidity. The long steering head and front forks form a kind r and turn about two widely spaced pivots. The result is that all tubular members in the triangulated frame are subjected only to compression stress. The frame weighs only 14 pounds. 
	The Dursley-Pedersen was one of the most comfortable and easy-to-ride bicycles constructed so far. The string hammock type saddle is suspended between two apices of the triangular frame and its tension may be varied to suit the rider. Both wheels are of the same diameter and fitted with pneumatic tires. Rim brakes operated by Bowden type levers and cables, full mudguards, pump, belt, lamp bracket and a mounting step are fitted. 
	Later models of the Dursley-Pedersen bicycle had three-speed gears, were superbly finished, and were regarded as one of the more luxurious bicycles available during the Edwardian era. 

Helene Dutrieu
1895

PARIS, FRANCE 
	Although there was tremendous opposition to it from the anti-feminist movement of the time, the bicycle became a vehicle of liberation for women. Liberation from domesticity and isolation. In the area of athletics, however, the restriction or prohibition of female athletes was common to many countries. This was less evident in France where, in the sport of cycling, women performed for results and were honored for their achievements. 
	For example, in 1895, Helene Dutrieu recorded 39.190 kilometers in an hour event and became the women's record holder. Her bicycle is a minimal, brakeless track machine, equipped with the Simpson Lever Chain, which many wrongly thought gave a mechanical advantage over standard chains. She rode professionally for the maker of the chain. Dutrieu had an outstanding cycling career before taking to motor sport and aviation. In 1913, she became probably the first female aviator in France, and was awarded the Legion d'Honneur. 

Mountain Biking and the Environment
Anytime

IN YOUR BACKYARD 
	Absolutely everyone who wanders into the wilderness must take responsibility to minimize his or her impact. Although no-trace use is the code word of the day, all travelers into the wilderness leave an impact, just by being out there-even if it's just a turned pine cone or a lingering odor. If used properly, mountain bikes cause no more environmental impact than hikers. An average mountain bike weighs about 30 pounds, less than a full backpack. On well built trails, vibrum-footed hikers and rolling wheels have about the same impact. On poorly constructed trails and on all trails during bad weather, any user can cause damage. It's up to each user to survey the impact and then make steps to prevent damage, turning around if necessary. 
	There is one specific type of damage that mountain bikes do have an exclusive on-tire ruts. Under the right conditions, a bicycle tire can form a slight impression in the trail which can become a veritable aqueduct during a rain. To prevent this, always watch the trail for signs of damage. Trail conditions can change quickly, so one section of a ride might be fine while the next section shouldn't be ridden. Turn around if you are causing damage. 
	In addition, the virtuous rider picks up stray litter and pitches rocks and branches off the trail. If every rider spent a few minutes picking up litter and maintaining the trails, the difference would be tremendous. 

119th Century Europe
1890

EUROPE, 1890's 
	In an 1890 guide to cycling, written by Wilhelm Wolf, he proclaims, "How greatly does cycling ennoble one's spirit, heart, and frame of mind! When the cyclist roams freely on his steely steed in the godly world of Nature...his heart rises and he bewonders the splendour of Creation." German enthusiasm for cycling as a means for communing with nature could and did reach spiritual proportions. Wolf's book goes on to reveal, along with the popularity of cycling, there arose many social conflicts including those of class, and profession. 
	The professional conflict which arose across Europe with the popularity of cycling seems almost humorous today. Armies were forced to decide whether their officers should cycle in uniform when off duty. In 1891, the Belgian Minister of War banned the practice, but was forced to relent two years later, permitting uniformed riding in the mornings only. The Roman Catholic clergy were deterred from cycling until Pope Leo XIII had a change of heart in 1894. Competitive cycling was felt to be particularly unbecoming for a professional man. Henri Desgrange, who later founded the Tour de France, lost his job with a law firm when his client complained that his activities as a champion sprint rider were incompatible with the dignity of the law. In 1896, a Dutch commissioner of police forbade his men to cycle, even in their free time, and yet in other parts of that country bicycles were being introduced for police work. Once police officers were riding bicycles, they could, at last, chase and apprehend errant cyclists. 

Fat Tire Bike Week
July 1978

CRESTED BUTTE 
	There is nothing in the world of cycling that quite compares to a mountain bike festival. At a mountain bike festival anywhere from a few dozen to hundreds of mountain bikers get together in a scenic area for tours, races and games on their bikes. 
	Most festivals extend over several days, giving cyclists the opportunity to mingle with other riders and explore the area. Guided tours are standard fare, and races are often held in connection with the other activities. Games and contests such as slow races, chainless coasting races, and log pulls help keep the atmosphere informal. 
	The most famous festival is Fat Tire Bike Week in Crested Butte, Colorado. Bike Week started in 1978 when thirteen riders gathered for the second Pearl Pass tour. As the tour became more popular and hundreds of riders came for the annual event, activities were added, and the idea of a festival was born. 
	Other areas where mountain biking was popular followed the example of Crested Butte, and during the early 1980s, festivals sprang up all over the country. 
	The Moab Fat Tire Festival in Moab, Utah brings hundreds of riders every year to the famous Slickrock Trail. Because it is held in October, it includes a Halloween party and costume contest. This is a good place to see the latest products, because manufacturers bring prototype bicycles to Moab to photograph them in the unique Slickrock setting for the next model year. 
	The biggest festival is the Chequamegon Fat Tire Festival in Cable, Wisconsin, which draws 2500 riders every year. 

Bladed Spokes & Filter Smokes
Anytime

AT THE BIKE SHOP 
	Most bike shop employees will go the extra mile to take care of a customer; because, as they say, the customer is always right. Maybe: there's this one guy...used to come in to our store several times a week. 
	First, let me say he isn't a bike rider, exactly; he doesn't RIDE his bike, so much as he OWNS it. Not to sound elitist here, but the cigarettes in his shirt pocket cost him credibility. Bladed spokes and filter smokes don't add up, if you ask me. 
	He'd come in with a part, say a Record rear derailleur. He'd have found a problem with it, perhaps a scratch on the back you could hardly see. He'd declare that part imperfect, unworthy of Campy and of his bike. He'd like another, thank you. 
	He'd say all that good-naturedly, with a little smile. Both of you, customer and counterperson, knew Campy would replace the piece. 
	Then he'd say, "Meanwhile, could you give me a derailleur out of stock, so I can ride my bike? Show me all the Record derailleurs you have, so we can avoid another loser." 
	Then, "No, none of these look OK. Could you order me a really good one, UPS next-day service? Could you ask the distributor to check it out before they ship it, to see if it's just right?" 
	And when it came, was it OK? What do you think? 
	Or he'd want a Cateye Micro cyclocomputer. He'd unseal and open all 12 you had, trying to find the world's one perfect Micro. If you had that one ideal Micro, he'd buy it, but you'd be seeing it again soon. In about two weeks, average. Yup, back that computer'd come, some flaw making it simply unsuitable. 
	Or he'd be interested in a set of exotic time trial wheels, maybe, 24-spoke models, a "purchase" requiring several visits to the store. While there, he'd try to get one employee to contradict another, especially about price, so he could work that price downward. The marked price never seemed to apply - to him. 
	Or he'd get an employee to say something he could use later to claim some guarantee on the product. 
	It'd be: "Randy told me these wheels were plenty strong enough to train on, and here they are out-of-true after two weeks. Are you gonna make 'em right?" 
	So you would make them right, that day and presumably every two weeks right into the 21st Century. Or more likely until he got bored with them and brought them back: not good enough. 
	Or he'd ask an "innocent" question about some product he already owned. Then he'd take your answer to the store down the street and make some other guy's life miserable, until that person took whatever it was back. And replaced it with another, eventually inadequate item. 
	So you never sold him anything that stayed sold. You had him on your hands every day or so, gently, cordially manipulating you into playing along with his program. You found yourself giving him hours of time and access to his endless need: high-budget bicycle products. And watching him pile up more miles walking his racing bike into and out of shops than he ever did pedaling it down the road. 
	He didn't do all this just at the store I worked in. Oh, no; he became notorious in the area. Shop counterpersons laughed about him, shook their heads and bitched about him. Our store instituted a special no-returns policy just for him, the only customer so honored in the place's 30-year history. Another shop retired its (satiric) customer-of-the-month award when he won it every month. Another simply asked him not to come in. 
	I tried to treat him fairly, the same as other customers, but fair treatment was never enough. I believe he felt other customers must be stupid, or they, too, would be as demanding and impossible to satisfy as he was. He started coming in when I was off, dealing with people not as wary of him as I was. About that time I left the retail bicycle business and thought I was through with him. 
	I'd hear rumors about him occasionally. Someone said he'd appeared with a composite frame, got directly from the manufacturer, bypassing all those unnecessary, amateurish dealers. I just shook my head; so much fuss; so few miles. 
	Then, at the trade show, a bike parts importer/distributor from New York asked me if the name ____ ___ meant anything to me, naming my old buddy. He explained that my customer had established contact, by long letters written in English, with such concerns as Modolo and Campagnolo. He sent both those companies orders for parts and included cash money, U.S. bills, several per order. Hey, he was dealin' direct. 
	Neither company knew exactly what to do with the letters. They never sell retail and are never paid in foreign cash. The nice folks at Modolo laboriously translated my old customer's order and shipped him some parts. Soon, the parts came back with a long letter about why they just weren't right and how Modolo could do better next time. I heard recently that Modolo has decided not to spend any further time with our hero. 
	At Campy, I understand, the letter and cash traveled up a baffled management ladder until someone kindly sent the specified freewheel cogs to my old friend. Guess what? The wrong cogs. Back to Italy they went with another letter. Campy returned that one, deciding wisely that enough was enough. *************** 
	This is the fourth ending I've written for this piece. This one, written at the dawn of Mr. Bush's kinder, gentler America, stops short of a mean-spirited personal attack. This ending imperfectly expresses my reaction to the compulsive activity described above. Hey, when I think about the guy, I get hot. 
	Perhaps readers can help. Write and explain to me why a man who does not ride needs titanium freewheel cogs. Tell me why a virtual non-cyclist needs to buy pro-class equipment - factory direct. Help me understand why qualified bike store employees, bright, enthusiastic, helpful employees, should spend hours and energy trying to fulfill this guy's impossible dreams. 
	Bike shop employees are supposed to help customers get what they want or need. I've watched my old friend try and fail to get what he wants for a few years now. And I have a hunch about what he needs; Modolo doesn't manufacture it. 
	I confess I've lost the ability to look sympathetically at this guy's problem. I'm probably way off base. He is, after all, a customer. Guys like that are always right. 

6Food
Anytime

ON A HOT DAY 
	Forget all those articles about forgoing ice cream due to its lack of immediate digestibility. Phooey! It's a hot day. You're under the only shade tree in town with a cold chocolate cone clenched in your left hand. Your tongue is carving symmetrical swirls in the scoops. Indigestion? Unless you're exceedingly intolerant of lactose, I wouldn't even think about it. 
	Well, I don't eat ice cream all the time, or even for breakfast (except when I'm in Italy). For my first meal of the day, I prefer what I call good carbs--easy to digest, stick-to-the-ribs, and simple to prepare. That leaves instant oatmeal with a bit of honey, whole wheat pancakes, fruit, and some warm beverage. Lunch can be a remarkably easy (and satisfying to me) peanut butter sandwich, fruit, some cut-up veggies, and lukewarm water. I find that really cold drinks--especially on hot days--give me stomach cramps. 
	Drink before you're thirsty, eat before you're hungry is a rule whose origin I don't know. Follow it. Empty your water bottle every hour on a ride; if it's warm, drink a pint every half hour, at least. 
	Dinner provides an opportunity for more carbohydrates: the ubiquitous pasta, good bread, and more fruit (or brownies or ice cream). Snacks can be simple dried or fresh fruit, graham crackers, bread or gorp, or food bars. 

Foolproof Drafting
Anytime

IN THE PACK 
	If you've ever watched a bicycle race, you've wondered how the racers could get so close to each other. And then, it seems as if the leader is relinquishing his top place rather easily, as does the next leader, as does the next. What is happening is drafting. 
	As the front position pedals along, he or she is breaking the wind stream with body and machine. If a racer can get close enough and tuck in behind the one in front, he or she does not have to expend extra energy breaking up the air. This energy is saved for a final sprint at the finish line. At the same time, the leader is expending energy combating wind resistance and will tire sooner than other racers. 
	In fact, it takes 80 percent of the effort to follow closely behind a rider who is expending 100 percent of his energy to maintain a certain pace. It makes sense to follow or draft for as much as possible throughout a race. 

@Framebuilding
Late 1970s

FAIRFAX, CALIFORNIA 
	Although people have experimented with bicycles for rough roads ever since the first bicycle was developed, the modern mountain bike originated in California in the late 1970s. The key to this development was combining the balloon tires used on standard American bicycles from the 1930s to the 1960s with the frame and derailleur technology used for road racing bicycles. 
	Framebuilder Craig Mitchell built the first custom off-road bicycle in 1976, and in 1977 Joe Breeze designed and built ten custom mountain bikes that served as the launching point of the off-road industry. Tom Ritchey began building mountain bikes in 1979, and his designs were the basis for the first wave of mass- produced mountain bikes starting in 1982. 
	As the popularity of mountain biking doubled every year during the mid 1980s, designers in all parts of the world added new ideas. Recognizing a new market, manufacturers introduced component groups for mountain bikes in 1983, concentrating on braking and shifting systems that would survive the abuse common to off-road riding. 

?So Many Frames
Anytime

FRAME DESIGNING 
	The first mountain bikes were made of steel, since it is one of the easiest materials to work with, and its properties are well known to generations of frame builders. The use of oversize aluminum tubing for road bikes inspired several designers to use the fatter aluminum tubes to create a stiffer mountain bike frame, although a required heat-treating procedure complicates the assembly process when compared to steel fabrication.. 
	Titanium frames appeared as builders searched for ways to create lighter frames, although the welding process used for this exotic metal is expensive and difficult. Aerospace technology has been applied to bicycles as even more exotic materials have come into use, primarily "composites," which use a strong fiber such as carbon or boron fiber, bound in a matrix material. Some frames use both metal and fiber, with the fiber supporting the metal tubing in key stress areas. 
	Along with the material technology, the process of joining tubing has changed, and now includes adhesive bonding as well as more traditional forms of welding. 
	Every material used for bicycle frames has its own unique properties, and none is "best."  It is up to the designer to find the best use of material, and to the rider to find the bike that best suits the requirements of cost, strength, and weight. 

The Future Machine for Two
2000

RIDING FOR TWO 
	And you thought that today's tandems are attention getters. Feast your eyes on this beauty of the future. Sleek ridin' machine. Oh yeah. Sorry to say, though, this baby is strictly for the racing folks. The people who race at the tracks. 
	Imagining this tandem in motion on a track makes me think of a Concord taking off. Just poetry in motion. Can't wait to see it. Can you? 
	Beyond the Millennium
2001

BEYOND THE MILLENNIUM 
	Friends of the bicycle hail it as the great modern invention: the ultimate means of energy-efficient, nonpolluting, inexpensive transportation. But the current design of the bicycle as we know it is far from perfect. The development of the design, in its first 100 years, has been slow and inconsistent. Traditionalists prevented any experimenting by restricting the design of the bike to a chain-driven machine with two wheels to be ridden upright. In the 1930s, a Frenchman, Francois Feure, rode a recumbent, the Velocar, and smashed the speed records for both the mile and kilometer. The Union Cycliste Internationale (UCI), the governing body for bicycle racing rules, deemed that the Velocar wasn't a bicycle at all, and instantly stunted an interesting branch of cycle evolution. 
	The explosive popularity of mountain bikes, coupled with the pressing ecological need for satisfactory alternatives to the car, have pushed bicycle technology to become increasingly sophisticated. The enormous strides taken in materials technology, micro-electronics, computing, and manufacturing processes mean that the only common features state-of-the-art bikes in the year 2000 will share with those of today are human power, pedals, and wheels. More than ever the bicycle is becoming a highly-refined mechanical extension of the of the body, giving a human being even more potential than any other creature to be the fastest self-propelled mechanism on Earth. This is based on the premise that a fit rider can generate one-third of a horsepower and for short bursts, up to one horsepower; and that pedaling devices are basically chain-driven lever-operated machines that convert human energy into power. Provided a vehicle is light enough, pedal power, in theory, should be able to drive it. 
	The mountain bike changed the cycling business in less than a decade. It was pioneered by outsiders who ignored convention because their vision told them their invention was exciting and easy to ride. Like the mountain bike, Human Powered Vehicles (HPV) that can outrun bikes on level ground and offer seated comfort also come from outside the cycling industry. Could HPVs that offer the bonus of wet weather protection catch on? Environmentally speaking, is there a choice? Will the market develop in the flatlands of Northern Europe, with its ample bike paths and affluent customers? Or will the market develop elsewhere such as Eastern Europe? Only the future will tell. 

Genius Is The Gift Of The Diety
April 17, 1824

LONDON, ENGLAND 
	Should velocipedes be driven by hand or foot? Should the driving-wheels be worked by cranks and treadles, or by a continuous rotary action? And then, how should they be steered and stopped, and how could the drive be made variable so that it would be easier for the rider to adjust his effort to the lie of the land? These were some of the many questions which made up the lively discussions centered around the design of the first bicycles and The Mechanics' Magazine, which was started in 1823, and was full of this kind of inventive energy. Its motto was "Knowledge is Power" and the April 17th, 1824 issue has a confident proclamation on its front page: "Genius is the gift of the Deity; it discovers itself without effort, and is unknown to the possessor." Underneath the quotation is a detailed drawing of a Pedomotive Carriage designed by "K.W. a Welshman." 
	Another six years passed before the time for the velocipede became evident. Reports from all over Europe indicated that its utility was beyond question. A better solution was required, but there were problems with the state of the technology and the state of the roads. Not until 1843 did the state of thinking reach successful and practical implementation notions with Mr. Williams' submission to The Mechanics' Magazine, stating with great foresight support for the idea of a "continued rotary motion produced by the weight of the body as the only true principle" for efficiency. 
	And thus, through the pages of The Mechanics' Magazine, innovative and sometimes crazy ideas evolved the technology for the bicycle as we know it today. These thoughts and ideas on bicycle technology laid the foundations for the development of motorcycles, cars and airplanes. Gradually, motorized bicycles and noisy cars became competitors, filling the quiet cyclists' air with dust and fumes, and making them angry. Some of them were killed by cars and a battle began which is still being fought today. 

Getting Lost
Anytime

WHERE AM I ? 
	Every summer people get eaten by bears gone berserk, miners spot Elvis on horseback, bigfoot performs a brief cameo, and then the tabloids read Astronauts discover Mountain bike in orbit. Its' a sad summertime fact: many people end up on the wrong trail, headed in the wrong direction just about sun begins set. 
	Getting lost in the woods while riding a bike is easier than you might think. If you do find yourself lost, don't panic. If you panic, you might as well subtract a few thousand dollars from your checkbook ledger for all the helicopter fuel it will take to find you. If lost, put on all the warm clothes; try to relax and think with your cortex rather than your thalamus. 
	To avoid getting lost: pay attention while riding along the trail, stay home if severe weather is forecast, and gain an adequate knowledge of the area before setting out. In the end your brain must sift through all the information-maps and trail descriptions, the sun, your compass, the lay of the land-and decide not to get lost. 

QA Long Strange Trip It Has Been
July 1984

SAN FRANCISCO, CALIFORNIA 
	As my mind gushed over the last 5 months, I guided my bike now a close friend, into the Pacific Ocean. My own predetermined symbolic gesture to connect the east with the West. It was appropriate that this was happening at dusk. I started the day, 5 months back, at the Atlantic Ocean and ended my trip along with the day in the Pacific. 
	Whereas in the beginning it seemed an impossibility to bike across this vast country, today, it seemed like a piece of cake that I wanted to devour all over again. Go figure. 
	The Pacific Ocean, contrary to its name, seems to be very angry. This is my first impression of this vast body of water. My first time on the West coast, I have many senses going off at the same time. New smells, new tastes, new everything. The landscape is much more beautiful, dramatic...unspoiled, almost. 
	My body has changed dramatically over the course of my impossible dream come true. Five months of cycling everyday has replaced my once potbelly with a firm muscular one. I feel like a man half my age, and am already thinking about the next ride. 

z
Greg LeMond in the 1991 Tour
July 1991

ALENCON,  FRANCE 
	Greg LeMond, three times winner of the Tour de France, is the greatest American cyclist since the days of AA Zimmerman and Major Taylor. From the beginning of his career in the mid '70's, Greg was bound for glory. As a young rider from Nevada he quickly moved up the ranks, competing in the junior category while still only 14, and soon beating riders with much more experience. With the support of his father, also an avid cyclist, Greg soon became enamored of the sport and its European traditions. By 1977, a 
	t the age of 15, he had already set the goal of becoming a world champion cyclist. He won the Junior World Championship in Buenos Aires, Argentina in 1979 and turned pro the next year. Although too young to ride in the Tour de France at first, which is considered the ultimate challenge of the racing cyclist, Greg began to move up through the ranks of the professional circuit. A major victory came in 1983 where he donned the famous winners rainbow jersey of the World Championship. By 1984 he was ready for t h e Tour. 
	Although primed for victory, it eluded him the first year as he came down with a case of bronchitis. He managed to finish in third place and took the white jersey for the best rookie. The next year he joined Bernard Hinault, the great French rider on the La Vie Claire team. Although he came in second to Hinault in '85, in 1986 Greg LeMond proved himself  by winning the world's greatest sporting event. He was at the top of the world. 
	In 1987 he had broken his hand at the beginning of the season and had gone to spend some time training at his parents home in Nevada. One day while out hunting, Greg was accidentally shot and nearly died from a punctured lung and other wounds. His return to cycling was arduous and during recuperation he even had an emergency appendectomy. But the period gave him a break from the sport that increased his resolve, and after two years he came back to win the Tour again in 1989. This victory was even more impr 
	essive because Greg came from 50 seconds behind in the final time trial to win by 8 seconds, the smallest margin of victory ever in a Tour. Later that year he won the world championship a second time. 
	Still in top form, Greg has gone on to win the Tour de France again in 1990 and the Tour du Pont in May of 1992. Truly one of the greatest cyclists that has ever lived, Greg epitomizes all that is revered in sports: courage and determination combined with a strong sense of gamesmanship and values. He has done more than anyone to bring recognition to the sport of cycling in America, and to open the way for American cyclists in Europe. Greg LeMond is a true hero. 

The Riders
1991

RICHMOND, VIRGINIA 
	Each year at the late, lamented Coors Classic or the Tour Du Pont, the racers impress me all over again, as if I'd forgotten between events. It's not the speed so much. It's that: hey, can those guys ride their bikes. 
	For instance, I always watch them before races as they glide around the start areas, warming up, picking up and dropping off food and warmup clothing, chatting with support workers, fans and other riders, signing autographs, doing who knows what. 
	They pedal though crowds of fast-moving, preoccupied people, people busy doing important jobs of their own. The racers manage to ride around all those people, some of whom look like they're trying their hardest to get in the way. You witness a thousand miracles of bike control an hour. 
	The racers filter through the chaos, faces impassive, pedaling when they can, turning on nothing, standing motionless, whatever it takes. No problem. 
	When local cyclists, even classy, fit-looking ones, appear at starts or finishes on their bikes, you can tell immediately they're spectators. Even if they wear PDM team jerseys, they don't look like PDM riders. 
	Most of us amateur bikie types don't resemble gazelles or greyhounds, it's true, but that's not why we're conspicuous in international class company. We don't have that same fluid, effortless control, as if we were born on the bike. I know I don't. Sniff. 
	Those guys need that control, as you're probably aware. They often ride in fearful weather. They virtually and actually bump each other. They overlap handlebars, they touch wheels, they lean on each other in turns. They ride with one hand on the saddle of another bike or on a car or a motorcycle. 
	They eat on the bike, they pee while riding the bike, they get medical and mechanical attention on the bike. 
	When they get paced back up to the pack by a support car, they follow so close their front wheel brushes the back bumper of the car. Bounces lightly off the bumper. Don't try that at home. 
	They do things that, if you or I did them, we'd simply crash. They do them regularly, just part of the job. After a while, I believe, they forget that all bike riders can't do them. 

Half Down...Half To Go
July 1984

SMITH CENTER, KANSAS 
	The Great Plains State, the setting for the Wizard of Oz, where "amber waves of grain" can actually be seen, this is Kansas. To this day, Kansas remains as one of the leading agricultural states in the Union, despite the growth of its manufacturing industries. 
	The geographic center of the 48 contiguous states lies here, in the north central part of the state. Standing at this point, you are exactly 1630 miles from Boston and 1630 miles from San Francisco. As at any mid-point, you think that it's all down hill from here on. And then you remember that the reason you started out on the East to travel west was to be in shape for the Rockies. Yes, the Rockies remain to be negotiated. 
	The Rockies. This great chain of rugged mountain ranges extends from central New Mexico to British Columbia, Canada for a distance of about 3220 km (2000 miles). They are a geologically complex mountain range with jagged peaks and flat-topped elevations. The Rockies were formed primarily by crust uplifts in comparatively recent times and subsequently reshaped by glacial activity. 
	The Rocky Mountains form part of the Continental Divide which separates rivers draining into the Atlantic or Arctic Oceans from those flowing, eventually, into the Pacific Ocean. This range is divided into four major sections, Southern, Central, Northern, and Canadian; and gives rise to the Arkansas, Colorado, Columbia, Missouri, Rio Grande, Saskatchewan and Snake Rivers. 
	Back to reality. Back to Kansas. Besides the geographic center, tourists travel to Kansas to see the restored frontier town of Dodge City as they continue on to the Rocky Mountains. And now you must, too. 

$Greg's Beginnings
1975

LAKE TAHOE, CALIFORNIA 
	Greg LeMond started riding a bike to help him stay in shape for the love of his life at the time -- downhill skiing. At Wayne Wong's skiing camp, Greg was told that cycling in the off-season would improve his acrobatic skiing. So, although, he found it a drudgery, he decided to put up with it. His dad helped, too. 
	Greg's dad, Bob is an athletic man and in 1975, Greg had to work hard to keep up with him. They rode together and explored the mountains of Lake Tahoe, where they had moved some years before. Soon, they were cycling up to 32.2 km (20 miles) a day. But the summer of 1975 was one which would change Greg's sport of choice forever. It so happened that during this summer, Greg and his dad chased a bicycle race into the mountains and Greg watched two of the hottest bicycle racers in the United States ride a bicycle uphill. Up a very steep hill. 
	With his interest piqued, Greg began to read about cycling and cycle racing. He read about the Tour de France, the toughest and longest stage race; the Giro d'Italia, the Tour of Italy and one of the most scenic races; the Vuelta d'Espana, the Spanish national tour. He also read about the one-day classics - Paris-Roubaix, Blois-Chaville, Grand Prix des Nations. He read about the heroes of the sport: Coppi, Anquetil, Taylor, Goullet, Bobet, and Eddy Merckx --king of the hill. Then he began reading about nutrition and cleared the kitchen of white flour and sugar. He started to hang around bicycle shops. He was hooked. 
	Greg LeMond entered his first official race in 1976 and came in second with second rate equipment. Many recognized his natural talent for the sport from that first race, many would have bet that he would go on to be the first American to win the Tour de France ten years later. Many would have won their bet. 

;Maillot Blanc et Maillot Jeune
1984

PARIS, FRANCE 
	By the winter of 83-84, Greg LeMond had accomplished a lot of firsts in his cycling career, not short of being the first American to win the World Professional Championship road race. He had also placed well enough in other races and found himself in contention for the Super Prestige Pernod Trophy, which is given to the racer who has the most points for the entire season. Like the true champion he is, Greg LeMond continued to do well. He placed fourth in the French classic Blois-Chaville, second in the Tour of Lombardy, and second in the Grand Prix des Nations time trial. With these accomplishments, he clinched the Super Prestige Pernod Trophy and returned to the United States an exhausted yet victorious cyclist. 
	That winter, Greg had a relaxing time along with a much needed rest. In February of 1984, Kathy LeMond gave birth to their first child, Geoffrey James. Greg loved fatherhood, but found that taking care of his son took time away from training and with an infant in the house, there was little time for rest. 
	His first Tour de France required that he get all the training he could get. The cold of the early season was bothersome to Greg and he was overweight from all that relaxing the past winter. He was the world champion and a favorite for the Tour, both of which caused him to put a lot of pressure on himself, making him nervous. 
	After the first few days of the race, Greg LeMond developed bronchitis. That coupled with a severely inflamed foot, dimmed his chances for winning the 84 Tour. He was in eighth place at the beginning of the third and final week and feeling better everyday. He improved his standing by five places, moving up and finishing third overall. This was an impressive showing for a first Tour and he won the Maillot Blanc, the white jersey awarded to the best rookie, for it. 

The Calm Before the Storm
May 17, 1992

WASHINGTON, DC 
	Greg LeMond described the 1992 Tour du Pont as a soap opera, and by the end of the 1000-mile race there had been heroes galore, a dastardly villain, plots and subplots, days of mock-suspense and , as the curtain fell, a very happy ending.   Greg LeMond won the Du Pont giving bicycle racing a major uplift in the United States. He had been the race leader, wearing the symbolic yellow jersey, by only 13 one-hundredths of a second for three stages. He increased the margin to 20 seconds on the last day which happened to be a time trial, his specialty. Recording an overall time of 44 hours, 27 minutes, 13 seconds, LeMond became the first American to win the race, which was in its fourth year and second under the Du Pont label after two as the Tour de Trump. 
	Coming in second, for the third year in a row, was Atle Kvalsvoll, a Norwegian who rides with LeMond for the Z Team based in France. Stephen Swart from New Zealand who rides for Coors Light, came in third.      Previous winners were a Norwegian, Dag-Otto Lauritzen; a Mexican, Raul Alcala; and a Dutchman, Erik Breukink. Both Alcala and Breukink, like LeMond, won the prologue and the race itself. 

Welcome to Bicycle Adventure
Anytime

ON YOUR COMPUTER 
	There is nothing like being out on a bike ride, pedaling along, knowing that your body is the source of the energy which is propelling you forward. IT FEELS GOOD!! 
	We wanted to carry that good feeling indoors, so we created this program. We believe that you're about to embark on the bike ride of a lifetime on your computer! You have joined thousands of others. 
	So, sit back and navigate through the program at your leisure. Choose your own path, we guarantee that you won't take the same trip twice. Look at some of the most beautiful cycling images, read thought provoking fiction, and discover the awesome video clips as you journey around the world. 
	A big part of the story is bicycle safety along with the environmental benefits of cycling more often -- not just for fun, but for commuting, too! 
	Did you know that the bicycle was partly responsible for the shift in our culture in many respects including gender equality and fashion? Well.... 
	The only thing left to say is ---- HAPPY NAVIGATING !! 

America's Biggest Bicycle Race
May, 1992

WILMINGTON, DE 
	The mayor of Wilmington called the Tour Du Pont the East Coast's largest block party as an estimated three million enthusiastic fans turned out by the tens of thousands to line the roadsides for a quick glimpse of the flying peloton. That was just in person. Millions of other cycling fans in 88 countries on six continents caught the action on television, which makes it the third most widely broadcast sporting event in the world! 
	The '92 Tour Du Pont consisted of 11 stages covering 1000 miles of the Northeast corridor of the United States. This year's route coveted plenty of climbing for the contenders. 
	The heavyweights of the cycling world, including Greg LeMond and the Z Team, Gianni Bugno (reigning World Champion) and Laurent Fignon and the Gatorade Team,  Phil Anderson and the Motorola Team, and Davis Phinney of the Coors Light Team represented some of the world class professional racers. 
	Since the race allows both amateurs and professionals to compete, it is an exciting event to catch a glimpse of the current superstars of bicycling and watch up and coming stars ride. The amateur ranks represented a worldwide participation, with teams from the USA, Germany, and Russia. Not only did these young stars get to experience riding with the pros, but the race was a great way to prepare for the upcoming Olympic Games. 
	And ride they did. 
	The racing was fierce throughout the tour. By the time of the final stage, Stage 11, Greg LeMond was wearing the yellow jersey with a 10 second lead on Phil Anderson and 14 seconds on Stephen Swart of the Coors Light Team. Although this last stage was a time trial, LeMond's specialty, he was not letting himself feel comfortable with the lead position. After all, anything can happen in a bicycle race, like a flat tire, so it isn't over 'till it's over. 
	Starting last, the yellow-clad Greg LeMond looked powerful as he wheeled his standard titanium bike with the disc rear wheel and clip-ons along the basically flat course. Although he came in third in this stage, Greg LeMond  was able to maintain his lead and win the '92 Tour Du Pont, once again making cycling history by being the first American to do so. 

Sweet Victory
May, 1992

WASHINGTON, D.C. 
	
	
	Victory ! 
	
	
	Greg LeMond powers across the line in the last stage of the 1992 Tour Du Pont. With an impressive time trial performance, Greg LeMond demonstrated his power as a great cyclist and American hero. Thousands of spectators lined the route to cheer him to the line, all of them ecstatic to see LeMond winning in his own country. The victory was sweet for the rider from Reno.   

Three Gold Medals
1979

WORLD CHAMPIONSHIPS 
	Greg LeMond was the first U.S. cyclist to win the Junior World Championships. He was a member of the first U.S. team to win a medal in the team time trial and the only person to win three medals in the World Championships. 
	Greg was eighteen and had accomplished much in his amateur career. He was looking forward to turning professional after the 1980 Summer Olympics when the U.S. government announced its boycott of the games. Since Greg's well laid plans had him turning professional by 1981, an Olympic medal was dashed out of the picture. 
	Against the advice of U.S. Cycling Federation coach Eddie Borysewicz, Greg felt he was ready to take on the best in the world which meant turning pro and moving to Europe. 
	Although Greg was Junior World Champion, he was not well known outside the U.S. Breaking into the professional ranks was a difficult task evidenced by many a world champion who had come and gone without making a dent in them. Greg needed to attract the attention of managers and coaches of the pro racing teams and he needed to do this in a big way. 
	The U.S. National Team entered the European stage race, the Circuit de la Sarthe, which unlike most other European races, was open to both professionals and amateurs. The objective of the team was to train, not to win. Greg LeMond won this race anyway, becoming the youngest rider and the first American to win a major European pro-am race. This persuaded the French cycling coach Cyrille Guimard, who had been following LeMond's career for over a year, to see him. 
	Guimard like Greg LeMond's fire and felt that he could be a great champion. As it turns out, he later offered Greg a job for the 1981 season. After several hours of back-and-forth and back-and-forth, and a few phone calls to his father, Greg signed his first professional contract in July of 1980 and thus launching what has become one of the most brilliant careers in cycling history. 

The Tuesday after the Sunday
July 1989

CHAMPS ELYSEES 
	Dear Greg, 
	
	
	Way to go. 
	When we talked at the Giro you smiled and said you didn't like racing at the back, just barely hanging on, trying not to get dropped in the mountains. Your form was a long time coming. 
	I worried about you a little then. I thought, oh man, Greg seems kinda demoralized. Maybe he's not cut out for riding just ok, like some unknown in the bunch, adequate but unspectacular. No worries now, huh? 
	Thanks for telling me you had those misgivings, that you weren't seamlessly confident. I felt privileged, "in" somehow, in your confidence at least, not merely another journalist. You talked to me like a friend, a bike rider, not as someone there merely for an interview. 
	Because of that conversation in Italy, I know that on the trail back from your injuries and bad luck, you sometimes felt weak, maybe a little discouraged. Something about you, who knows what, kept you on the bike. Maybe the same something made you strong enough to ride 34 mph into Paris Sunday. 
	Now, your perseverance has been rewarded by what lots of people would call a miracle. All over this country, presumably all over the world, bike riders and race fans are looking at each other, shaking their heads, saying "unbelievable, unbelievable." And it is unbelievable, but it couldn't have happened to a nicer phenomenon. 
	Over the years, you've made every time we've met a pleasure. When I see you in my mind's eye, you're smiling, saying hi, how're you, I read your stories. 
	That was enough for me, Greg. Just winning the World's and being such a super guy was enough. Just winning the '86 Tour and being such a super guy; just going over there, American as apple pie and Greg LeMond, and beating guys we thought were unbeatable: those things were enough. 
	And the whole time, being such a dependably, invariably super guy who loves to ride his bike. That was plenty. 
	You were already a hero in my book; it was a done thing. You've been a hero of mine since the Avocet days when you'd ride away from California's finest fields at Nevada City. 
	You didn't have to win the closest Tour in history to win me over. You certainly didn't have to pull it out like that, in the last seconds, with The Ride. You didn't have to win the Tour with shotgun pellets still in your heart, virtually no team left behind you, nothing behind you in truth but a couple of years of disappointing results.   Some guys gave up on you Greg, when you got 50 seconds down and only that short time trial to get the time back. Guys said, well, he's done a hell of a ride anyway; only a couple of weeks ago, we didn't think he had much of a chance of finishing in the top 20. 
	I never gave up. I thought, Greg's done one impossible ride after another in this race. Maybe he'll do one more. I was afraid to tell people I still hoped, though, afraid I'd speak too soon and something awful would happen. But I never gave up. 
	I talk to guys at bike stores across the country in my job. Some of those guys wouldn't readily admit it hurt to get thrown over their handlebars in a field sprint. They told me they got choked up watching you win that race. Said they could've cried. Some of 'em, Greg, did cry, I'll bet; maybe they'd tell you so if no one else could hear. 
	Race fans think about you coming back after nearly dying from the gunshot. They think about you coming back a little and then needing surgery, and coming back yet again and hurting your leg. They think about you barely being able to finish with the bunch in race after race and still smiling, perhaps ironically, but smiling. Saying hi, how're you doing. 
	They think about how many people wrote you off, claiming you didn't have it, didn't care any more, claiming you'd made such and such an amount of money and lost the hunger. Hey, he'd rather play golf. 
	When racing fans think about those things and then sit riveted and watch you take 58 seconds out of one of the strongest cyclists in the world; when race fans watch you pass your minute man, the Tour favorite, Pedro Delgado; when race fans watch you walk away with the historic best Tour de France in a cliff-hang- ing finale worthy of Indiana Jones, some of them get choked up and maybe cry. You didn't have to do all that for my sake, Greg, you already had me. 
	We're all proud of you for beating Laurent Fignon, for snatching victory from him when he must have KNOWN he had it locked up. We're proud of you as an athlete, as a showman, as a trier. He didn't lay down, we think, he didn't give up. 
	But Laurent Fignon is only, it seems to me, the visible opponent. The shotgun injury, the emergency surgery, the tendon problems, the slow recovery to form, THOSE enemies, teamed up to lead out the self-doubt that threatened you, and threatens us all now and then. Self-doubt, the hardest guy to drop. 
	Thanks, Greg, for taking so much time out of that guy. Thanks for attacking at every opportunity, for hammering on the climbs and charging the descents, for putting your head down into Paris and shaking self-doubt, that cagey son of a bitch, off your wheel. 
	Thanks, Greg, for showing us how it's done. 

yTrack Events
Anytime

ON THE TRACK 
	There are dozens of different bicycle time trial events. The shortest ones are held in velodromes using bicycles with only one gear and no brakes. For instance, the 1000 meter time trial is a world championship and Olympic event that takes a top rider just over a minute to complete. The event is begun from a standing start in a fixed gear, and requires power, concentration, a sense of pacing, and the ability to ride through a great deal of pain for a few seconds that often seems like an eternity. 
	Another important track time trial is the hour speed record, in which a single unpaced rider goes as far as he can in one hour. To hold this record is one of the most admired accomplishments in the world. In 1972, the legendary Eddy Merckx rode 49.431 kilometers in one hour on a conventional track bike. His record stood for twelve years and was considered by some to be unassailable since it had cost Merckx, perhaps the greatest racer of all time, so much pain and suffering. Then in 1984, using a more aerodynamic bicycle with disk wheels, Italian pro Francesco Moser startled the racing world by riding 51.151 kilometers in one hour. 
	The hour record is one of Greg LeMond's goals. He is out to better Moser's record, and like Moser, will use every technological and logistical advantage to do so. He'll have the latest in aero equipment, and he'll ride at altitude, probably in Colorado Springs, where air density, and thus drag, is about 20 percent lower than at sea level. To cut tire friction, a plastic stripe will be painted on the track, this being a tip from Moser. LeMond says he won't do any special training, he just wants to be in peak form when he does attempt it. 
	The hour attempt is a time trial event which is LeMond's specialty. If he is in top form and healthy, there is little doubt that he will be able to add the hour record to his long list of accomplishments. 

Eight Tiny Seconds
July, 1989

PARIS, FRANCE 
	The 76th Tour de France commenced with a 4-mile prologue time trial in Luxembourg. An astounding number of people, more than ever before to date, were set to watch the race. There were the 3750 officially accredited personnel; 13,000 marshals; and 15 million ---count 'em---15 million spectators lining the 1953 miles of this year's tour route. 
	Pedro Delgado was the focus of everyone's attention since his win the previous year and then the subsequent probenecid drug controversy.  Andy Hampsten was the American favorite. Greg LeMond was not far from people's minds, but many did not give him a chance since he had not ridden in the last two Tours and, indeed, had suffered a gunshot wound 18 months previously which had nearly killed him. He was having a bad season. Reportedly, LeMond had decided to quit racing after the season, just weeks before, during the Giro d'Italia. So, it is no wonder that other names like Hampsten, Roche, Breukink and Mottet came up under the favorites-to-win column. 
	It turns out that the decision to quit racing during the Giro d'Italia was probably the turning point in LeMond's miserable season. It seems to have given him the space to regain his confidence and let the champion's force take over. 
	And take over, it did. 
	From winning the first important stage of the race, stage 5 which was a 45-mile time trial, it was clear the champion was back in top form. The rest of the Tour was a breathtaking set of stages, with the battle between Laurent Fignon and LeMond lasting until the last stage. At the outset of this stage, which was an unprecedented 15.5-mile time trial, Fignon was leading by 50 seconds. This was a large enough margin that many thought was too great to overcome in such a short distance. 
	Those lining the Champs Elysees to watch the last stage were awed by Greg LeMond's speed which some estimated at 40 mph. At any rate, his speed seemed to be blowing everyone else away. He was awesome. In the end he had averaged 34.52 mph for the duration of the 15.5-mile time trial, making it the fastest individual time trial longer than 10 km ever ridden. Laurent Fignon not only lost the 50 second lead, but another 8 seconds to make Greg LeMond the winner by the slimmest margin ever to win a Tour de France. 
	This win has been attribute to three things. 1) An aero-bar which LeMond used to give him a triathlon-style riding position. It is a Scott USA Clip-On bar. Wind tunnel test indicate that this bar/position gave him an advantage of up to 4 seconds per mile over Fignon's standard position. 2) An aero-helmet which was a prototype Giro "Bullet"  design in the shape of a smooth tear-drop. Wind tunnel tests indicate that this helmet design gave an advantage of about one second per mile over Fignon's bare head. 3) Without invalidating the advantages of the technology, it was Greg LeMond who took the risks in using them, and it was Greg LeMond who pushed himself, both mentally and physically, to the max to win the 76th Tour de France. 

`Eating Up The Road
Anytime

ACROSS THE USA 
	My belly filled with oatmeal, toast, and coffee...my heart warm with the desire to pedal on, I mount my bike and off we go. Onward. Today, the road is inviting almost pulling me to its elusive end. 
	My ride began nearly a month ago when I decided that I could no longer put off a childhood dream to cycle across the country. I would always be able to find a reason not to go, but would I always have the body to be able to keep putting it off? I thought, NOT! 
	I am 37 years old. I am not racing to beat any time or anything remotely close to that. As a matter of fact, the opposite is true. I am taking a leisurely trip, as if I am on day trips all along the way. My average, after about a month of cycling, is about 40-50 miles a day. Sometimes I have had to pedal real hard to beat a storm, or pedal longer than I wanted to so that I would end up at a campground, but mostly, I am pedaling at my own pace. A slow and steady pace. 
	This morning, I pedal not too fast, not too slow. The air is crisp and the only sounds are those of the ride: the air passing my ears and hitting my skin, the tires rolling, rolling, rolling on the road, the chain as it goes around and around on the derailleurs. I notice that I am smiling. The aches of yesterday's trek have almost disappeared. I feel my body changing, becoming more muscular with every mile I pedal. 

Hauling the Wood
1988

CHINA 
	In China, traffic noise means the whirring of bicycle wheels and tinkling of bells. Throughout South Asia, pedal vehicles rigged with trailers, baskets, and load platforms haul everything from passengers to squealing pigs and sacks of rice. 
	Rural transport in developing countries consists mainly of moving farm goods and supplies and gathering household necessities such as fuel and water each day. Across these cultures, farmers typically need to haul loads up to 150 kilograms (330 pounds) over moderately long distances. 
	These tasks do not call for a truck or car, but they do require some intermediate kind of vehicle. Throughout the tropical countries, even a "small" load of 30 kilograms (66 pounds) becomes a crushing burden when carried on the head, back, or shoulders. Headloading and other forms of human portage can severely injure the spine, joints, muscles and internal organs. 

Stay A Head, Wear A Helmet
Anytime

ON YOUR HEAD 
	Over half of all of the critical injuries and deaths in cycling accidents result from damage to the head. If you value your skull, wear a helmet. A helmet should fit so that it moves when you wrinkle your brow and doesn't impede your front or peripheral vision in any way. Besides the obvious protection they provide in the event of a fall, helmets are helpful when it comes to the weather. It is hard for the rain to get through a helmet. On a hot day, helmets, which are made with vents, keep the sun from baking your head unmercifully. They are also a good place for rear view mirrors. When you wear a helmet motorists usually give you more respect. 

oHey Ed
Anytime

IN A RACE 
	"Hey, Ed, check that guy out. This must be the first century ride he's ever done. I mean, can you believe that bike? It looks like the one they give you free when you buy the stereo." 
	"Yeah, and by the sound of that chain, he hasn't oiled it since day one. He's getting more noise out of that chain than he'll ever get from the stereo." 
	"You got that right. Hey, Ed, Mr. Macho has steel cranks, yet. When was the last time a serious rider used those? I'll bet he thinks Campagnolo is a liver disease, and aluminum bike parts are the work of the Devil." 
	"Steel handlebars and rims too. He's toting a lot of iron. Looks like his tires are a littler low, too. He'd go a lot faster if he pumped up his tires." 
	"For him, that bike's just something to have fun on. Guys like us, we take pride in our bikes." 
	"The setups on cheap bikes amaze me. Look at the cluster: 14- 36, with a 52/40 up front and 165 millimeter cranks. It looks like it was put together from the sweepings on the factory floor. And the position! Saddle too low, stem four inches too long, and somebody sold the poor slob a frame two inches too small." 
	"Hey, Ed, if he ever discovers toe clips, he might be dangerous. The reason that guys us are more efficient riders is because we know about position and equipment." 
	"If the bike's funny, what about the costume? Wait until the wind picks up and he finds out how warm that T-shirt isn't." 
	"Hey, Ed, it's his version of a fashion statement. The effect I like is the knee socks and sneakers. He looks like he left a touch football game for this ride." 
	"Naw, the baseball cap gives it away. It was a softball game. He probably thinks that when you turn it around backwards like that, it magically becomes a regulation bicycle helmet." 
	"You know, Ed, he looks like a strong fella. He might turn into a good rider if some experienced guys like us were willing to take him in hand and show him a few things about the sport." 
	"I don't know if I would ever have time for a project like that. After he learned something about equipment and clothing, he'd need a lot of coaching. Muscles he has, style he ain't. He's practically pedaling with his heels." 
	"You read my mind, Ed. It's because he's in a giant gear and because the seat is too low and too far forward. Why is it that beginning riders always ride in a gear twenty inches too high? See how he rocks from side to side. Guys like us, we're smooth." 
	"It makes him feel macho. If you point out to them that they're working too hard, and that they should shift down and learn to spin more effectively, they tell you that they do it for the exercise anyway, so 'what's wrong with working a little harder?' He could learn a thing or two from guys like us." 
	"He's really a masochist, isn't he? Hey Ed, at least he has something good going for himself. If there's one thing guys like us learn, it's how to suffer. We can take pain, and we can dish it out." 
	"I feel sorry for the guy. People who get into the sport the way he is can't get into it right. They ride cheap bikes that don't fit or work too well, they wear uncomfortable clothing, they don't listen to guys like us who want to give them a few hints on what they're doing wrong. And to top it all off, they take on a tough ride like this one that's too long for their ability." 
	"Yeah, Ed, those are the people who say, 'I tried cycling, but it wasn't for me.' The bike winds up in the garage with two flat tires that they never get around to fixing, the chain rusts itself into a piece of re-bar, and then it finally gets lent to the neighbor kid who gets it barely running and totals it inside a week." 
	"Somebody should do him a favor and slip a cycling magazine under his door. Maybe if he stumbled across some information accidentally, he'd see some of the stuff he's doing wrong." 
	"Quiet, I think he heard you." 
	"Hey, Ed." 
	"Humph?" 
	"I don't think we're going to catch him." 

Hobby-Horse
1791

PARIS, FRANCE 
	The hobby-horse bicycle, also known as a 'dandy horse', originated in France and was introduced into England in 1818. 
	This odd machine, the ancestor of the bicycle, was propelled along by the rider sitting astride and energetically thrusting backwards on the surface of the road, alternately using his right foot and then his left. 
	At first this new form of personal transportation aroused much ridicule, but soon the physical challenge and novelty of riding the hobby-horse bicycle increased its popularity throughout Europe. 
	The hobby horse is configured with a main horizontal wooden beam, or backbone frame, on which is mounted the saddle pad. This beam is strengthened with metal straps. At the front end of the beam a nearly vertical iron fork accommodates the front wheel, and a similar fork at the other end carries the rear cart-type wheel. The wheels are made of wood and fitted with iron tires. The bicycle is steered by handlebars attached to an extension of the front fork. The complete hobby-horse bicycle is very heavy, some models weighing as much as 60 pounds. In 1820 the standard model cost about L8 - L12 (English pounds). It is estimated that some 3,000 were built throughout Europe and quite a number still exist in various private collections and museums. 

lHoneybee Loves to Ride
Anytime

SAN FRANCICO, CALIFORNIA 
	I love to ride my bike. I don't experience the feeling of freedom like I do when I'm pedaling my machine. Having said that, I have to figure out how to bring together my cycling love with my other love in my life. My cats. You don't have to reread those last two words. You read them right the first time. My cats. My feline buddies. 
	From a metaphysical perspective, felines and cycling go together really well. The practical perspective is hanging me up, though. I plan on cycling across country one day, and I want to figure out how to bring my cats along. So, you understand why Honeybee was of such interest to me when she was pointed out to me at the American Youth Hostels Benefit Ride in San Francisco. 
	It turns out that the AYH Benefit Ride was Honeybee's third ride. Her cycling partner didn't like leaving Honeybee home when she went on these rides and she was going more often these days. So, she dediced to see how her canine companion would like riding up front, with the wind blowing in her face. 
	LIKE ? 
	It's been more like LOVE. From the beginning. 
	It was great to ride along side Honeybee for awhile. She never once turned to look at me, no matter how friendly my voice. I think she was in Dog Heaven, sitting there in the handlebar bag, blazing the trail and setting an example for other animal lovers to try out this arrangement. 

_Hotter'N Hell Hundred
Annually

NEAR WICHITA FALLS, TEXAS 
	80 miles into the Hotter'N Hell Hundred... 
	Sure it's hot. What'd you expect from north Texas in summer, up here near the Oklahoma line? Why else would they call this the Hotter'N Hell? 
	Heat's a headliner here; wind's the backup band. Texoma winds don't gust and knock you around. Oh no. Texoma headwinds lean into you, push on your chest, hold your cyclometer numbers down in the low teens. 
	A hundred miles in 104 degree Wichita Falls heat takes a long time at 13 point 5 mph. Long time. 
	Texoma terrain's not so bad; wind and heat're enough. After 50 or 60 miles you thought was easy rolling, that small chainring starts looking mighty good. 
	Something out here in the Texas countryside saps you. Says to you: hey, that last little hill felt harder than it should've. Better pull into the next rest stop, get something cold to drink, maybe pour over your head. 
	A rest stop can't be much farther; HTH sets them up every 10 miles, and it's a good thing they do. Heat problems slip up on you. You start to feel lightheaded, a little wobbly on your bike. Like now. 
	Oh good. There's a series of little verse signs leading to the rest stop: "You've tried the rest, now stop at the best," like old Burma Shave ads. Volunteers dressed as Superman and Mighty Mouse are out in the road directing traffic. Even lightheaded and wobbly, you can get in and out without problems. 
	You coast over to one of the poles supporting the huge canvas canopy, intending to lean your bike on the pole. Before you get your second foot unclipped, an HTH volunteer runs over with a tray of large glasses of Sparkletts ice water, straight or with Exceed. 
	You down a frosty paper cup of Exceed in seconds. A wave of OK rushes over you. You lean your precious bike against something, anything, glad to have it out of your sight. You step under the canopy, out of the relentless Texoma sun. 
	You stall there, trying to decide whether to stand still in the shade, sit on a lawn chair or chaise lounge or go for some fruit or cookies. A nurse, smiling, wearing a stethoscope, walks up. How're you doing, she asks. She looks at your eyes, listens to your answers. Confident you're OK, she smiles, walks away looking for another refugee from the heat. 
	A smiling guy with a military-short haircut reaches into a 55-gallon drum of icecubes, pulls out a rented white towel, hands it to you. You wipe salt off your face and out of your hair. You chill the back of your neck with the wonderful icy white towel. What an invention, the towel, you think. 
	After a minute, the guy takes back your wonderful towel, hands you a freshie. An even better towel. You love the guy and grin at him. He grins back. Where do they find these people, you wonder. Like this towel guy. And the nurse. So nice. 
	Later you'll read that there are 3,000 Wichita Falls people, 700 of 'em medical workers, helping 12 or 13,000 cyclists on this ride. All those volunteers smiling, friendly, genuinely concerned with how you're doing. Amazing. Texas: amazing. 
	A moment of weakness hits you, unused as you are to the heat, spoiled by cool northern California. You decide to opt for the chaise lounge, and right now would be fine, thank you. You half sit, half fall, down onto the chair. 
	The nurse and the towel guy hover over you. A third support worker, a woman, shows up with slices of melon. A fourth offers a tray of iced drinks. 
	Someone hands you a glass of Exceed. The towel guy puts fresh white terricloth, icecubes rolled in it, on your forehead. The nurse looks at your eyes and skin for signs of what happens to riders who do too much in this much heat. She smiles; you must look OK. 
	The towel guy suddenly, in quick swipes, drapes three iced towels across your dusty, sweaty, aching legs. A cold delicious rush breaks over you, indescribable in family cycling software. 
	The iced-towels-across-the-legs thrill causes you to moan in a way you seldom do in public places. The towel guy grins. You think: I love the towel guy. I'll never forget you, you tell him. And you don't. 
	The nurse grins too, says, "Better than sex, isn't it?" 
	Oh yes, you answer. And lasts so much longer, too. 

Iditabike Race
July 1987

KNIK, ALASKA 
	Perhaps the most unusual mountain bike race in the world is the Iditabike, which takes riders 200 miles on Alaskan dogsled trails in the middle of winter. Temperatures for the race range from freezing to twenty degrees below zero. The course is a loop starting and ending in Knik, Alaska, known among mushers as the sled dog capital of the world, and the bicycle racers travel along the famous Iditarod trail for much of the course. 
	Competitors are required to carry survival gear in the event of a blizzard or if they get lost. A six hour rest stop at some point on the course is mandatory; for most this is the halfway point in the remote town of Skwentna. 
	In addition to the distance and the snowy trails, Iditabikers must deal with the extreme temperatures carefully to avoid injury, and there have been cases of frostbite among riders. Despite the competitive aspects, many riders find that cooperation among groups is necessary just to complete the course. 
	In the first Iditabike in 1987, riders pushed their bikes as much as 60 miles of the trail because warm temperatures and soft snow made the trail unrideable. In 1990, soft snow forced the cancellation of the race before the halfway point. 
	The Iditabike has spurred the development of adaptations of the bicycle to snow, as competitors try to out-invent each other. On some bikes, two or three tires are mounted side by side on specially built wheels for extra traction and flotation, much as a snowshoe spreads weight over a larger area. 

If
1989

LA SPEZIA, ITALY 
	You're reading the words of a changed man. Until today, I thought that somehow, IF I'd started riding younger, IF I'd learned to train diligently, IF this and IF that, I might have had a modest career as a pro cyclist. After today, I know that could never have been. 
	This morning, at the start in La Spezia, Jim Ochowicz asked me if I'd like a ride in his car, the 7-11 #2 car, the one that follows the pack. Sure, I said, pleased to have gotten the invitation from Och and his mechanic, Jonathan Shaller, happy to feel so "in." 
	We laughed a lot in the car. We talked about the bicycle industry, about Italian bikes, the most beautiful in the world, and Eddy Merckx bikes. We talked a lot about Italian food and a little about Italian women, also the most beautiful in the world. 
	You'd have loved being along in that car. You'd have loved it on the flat sections of the road, rolling along behind the pack. Sometimes we could see the riders ahead, dots of color sweeping across the incredibly green spring Italian landscape. 
	We'd follow the riders slowly up the long, twisting, steep hills, hard hills. They'd use 39-25 on those hills. On one climb, the organizers had hung a sign reading, 125 Kilometers to go. What a blow to read a thing like that, Jonathan said, from his home in the back seat, calm and capable back there with his wheels and bottles and race radio. 
	On these hills, and to a lesser extent on the flats, the road is a tangle of bikes, cars and motorcycles. The support vehicles move smoothly, sinuously, in and out of line, up and back. Riders and drivers talk, bottles and warm-up clothing change hands, all is well. 
	I watch, amazed at the closeness, the feeling that all this is happening in 'way too little space in the road. Cars drive three inches apart, side by side. Motorcycle fairings miss roof rack extensions by an inch and a half. Bicycle handlebars miss car doors by an inch. 
	It's a miracle you can read any of the stuff painted on the sides of the team cars; the drivers do their utmost to scrape it all off onto other cars, motorcycles, spectators and cyclists. 
	Italian fans line the roads. On the steep climbs, they form a tunnel, two human walls, arms reaching out into the three-foot gap the riders must pass through. The walls expand, then contract again as bikes and cars squirt through. 
	Occasionally, a fan will jump into the road to push a rider, a hand on the racer's butt, shoving him maybe 10 or 15 yards up the hill. We barely miss a few of them as they scramble back to their places on the roadside. As we follow racers up the hill, waiting for a chance to pass safely, our car stays maybe two feet behind them. They never notice. 
	In the car I am continually jittery, a low-grade general nervousness; I smell danger every second. I never quite relax. 
	I lose it completely on the descents. The descents are howling trips in hell for a timid soul like me; screaming engine, shrieking tires, forgotten plastic coffee-spoon sliding endlessly side to side on the dash shelf, me white-knuckled holding the door handle, left elbow clamping the seat-back, teeth gritted, unbelieving; can this be what it's like? 
	I'd hang my elbow out the open window and hold on like that but I'm afraid Och'll take my arm off against some mountainside or another car. 
	Och, meanwhile, steers with one hand, checks his watch. He calls Noel Dejonckheere on the car-to-car radio. He listens to the Italian-language race radio, picking words out of the excited commentary, words he wants or hates to hear. 
	He gets nervous, quiet, he frets. It's another day in the 7-11 mobile office, an office that pushes its front end into corners, an office with broken dash instruments, no gas gauge and no speed limit. But enough about Och; Och is fine. Back to me, frozen, wide-eyed in fear and wonder... . 
	On the descents, I live through moments that reveal how impossible (ridiculous) my dreams have been. And how far I am and my friends are from bicycle racing as it is practiced here where life is real. 
	On the descents, long, kinked, well-surfaced under the trees, rhythmless, no two turns alike, a lane and a half wide, the road is wall-to-wall bikes, cars and motorcycles. Fans stand on the shoulders, sometimes out on the pavement, their lives in their hands. I watch as we skim by them, my heart in my mouth. 
	We scream into downhill switchbacks, 180 degree turns, front tires scrubbing, G-force slamming me back and forth, 18 inches behind the Ariostea team Citroen wagon, 18 inches, an Italian motorcycle patrolman so close to the car I can read his radio instructions. I'm alarmed, if I may say so. The road straightens slightly; Dag-Otto drops back to our car for water and cokes. He takes maybe five bottles/cans, stuffs them into his jersey pockets, down the front and up the back of his jersey, liquid for himself and, I guess, Jeff and Bob and Gerhard and Ron, everybody but Andy. Andy, thankfully, is 'way up the road; someone else will hand Andy bottles. 
	I watch Dag-Otto as we roar down the hill; he rides no- handed, six inches from a ton and a half of Renault, stowing bottles, the same Dag-Otto who just three weeks ago accepted a $50,000 check from Donald Trump, this moment at hazard, as I see it, for his life on this insane descent, asking Och for cokes. 
	No cokes in the car, Och says. We'll get cokes. On the way to get cokes, it seems to me, we take incredible risks every minute, maybe every second. We move up and back in the line of cars and bikes and motorcycles, the bicycles spread out over minutes in the road now, the mountains and the day after day racing separating the stage racers from the rest. 
	Och calls Noel, up in the front car, every few minutes; what've you got up there? Noel tells us the state of the break. Och and Jonathan muse about what could happen, who could get away with Andy, Jonathan wishing out loud, Och quieter, more realis- tic, colder, tougher. 
	I see, out the window of 7-11 #2 what these riders must do in their jobs. I see the hills are hard. I see sweat, or saliva, dripping from the chin of a 135-pound world-class climber. 
	I watch an Italian racer risk disqualification, hanging onto our door post for a half-mile on a climb, telling me he's out of "benzina," fuel, then letting go and grabbing the roof rack of the car in front of us, his bike at a crazy angle to the road. 
	I see riders in groups descending these insane roads at speeds undreamed of in our USCF world, cars and motorcycles next to them, in front of them, behind them, everywhere. No mistake, no minor miscalculation, will go unpunished. Don't blow it. 
	Lose it on this road, fly over that joke guardrail, and you'll be able to overhaul your bike before you land. You'll have time to remember every girlfriend you ever had and a few you just wished you had. 
	I see how dangerous, how crazy, how impossible bike racing is on this level. I see that you'd never imagine it like this unless you'd been inside the race; you can't tell from seeing it on TV or in photos or watching from the side of the road. No one writes about this stuff. It's a war in here. 
	I try to imagine what readers will think as they read this. Will they see it as I did? Will they think I'm exaggerating? Will anyone believe me? 
	Well, do you? Do you? 

In One Era, Out The Other
Anytime

AT THE BIKE SHOW 
	At the bicycle show, if you stood in just the right spot, you could see into two eras. From right in front of the little Hetchins booth, you could see both the one Hetchins frame and the big splashy Screamin' Eagle frame booth across the way. 
	You did not have to elbow through a crowd of oohers and aahers to admire the Hetchins. Across the aisle, on the other hand, the Screamin' Eagle booth was jammed with people talking business. High-tech Screamin' Eagle business is good; Hetchins- style business, I believe, is quieter, thus this article. 
	Hetchins bicycles could only be English. They are emblems of a prouder British past, when that nation was an industrial giant and craftsmanship was in flower. A Hetchins frame represents hours of painstaking hand construction by the builder himself. The man whose name is on the frame built it. 
	The most famous Hetchins frame (known to several dozen people in the U.S.) is the "curly-stay", characterized by gracefully bowed seat- and chainstays. Nowadays, those curved frametubes look antique and quaint, but still lovely. 
	Hetchins frames have curved tubes because back a few decades, English officials thought that advertising on bikes tainted pure amateur sport. But builders wanted readers of Cycling, the weekly paper, to be able to spot their products in race photos. They developed frame designs fans could identify without decals. They used such curiosities as curly rear triangles, funny-shaped forks and seats stays that joined the top tube inches in front of the seat cluster. Charming stuff. 
	Most Hetchins that reach the U.S. feature incredibly ornate hand-cut lugs and fork crowns. The filagreed fork crown trim often extends a couple of inches down the fork blades. The bottom bracket tangs and brake-bridge trim could be equally fancy. Someone very skilled spends hours and hours fashioning those lugs and crowns, probably someone named Hetchins. 
	Across the aisle, surrounded by people, was the new-as- tomorrow Screamin' Eagle, computer-designed, made of something or other from aerospace research and looking ever so sleek and state-of-the-art. I didn't ask anybody, but I'll bet the price of the Hetchins and the Screamin' Eagle are close to the same. 
	I'll also bet that curvaceous new Screamin' Eagle is great to ride. I believe claims that it flexes not at all in the vicinity of the bottom bracket. I'll concede that it has chain stays that could strike awe in the hearts of bridge abutments in the area of rigidity. 
	I'll even admit that the one-piece look might grow on an owner, that he or she might get to like it. I'll even go along with test reports that the pricey device combines track-bike stiffness with boulevard ride. I still don't want one. 
	But perhaps you do. And perhaps you're in a position to afford one. There are lots of reasons to buy a bike like one of those and there'll be lots of encouraging, admiring voices. Here's a tiny note of dissension from a guy who would never claim to be objective. My argument is entirely emotional. There's nothing the matter with those bikes. 
	When you buy a Hetchins, or a Richard Sachs, or a DeRosa, or a U.S. Terry, you are paying for hand assembly of known components. You are paying for a certain number of hours spent by an artisan who, in many cases, has YOU in mind. The frames cost good money because tube sets and lugs and hours of a craftsperson's time cost good money. 
	Let's say you buy one of the new Screamin' Eagles, let's call it model One. A component of your desire for that frame will be its stature as the Latest Thing. Sadly, a year from now or a month from now, those rascally Screamin' Eagle constructors will unveil model Two, and perhaps Three, the deluxe version with all the glue-ons. Your bike will ride just as well, but it will have lost its "ultimacy". Has to happen. Part of what you paid for has vanished. 
	Every Hetchins ever sold remains a source of pride to its owner. So does every DeRosa, every Sachs. Truly handmade bikes will never flood the market, because craftspersons' hands can only work so fast. And a year-old Eisentraut loses nothing, in real or perceived value. 
	Because bicycles are so perfected, because they do not have motors, because they can only do what you are able to cause them to do, there are only tiny differences between the dozens of good ones. By opting for the latest, trickest thing you set yourself up for eventual dissatisfaction. It's never the latest for long. 
	And the truth is: if you and your buddy go to the races, you on your monument to far-seeing science and your friend on his stone-age brazed-up steel sled, whichever of you is stronger and smarter will win. That's a wonderful aspect of cycling, and it's an aspect some people would prefer you forgot. Long enough for your credit card approval to light up the screen. 

Bicycle Adventure Index
Look It Up !

ALEXANDRIA, EGYPT 
	Welcome to the Bicycle Adventure Library! You can use the card catalog in the library picture to find any topic you wish. 
	Just click on the card catalog drawer containing the topic you want to find, then click on the topic itself. Bicycle Adventure will take you right to a screen on that topic. 
	Though electronic libraries such as this one are new, other types of libraries have been around for ages. One of the earliest libraries was a collection of about 10,000 clay tablets discovered in Nineveh (an ancient city in what is now Iraq) during an archaeological excavation in 1850. 
	But perhaps the greatest storehouses of knowledge in the ancient world were the great libraries at Alexandria, Egypt. These libraries were greatly expanded by Ptolemy Philadelphus, the son of one of Alexander the Great's generals and the ruler of Egypt. They were frequented by many great scholars from throughout the Mediterranean world. 
	The Alexandrian libraries held a huge collection of volumes from throughout the Hellenistic world. Various estimates put the collection at anywhere from 400,000 to 700,000 volumes. 
	But as Alexandria declined in political importance, it appears the libraries also declined, and in 640 AD were completely destroyed in a fire of unknown origin. 

Healthy Planet, Healthy People
Anytime

ENVIRONMENTAL ORGANIZATIONS 
	
	BAY AREA RIDGE TRAIL COUNCIL        116 New Montgomery, Ste. 640    San Francisco, CA 94105    tel.: 415-1543-4291.     Working to establish a 400-mile trail system in California's Bay Area. 
	
	BICYCLE FEDERATION OF AMERICA         1818 R St. NW,     Washington, D.C. 20009     tel.: 202-1332-6986     Promotes all aspects of bicycling, publishes Pro Bike News, and conducts research on bike- trail planning and safety. 
	
	BICYCLE HELMET SAFETY INSTITUTE         4611 Seventh St.     South Arlington, VA 22204     tel.: 703-1486-0100      Document center on all aspects of bicycle helmets 
	
	THE BICYCLE NETWORK         P.O. Box 8194     Philadelphia, PA 19101.     Publishes cycling calendar and The Network News, a bicycle clipping service. 
	
	BIKECENTENNIAL         P.O. Box 8308     Missoula, MT 59807     tel.: 406-1721-1776     Largest non-profit recreational cycling organization. Has 28,000 members. Publishes The Cyclist's Yellow Pages. 
	
	CAMPAIGN FOR NEW TRANSPORTATION PRIORITIES         900 Second St. NE, Ste. 308     Washington, D.C. 20002     tel.: 202-1408- 8362.     Coalition of environmental, labor, and consumer organizations. 
	
	CANADIAN CYCLING ASSOCIATION         1600 James Naismith Dr.     Gloucester, Ontario KlB 5N4     Canada     tel.: 613-1748-5629. 
	
	HUMAN POWERED TRANSIT ASSOCIATION         P. O . Box 1552      Reseda, CA 91337     tel.: 818/988-7728.     Promotes bicycle commuting. 
	
	INSTITUTE FOR TRANSPORTATION AND DEVELOPMENT POLICY (ITDP)         1787 Columbia Rd., NW     Washington, D.C. 20009     tel.: 202/387-1434.     Non-profit organization that promotes sustainable, non-motorized transportation systems. Umbrella organization for Mobility Haiti. 
	
	INTERNATIONAL HUMAN POWERED VEHICLE ASSOCIATION         P.O. Box 51255      Indianapolis, IN 46251      Promotes human-powered vehicles of all kinds. Produces the yearly Human Powered Vehicle Championships. 
	
	LEAGUE OF AMERICAN WHEELMEN (L.A.W.)         190 W. Ostend St., Ste. 120     Baltimore, MD 21230      tel.: 301/539-3399      National organization of bicyclists. Has 21,000 members. Publishes Bicycle USA. 
	
	NATIONAL BIKE REGISTRY         1832 Tribute Rd.     Sacramento, CA 95815     tel.: 800/848-BIKE      For $5 a year, registers bike. Helps with recovery. 
	
	PACELINES      43 Upton St.      Boston, MA 02118     Cycling network for gay and lesbian cyclists and their friends. 
	
	RAILS-TO-TRAILS CONSERVANCY     1400 Sixteenth St. NW, Ste. 300     Washington, D.C. 20036      tel.: 202/797-5400      A nonprofit organization dedicated to converting abandoned railroad rights-of-way into multipurpose trails. 
	
	TRANSPORTATION ALTERNATIVES     494 Broadway     New York, NY 10012     tel.: 212/941-4600     Devoted to improving bicycle access. 
	
	WORLDWATCH INSTITUTE    1776 Massachusetts Ave. NW     Washington, D.C. 20036     tel.: 202/452-1999     Non-profit organization that publishes The State of The World and other books of worldwide environmental concern. 
	
	WOMEN'S CYCLING COALITION     P.O. Box 281     Louisville, CO 80027     tel.: 303/666-0500. 
	
	WOMEN'S CYCLING NETWORK     P.O. Box 73     Harvard, IL 60033.     Promotes women's participation in bicycling. Publishes newsletter. 
Take A Look Back
1890

ALL ABOUT CYCLING HISTORY 
	
	THE WHEELMEN     1708 School House Ln.     Ambler, PA 19002     Nationwide club interested in old bicycles. Organizes regional and national meets. 
	
	CARILLON PARK     2001 S. Patterson Blvd.     Dayton, OH     513/293-2841     Has a reproduction of the Wright Cycle Shop. 
	
	MOUNTAIN BIKE HALL OF FAME AND MUSEUM     P.O. Box 1961     Crested Butte, CO  81224     303/349-7280. 
	
	U.S. BICYCLING HALL OF FAME     34 E. Main St.     Somerville, NJ  08876     908/725-0461     Has memorabilia and information on inductees in the Hall. 
	
	CANBERRA BICYCLE MUSEUM     2 Badham St.     Dickson, ACT     Australia     062-48-0999     This museum has an assortment of old bicycles, including a clunky 40-passenger model which spans an entire wall. 
	
	NATIONAL MUSEUM OF SCOTLAND     Royal Museum of Scotland     Chambers St., Edinburgh     Scotland  EH1 1JF     031-226-7534, ext 219     Has a bicycle collection started in 1810. Includes everything from a hobby horse once owned by the Earl of Eglinton to a mountain bike made in Edinburgh in 1989. 
	
	VELORAMA     Waackade 107,65 11 XR      Nijmegen, Netherlands     080-225 851     Said to have one of the best collections in Europe. 
Jammin' Down Hill
Anytime

ROADS LESS TRAVELED 
	
	WOMBATS (Women's Mountain Bike and Tea Society)      P.O. Box 757      Fairfax, CA 94930.     Mountain bike group for women with sense of humor. Publishes newsletter. 
	
	INTERNATIONAL MOUNTAIN BICYCLING ASSOCIATION     P.O. Box 412043      Los Angeles, CA 90041      tel.: 818/792-8830      Promotes open trails and fireroads through responsible bicycling. Works to educate land managers, mountain bicyclists, and the public. 
	
	NATIONAL OFF-ROAD BICYCLING ASSOCIATION (NORBA)     1750 E. Boulder St.      Colorado Springs, CO 80909      tel.: 719/578- 4717      Oversees off-road racing in the United States. 


Competition Fever
Anytime

RACING ORGANIZATIONS 
	
	NATIONAL BICYCLE LEAGUE     211 Bradenton Ave., Ste. 100     Dublin, OH 43017      tel.: 614/766-1625      Sanctioning organization for BMX and freestyle racing. 
	
	ULTRA MARATHON CYCLING ASSOCIATION     2761 North Marengo Ave.     Altadena, CA 91001     tel.: 818/794-3119     Produces the yearly RAAM (Race Across America), publishes newsletter, and supports long-distance bicycling events. 
	
	U.S. CYCLING FEDERATION     1750 E. Boulder St.     Colorado Springs, CO 80909     tel.: 719/578-4581     Directs amateur racing in the United States. 
	
	UNITED STATES PROFESSIONAL CYCLING FEDERATION     Rt. 1, Box 1650     New Tripoli, PA 18066     tel.: 215/298-3262     Governs professional cycling in the United States. 
	
	AMERICAN BICYCLE ASSOCIATION (ABA)    P.O. Box 714,    Chandler, AZ 85244,    tel.: 602-1961-1903.     For big and little kids-- organizes BMX races. 
	
	WOMEN'S SPORTS FOUNDATION     342 Madison Ave., Ste. 728     New York, NY 10173     tel.: 212/972-9170      Encourages all women's athletic endeavors. 
	
	U.S. NATIONAL SENIOR SPORTS ORGANIZATION     14323 S. Outer Forty Rd., Ste. N300      Chesterfield, MO 63017     tel.: 314/878-4900. 
	
<Who To Call
Anytime

INFORMATION ON TOURING 
	
	LEAGUE OF AMERICAN WHEELMEN     190 W. Ostend St., Ste. 120     Baltimore, MD 21230     tel.: 301/539-3399. 
	
	AMERICAN YOUTH HOSTELS     National Office     P.O. Box 37613     Washington, D.C. 20013-7613     tel.: 202/783-6161. 
	
	CANADIAN HOSTELING ASSOCIATION     333 River Rd.      Vanier City, Ontario, KlL 8B9, Canada     tel.: 416/368-1848. 
	
	INTERNATIONAL RANDONNEURS     7272 N. Salina St.      Syracuse, NY 13224      Sponsors qualifying rides throughout the United States for the 750-mile Paris-Brest-Paris marathon ride. 
	
	RECUMBENT BICYCLE CLUB OF AMERICA     427-3 Amherst St., Ste. 305     Nashua, NH 03063     For recumbent cyclists. 
	
	THE TANDEM CLUB OF AMERICA     2220 Vaness Dr.     Birmingham, AL 35242.    Encourages tandem cyclists and sponsors regional rallies. 
	
	

The Folks Who Started It All
1977

SAN FRANCISCO, CALIFORNIA 
	Mountain bikes are used in sand, mud, and on pavement or snow.  They are used for racing, touring, or general recreation.  While road racing bicycles must conform to a specific set of design parameters, racing mountain bikes have no such restrictions.  The many uses and types of riding available have inspired considerable creativity among bicycle designers from the early days of the sport. 
	Joe Breeze built his first custom mountain bike in 1977, and by 1979 several other small manufacturers had started production of their own design.The most influential of these was Tom Ritchey, whose clean diamond frame bikes were set off by the distinctive, and now extinct, "bullmoose" handlebars, as well as a component group that became standard for all off-road bikes. The Ritchey bikes served as the design basis for the first wave of mass-produced mountain bikes, which arrived in the U.S. in 1982. 
	The California mountain bikes were designed after the shallow angles of the old Schwinn Excelsior, which Eastern riders considered inadequate for the tight, muddy, root-crossed trails of the East.  As exemplified by pioneer builder Chris Chance, the Eastern influence led to steeper angles and shorter bikes. 
	Klein road bikes had featured oversize aluminum tubing starting in the '70s, and Charlie Cunningham applied it to mountain bikes, achieving a stiff, light frame. In addition to Klein, several large bicycle manufacturers now make frames with oversize aluminum tubing. 
	Richard Cunningham, no relation to Charlie, designed and built Mantis bicycles in Southern California, and popularized the elevated chainstay, which allows a shorter rear triangle.  

dA Dip For The Road
May 16, 1984

PEPPERELL, MASSACHUSETTS 
	The symbolic gesture! Dipping the front tire of the bike in the Atlantic and looking to cycle across these United States to dip the back one into the Pacific! With excitement in my heart, I was wondering whose idea this was, anyway. 
	The route, as I had determined to go, was taking me north to Canada before west to the Pacific. I had no idea how many people I would meet on the way, but I had met my first cross-country comrade before I had actually departed! 
	On the way out, I had lunch at Yangtze River with some of my former co-workers all of whom were wanting to come along. I stopped off at a gas station/bike shop and the proprietor gave me six free spokes as a gesture of his wanting to join me, too. It's contagious, this bicycle trip across country. Anyway, after the tire dipping ceremony, I was on my way north to New Hampshire. 
	Ever since the days of Thomas Stevens, who circled the globe on a Penny Farthing in 1886, cycle touring has been a popular and enjoyable way to see the world. Ranging from a lazy Sunday spent exploring the local back roads with only a small pack for some food and tools, to an expedition around the world, touring by bicycle offers variety and freedom. Some people like to ride with groups on planned tours with a set destination each night. Others prefer to follow the road, wherever it might lead. The choice is yours. When you are touring by bike, people are friendlier than if you are in a car, motorcycle, bus or train. They recognize that you are doing something that requires effort, and are quick to offer their yard to camp on, or a cool drink. In these days of packaged travel, cycle touring offers true adventure. 
	Many choices await the prospective tourist who has the whole world to choose from. Beyond budget and time, there are few restraints. Anyone who can ride a bike can ride around the world ! 

Howard hits 152 mph!
July 20, 1985

BONNEVILLE SALT FLATS 
	John Howard had been a national bicycle champion and an Ironman Triathlon champion, and in the early 1980s he found a new cycling challenge, the land speed record. The original record had been set in 1899 by Charles Murphy riding behind a train at 60 mph, and broken in 1941 by Alf LeTourner at 108.92 mph, riding behind a race car. 
	By 1973 the record had been raised to 138 mph by Dr. Allan Abbott, riding behind a pace car at the Salt Flats. In 1981 John caught the speed bug, and found sponsorship for the attempt. Assisted by a team of motor racing experts, John's effort involved the use of a specially built race car and a 46 pound bicycle built with motorcycle racing technology. 
	The bicycle was designed by aerospace engineer Doug Malewicki, whose other projects had included Evel Knievel's jet powered "Skycycle" and a fuel efficiency car which had gone from Anaheim to Las Vegas on less than two gallons of diesel fuel. Fabrication was done by Texas framebuilder Skip Hujsak. The bike had double-reduction gearing to reduce the size of the huge chainrings used on previous record-setting bikes, steering dampers to prevent oscillation, disc wheels to reduce spoke turbulence, and motorcycle rims and tires. 
	The original attempt was scheduled for 1982, and John took on a special training project to prepare his body, but rains at the Salt Falts delayed the attempt. While waiting for conditions to improve, Howard and his driver practiced anywhere they could, including bumpy Mexican highways. On one practice run the rough road caused the car to go out of control, and John had to make an emergency stop from over 120 mph, digging a long groove in the road with a pedal. 
	The attempt had to wait until 1985 before conditions at the Salt Flats were right. As the team pushed speeds upward, they entered uncharted territory of turbulence and component durability. On one test run in which the car was timed at 150 mph, Howard suffered a flat rear tire caused by centrifugal force in the spinning wheel forcing the valve open, but he managed to keep the bike upright after what he described as the "highest speed bicycle flat in history." 
	On July 20, John Howard achieved his goal, riding 152 mph through the measured mile behind driver Rick Vesco. 

Tandem Wedding
May 9, 1992

GOLDEN GATE BRIDGE 
	Mike and Maria have loved bicycles since they were kids, so it was only natural that when they married, they would do it on a tandem. Tandems are great for couples and friends. It is much easier to carry on a conversation while riding, and if one gets tired, the other can take on their load. Tandems are great equalizers for riders of unequal abilities. 
	Mike and Maria rode across the bridge and on to their honeymoon, accompanied by the rest of the wedding party. 

WKansas ? Flat ? 
June 1984

THE FAMOUS FIELDS OF KANSAS 
	Everything I had ever heard about Kansas was that it is a flat state. Here lie the amber waves of grain on miles and miles of flat, agricultural land. This was the state of the Wizard of Oz ! So, when I was riding on what seemed to be a hill in the state of Kansas, I checked my speedometer to see how fast I was going. The speedometer registered my speed at over 35 miles per hour! There are those who can pedal on flat land at this speed. I am not one of them. I am a leisurely peddler who takes his time and enjoys the scenery. At this speed, I was on a hill. 
	Entering Kansas from the East, I experienced the flat reputation of the state. Approaching the western side of the state the landscape becomes much more wavy, making the ride more rigorous than expected. It was as if the land was preparing me for what lie ahead, giving me some uneven terrain in anticipation of the Rockies. I pedaled hard in Kansas, pushing myself like I had not done for sometime on my cross country trip. I was exhausted at the end of the day, but my spirits were high for having ridden hard. 

Keirin
Anytime

JAPAN 
	In Japan a genre of track racing known as Keirin started in 1948. Today, it attracts some 40 million spectators a year to fifty velodromes. The competitors start, much like greyhound racing, from stalls. They chase after a single pacer on a motor-cycle who comes from behind the racers. The "hare" gradually winds up the pace and, with about a lap and a half to go, leaves the track. This is the signal for the final sprint to start. 
	Because there is an element of danger in the final sprint of Keirin racing, the prize money is high and the betting, at [4 billion pounds] per year, brings a high income for local municipalities and for the Association of Keirin which was founded in 1957 to train riders and regulate the sport. The Association had some 4000 registered riders, each a graduate of the expensively equipped training school. 
	The income from betting levies has also provided abundant funding for a resplendent "bicycle center", including a museum of cycling in Tokyo. 

7Most Excellent Biking
Anytime

SUN VALLEY, IDAHO 
	The great skiing and night life in Sun Valley are well known and documented; what's lesser known is that mountain biking in the area is most excellent. And accompanying the mountain biking comes the same tasty coffee shops, bakeries, restaurants, night activities, and sunny weather as in the winter. 
	The mountain biking season opens late, usually around the end of June or even in early July if there was a large snow pack. The Forest Service keeps the system closed to bicyclists until the trails are dry, a good move in this delicate alpine region. but the twist in the Sun Valley area is that the Forest Service has not closed narrow dirt trails to mountain bikers as it and other agencies have in many other districts around the country. You can bike where you want, just remember to yield to all other users and don't pedal into Wilderness Areas. 
	Hundreds of miles of trail riding is available for all abilities. Some of the best riding can be found in the South Hills near Twin Falls, near Hailey, Ketchum, and along the Sawtooth Range near Stanley. If you travel to the area in early fall, you can probably catch the aspen turning color before winter. Try riding up Adam's Gulch, through pockets of fluorescent yellow aspen that will remind you of Tolkien's Lothlorien Forest, a forest made of gold. 

Trips For Kids
Anytime

MOUNT TAMALPAIS, CALIFORNIA 
	Trips For Kids [TFK] is a program that takes low income and minority youths from the Bay Area on day-trip mountain bike trips. 
	Marilyn Price, the founder of TFK, combines her passions for mountain biking, social activism, and the environment. "I want these children to have at least the opportunity to love the beauty of our natural environment" Price explains. "Some of them have never before been out of the city." 
	On a Saturday morning, volunteers load a dozen bikes onto an old Volvo station wagon. By 10:30 they meet up with a half dozen children, aged 10-17 and their counselors from social service agencies throughout the Bay Area. 
	Rides vary, but most include at least one hill for the challenge and the resulting sense of accomplishment it provides the children. The downhill trip is taken carefully in a "buddy" system, and at the end of the children's day there is time for a "closing circle", when they talk about what they have done, how they liked it, and what it meant to them. 
	One of a handful of such groups in the country, TFK is an example of how some mountain bikers are using the sport to help change the lives of others. Along the way, their altruism is helping to improve mountain biking's image. 

	The Snows of Mt. Kilimanjaro
December 1984

MOUNT KILIMANJARO, AFRICA 
	It is said of Nick Crane that no one has done more to prove the mountain bike as the perfect expedition vehicle than he. The mountain bike has added an extra dimension to Crane's self-invoked challenges and has made new adventures possible. 
	In December 1984, Nick Crane and his cousin, Richard Crane commenced to ride up Mount Kilimanjaro, Africa's highest peak. The intent was to raise money for the London-based Intermediate Technology, a Third World charity organization. Kilimanjaro was picked because, although it is Africa's highest mountain, it is unique for the gentleness of its lower slopes. This meant that the Cranes could cycle through several climate zones, starting with an equatorial rain forest, before reaching 15,500 feet (4,700 meters). Then they would have to carry their bikes 3000 feet (914) to the rim of the volcanic crater before riding the rest of the way to the summit. 
	The Crane's were equipped for the ride with standard production Saracen mountain bikes without any modifications or extras. The tires were 2.125 inch (6.4 cm) standard knobbiest that grip well on mud, rock, and snow. Inflated to 35 psi, they require no further attention. Their clothing was based on a layer system. Insulated bib pants and T-shirts were topped by a jacket with a Thintech inner and a Gore-Tex outer layer. For headgear, a thermal balaclava was under the hood. It could also be folded so that its flap acted as a sun visor, or turned to protect the neck. Snow goggles were essential to protect against UV rays and reflections. Head mounted lights were vital for night riding. 
	The Cranes' had a support team of porters and friends who carried stoves, sleeping bags, dehydrated food, equipment, and tents. The support team also guaranteed that photographs and reports were sent to media sponsors for publication as the trip progressed. 
	One of the prices of being a pioneer is that there are insufficient accurate guidebooks. Despite consulting maps and mountaineers who had been up Kilimanjaro, the Cranes had little idea of how much of the mountain could be ridden and how frequently they would have to carry their bikes. The 50-mile round trip took the Cranes just over 8 days. They carried small day packs of extra clothes, tools, food, and an altitude acclimatization drug. Approaching the summit, they could only ride a few yards before collapsing for lack of oxygen. But the payoff was tremendous: a descent that was the freewheel of a lifetime. 

VThe Kindness of Strangers
Anytime

RIDING WITH THE CLUB 
	Let's say you find out that the Broken Chain Bike Club's regular Sunday ride leaves from a nearby bike shop. You think, this could be a chance to ride with experienced cyclists, maybe learn something. Or maybe to see how fast you THOUGHT you rode. Bravely, you decide, "I'll just go." 
	And you do. As you wait nervously for the ride to start, you strike up a conversation with a guy riding a bike like yours. You and he roll out side-by-side, chatting. His company helps you relax a litte in what may be an overwhelmingly fast crowd. 
	About a mile out, your worn rear tire goes flat. Your new friend pulls off the road and stays with you, a nice guy. He watches as you pull the patch kit out of your underseat pack. He winces; no tube. 
	He helps you remove the wheel, then watches you shuck off the tire, find the hole and sand the tube, getting ready to apply the patching glue. He winces again as you realize the glue has dried up in the tube, useless. 
	He loans you a spare inner tube, a new one. You tell him you'll pay him for it, but not today. You're not carrying the three dollars. 
	He grimaces as you ineptly remount your tire with a pair of metal tire tools. He's afraid you'll pinch the new tube and ruin it and you still won't have a repaired wheel to ride on. When your pump won't work, he loans you his. 
	He resists looking at his watch. He wonders how far ahead the group is. He remembers watching this same scenario play itself out on other roadsides. 
	How can you avoid this scene? You can recognize that a group is not a solo rider. A group, even of two, is as efficient and smooth-operating as its least-together member. A together cyclist thinks of the group and of self-sufficiency. 
	As a group rider:You should be able to fix a flat quickly, without borrowing a pump or parts. You owe that to the group. 
	If you ride sew-ups, especially, you have to learn a lot of tricky procedures; you have enough on your mind anyway. So don't buy a sew-up-equipped bike. If you already have, buy clincher wheels as a favor to yourself and your friends. You owe it to the group. 
	You have to carry money. Money buys you food if you bonk, that is if you get so hungry you can barely ride. Money can buy a tire or tube if you have more than one flat or suffer a casing failure. Money gets you home on public transport if your bike breaks and you can't fix it on the spot. Having money means you won't be borrowing, making people suspect you're a flake. Carry a few bucks. You owe it to the group. 
	You have to have dependable equipment. You don't need a Kestrel or DeRosa; in truth, as a new rider you'd look a little foolish with either. Your bicycle should finish rides without fiddling, run quietly, shift and stop and have passable tires. Get good stuff and maintain it; you owe it to the group. 
	You have to be able to carry things. Pockets work well; you find them on the lower backs of most jerseys. No, most cotton t-shirts and tank tops do not feature pockets, because they are not purposeful garments. They're not made to DO anything. 
	You should carry ID, an insurance card and the money we talked about, right on your person. If the ride might travel on roads you don't know, carry a local map. One jersey pocket ab- sorbs all those things; usually that'll leave two. One of those will hold the punctured inner tube that might've ended up litter- ing the roadside. 
	You need a healthy attitude. You should act quietly optimistic and avoid chattering about your fears of getting left behind by faster people. It'll happen or it won't; rattling on and on about it won't prevent it. Everyone has good days and bad. Everyone's been dropped, one time or another. 
	You should be kind to strangers and non-strangers. The better the rider the friendlier the attitude, has been my obser- vation. Ron Kiefel says hi to everyone. Act like a human being; you owe it to yourself. 

Loaded Touring Bike
Anytime

AT THE BIKE SHOP 
	Cycle touring can be a great pleasure if you are carrying all you need safely and comfortably. No matter the length of your bicycle trip, you should always carry a minimal repair kit which is made up of a spare inner tube, tire tools, sand paper, glue and patch. If your trip is longer than an afternoon ride, the golden rule is that the bicycle carries the load. This means that your bike will need a rack and some kind of bag fixed to it. 
	For light loads, a small handlebar bag may be sufficient. This bag straps on to and fits in front of the handlebars.  They are usually 8 or 9 inches wide and come in very handy for items you want to reach for often or quickly. 
	A popular medium-sized bag is a single saddlebag which fits transversely behind and below the seat and above the rear rack. It carries the weight a little high but mostly within the wheelbase and clear of road dirt. A saddlebag needs to be packed carefully to prevent sagging lopsidedly. Its limited capacity limits its usefulness on longer trips. 
	Panniers, from the French word meaning "basket", fit either side of the rack lower down. They comprise two separate bags which are strapped on either side of the pannier carrier. These bags are available in a variety of sizes, with the largest capable of carrying much more than any rider will ever need. They carry the load well down, which helps keep the bicycle's center of gravity low and the bike more stable. But panniers can cause the bicycle to shake or shimmy if the rack isn't rigid. The most rigid carriers are those which are triangulated in three dimensions. 
	Panniers may also be attached to the front wheel, in which case they are mounted on a low rack. Beside providing more storage space, front wheel panniers are a good counterbalance for rear wheel panniers, especially with large loads. Experience and tests suggest that a weight distribution of two-thirds at the rear and one-third at the front results in the best stability. 

Logan Pass
Anytime

ON YOUR NEXT VACATION 
	Montana's Glacier National Park possesses a wilderness beauty all its own. Sharply etched, castlelike mountains tower above evergreen forests, alpine meadows, and deep blue mirror-like lakes. Backroads Bicycle Touring Company provides a tour in which you can, for five days, cycle in the solitude of this untamed environment. 
	You will meet in West Glacier for an easy warm-up ride along the wooded shores of Lake McDonald to the historic lodge by the same name. Lake views and a massive stone fireplace lend a homey atmosphere to Lake McDonald Lodge. 
	The next morning you will ascend through the heart of Glacier to the spine of the Continental Divide along Going-to-the-Sun Road, acclaimed as "the most beautiful 50-mile drive in America." Each curve brings spectacular scenery plunging waterfalls, stately expanses of virgin forest, deep glacier-carved valleys, and majestic peaks refined by ice and snow. At Logan Pass (6,646') you stop to explore the "Crown of the Continent." After an exhilarating descent, you will relax at Rising Sun Inn near the shores of St. Mary's Lake. 
	Next, the tour takes you to the shores of Swift Current Lake. We spend two nights beneath magnificent peaks at Many Glacier Lodge, the "showplace of the Rockies." The second day is free to hike to Crinnell Glacier, go horseback riding, relax on the lake, or look for Rocky Mountain goats, a mountain lion, bighorn sheep, or even a grizzly bear. Those who wish to cycle may try a long optional ride to Canada's spectacular Waterton Lakes National Park. 
	Back on your bikes, you will cycle the southern perimeter of the park and stop to enjoy your last evening at the famed Glacier Park Lodge. Its majestic lobby is supported by huge pillars of ancient Douglas firs. 
	You will complete the tour by following the course of the Flathead River on a level and downhill spin, a fitting finale to a glorious trip. 

KMcCammon Safety Bicycle
1884

ENGLAND 
	In I884 J. McCammon patented one of the earliest chain-driven bicycles with a drop frame suitable for a lady to ride in comfort and with decorum. 
	The general configuration of McCammon's bicycle was like the Rover 'safety' bicycle of 1885 but differed, with a frame consisting of a single, curved tube bent downwards between the two wheels. The front wheel is smaller in diameter than the rear wheel, and the front fork is slightly raked and at the end, at the bearings, turned rearwards. The steering joint is on two lugs behind the head tube. The sprung leather saddle is mounted on an adjustable pillar located on the upright portion of the frame. The pedal crank is carried in a forked frame hinged at the bottom of the main tube which permits the driving chain to be adjusted to the required tension - possibly the earliest known method for simply adjusting the tension on a bicycle chain. The length of the pedal crank may be adjusted to suit the rider. 
McCammon's 1884 bicycle incorporated various advanced design features for the period of its construction and was possibly the first bicycle to be sold complete with mudguards. The front wheel is 22 inches in diameter, the rear 38 inches, and both have direct spokes, ball-bearing hubs and solid rubber tires. The wheel base is 40 inches and the complete bicycle weighs 49 pounds. 

Major Taylor
1890

INDIANAPOLIS, INDIANA 
	Marshall Walter "Major" Taylor was one of the first African Americans to accomplish great feats in a white dominated world. He did this in the 1890's in the sport of bicycle racing which, at that time, had no other rival for drama and excitement. In a world where black people were expected to know their place and not challenge whites, the success of this plucky, determined youngster against white competitors came as a disturbing shock and his astonishing speed as a revelation. 
	Major Taylor was born in Indianapolis in 1878 to parents of free African Americans with very little means. He was invited to work in the local bike shop as a result of having taught himself bike tricks he had seen at carnivals. Through this connection, his raw talent was recognized by the prominent bicycle racer "Birdie" Munger who coached him through his first important successes in racing. Taylor debuted as a professional bicycle racer in 1896. 
	Throughout his early career, he had to struggle continuously against bureaucratic and physical opposition as he established himself in a meteoric ascent as America's best young bicycle sprinter and one of the best in the world. 
	By 1898 Taylor was American Champion and a year later at the age of 19 he became World Champion. In 1901 he took Paris and the rest of Europe by storm, completing a three month season which netted him $10,000. He returned to Europe for five more seasons of racing and then spent two seasons in Australia. 

NBike, Camera, Action!
Anytime

NEW YORK, NY 
	Film maker Mark Forman of New York City is using the latest mountain bike technology in a custom made bicycle to be used as a mobile camera platform. Forman is a dedicated mountain biker whose film making experience includes directing a video called "Bicycles on Snow: The 1988 Iditabike." 
	The camera bike frame is a custom made Boulder Gazelle with an extra-long 136 cm wheelbase. An Action Tec shock absorbing steering tube combined with Rock Shox fork blades increases the fork travel to nearly 11 cm.  Rear suspension travel remains the standard 9 cm.  The longer wheelbase and the extra suspension reduce camera vibration. 
	The long top tube permits the mounting of a movie camera between the rider and the handlebars, but also requires a custom stem with no forward reach. There is an onboard Sony 10 cm video monitor for the rider/camera operator to see what he or she is filming. The camera mounting bracket extends from in front of the head tube to behind the frame, and provides several options for placing the camera. Weight of the bike without cameras is 14.5 kg; with cameras it can weigh from 18 kg to as much as 35kg. 
	Camera mounts were custom built by Ringle and Joe Breeze, and allow the camera to be located in several places.  Forman estimates that the value of the bike is $10,000, not including cameras, which cost a minimum of $5,000.  Forman has applied for a patent.  As an extra benefit, Forman says that the long wheelbase and soft suspension make it an ideal bike for downhill racing. 
	The camera bike is perfect for filming running or cycling sequences, since it is silent and can be brought close to the action.  It has already been used for filming of a Rollerblades commercial, and for television coverage of the New York City Marathon.  Forman hopes to use the bike to cover the Mountain Bike World Championships. 

AGreenway 2000
2000

SANTA CRUZ, CA 
	Imagine a coast-to-coast bike trail separate from motor traffic, an uninterrupted network that resembles a huge park for cyclists and links communities all across the country.  The National Bicycle Greenway is the dream of cyclist Martin Krieg, who has devoted all his efforts toward the project after recovering from an automobile accident that left him in a coma for two months.  Doctors at one point pronounced him dead, and even after coming out of his coma, Martin was unable to speak, or even recognize his family. 
	Martin's first cross country bicycle trip two years after his accident was a celebration of his recovery.  Nine years later he repeated the trip on a recumbent bicycle, and his tour turned into an informal promotion of the National Head Injury Foundation, in which he visited hospitals, spoke to the media and gave lectures. 
	Riding across the country inspired a dream in Martin.  Why can't cyclists have the equivalent of the interstate highway system, with all the amenities of lodging, restaurants, and repair shops?  Why couldn't such a route be landscaped with cyclists in mind, in essence a 3000 mile cyclists' park?  If such a route could be established, it seemed natural that a network of similar routes and resources would spring up around it. 
	Blessed with the focus that a near-death experience brings, Martin set to his task.  He wrote a book, "Cycle America," about his remarkable recovery and the vision it inspired in him.  He has begun a series of local bicycle guides, small booklets with maps and route guides as well as information on local merchants catering to bicyclists. 
	"My recovery is worth nothing unless I've made a contribution.  I think this bikeway is something everyone wants." 
	Want to learn more?  Write Greenway 2000, 147 South River Street Suite 222, Santa Cruz, CA 95060. 


Winner by a Wide Margin
1984

PARIS, FRANCE 
	The inaugural Tour for women, the Tour du France Feminin, was introduced by the 1984 Tour de France organizers. And the United States was nearly unrepresented. The U.S. Cycling Federation had designated the best women riders to ride in the Olympics, and announced that it would not send a team to the Tour as well. Since several local clubs decided to send teams, the Federation re-examined its position and decided to put a team together after all. The final selection of the members was not finalized until two weeks before the cyclists were to board the plane for France. Marianne Martin was the last team member to be picked. 
	She hadn't been riding all that well, that February and March of 1984. She was overtrained and anemic and therefore she had to beg and plead to be named to the team. Her condition turned around in April and she was back into form by June. She knew she could climb and wanted to race in this inaugural Tour. Her persistence paid off. 
	The 1984 Tour du France Feminin was an eighteen stage race in which the cyclists were to race the last thirty-five to fifty miles of the men's stages, finishing about two hours before the men. Marianne Martin and her five teammates lined up along with teams from Holland, England, Canada and France. 
	From the start, the Dutch women dominated the early flat stages. Martin, who expected to ride as support to her teammate Betsy King, hung in with the peloton for the group sprints at the end of each stage. The extreme competitiveness of the race wore mentally and physically on the racers, and especially on the Americans. The U.S. Cycling Federation had not assigned a coach which led to a loss of team spirit and cohesion. Although the infighting was demoralizing to Marianne Martin, she found encouragement from Patty Peoples, an upbeat rider with focus. 
	As the race continued on the flats, Martin race into shape. By the time the Tour reached the Alps, she was in top shape unlike King who was recovering from her effort in a previous competition. The fourteenth stage was pivotal. It was only 20 miles long but climbed nearly a mile in altitude. Martin rode away from the front and went on to win by almost four minutes. This decisive win changed the personality of the race completely. Inspired by the win, the U.S. team began to ride for Martin who was wearing the coveted maillot jeune or yellow jersey. 
	Despite intense competition from the Dutch team, Martin continued to wear the yellow jersey into the final stage in Paris. Two million spectators filled the tree-lined Champs-Elysees to watch this fifty mile final stage. Martin was surprised to hear a familiar voice on one of the laps and on the next time around, as saw her dad. He had flown in from Michigan to watch his daughter win the inaugural Tour du France Feminin. 

Bali
Anytime

BALI NEHAN 
	Dear Sensei, 
	
	
	This morning I woke up early and rode into the chilly predawn paradise of Bali. Heading north from NusaDua into the heartland where people rise before the sun, soon after the last of the late night tourists have gone to sleep. I turn off the main road onto a long acacia tree lined avenue between the mountains and the sea, riding past sleepy eyed dogs sprawled across the road and beautiful young women bathing in the stream on the side. On this island, North is always towards the Mother Volcano Gunums Agung, home of the gods, and South is always towards the sea, home of the evil spirits. And man's place is on the fertile land in between. 
	I weave my bicycle down into a lush river valley, then speed up onto a narrow ridge. Soon I am surrounded by rice fields, carved from the earth by ancient soil-artists, their form in perfect harmony with the land. The beauty of Bali is reflected in the people. Living as they do, between the gods and the evil spirits, they are constantly busy with rituals. By paying respect to the former and placating or tricking the latter, they can thus ensure the continuing balance of life. It is these rituals, so real and full of meaning, that the foreign visitor calls "ART". 
	The sun rises quickly. I stop at a roadside warung for coffee. Thick and black, the freshly roasted beans were picked from a coffee bush growing nearby. I've heard it said that food tastes better the closer one gets to where it was grown. The coffee was delicious, erasing all traces of sleepiness. I lit a kretok and watched a girl in a white and blue uniform walking by on her way to school, a stack of books and some random fruit balanced on her head. Long black braids float down to her waist and her back is straight as a plank. Four little boys run around in the joy of childhood, wearing T-shirts from the four corners of the earth. "Selmat Pagi!" Their engaging smiles break into uncontrollable laughter. 
	50 rupiah for the coffee and a few coconut cakes and I'm back on the bike riding high up into the mist shrouded mountains. Old women wrapped in shawls emerge carrying baskets of steaming corn. Monkeys fight over bananas, which have fallen from a passing truck. And above it all the gods, well fed by the Balinese, protect this little island. Soon I reach the other side, riding up a bumpy road to the onsen. A bamboo bridge leads across a river to the large pools fed from the mouths of sandstone dragons. Diving into the brown water, I die and enter paradise. 
	For the Balinese, Nirvana is a place just the same as Bali. Life here is already perfect. Of course sometimes the evil spirits wreck havoc because they haven't been properly placated. And of course the tourists come in their big planes leaving money, garbage, new hair styles, and T-shirts. But it is all taken in stride. There is no conflict. 
	A dragonfly skims above the water, flying round and round the pool. Far away the sound of a flute. Closer by, laughter and splashing. Above only coconut trees and blue sky to be seen. I haven't died, this is just Bali. 
	I ride back over the mountain. Coming from a world the tourist does not see, returning to the beach. On the way I see the moon rise over a rice field. Tonight it is full, and here, far from the cold industrial cities, a human being can still feel the magic of the heavens. Like the ritual, magic here is real, there is no way to avoid it. Back in my home with music and electric mosquito coil, I enjoy a bit of the modern world. Once again, there is balance. Tonight I am alone, thinking about this mini-paradise. From Birth to Death, the Balinese never sleep alone. Always they are surrounded. With love? Are they lucky" I fall asleep to the sound of a rooster crowing, the start of another day.--Matthew London 

Matthew, The Bike Mechanic
Anytime

BIKE SHOP, ANYWHERE USA 
	One of the major factors you should consider when purchasing a new bike is servicing it. Bikes sold by reputable chain or department stores may have standard parts and good quality equipment. But seldom do they have the trained mechanics who are needed to make the fine adjustments which complete the delivery of any new or used bike purchase. These trained mechanics serve to support you in the future should anything go wrong with your bike or should it need further adjustments. In fact, cables and parts will need adjustment and tightening after a bike has been ridden for about fifty miles, and then again after about four hundred miles. 
	The best thing to do is scout out your local bike shops. One of the first things to find out is whether the mechanics and sales personnel are avid riders themselves. One way to find out is to observe the legs of the male employees: if they are shaved, then these guys are riders. The only other way to find out is simply to ask. If you scout out a shop where the mechanics and sales people are not riders, you are well advised to continue your scouting at another shop. 
	An indication of a well-rounded, full service shop is that it carries a broad range of bicycles, for the beginner to the racer; and a broad range of cycling products. 
	When you walk into a bike shop, observe how the customers are being treated. Would you like to be treated the same way? Some bike shops have their mechanics' stations situated out in the open as part of the rhythm of the shop. This is a very good sign. If a bike shop has its mechanics in a back room, they should be fairly accessible. Ask to have a bike put up on a rack and have someone go through the operation of a "10-speed" with you. Have the gears explained to you, the breaks' operation, and the whole set up of the bike. Ask questions. Ask many questions. Then take the bike out for a spin. Determine how it feels based on what they told you at the shop. 
	The idea is to establish a relationship with the bike shop and the mechanic so that you have an accessible source of informed knowledge about a vehicle with which you will travel distances near and far. 

The Mend-A-Bike Gang
1980

LONDON ENGLAND 
	I had just moved to London to live with my mom and finish up my last year in high school. I was totally into cycling and wanted to hang with bicycling people so I got a job at a bike shop called Mend-A-Bike. Great place. 
	In England, they're called mewes. These long alley ways with buildings off of them once used for horses. Since horses are no longer used, the buildings have turned into garages, or stores, or bike shops. The cobble stone streets remain the same. Makes for an interesting experience riding on these streets. Anyway, I diverge. 
	One day, a lady enters the shop with her bike wondering if we can help her. We wonder the same thing. She is about 55 or 60 years young and very eccentric judging from her bright yellow hat with the daisies and the fact that she had painted her bike the same bright yellow as her hat. The whole bike. Chains, pedals, every last square inch was painted yellow. 
	We explained to her that the paint on the chains and other moving parts kept the bike from operating. She looked at us like we had four heads and told us to get the bike going again please. It was her only mode of transportation and she didn't like this feeling of immobility. 
	We did just that. We cleaned only the parts that were inhibiting the bike. The rest remained a bright yellow that the eye could see for miles and miles. She noticed our care when she came to pick it up. She was grateful for our understanding. Not only was the color her favorite, she felt safer on the yellow bike in all the traffic around London. As she pulled away, all of us had to come outside the shop and see her off. It was one of the most satisfying Mend-A-Bike experiences I had in the two years I worked there. 

Michaux Bicycle 1861
1861

BAR-LE-DUC, FRANCE 
	Throughout the early and mid 1800's, the design and development of cycling technology continued in the pages of The Mechanics' Magazine. Around 1861, Pierre and Ernest Michaux submitted the first known proposals for fixing foot pedals to the front wheel of a velocipede or hobby-horse type of machine. Their idea of driving a bicycle front wheel by attaching cranks to either side of it was a major technological advance in the evolution of the bicycle. It was responsible for considerable increase in public interest in the bicycle. 
	A national monument has been erected at Bar-le-Duc in France to the memory of the Michaux Brothers. It officially recognizes them as the first successful inventors of the pedal-operated bicycle. 
	The Michaux Bicycle frame comprises a solid heavy curved iron bar, the front of which is attached to the base of the steering head and the rear end curves downwards dividing into a fork to take the rear wheel. The bearings are split brasses tightened by cotters and provided with oil containers. The saddle is mounted on a long plate spring attached to the front of the frame. 
	The diameter of the front wheel of the Michaux Bicycle is 35 inches, the rear wheel is 29 inches. The two cranks mounted on the front wheel have slotted ends so that their radius may be varied from 4.1 inches to 7.25 inches. Michaux had the idea of fixing weights below the pedals to keep them upright. Leg rests are provided for coasting downhill, and a step provided for mounting. A lever-shoe brake acting on the rear tire can be applied by rotating the handle-bars and so pulling the actuating cord. The Michaux velocipede weighed 59 pounds. By the year 1870, annual production of these bicycles exceeded 400. 

Scenes From a Sidewalk Cafe
August 2, 1990

BETWEEN MILAN AND COMO 
	Don't fret that I'm in Italy and you're not. I'll look around and tell you guys what I see. 
	This morning I see lots of commuter bikes, one-speeds mostly, ridden by every kind of person. Traffic is insane here but the bikes glide through the craziness, perfect for the narrow streets and alleys of Italian cities. 
	Drivers make room for cyclists, evidently considering them legitimate road users. You hear very little horn-honking. I can't remember one screaming, gesturing confrontation in two weeks. 
	In this style-obsessed country, a mountain bike is one of the most stylish accessories a young man can possess. To attain way-coolness he should spin around the piazza in the evenings on a Rockhopper, or a Colnago, Rossin, Bottecchia or Cinelli MTB. Ironically, a Rockhopper probably outclasses a Cinelli: it's American, you know. 
	Then, besides racers, who rides skinny-tired bikes? 
	I saw hundreds of racing bikes last Sunday morning on the road between Milan and Lake Como. With old guys on 'em. Guys in their 40s, 50s, 60s, some older, riding in ones, twos and packs. 
	All of them on Italian road bikes, hundreds of those guys, wearing club and pro jerseys and shorts, and not skinny. Chunky, in fact, but out there every Sunday I'll bet, up to the Lake and back. 
	This morning, I'll bet, all over Italy, those same old guys are meeting for coffee. Each has a copy of La Gazzetta dello Sport, Italy's most popular paper, the pink-paged daily that sponsors the Giro d'Italia. 
	They're arguing in the most civilized manner about whether Greg Lay-mon, as they say it, or the Soviet, Ekimov, will be fast enough to eclipse Italian cycling idol Francesco Moser's hour records. I wish I were sitting there with those old guys. 
	I promise: I'm gonna listen to my tapes, I'm gonna get fluent. Next time I'm in Italy, the first day I'll show up at the cafe with my La Gazzetta dello Sport. I'm going to try to pass. 
	"Buon giorno. Caffe e latte, per favore." 
	If it works, I'll be gone a while. Forward my mail. 


All Dressed Up
1962

TEHRAN, IRAN 
	When I look at this photograph I wonder what it was that caused me to look so serious. At five or six, I guess I wasn't thinking about the social condition or world politics. I don't think I even understood the concepts of war and peace. I do remember my new dress hot off my mother's sewing machine. She made all my clothes and my sister's too. Same material, different style. My mother understood individuality. 
	It's funny that this photograph should show both sides of my personality so clearly. Most of the time, I spent rough-housing with my male cousins. Most of the time, I was a restless high-energy kid who didn't always behave in the manner expected of a young lady. People came to expect that of me. 
	And then, once in a blue moon, I would go away for a while. I would emerge a young lady scrubbed clean, with groomed hair wearing my favorite dress. I would present a quiet and demure manner which would baffle most people. I would keep to myself having created a fantasy world of beauty and peace. This would baffle everyone except my mother. My mother understood my individuality. She still does. 
	My tricycle represents, in my memories, the beauty and peace of those infrequent escapes. Today, I don't as much escape as I ride for the sheer joy of it. It is amazing what my body will do, the hills it will climb, and the distances it will go. These days, I put on a helmet, cycling shorts, and special cycling shoes to ride a racer's bike. My bike, which I was lucky enough to find second hand, was hand assembled and now has what I call "lollipop" pedals which I clip into. It fits me perfectly. 
	My mother never learned how to ride a bicycle as a young person. It is one of the few regrets of her life. She gleans tremendous joy from every new accomplishment I relay to her in the same way she did when I was a kid. I just had an idea...I am going to teach my mother how to ride a bike! 

Beginning Off-Road
Anytime

COLORADO SPRINGS, CO 
	One contrast between bicycle road racing and off-road racing is the ease of entry into the sport.  Virtually anyone can get into a mountain bike race, and a glance of the riders in the beginner classes is ample evidence that all of them do.  There are fat riders on twenty pound bikes, there are riders on garage sale bikes, and there are riders wearing cutoffs or gym shorts.  While the riders at the top of the sport are elite as any other world class athletes, at the entry level off-road racing isn't quite as elite as road racing.  No matter who you are, chances are good that you'll find someone you can beat. 
	Mountain bike races sanctioned by the National Off-Road Bicycle Association include "Beginner" and "Sport" classes for riders whose interests are strictly recreational, or who are just getting started in the sport.  Races for these groups are less demanding than those in the higher categories, and give the participants the opportunity to completely identify with the pros and experts when they attack the same trails a few hours later. 
	There are a lot more reasons for people to race mountain bikes than road bikes.  Personal goals that are lost in the group dynamics of road racing become more meaningful on the mountain bike race course.  You can race to beat a cousin or a friend, you can try to beat last year's lap time, or you can just show off your new bike.  Even if you don't beat anyone, you will get to take a ride on a challenging and usually scenic course. 
	Mountain bike racing has expanded from cross-country events to include downhill racing against the clock.  This wild end of the sport attracts the daredevils, and also a few riders who might not be fit enough for XC but who can coast with the best of them. 

Mountain Bike Touring
Anytime

COAST TO COAST 
	The potential of mountain bikes for touring is limited only by bodies of water. Mountain bikers have crossed the former Soviet Union from Baltic to Pacific coasts, crossed vast expanses of Alaska in the dead of winter, followed the length of the Great Wall of China, and gone to the tops of the highest mountains in Africa, Europe and Australia. 
	While bicycles made for road riding are more efficient where the path is paved, the load of a touring rider on a rough road calls for the larger tires and stronger wheels of the mountain bike. With the tires pumped to high pressure, a mountain bike can travel on the road nearly as fast as its lighter cousin. For many riders the flexibility of the mountain bike outweighs the difference in speed, and 'mountain' bikes are now used for all types of touring. 
	Off-road touring is not new, but is a rebirth of the early days of cycling, when all riders contended with an absence of maps, and inadequate roads. Thomas Stevens made the first bicycle crossing of the United States on a high-wheeler, between April 22 and August 4, 1884. At the turn of the century, several riders traveled from Dawson, Yukon Territory to Nome, Alaska, a thousand miles on the frozen Yukon River. 
	Today's machines are much lighter than those used a hundred years ago, more efficient, and more complex. A modern mountain bike is a marvel of mechanical engineering, but the complexity, primarily of the gearing system, makes them more vulnerable to damage. 
	Depending on the nature and remoteness of the tour, a mountain bike tourist must be prepared to make extensive repairs on the bicycle. This requires a set of spare parts, tools, and the ability to use them. 

DBicycle Art
Anytime

SACRAMENTO, CA 
	There are a number of bicycle museums in the United States, but Jeff Della Penna and Sandy Vaillancourt have a different vision for the American Bicycle and Cycling Museum. 
	"I'm not interested in a bunch of old bikes," says Jeff.  "I'm interested in bikes that were owned by special, interesting people or bicycles that did something interesting." 
	The scope of the ABCM goes far beyond collecting used cycling equipment. Among the programs being developed are promotion of cycling both artistically and educationally, and paying tribute to those individuals who are shaping its future, the racers, engineers, designers, advocates, artists and adventurers. 
	Displays will include bicycle history, educational science, physiology, an art gallery, bicycle advocacy, transportation, adventure travelers, competition, components and accessories, a library and archives, and even a "roller room" where riders can try out bikes with particular significance. 
	In connection with the museum, the ABCM puts on events such as the Mountain Biker's Ball, a bicycle art show, and bicycle festivals.  The Museum has produced television public service announcements for Bike-To-Work Day, and given educational presentations. 
	Want to know more?  Write to the American Bicycle and Cycling Museum at P.O. Box 161839, Sacramento, CA 95816. 

LNapa
Anytime

NAPA VALLEY, CALIFORNIA 
	This verdant region northeast of San Francisco is one of the most popular bicycle touring destinations in the country, for good reason. Not only is it beautiful, but it is also home to a multitude of famous wineries such as Robert Mondavi and Christian Brothers. On a crisp summer morning, you can see the grapes glistening in the sunshine and smell their sweetness. Many wineries offer tastings and tours (some free), so save room in your panniers for the bottles you'll inevitably buy. 
	The valley is best suited to touring at an easy pace, and it's an ideal trip for the novice cyclist. Starting in Napa, you can spend a long weekend pedaling the flat, 25 odd miles to Calistoga, visiting the vineyards and staying in quaint country inns. The main thoroughfare (Route 29) can become very congested during the peak summer tourist season, so try to come in the early fall. For more challenging riding, the roads leading to and around Lake Berryessa to the northeast are scenic, forested rollers guaranteed to burn away the guilt and the calories from all that sipping. 

Ready To Go On Another Run
Anytime

NEW YORK CITY, NEW YORK 
	If you have ever been in New York City then you have probably seen people who appear to be daredevil bicyclists in the streets. They weave in and out of traffic with huge bags across their shoulders, and if you look closely, they are carrying two way radios. They are very intent on something, as if they are at work. They are at work. These folks are the messengers who allow information exchange within New York City to be expedited. 
	The idea of transporting messages by way of bicycles originated in San Francisco. Today, in any big city, these messengers can be seen threading their way through traffic on their way to making a delivery or a pick-up. For them, time is money since the more deliveries and pick-ups they make the more money goes into their wallet. 
	The work day starts early, around 7:30 am, when the messenger arrives at headquarters. The package to be delivered is picked up and off they go. In order to maximize income, they need to be fit, fast, and skillful on a bike. On top of these, they need to possess a natural sense of direction, a memory like an electronic address book, nerves of steel, and a heightened sense for detecting trouble in city rush hour traffic. 

GREATEST OFF-ROAD CHAMPION
Anytime

DURANGO, COLORADO 
	Although he was already 30 years old when he started racing mountain bikes, Ned Overend became the greatest of the American off-road champions, winning all but one national championship from 1986 to 1992. (In 1988 he was second to John Tomac.) Ned also won the "unofficial" world championships which took place before the worldwide cycling bodies agreed on the title, and the first "official" world championship in 1990, riding in his home town of Durango, Colorado. 

^Biking to Work and Back
Anytime

NETHERLANDS 
	The citizens of this country have access to bikes. They have access to free bikes. The commuting population is encouraged to use these bikes to and from work, to and from train stations, to and from shopping trips. 
	Generally, though, folks have their own bikes. One is parked on the home side of the train station, one is parked on the work side of the train station. Shopping trips are made with bikes equipped with baskets to hold the goods. 
	If you've ever been in Holland, you have noticed that people smile a lot and are very friendly. Maybe cycling has something to do with this? 

My New Bike
Anytime

IN MY HEAD 
	I've ordered a new frame. I don't need a whole bike: my parts are only three years old and they're fine. But I'm getting a new custom frame. 
	You'd think buying that new frame would be a pleasure, and mostly you'd be right. I'm sure I'll love the new bike and working with the builder has been fun. Still, the purchase puts me in a mind-set I'd rather avoid: it makes me ask myself hard questions. 
	I'm having to make decisions about my frame. Bikes I've owned and loved in the past came with those decisions already finalized, filed and painted. Some foreign guy smarter than me made them and I trusted him. That always worked. 
	Not this time, though. This time I make the choices. I'm the guy smarter than me. 
	The decisions are fussy: so many options, so many possibilities. But (in the real world) how much difference do these things make? Do you think that because I can determine the path of the rear brake cable - I'll love this bike more than bikes I loved before? 
	Maybe I'll tell my builder not to do anything about that cable. Then, when I assemble the bike, I'll masking tape the cable to the top tube with used tape. Will cycling lose its charm? I don't think so either. But here I am, trying to decide where to braze on the guides, just as if it mattered. 
	I can influence the frame angles. I guess I'm equipped, after reading dozens of articles and chatting with mechanics, racers and shop-counter theorists for 15 years, to help choose the angles. But will the angles I choose change my life? What do you think? Will I love the bike more? 
	Will summer mornings be brighter and more precious when the top tube length of my bicycle is correct to the millimeter, selected after several sessions with tape measure and angle gauge? 
	Then, will my commitment to cycling be evident to everyone? 
	Will my shoulders widen, my chest deepen? Will my tan not end, so tacky, at my biceps? Will my bike not slow down up hills? Will I love it more? What do you think? 
	If I can select the brand, shape and wall-thickness of my tubing, will I sweep 'round potholed bends more confidently? Will my tires cling more fiercely to wet patches in shady corners? Will the bike steer "stable but responsive," the way magazine test bikes do? 
	Do you think I'll love riding more? Will I have as much fun as the slick monthly magazine's cover "rider/readers?" Will I still have to train? Will I still get stale and have to force myself to ride? 
	If I choose the perfect color, will I still be willing to venture out on rainy days? Will I quit fussing, keeping my bike pristine? Can I free myself from worshipping my bike and learn to think of it as a tool, the way I should? 
	Or will I fiddle with it and polish it as if I were rubbing the belly of some mysterious pagan potency god? 
	How 'bout this? I'll choose a color I don't like. If I do that, then will I ride it when it's dirty? If I outwit myself that way - then will I love it more? Will I? 
	When I show up on my new custom frame, will I like the people I ride with better? Will they stare at my bike and decide to overlook things about me they thought were pretty jive till just that moment? Will I find myself training with a better class of bikie? 
	When my butt is perfectly located relative to the bottom bracket: will I roll like an express train, climb like an eagle, sprint like I exploded from a cannon? 
	Will I pedal perfect circles around hairpin turns, hold long graceful trackstands at stop lights? Will my cyclometer melt in frustration, helpless to record such speed as mine? 
	Will the last 20 miles of a century not seem like 50? Maybe, huh? 
	But what if I blow it? What if the perfect frame for me, the frame destiny meant for me to own, should have a 73.5 degree head angle and I specify a 74? Gosh. 
	But, hey, I've been riding for 15 years. I write cycling columns. I've been thinking about, talking about, looking at bicycles, all that time. I should know. 
	After all, you'd know, wouldn't you? What do you think, 74 degrees? You sure? Me neither. 

.
On The Shores Of Lake Rotoiti
Anytime

LAKE ROTOITI, NEW ZEALAND 
	Nestled deep in the South Pacific lies an island nation with a world's worth of scenic splendors. Traveling in New Zealand is like stepping back in time. The air is sparkling clear and the people have a reputation for unbridled hospitality. 
	We step off the plane in cosmopolitan Wellington, which overlooks a spectacular harbor. Leaving the James Cook Hotel behind, we ferry across the Cook Straits and quickly enter the lush pine forests of the South Island. Passing the steely waters of Marlborough Sound, we arrive at Canvastown, where we enjoy a family-style dinner. The next day, we take in the Rai Valley and Whangomoa Scenic Reserve en route to Nelson, New Zealand's sunniest city. Here, we are welcomed as guests in private homes. 
	South of Nelson, the aromas of New Zealand's fertile wine and apple country surround us as we pedal through the beech forests of Nelson Lakes National Park to the Alpine Lodge on the banks of Lake Rotoiti. A day off the bike allows time for rafting, horseback riding, "tramping" (hiking), or fishing for rainbow trout. We ride through Buller Gorge to reach the sea at Westport, where we spend a night at the Westport Hotel. We break our southerly sojourn with stays at the Kings Hotel in Greymouth, and at the small rural township of Hari Hari. 
	This primitive coastal region, dotted with deserted gold-mining towns, is reminiscent of America's Old West. The gold is gone now, but other gems abound. To our left are the snowy peaks of the Southern Alps, soaring into the clouds. To our right are the shores of the Tasman Sea, with such exotic formations as the sculpted Pancake Rocks, where the sea surges through blowholes. 
	From Hari Hari, it's a short ride into Westland National Park, where the Fox and Franz Joseph glaciers tumble from the mountains. Our first two nights in the park are spent at the Franz Joseph Resort, with plenty of time to go hiking or to take an optional scenic flight over the glacier. Our third night is in Fox at the Golden Glacier Hotel, just a short distance from Lake Matheson, whose dark waters mirror the snowy peaks of Mt. Cook and Mt. Tasman. 
	After a rest at the Haast Hotel, we leave the coast for a challenging ride over Haast Pass. At Lake Wanaka, where we spend two nights at the Cliffords of Wanaka, you can take a day off the bike to enjoy an optional ski-plane flight over the Alps or a boat cruise on the Milford Sound fjord, weather permitting. We end our trip with a ride through Kawarau Gorge to the colorful resort town of Queenstown, where we celebrate over a farewell dinner. 

	The Next Morning
July, 1989

AFTER THE QUAKE 
	We had a little earthquake here yesterday evening. At this point, no one knows how many people were killed. No one can estimate the damage. No one knows anything for sure. 
	People are gathered in clumps on the sidewalks, telling each other earthquake stories, listening intently to each other. Folks are showing signs of neighborly concern, at least for the traumatized moment. 
	I didn't sleep well last night but that should hardly surprise you. We got one or two perceptible aftershocks in the night; they awakened me momentarily. 
	After a few minutes awake, I came to realize I'd been shaken more than I'd thought. I had those feelings one gets after something reminds us that we're not going to go on forever. I thought about the people who got caught on the lower deck of the freeway only a few miles away. Caught when the upper deck came crushing down. People driving one second, listening to Graceland on the tape machine, gone the next. 
	I got dressed and headed for my morning cafe. The streets were quiet; many people who would've been on the way to work weren't going today. 
	As I walked, I saw a cyclist coming up the street toward me. A woman, in pro team clothing, coming up the Avenue at 7:05 the morning after the killer quake. She looked great, shiny lycra and bright colors, matching helmet, smooth and professional on her bike. Seeing her pedaling up that hill so early the "morning after" snapped my mood around. Watching her reminded me that, helpless in the face of random, sudden misfortune, we must live as if we wear Yellow. 
	We have to do that thing that makes us feel most alive, uncrushed by the upper deck of an Oakland freeway onramp, uncrushed by day-to-day defeats. Uncrushed by our own unmeetable expectations. 
	As I walked down the deserted post-disaster street watching the woman ride by, I felt a flush of love for cycling and the assertion of life that athletics is. That's how I felt. 
	So based on that feeling, I thought I'd ask you to do me a favor. Put on your best cycling clothing today, polish your bike, wipe off your shoes. Get ready as if you were riding into Paris at the end of a hard-fought Tour de France. 
	Get a ride together with some of your friends if you can, folks you intend to ride with the rest of your life. Get pleasantly sweaty together. Imagine I'm there with you; I wish I were. We'd have a hell of a nice ride, you guys and me. 
	Go ahead, get out there. Do it for me. Do it for you. 

At Niagra Falls
May 1984

NIAGARA FALLS, CANADA AND USA 
	Niagara Falls is in the middle of the Niagara River which connects two of the five Great Lakes, Erie and Ontario. It makes up part of the border between the United States and Canada. The falls consists of the Horseshoe Falls on the Canadian side and American Falls on the U.S. side. 
	This site is one of the most spectacular natural wonders of the world. At the falls, the Niagara River plunges into a steep canyon like gorge which extends beyond the falls for about 11 kilometers (7 miles). The gorge is about 61 meters (200 feet) deep and consists of layers of different kinds of stone. Hard limestone about 24 meters (80 feet) thick forms the top layer covering softer layers of limestone, sandstone, and shale. Since water erodes soft stone faster than hard stone, the top layer of the falls extends further out over the lower layers. This causes the top to eventually collapse. 
	Niagara Falls was probably formed about 12,000 years ago, about seven miles downstream from where it presently takes the plunge. The ledge of Horseshoe Falls erodes at about 8 centimeters (3 inches) a year whereas the erosion of the American Falls is about 1 inch per year. Less water flows over the American Falls than does over the Horseshoe Falls. 
	So, what does all of this have to do with anything?  In one of your cycling trips across the continental United States, you may want to stop and witness this spectacular sight.  That's all. 

The Ultimate Expedition
Anytime

LONDON, ENGLAND 
	You're looking for a challenge, you've been riding your mountain bike on paved and popular trails, and now you're ready for that mental and physical challenge of an expedition. So, how do you go about designing one? Well, it's got to be fun, and of course, interesting. And maybe, it has not been done before. 
	Nick Crane, a cyclist renowned for his original expeditions, defines Expedition as a journey which seems to take more time to organize than to execute. It can last a day or a year. An expedition is difficult, there is an element of the unknown and therefore a challenge to both courage and knowledge. Its success depends on a level of planning not usually needed for a casual excursion. A cycling expedition could be an attempt to cross a mountainous area or to get from A to B off-road in a day. Or, yet, it could be a circular ride through a navigationally tricky wilderness of forest and moor. 
	The world's wilderness areas are the last (shrinking) reminders we have of a life gone before. Beyond the itching frontiers of "civilization" lies the index to Man's future. If we destroy it, we will no longer be able to experience where we come from or have the means to go forward. It is so precious; so totally irreplaceable and so crucial to our futures that travel through these places must be on tiptoe, not clod-hopping boot. The days of the 4 x 4 expeditions smashing nature under wheel are over. And wilderness travel is not about "survival," it's about understanding. Landscapes cannot "threaten" us; it's the landscapes that keep us alive; we threaten ourselves. With the right attitude and equipment there is nowhere on the earth's surface that man cannot exist in comparative comfort. 
	The planning stage of your expedition includes calculating your total riding distance using the maps you have bought; figuring out what the best time of year is to go to the designated area, including winds and humidity; and discovering how many people live in the areas along your route along with how much traffic uses the road. The last factor that will affect your expedition is your luggage. The question to ask here is do you plan to use local accommodations or to be self-contained. 

Touring in Nihon
Anytime

NIHON'S ROADSIDE 
	The perspective you have riding a bicycle cannot be compared to any other form of travel. Nowhere is this more clearly experienced than cycling Nihon's, or Japan's (as it is more familiarly known), roadside. Along with the mandarin oranges, strawberries, and melons, Nihon grows its own Fuji, Tsugaru and Mutsu apples, crispy Asian pears called nashi and the very sweet, white-fleshed peaches. As you cycle past the orchards, you may see that each fruit is wrapped while still on the tree. 
	The rice fields which are ubiquitous are planted in the spring and harvested in the fall, and they represent a culture proud of its four distinct seasons. You can't miss the scarecrows which are as varied and interesting to look at as anything you'll run into your ride. 
	Dosojin are stone markers meant to protect travelers. Jizo, a Buddhist bodhisattva frequently represented in stone as a little bald-headed priest, is also out there watching over you. This Buddhist priest is said to also watch over children, particularly those who have died, thus you may notice candies and toys placed at the foot of the statues. 
	The Japanese propensity toward graphics and art is apparent in the road signs. Along with warning of children playing nearby, there are three-foot high figures about to dart in the street. True-to-size police statues stand by the road as a subtle reminder against speeding, and brightly-colored cartoons and drawings relate periodic safety messages. 
	Did you know that there are palm trees in the southern part of Japan ? 

52 Years of Pedaling Together
Anytime

NEW YORK CITY, NEW YORK 
	June and Marshall were high school sweethearts. He tickled her fancy and she made him laugh. They courted for a long time because that was the way it was done in those days, but they knew right away that they would spend the rest of their lives together. And they were right so far, fifty-two years later. If you were to ask them what is the secret to their success, they will look at each other, smile, shrug and say that they don't know. But the truth is that they had somehow figured out that in order to make a marriage last, you had to change in the direction of your mate. They had supported each other, leaned on each other, and thoroughly loved each other over the years. 
	One thing that had not changed for them was their love of bicycling. Their courtship had consisted of many a bike ride and picnic. Their fond reminisces contain many memories with bike rides of past times. Once when they were riding too close to the edge of the lake, she said something funny which made him laugh so hard that he lost his balance and fell in. There was a time when she almost fell off her bike, too. It was when he proposed marriage to her. He had ridden up along side of her and looked unusually serious. She didn't know what was going on as he spent an inordinate amount of time clearing his throat. Then he informed her that he had asked her father for her hand in marriage and her father said it was OK with him if it was OK with her. So, was it OK with her? 
	Three grown kids and five grandchildren later, they were still changing and they were still doing it together. The cycling was now on a tandem, the one the family had given them in celebration of their 50th anniversary. On Sundays in the summertime, they ride around in Central Park and always find a different place to have a picnic. If you're ever there on a Sunday and you listen very closely, you can always hear him tickling her fancy and her making him laugh like no one else could. 

1st Gear? or 5th Gear? or 14th Gear?
Anytime

CHANGE OF TERRAIN 
	When I finally got my first multi-speed bike, I had no idea what to do with the gears. When the pedaling became hard, I would shift the levers so that the gears changed to allow easier pedaling. This was not using the gears or my body very efficiently. My cycling enjoyment increased tremendously when I made myself understand the gear shifting principles. 
	The simple analogy of gear shifting is to that of a car. Same thing, really. Just as a car's engine performs optimally within a given range of revolutions per minute, so is your body when your legs are spinning at a certain rhythm or cadence. When you are in your car the next time, notice how the engine begins to work harder when it is in too high a gear. The body does the same thing - it works inefficiently when the machine is in too high a gear. The same thing holds for being under geared, too. 
	Gear mechanisms work best when they are moving with their spring mechanisms. So change up on the rear gear and down on the front changer. You will get used to the sounds your bike makes as you learn how to use your gears so that you will be able to change gears by the sound and feel of the change. 

Go Ride A Rock
Anytime

SLICK ROCK, UTAH 
	Nearly eighty per cent of all bikes sold in the United States are mountain bikes. The mountain bike had made the unbeaten path accessible to a greater number of people but not everyone is pleased about it. On the positive side, it has revolutionized a once stagnant cycling industry. Millions of people are now cycling who once thought they would never ride and are riding to places they thought out of their range. This brings us to the negative reactions to the mountain bike and its surging popularity. In some areas the initial influx of riders was naturally a shock and it alarmed traditional users such as hikers and horse-back riders who sought the outdoors for its peaceful nature. They formed a coalition to ban mountain bikers from trails. 
	The good news is that mountain-bike riding has grown enormously in popularity and cyclists have proven that off-road riding is a valid, environmentally sound outdoor activity. Mountain bikers have taken an active role in promoting a positive image of environmental consciousness. Developing trail access and discovering new trails in cooperation with conservationists has become a minor industry in its own right. In wilder areas, rediscovering lost trails across public land can be as much fun as riding them. 
	Mountain bikers have decreased early hostile reactions, too, by displaying courtesy and common sense with every ride. The International Mountain Bike Association's Rules of the Trail should be followed at all times. The main points are: > Plan ahead and ride on open trails only > Leave no trace: take your litter home > Control your bicycle > Always yield the trail to others > Never frighten animals. In addition, > Guard against all risk of fire > Help to keep all water clean > Protect wildlife, plants, and trees > Make no unnecessary noise > Keep to rights-of-way across farmland > Leave livestock, crops, and machinery alone > Use gates and stiles over fences, hedges, and walls > Leave all gates as you find them. 
	You should also ensure that your bike is in good condition and make sure that someone knows where you are going, what your proposed routes are, and where you expect to arrive and come back. 

Hey, Don't Wait For Me !
Anytime

THE ISLANDS OF HAWAII 
	Most people think that going to Hawaii means lazy days of sun worshipping, swimming some and maybe night time dancing for exercise. NOT. Most people either have forgotten or don't know that Hawaii is the birthplace of the Ironman Triathlon. Furthermore, the 112-mile cycling stage of the Ironman was originally staged as the annual Oahu Around-the-Island Bike Race, testimony to the fact that bicycling has a long history on the islands. But, you don't have to be a triathlete to enjoy cycling the islands. Because the islands are small they are perfect size for the average cyclist. The Question becomes, "Which island or islands to cycle?" 
	Every one of the six major islands in the Hawaiian chain has its fierce and partisan devotees. Maui no ka oi! cry the folks who believe that Maui is the finest island of all. The fanatical triathletes insist that the Big Island, Hawaii, is heaven and go there whenever they can to ride for long days on its many roads. Over 80 percent of Hawaii's residents live, however, on Oahu where there are more than 4000 known cyclists. 
	Each island is different and each is suited to different styles and abilities. Most have at least one good climb and all offer miles of off-road trail for those whose idea of heaven is dirt tracks traversed on knobby tires. All islands, with the exception of Molokai, also have intensely urban traffic, but all islands, including Oahu, have stretches of beautiful, secluded, quiet road as well. 

bPassion and Adventure
Anytime

SEATTLE, WASHINGTON 
	As far as I can tell, passion and adventure are the basic ingredients of a truly worthwhile life (although duct tape is pretty darned important). When passion and adventure are stirred together, life is good. But it's easy to miss the frosting amongst the microwave foods, ramen noodles, and fast-burgers; it's easy to work too hard and never play; it's easy to misplace adventure and passion. Often we survive on self-restricted diet of bread and water, live in Formica and cardboard palaces, trudge down cement streets, humming the humdrum of a job-lunch-job-dinner-sit com-sleep-insomnia-sleep-alarm-sleep-alarm-grumble-shower-breakfast-job life. As we get older and ease into this blandly comfortable life, like shoveling in lukewarm ramen noodles, it's easy to leave out the ingredients that sparked your arrival on the planet in the first place--passion and adventure. More frosting is necessary! 
	I found the frosting: mountain biking. Mountain biking boils away the tasteless components until--BOOM--you find yourself out there charging over great mountains, breathing in the wilderness while your heart beats at 185 ticks-a-minute. Mountain biking is about becoming a kid again, setting out on an emotional and dangerous undertaking, steering clear of the worries and fears, putting your finger right into the frosting, and returning to a time when different things mattered, like living, like not worrying about what your clothes will look like when you arrive home. Mountain biking is a blast. Go ahead, turn the Cuisinart way up there--click, click, click--past mix, blend, whip, and even puree. 

Pearl Pass
Anytime

ASPEN, COLORADO 
	At 12,700 feet elevation, Colorado's Pearl Pass is the highest point on the trail between Crested Butte (el. 9000) and Aspen (el. 7,850), and is a spiritual watershed in the history of mountain biking. In 1976 a group of Crested Butte riders took town bikes over the pass to Aspen, and in 1978 seven locals were joined by five Californians for a second expedition, this time with real mountain bikes. 
	The 38-mile trek has been repeated every year since, with groups which have numbered as high as 300 riders. Once considered a tough, two day trip that included one night camping out, the ride is now for most a single day's ride, and many riders have made the round trip in a day. 

From The Back Of The Pack
July, 1991

FRENCH COUNTRYSIDE 
	So strong is the hold of the Tour de France on the French people that a sports columnist Rex Smith explained it to Americans in the following manner: "There is a saying here that an army from Mars could invade France, that the government could fall, and even the recipe for sauce bernaise could be lost, but if it happened during the Tour de France, nobody would notice." 
	The 2500-mile Tour is an international event that draws an estimated thirty million spectators. More than 450 journalists report on the race, and 500 million people worldwide avidly follow it. Every day for three weeks in July the race tours the country, with a different route each year. The stages typically last four to seven hours, and each ends in a different designated city or village. A fleet of about 800 vehicles ---- a mobile caravan more than nine miles long including journalists, visiting dignitaries, and support vehicles for the riders ---- follows the race. 
	The coveted maillot jaune, or yellow jersey, is worn by the race leader, the racer with the lowest overall time. This tradition was begun when the Tour was resumed shortly after World War I by Henri Desgrange, the newspaper publisher who had created the Tour. He came up with the idea to enable spectators to pick out the race leader as the peloton swarmed past. The color was inspired by the yellow pages of Desgrange's publication, L'Auto, predecessor to L'Equippe, the French newspaper devoted to sports. 

mNew Mounted Police
Anytime

SEATTLE, WA 
	The auto thief sat with other drivers in gridlocked Seattle traffic, probably feeling safe in his anonymity, when the four police officers on mountain bikes surrounded him.  Before he realized he was in trouble, he was in handcuffs, another victory for the speed and maneuverability of the new mounted police. 
	It took the popularity of mountain bikes to put American police officers on two (unmotorized) wheels, but the wave of enthusiasm that started in Seattle in 1987 has spread all the way back to Europe as police departments all over the world take advantage of the mobility and silent approach of the bicycle patrol. 
	Although there have been police officers on bikes for over a hundred years all over the world, these patrols were never a major part of the police effort in a large American city.  The Seattle Police Department gets credit for the rebirth of the cycling police force, after two officers launched an experimental bike patrol in 1987.  The first patrol quickly expanded to a major part of the Seattle force when arrest statistics showed them to be more effective in congested areas than police in vehicles.  
	The word spread, and other police departments began rethinking their techniques and priorities in order to deal with the problems of law enforcement in congested areas. As the Seattle department refined its techniques and equipment, some of the officers who helped develop the program shared their experience, and bike police units sprang up all over the country. 
	Bicycle patrols have become so popular across the United States that there are national conferences sponsored by the League of American Wheelmen, and even formal competition among departments to show off their techniques. "Beat the Streets" is the annual police bicycle competition, and the events reflect the types of problems faced by cycling officers.  There is an obstacle course that tests riding ability, and relay race to see who is the fastest police department, and the crowd favorite, a simulated crime scene.  Elements of the crime scene include capturing suspects, preserving evidence, aiding victims and operating as a team. 

Mountain Bike Politics
Anytime

MOUNTAIN BIKERS VS. THE WORLD 
	The social impact of the mountain bike has been felt most heavily on trails where until recently wheeled vehicles had never been seen. Previous to the development of the mountain bike, the principal users of trails had been hikers and equestrians, and the arrival of a large new group of recreational trail users has not always been welcomed. 
	The two major issues are environmental damage or the possibility of it, and the safety and consideration by cyclists of others using the same trails in a different way. For many hikers the aesthetic issue is enough, that bicycles simply do not belong in the wilderness because they are mechanical devices that detract from the outdoor experience. 
	All social change is accompanied by conflict, and in response to problems, perceived or real, bicyclists have united in a number of local and national groups to develop means of dealing with these issues. On the other side, hiking and equestrian groups have in some cases mounted their own campaigns against cycling in areas considered sensitive. 
	The issues involved are complicated by several factors. There are hundreds of types of public lands, ranging from federally designated Wilderness Areas to city parks. Each of these has its own rules, conditions, and social pressures. To be effective, rules must be enforced, and in some cases mountain bike violations have forced park rangers to take on new duties and devise strategies to locate and apprehend offenders. 
	Although there are no simple solutions, in some areas the three main groups have adjusted to each other. In general, this requires that each group respects the rights of the others, with cyclists yielding the right of way to hikers and horses. 
	Since hiker and horse safety is such an emotional issue, mountain bikers who endanger others by riding recklessly can only convert people in one direction, and once a hiker has had to jump off a trail to avoid being run down, he is not likely to support the use of bicycles on that trail. 

Rain
Anytime

CYCLING FOR A RAINY DAY 
	Bicycling in the rain can actually be fun. A well-dressed cyclist can enjoy challenging the elements. An important consideration in wet weather is how differently your brakes will react. In general, wet brakes can take up to four times the distance for a stop in dry conditions. Adjust accordingly; allow yourself time to stop and consider not going as fast. 
	I'm fond of preventing skunk stripes, that grimy strip of road dirt up the back of your jacket that's kicked up off the rear wheel. A makeshift plastic cover over your rear rack can prevent this. If you're on your mountain bike, consider getting of the trail. Mountain bike advocates believe riding some trails in wet weather can cause damage, something a responsible off-road rider should seek to avoid. 
	As far as clothing goes, I use a jacket with vents or zippers under the arms, a long "tail" in the back, and a roomy hood. The material is breathable, allowing my sweat to make it to the outside world instead of drenching me under the jacket. In cool weather, I'm happiest with a wool shirt or jersey, some sort of neck covering, a rain jacket, wool leggings, rain pants, waterproof booties, and thin gloves over my biking gloves. If it's pouring so hard I can barely see--or raining on top of a slippery surface of leaves, I'll contemplate bailing out. That's a good time to find a local cafe and test the eats. 

Racing With The Big Boys 
Anytime

NEW YORK CITY, NEW YORK 
	In cycle racing, as in any sport, the super champions are rare. To be a super-champion, you need a combination of natural talent and determination. There are riders in international jerseys who, at the beginning of their riding career, did not seem to have the right talent to succeed. But they and their coaches have pulled the best out of themselves through vigorous disciplined training, and by the right mental approach. There are others at a high level who are supremely gifted physically, but never exploit these gifts to the fullest and never realize their ultimate potential. 
	There is no such thing as an ideal build for a racing cyclist, but some extreme types of riders will have advantages and disadvantages depending on the event. For instance, the bulky athlete is well suited for track sprinting but might struggle in hilly, indeed mountainous, road races. In the case of time trials and pursuit racing, a tall and lean cyclist has the advantage of better streamlining. In road events, the smaller cyclist can easily take shelter behind other riders and provides little drafting to rival racers. 
	One of the ways to achieve success is to identify right from the outset where you are the weakest. This way, you know where to concentrate on your training and improve. The questions to ask yourself may include: Are you strong but not fast? Are you fast but lacking in stamina? Are you strong and fast but don't quite understand tactics? Generally, the ingredients of a champion include the four S's. They are Stamina, Strength, Speed and Skill. Some of these might be inborn, but all can be developed. In fact, most champions have developed these factors rather than having been born with raw talent. 

The Little Red Trike
ANytime

SAN FRANCISCO, CALIFORNIA 
	It was his favorite thing, the little red trike. One day it appeared on his door, no note, no sign of where it had come from. It was his trusted friend and steed, carrying him through the adventures of boyhood. They were one. 
	But now he was older, walking boldly in front, paving the way for the family. And Grandpa followed quietly behind, trailing the temporarily discarded machine. 

Go Repack Downhill
July 3, 1976 

MARIN COUNTY, CALIFORNIA 
	The "Repack" downhill held in Marin County, California from 1976 to 1984, was the first regular series of mountain bike races. Many of the people who later became famous for their involvement in mountain biking, raced and tested their designs there. These include course record holder Gary Fisher, Tom Ritchey, Joe Breeze, Charlie Kelly, Charlie Cunningham, Mike Sinyard, two-time national mountain bike champion Joe Murray and three-time champion Jacquie Phelan. 
	The name "Repack" comes from the days when off-road riders used old bikes equipped with coaster brakes. A single 1300-foot descent of the two-mile course boiled all the grease out of a coaster brake, and it had to be "repacked." 
	Because riders competed against the clock rather than head-to- head, Repack is the direct precursor to what is now a world championship event, The Mountain Bike Downhill. 

Workhorse of Asia
Anytime

BALI 
	Bicycles are the short haul trucks of Asia. Loaded high with everything from plastic ware to shrimp crackers, the streets of countries such as Indonesia are full of these towering teetering colorful displays. The deft riders can navigate the narrow lanes of the cities and the hilly countryside, riding right up to the customers front door. Farmers use the bicycle as well to get their newly harvested rice to market, although sometimes the load makes it difficult to actually ride! 

The Right Thing
Anytime

LAST LAP OF A CRITERIUM 
	I admit it; I had last-lap jitters. I'm no criterium rider and it sure was a criterium: six turns per three-quarter mile lap, flat as a new chainring. Not my style; still, I'd hung in OK, 24 laps behind me and one to go. 
	Last lap. Here we go. I bumped the lever and got the 14, thinking the pace would quicken. Everybody behaved in the first corner, and the second. 
	On the back straight guys jockeyed for position. I sat around fifth going into the corner, on the inside, right where I wanted to be. I heard someone yell, Inside, Inside. A rider came up from behind, maybe five mph faster than me, right up the curb. 
	I couldn't believe my eyes. How could he expect to make it around the corner, without any arc, without being able to sweep through? Then I was in the corner and guys were falling in front of me. I straightened up my bike and rode off the pavement and up a rocky embankment, hanging on for dear life. 
	I ended up stopped up on a grassy ledge, staring down at the fallen riders, astonished I hadn't crashed myself. 
	By the time I could hear over the sound of my heart, the crowd was cheering the winner. People ran over to ask the crashed guys and me if we were all right. I said I was fine. My rear tire was a casualty, though; a brand-new silk, wouldn't you know. The downed racers grumbled, disgusted, in short Anglo-Saxon incantations. 
	The first guy who fell said the gentleman who'd passed me so suddenly cut him off. He'd gone into the turn on the inside and needed the whole width of the road on the way out. The first guy down took out the second. They'd gotten similarly scraped up, their elbows and feelings red and angry. They said they planned to protest the fellow's unsafe riding. 
	I took off my cycling shoes and started the long walk back to start/finish. As I walked, I sorted out my feelings about what happened. I hadn't expected to finish well (my sprint is nearly undetectable) but, what the heck, I'd made it THAT far. 
	When I got close to the crowd of spectators, someone ran out and told me that the fellow who'd caused the crash had, in fact, won the race. Gee. I looked at my destroyed tire, still trying to figure things out. 
	One of the injured guys stepped up and asked me what I'd seen. I told him about the guy's sudden move up the inside and about my off-road episode. He said the two of them intended to protest formally; would I sign? 
	I had to say I hadn't seen the crash happen; I couldn't precisely name the cause. Any evidence I could attest to would be circumstantial. He said the two of them had spoken to Ed, the aggressive guy, and Ed had been proud of his win. He'd said he felt that his hard-charging action was justified. 
	The injured guy fiddled with his new elbow pad. Clearly disappointed with me, he walked back to the officials' table to continue the protest. 
	I felt confused. I leaned my bike into a hedge and went over to talk to Ed. 
	Hey, I said to him. All Right. You won the bike race. He nodded and said he was pleased. I said a couple of guys were protesting; they'd asked me to sign. I told him I thought that his move in the corner was awful bold. 
	Really. Did you?, he said. I said I really did. In a pack of amateur bikies, on the last lap of an early-season criterium... . Why, even if he didn't hit anyone, he'd shock enough guys virtually to guarantee a crash. 
	Do you think I did the wrong thing?, he asked. 
	Well, that's up to you, I said. What do you think? He said he'd found himself at the back of the pack on the straight and decided to come out of the corner in front, so he could control the pack speed for the sprint. 
	He said he felt he was doing the right thing at the time. He asked me if I'd fallen; I said no, but you should have seen the other guys. He asked me was I sure I was OK; could he buy me a new tire. I said, hey, one of those things. Thanks, he said. 
	I watched as he walked over to the judges' table. Later I heard the original race winner had been disqualified; the other placers moved up. 
	I loaded up and drove home feeling at peace with myself. 

}Roadie
1975

BELGIUM 
	Once not so long ago, a Belgian bike racer named Merckx won lots of races in an area known as Europe. People avidly followed the sport there. You could stand at a bar anywhere on the continent and raise your glass to toast the best in bicycle racing; everyone in the place knew you meant Eddy Merckx. 
	Eddy dined with the reigning King of Belgium. Meanwhile Merckx himself reigned as the king of athletes in Europe. He met the Pope. His name became identified with ruthlessly aggressive, man-eating, beat-'em to a pulp racing. Newspaper writers called him the cannibal. He was as renowned as a rock star. Ed-dy, Ed- dy, fans chanted, Ed-dy. 
	When he retired he set up a bike factory near Brussels, building professional frames and complete bikes. He sought out distribution in the U.S. and made several trips here to promote his products, both at trade shows and in bicycle retail stores. I first met him at one of those store visits. 
	I took about a dozen cycling caps, imprinted with the logo of the shop I worked in then, to the Merckx affair. Embarrassed, I put the hats in front of him where he sat, saying they were for the boys back at the shop, not knowing if he understood. He nodded, smiled and signed all twelve hats. I still have mine; always will. I thought at the time about how many autographs the man must have already signed in his remarkable life and how gracefully he signed all those hats for me. Class, I thought. 
	Later, at bicycle industry trade shows, I got to see Eddy Merckx once or twice a year. You could feel his presence in a room, I thought, and I still think so; Merckx is not an ordinary man. Always, at those shows, I'd shake his hand and tell him how nice it was to see him. He always thanked me, quiet-spoken, his English better and better. Class, I thought again. 
	At the last trade show in Atlantic City, Merckx worked the booth of his U.S. importer, Gita Sport. Each day of the show, I'd see him there, shaking hands and looking great. Ed-dy himself, working the show in New Jersey. Does he need to do this?, I wondered. I can't imagine he needs the money; almost certainly he retired a wealthy man. But here he is, the man himself, the cannibal, the name on the frame. 
	Walking across the hall floor with Winning Magazine editor Rich Carlson, I remarked on Merckx's unassuming style, his "common touch." He's the king, Carlson said, explaining that each time he'd spoken to Merckx or interviewed him, Merckx had always made time, always listened to the questions, always cooperated 100 percent. What class, I thought. 
	The show closed and the three of us manning our booth went to dinner to give the convention center staff time to haul out the huge crates the booth fits into for shipping. The assembly and disassembly of the booth takes hours and, hey, I admit it, I hate it. The whole show I dread packing the booth back up. 
	Dread or not, there we were, back from dinner, loading our stuff back in the crates. I was not a happy camper. At a lull in the action, I walked to the restrooms. As I passed the Gita booth, I noticed a dark, strong-looking man in a sweaty Giordana (clothing) t-shirt packing up the elements of the booth. Damn, I thought, that's Eddy Merckx. 
	I couldn't get over it. Imagine Bruce Springsteen helping the roadies pack up the show. Eddy Merckx, Superstar, seen wrapping stuff up, putting it in boxes, sweating in his t-shirt right here in Atlantic City. 
	I thought about bike clubs I've belonged to, clubs in which three or four of the members did all the work so the other two hundred (including me) could ride. I thought about racers I'd known who wouldn't dream of taking a weekend off from their cat- three "career" to help their club run a century or a race, or just to take a ride with new cyclists, maybe teach them a little bit about riding their bikes. 
	I thought about how difficult it can be to inspire amateur racers to help their teammates, to sacrifice personal interest for a common goal. I thought about how riders will take and take from shops and sponsors and resist giving anything back in the way of time or consideration. 
	I looked again at Eddy Merckx, who's already proved who HE is, who has met the Pope and the King. I watched as he bent over the side of the huge crate to load another piece of the Gita booth in there. Eddy Merckx, solid and dark and, at least to my mind, dramatically set apart from the run of cycling mankind, helping pack crates. Hey, he can't do it just for the money. He doesn't do it because he has to; Gita could find someone else to pack away parts. 
	He does it, I'll bet, because it never occurs to him not to. Like signing all the hats and taking the time to talk to dealers and to chat with Rich Carlson. Like not just thinking about how pleasant and easy he can make things for himself, especially since he's done so many incredible things already. Most people wouldn't blame him if he got on a plane right after the show and didn't help a bit with the grunt work. It's Ed-dy, after all. 
	I'm sure he has a sense of the magnitude of his achievements on the bike. Probably in quiet moments he savors memories of some of the victories, the 5 Tours, the 7 Milan-San Remos, the Hour Record... . Probably he remembers moments when he rode away from top-rank professional cyclists, heroes of thousands of fans, and left them gasping in dismay and frustration. 
	Maybe now and then he remembers breaking away, finishing Tour stages alone, already so far ahead overall the stage-winning margin hardly mattered, driven purely by his hunger to dominate. 
	Not THIS evening, though; no time to reminisce this evening. Ed-dy and the Gita guys had a booth to pack up and beautiful bicycles to wrap for shipping; the display had to be knocked down and put away. Ed-dy and the guys would finish up, all at the same time. They'd put the shipping labels on the crates. Then everyone could go home. 
	Hey, I wish you'd have been there and seen it. You couldn't mistake it. Class. 

fI'm A Road-Runner Hon-ee
Anytime

WILDCAT CANYON ROAD 
	Two-part story. In the first part, I'm riding by myself, climbing up Wildcat Canyon Road, above Berkeley, Calif. I'm sitting in the saddle, easily turning the 19 (OK, the 21) and sweating behind my sunglasses. My eyes're starting to sting. 
	I see a guy on a bike, black shorts, cables showing, nice old Univega, stopped on the shoulder, facing against traffic. I slow, but not much - can't slow much from my uphill speed, not without toppling over. 
	I say, "hi, how you doin'?" 
	The guy looks at me, points into the grassy field rolling away from the road and says, "There's a coyote." 
	I steer onto the shoulder. Just like he said, maybe 40 feet away, other side of a wire fence, I see a pointy-nosed, bushy- tailed medium-size-dog-sized coyote. Wow. 
	Note: We see deer here in the San Francisco Bay urban/suburban sprawl. We see an occasional rabbit, skunk, possum or raccoon, but we do not often see a coyote. I'd never seen one. 
	For a minute or two the guy and I stand on the shoulder by our bikes watching the coyote, hardly speaking. The coyote seems not to be bothered by us. Calmly, he surveys the grassy hillside, glancing over once or twice in case one of us has a rifle. Why should he trust us? He may not know any bike riders. 
	We begin to talk. We speak of how uncommon it is to see such an animal, how remarkably un-mangy this one looks. We agree it appears lean and capable, not flea-bitten or scarred or raggedy- eared. A fine prosperous coyote, takes care of itself. Not Wiley Coyote, Rotary Coyote. 
	After a while, bored with the view or with our conversation, the coyote wanders over the brow of the hill. We can just see the tips of his pointy ears in the long grass. We watch his ears a couple minutes - shows how often we see coyotes - then we climb back on the bikes, sorry it's over. 
	Turns out we're both headed up the hill and back down into Berkeley. My new friend's a grad student at Cal in environmental studies so we do not lack for conversational fodder. Lots of environment out there (why, it's all around us) and plenty of problems to complain about. We have a great chat. 
	You can probably imagine our conversation. As one after another whizzes by us so charmingly, we discuss our natural enemy as cyclists, the CAR. We're neither of us CAR guys. We complain about how many CARS we see and how few people we see in each CAR. We mutter about visible air. We bitch about how inappropriate, how wasteful CARS are. We marvel at the amazing emotional changes wrought in otherwise gentle people while they are inside CARS. 
	We agree we cannot as a nation afford the horrible price we pay for our addiction to casual use of six-passenger CARS as solo daily runabouts. And we talk about the impossibility of our doing anything about any of the above, except by example. We can "shut up and ride our bikes." 
	Before we get to the top of the hill we're friends. We have mutual adversaries. We trust each other. He says his name is Jeff; I say mine's Maynard. We say we hope we run into each other again. He turns left; I go straight. 
	I feel great. I saw a coyote and had a satisfying 30-minute bonding experience; things like that should happen to me every day. That's the first part of the story. 
	In the second part I'm having lunch with my friend Rom, who's way smarter than me. I'm telling him about the coyote ride. 
	I tell Rom about pedaling up Wildcat, seeing the guy on the hill, about the guy pointing, about the two of us watching the coyote. I tell him about the conversation the guy and I had, the almost instant friendship. 
	I tell him about how seeing the coyote and chatting with the nice guy transformed what was otherwise an ordinary bike ride, turned it into an afternoon in a hundred. 
	Rom looks at me, considers, says he knows exactly why I saw the coyote. I hesitate, trying to figure what he means. I wonder what karmic or mystical explanation he's got in mind for me. It was just luck I saw the coyote, I decide. What does he mean? I draw a blank. 
	"OK," I say finally, "why'd I see the coyote?" 
	"Because you stopped," Rom says, "and asked the guy how he was doing." 
	I told you he was smarter than me. 

YPutting Money Where The Pedals Are
1975

TREXLERTOWN, PENNSYLVANIA 
	As you take the exit off the Pennsylvania Turnpike, dutifully following directions from the last gas station, it occurs to you that you might yet be lost. You take a survey of the area as you drive further and notice that the area is an unlikely place for a velodrome. Then, as if in symbolic reassurance, you bank a curve and suddenly the lights and the thunder of hands pounding on sidewalls lets you know you are there: the Lehigh County Velodrome. 
	The Lehigh County Velodrome began as the vision of one man. Back in the early 1970's, Robert Rodale and his wife Ardie donated the funds to see the vision through, and in 1975, the facility was built in Trexlertown, near their home. 
	Since the 1980's, the Velodrome has hosted five national championships, a landmark Soviet-U.S. dual meet, and televised events on ESPN and ABC sports. The developmental programs boast record participation, and the Velodrome has grown in international stature. 
	The nationally acclaimed developmental network is one of the most important aspects of the Velodrome's operation. It consists of several programs to teach and develop cycling skills in people of all ages. These programs reinforce bicycle safety and help young riders and Olympic hopefuls reach their full potential. 
	For all of the programs, the Velodrome supplies high-quality bicycles, helmets, instruction from world-class cyclists and coaches, and the facility. Sponsors like Rodale Press, Inc., John E. duPont, Air Products, Lehigh Valley Bank, and Aussie Racing Apparel, allow the participants to take part in the programs at no cost. 
	As part of the vision since its inception, the Air Products Program is the most comprehensive developmental cycling program in the United States. Classes are available for individuals of all ages and abilities. Novice cyclists are introduced to track riding and racing. Bicycle safety, bike handling skills, and beginning race strategy are the key elements of this program. Advanced classes emphasize training technique, racing, and strategy. 
	The Bicycle Racing League is a supervised training and racing program for boys and girls ages 12-17. Participants, divided into teams, are given training and racing instruction. The final weeks offer head-to-head team and individual competitions. 
	The Junior Elite Training Program are advanced training classes which prepare promising young riders, and fine-tune their cycling skills, for national and international competition. The program, which began in 1984, is under the direction of Alaric Gayfer, Head Coach of the Developmental Cycling Network. He is supported by Gibby Hatton and Pat McDonough, two of the leading coaches in the United States. Some of the Junior National Champions who have participated in the program are Marty Nothstein, J.D. Moffitt, Tim Quigley, John Levkulic, and Susan George. 
	Hundreds of people from the Lehigh Valley and surrounding areas of Philadelphia and New York City participate in the programs at the Velodrome each year. 
	For 15 years, Robert Rodale sat at the helm of the Velodrome Board. The success of the Lehigh County Velodrome and the developmental cycling programs can be attributed to his love of the sport of cycling and the Lehigh Valley. 
	On September 20, 1990, Robert Rodale, founder and chairman of the Lehigh County Velodrome was killed in an automobile accident in Moscow. The track stands today as a tribute to the man who brought bicycle racing to the Lehigh Valley and has made possible world-class and community cycling. In honor of Bob Rodale, the County has renamed the entire Trexlertown park The Bob Rodale Cycling & Fitness Park. 

JA Wet Sunday Morning
Anytime

A WET ROAD 
	The road, wet from morning rain, curves up into the trees. Rom sits in the saddle, pedaling a low, easy gear. No traffic noise rises from the highway below. Rom listens, enjoying the quiet, enjoying hearing only the sound of his tires on the damp blacktop. 
	Behind him, the distant, angry whine of a geared-down engine intrudes. As he pedals, waiting near the white edge-line, the sound gets louder. It rises and falls in intensity as the driver slows for wet corners and accelerates between them. 
	He waits, listening, until the pick-up passes dangerously close, surprising him. Red truck, wide wheels. Guy driver, two women passengers. After passing him, the truck swerves uselessly away, oversize back tires losing grip, finding it again in a hissing tailwag. 
	One of the women looks behind to see how the cyclist reacted to the near miss. Rom gazes back at her; a heartbeat passes. She looks away. 
	Back to the Metallica tape, he thinks. What did she expect? That I'd scream and threaten, or panic and fall off my bike? 
	How many times has that happened to me, he wonders. What's so offensive about bike riders? Is it just that they can push us around without us retaliating? 
	He wonders if studly truck-drivin' dudes like this guy have ever been powerless, the way a cyclist is? Probably not, huh? Ought to make him ride a bike for a month or so, jack up his consciousness... 
	As he pedals, he can hear the guy's engine speed up and slow in the curves ahead. He knows the incident is over now, but he still feels a buzz from the sudden scare, from the adrenalin, whatever... 
	He wishes there could be more to the story, a different end: some triumph of the weak, some... justice. He wishes he could know for sure there's a God. A God who deals with earthly inequalities, rights wrongs, makes sure the meek inherit, if not the entire earth, then merely a respected bike-size parcel of it. 
	You're being silly now, Rom, he says to himself outloud. You just had one of the many close calls with cars or trucks you're bound to have if you ride the miles. Now you feel hurt and exposed; you're trying to invoke cosmic justice. Get real. 
	Lost in thought, he realizes he's heard the truck engine sound change, turn soprano. He hears an extended tire hiss, maybe two beats long, then quiet. He pedals up the hill, rounding wet, leaf-strewn corners. Quiet again now, he thinks. Nice. 
	He sees a guy and a woman standing on the righthand roadside. The guy has his arm around the woman's shoulders. The people from the truck. The guy is comforting the woman. But where the hell is the truck? 
	Rom sees the second woman climbing up the wet grassy slope out of the gully. He sees the guy reach down to help her over the last bit of climb to the road edge. Then he sees the red truck, down maybe 15 feet in the gully, right side up and resting on a huge tree branch. 
	Rom resists the feeling that swells within him. He hears the sound of trumpets, the mingled voices of a choir. He feels guilty in the most delicious sense. But he does not gloat. 
	"Anything I can do to help?," he asks, pedaling very slowly. 
	"Yeah, get me somebody to help get my goddam truck back on the road," says the guy. Sure, says Rom, smiling, I'm happy to help. 
	Pedaling more briskly now, he goes off to find a park official. Locates one in moments, tells him about the truck, waves goodbye, resumes his ride. 
	Back on the curving wet blacktop, Rom no longer yearns for proof that there is a force that rights earthly wrongs. At least for the moment, that search has been called off. 
	"No doubt about it," he says to himself, pedaling easily up the hill. 

Mountain Bike Safety
Anytime

DOWNHILL SHRED 
	I felt a tremendous rush the first time I rode a bicycle without the training wheels at age seven. Part of the excitement was the realization that I had discovered something very dangerous. 
	My seven-year-old intuition still proves true today: riding a bike can be a dangerous undertaking. If you do crash, you might brake your collarbone and you'd be lucky. You would be lucky because at least you were wearing a helmet and you didn't conk your head on a rock. And you were riding with a friend who could cover you with extra clothes to prevent shock, prop extra food and water next to you, and then scurry off for help. 
	But the danger of mountain biking isn't just the big crash. A simple mechanical failure, a sore knee, or exhaustion can strand you way out in the backcountry and force an unplanned night in the woods. If you don't have the proper supplies like food, extra clothes, plenty of water, and something to fend off the wild pigs with, you might as well be on Mars, dude. Minimize the risk 1) Never ride alone. 2) Always wear a helmet. 3) Avoid violent speed experiences and out-of-control riding. 4) Carry a good first-aid kit and know how to use it. 5) Bring along two quarts of water per person per day. Don't ever count on finding water along the way. 6) Always, always, always bring along a topo map of the area. Don't try playing Journey to the Center of the Earth. 7) No matter how nice the weather is carry extra clothes, food, and a flashlight. Also toss sun screen, a lighter, and a knife into that pannier bag. Always wear eye protection. 8) Is it hunting season? Wear a bell and something bright or go road riding. A bullet hole through your new jersey is a nice way to mess up the rest of the week. 

2The "Zack Attack"
1992

BOULDER, COLORADO 
	For Sally Zack, bike racing is a second athletic career.  As a college student at the University of Southern Illinois (Carbondale) she competed in gymnastics and cross-country from 1983 to 1985.  She started cycling in 1985 to recuperate from running injuries, and took up racing in 1986.  Sally showed her talent immediately, winning national criterium championships in 1987 and 1988.  In her third year of racing she achieved her dream of getting onto the U.S. Olympic cycling team, one of only three women chosen.  Despite her inexperience at that level of cycling, she managed to finish in the pack just a bike length behind the gold medalist, but in 16th place and out of the medals. 
	The Olympic experience gave her incentive to try harder the next time, and in her second Games in Barcelona she moved up, although still out of the medals, to10th place. Even without a medal, Sally's trip to Barcelona will certainly be a high point of her life, as she was accompanied by her fiance and Shaklee teammate Nathan Sheafor.   
	Although denied Olympic Gold, Sally has remained one of the top female riders in the United States, with over 60 career wins and still counting. Sally's finest showing may have been in a race she didn't win. The eleven-stage Ore-Ida Women's Challenge is one of the biggest stage races for women in the world, and features a truly international field. In 1991 Sally set a race record with three straight road stage victories and four overall. Powerful performances by other riders and one poor finish pushed her back to fourth place, but her General Classification time was only 1:09 off the winner's. 
	Her athletic career is far from over, but Sally already has plans for a life after racing, one that includes a lot of fishing, hiking, cross-country ski racing, and a Dalmatian dog. 

	

Shopping Smart
Anytime

AUSTIN, TEXAS 
	I met a guy last week who'd just come here from Texas for school. I know a few bike business people in Texas, so I asked him where he shopped back home. 
	"I usually go to Blank Blank Cyclery, but I don't buy much there. I go in for advice; they know what they're talking about," he said. "But their prices are a little inflated, if you ask me. 
	"So I go in there and find out what I need or how to fix my bike, then I buy the parts mail order. Or from shops that charge less. Works out good for me," he said. 
	Maybe you shop that way, too. Why not? Why pay more, as the discount ads say. Hey, it's the American way, isn't it, to shop for the best deal? It's what smart people do. 
	Maybe it is. But maybe the quality, savvy store charges more for reasons you may not think of, reasons that might make sense once you do. 
	Maybe the owner hires people he knows are competent and personable and honest, who'll get to know you and your bike, how you maintain it, how you ride. People who love cycling. Who like to spend their time around bicycles and bicycle people. 
	Maybe he has to pay those people more money than less selective shop owners do. Not good money: hardly anybody makes good money in the bike business, merely good by comparison. 
	Maybe the classy shop owner believes his customers like to see merchandise displayed attractively, in expensive fixtures. Maybe he likes to buy products he's sure he and you can depend on, products that cost him more money. 
	Maybe he spends money in ways that won't affect you until you need special help. Maybe he bought an expensive bike fitting system. Maybe he bought and maintains tools that help make the assembly of your bike closer to perfect. 
	Maybe he's computerized his store so he won't run out of things and you won't have to wait for someone to calculate what to charge you. Maybe he built dressing rooms so you could conveniently try on clothes. 
	Maybe he sponsors a club or promotes events. Maybe he helps an employee who races or coaches or leads local rides. Maybe he publishes a newsletter or stocks low-profit items like books to make cycling information easily available. Could be he does all those things. 
	Maybe he feels he should pay himself a fair wage, close to what he'd make working for someone else. That should be OK, shouldn't it? You'd never deny a worker a fair wage. You wouldn't want someone denying you one. 
	A bicycle dealer makes his or her living, (if he makes a living), by buying things for so many dollars and selling them for more. That's how retail works. We don't think about it much when we shop for non-cycling things. We know stores make money on what we buy; we tacitly agree that that's OK. 
	But we're funny about the bicycle business. It bothers us that our buddy at the bike store might buy a Sedisport chain for less than he's charging us for it. Makes the transaction seem dishonest, dirty. 
	If he asks a quarter more than the guy down the road (or than mail order) for that chain, he's Jesse James without folk- hero status. He's betrayed his gang, us. 
	But cross-thread a bottom bracket cup about 4:00 on a Friday afternoon. Who're you gonna call, Price Busters? They'll help, if their thread-cutting tools are sharp and haven't been misplaced. Or, in the case of mail order, if you have postage and two weeks. 
	There's more to choosing a bike store than price-shopping. Besides practical reasons to buy from a quality store, there's a human aspect, too. Some of the finest people I know work in good bike shops. People you'd like, I'll bet. 
	Think about it. Which sounds best? Low prices and ho-hum service? Rock-bottom prices, virtually no service and a faceless, convenient toll-free number? Or fair prices and an authentic no- compromise expert at your activity who could become your friend? 
	That's what I thought. 

A Most Exhilarating Experience
Anytime

ON A SINGLE TRACK 
	For many mountain bikers, the most exhilarating experience is single track, a trail just wide enough for a bicycle.  This is the most demanding of the rider's skills, and in many cases crosses the most scenic areas. 
	Single track is also the most politically sensitive riding area, since most of these narrow trails were originally created by hikers or equestrians, and the limits of the trail make encounters between mountain bikers and other users a safety as well as an aesthetic issue.  Under some conditions, bicycles can damage single track trails, although many cyclists are quick to point out that horses can be even more destructive.  
	In general, mountain bikers should only ride on single tracks that are designated for bicycle use.  Riders should conduct themselves in such a manner that others are not offended by their presence, and the trail is not damaged. 
	Trail damage is usually caused by one of several factors: redirected water, skidding, and cutting of switchback corners.  In areas where water crosses the trail, riders should be careful not to create ruts that become erosion ditches. Controlled braking will reduce skidding damage, and all responsible trail users know better than to cut switchbacks. 

An Overnight Hit
1790

PARIS, FRANCE 
	Perhaps the most famous of the early cycles was the brainchild of the Comte de Sivrac, a charismatic and ingenious French nobleman. In 1790, de Sivrac introduced his invention, a strange contraption that consisted of a massive wooden beam attached to two chariot wheels with a couple of massive vertical wooden forks, both front and rear. De Sivrac's bike was really not different from the previous models, and the rider had to constantly push off with his feet along the ground to develop any speed. Like his predecessors, he built a stationary front wheel that couldn't turn; the whole machine was so stiff and heavy that any change in direction meant the rider had to stop, readjust the direction of the front wheel, and get back on, moving his feet furiously to build up any speed. 
	Although de Sivrac hadn't invented anything new, he was a marketing genius. He changed the name of his contraption from the unsuccessful velocipede to Celerifere, another Latin composite, from the words "celer" for fast and "ferre" for carry. De Sivrac was a member of Paris's high society who cleverly made sure to use his many connections as publicity for his odd-looking baby. 
	Overnight, the Celerifere became a hit in Paris. After the Terror of the French Revolution, Parisians avidly sought light-hearted amusements. When its popularity waned, de Sivrac shrewdly renamed it the velocifere; to appeal to the outlandish tastes of the time, he added wooded lion heads, or serpent heads, or mermaids. De Sivrac sold many bikes. 
	Despite all the rage and controversy, the velocifere turned out to be largely a fad. The contraption, after all, weighed close to eighty pounds. It couldn't be steered. After the novelty of dragon heads and tiger heads wore away, there was little de Sivrac could do to hide the inadequacies of his invention. By the time Napoleon succumbed at Waterloo, the velocifere was forgotten and dead. 

SGreg LeMond's Sizing Techniques
Anytime

AT HOME 
	So, before you venture out to your favorite bike shop to plop down cash for a bike, better to size yourself so you get the right equipment. Although common sense will take you a long way to the right equipment, it is not enough by itself. You will do well to arm yourself with the following guidelines developed by Greg LeMond and based on scientific tests performed by a Swiss engineer, Wilfried Huggi. 
	The first step is to get the frame size correct. To begin with, measure your inseam. Get an exact measurement of it. To do so, put on cycling clothes you would normally wear on a ride. It is highly recommended that you buy a pair of high-quality cycling shorts with a chamois lining in the crotch before you do anything else. Not only are will they the most comfortable riding clothes, but the thickness of the crotch will make a difference in your inseam measurement. 
	Now, with only a pair of thin riding socks on, take a hardcover book about an inch-and-a-half thick and about five inches long to an uncarpeted area where you can make a small mark on the wall (the garage is a good place for this). The book will act as your saddle so place it between your legs, and apply enough pressure to simulate riding -- without pushing too hard. When you're satisfied with your position, mark a line along the top edge of the book on the wall. Your inseam is the length measured from this mark to the floor. 
	
	
	The following paragraphs presents you with the major steps toward getting a well fitted bike. 
	
	Frame Size: Multiply your inseam measurement by .65 and the resulting value is your correct frame size. This is measured from the center of the bottom bracket to the center of the seat tube. 
	
	Overall Height: Multiply your inseam measurement by .883 to determine your optimum overall height. On the bike, this is measured, in a straight line, from the center of the bottom bracket to the top of the cupped part of the saddle. 
	
	Steep Seat Tubes: If your bike has a seat-tube angle of about 73 degrees, you should be fine. Anything greater than this will inhibit you from moving the seat back far enough to establish your ideal pedaling position. 
	
	Set Up Your Cleats: The basic rule of thumb is that you want the cleat to sit squarely on the center of the ball of the foot, that is the "zero" position. Move it around, very, very slightly, until it is comfortable. 
	
	Your Correct Pedaling Position: Move the saddle as far back as it'll go. Get on the saddle, place the pedals in the three-o'clock-nine-o'clock position and drop a plumb line from the front of your kneecap. If the plumb line bisects the center of the pedal or falls about a centimeter or so behind, you've got the right pedaling position. Anything else is wrong. 
	
	Upper-body Extension: Although this is the most subjective of all the guidelines, there is a rule to follow. Mount your bike and grab the handlebars on the drops, just inside the curve. Put your legs in the one-o'clock-seven-o'clock position, and bend your elbows at a sixty-five to seventy-degree angle. In this position, your elbow should be touching your knee or within an inch of it. 
	
	Stem Height: At the median point, the top of your stem should be about five to eight centimeters below the top of your seat. Anything less, and it means you're a serious racer. If the stem is out too far, less than two inches in the tube, you risk snapping it from the head tube. 
	
	Sizing Your Handlebars: Your handlebars should be just about the same width as your shoulders. Adjust them so the drops are parallel to the ground. Make sure the brake levers are adjusted halfway down the bend on the bars. 
	
	These are the concise guidelines. Please refer to the Greg LeMond Sizing Techniques section of your Bicycle Adventure manual for the discussion of the derivation and reasoning behind these guidelines. They are fascinating and worth knowing thoroughly. 
	
$Slalom
June 1984

A VERY QUIET COUNTRY ROAD 
	Sometimes, as I am cycling along, my mind is clear and I think of nothing but the bike, and my ride. And sometimes I think about other things. Like death. Who knows why these thoughts come into our heads. Maybe its just that the free feeling of cycling opens us up to thinking about those otherwise unapproachable subjects. 
	Sometimes, when I've been riding and I'm so tired I don't want to turn another crank, I wonder what I would do if I could never ride again. I think about a story of a young woman. By the time she was seventeen, she had won the Future Cycling Champions series, and she was a US. national cycling team hopeful. She was just beginning to see all those hours of training and sacrifice pay off. Then the worst of things happened - in an accident unrelated to cycling - she shattered her spinal column. Paralysis inhabited the lower part of her body. 
	The story continues that she adapts to her new state of being and rehabilitates so that within three years she wins the women's wheelchair division in the Orange Bowl Marathon in Florida. And she takes third place in the L.A Marathon. 
	So when I think about being tired, or start feeling sorry for myself because my body is changing as I get older, I think about this young woman. Her spirit remained undamaged through a most traumatic and tragic event in her life. Her story is one I go back to whenever I start feeling sorry for myself and my aches. And I remind myself how lucky I am to be able to ride a bicycle and feel that freedom sensation....and I glide on. 

Slickrock
Anytime

MOAB, UTAH 
	Mountain biking is about riding on dirt. Around the world mountain bikers say over and over that what they really want is to ride in the dirt, get away from civilization, from the messed up, polluted, dirty, glass-lined streets and have some peace, some green, some natural beauty. You ride in dirt on California's fire roads, on the northwest's old logging railroad grades, on the Rockies alpine trails, throughout the deciduous forests of the east coast, and in backyards and parks all over the country. Riders complain when their tires meet the paved road. 
	Well, when it comes to Slickrock, you can take the dirt ideal and cartwheel it. Just a few miles from the small town of Moab, set between the dusty-colored rocks in southeastern Utah, you'll find the most extraordinary mountain bicycling on the Slickrock trail, a trail set entirely on rock. Sorry, no dirt here. 
	It's difficult to imagine that you'd want to drive twenty hours to ride on rock, especially considering you've been trying to avoid rock-like substances ever since you bought the mountain bike. But the rock near Moab is magic: tires grip the coarse-textured rock -- similar in texture to a cowpie -- like barnacles on the bottom of a boat, so your rear wheel never spins out. Rather than the awkward keep-your-weight-back balancing act of climbing a dirt hill, on Slickrock you get your bellybutton over your stem and climb the rock. Or traverse it, or shred down it. And it goes on forever. Imagine that the town you live in was covered with the coarse dinosaur pie texture and hardened like rock. Then imagine you could ride your bike over it: up to the top of your neighbor's roof, off the peak to the other side, skirting the tree and shrubbery on your way down, then traversing across the side of your neighbor's mini-van. Soon you'd be dropping off the sides of bridges and climbing apartment building, generally roller coasting your way around town. 

So Fast
Anytime

ALLENTOWN, PA 
	All us bikies, and even some of the not-so-committed regular customers at Bob's shop, knew Bob had a fairly successful career racing on Chicago-area tracks 20 years earlier. 
	He clearly knew everything there was to know about a bicycle, but he never gave us a peek at anything like athletic prowess. He rode his old track bike on errands and once in a while he took short rides in the country. Still, no one saw him do anything you could call high-performance cycling. 
	Bob's waistline definitely had forgotten its youthful dimension. A bike rider, though, couldn't help but notice his legs. They remained scarred, muscular evidence of the thousands of brutal board-track miles Bob rode. 
	My guess is he started to get interested again about the time our club revived its old Wednesday night time-trial series. We got good turn-outs from the first at those "low-key" contests of speed. Naturally, all us racers showed up but we were surprised to see dozens of seemingly less ambitious riders also appear. 
	Bob would hardly have noticed the advent of evening racing had not customers begun ordering expensive equipment, just for shaving seconds at those club events. He sold unprecedented numbers of parts he probably figured were useless, like alloy gear clusters and titanium wheel rims. 
	Bob had to endure this mania while bombarded by continual war-storying about Wednesday night racing. Even so, half the summer passed before anyone noticed the slightest change in his habits. 
	First, I saw him pawing around in a box of old fashioned cogs and chainwheels under his cluttered bench. Then, Andy told me that he and his girlfriend, peering in the shop window late one evening (Andy pointing out his dream bike), saw Bob making rubbing motions on some bicycle, as if he were polishing it. 
	Billy was first to report he'd seen Bob out on the road all alone, early on a weekday morning. But Billy was not the last. As sightings got more frequent, it became obvious that Bob was actually training. 
	Two or three of us tried to get Bob to comment on his intentions. Would he like company on his rides? Did he feel some of the old form returning? Would he show up at the timetrial some Wednesday night? He deftly evaded all our questions. 
	Alan told me he'd seen Bob out on the timetrial course itself. He saw Bob ride in one direction, then the other, as if testing himself under race conditions. That same week, I saw him leaning on his bench just after closing the store, gazing at an old grease-stained gear chart. 
	Now, the fates of nations may not hang on these little dramas but, take it from me, we got excited. We watched without saying anything, noting each centimeter lost from Bob's waistline. We silently applauded when his trimmer middle forced him to take a new pair of shorts from his stock. 
	Every club race night we dared to look for Bob at the start. Finally one Wednesday toward the end of August he slipped up to the table and signed up just before entries closed. I watched him rolling around, warming up on that old track bicycle, nodding to customers and to us hangers-on, not saying much. 
	I'd signed up and ridden early, so I'd finished my race when Bob took off. I watched as he wrenched at his bars and stomped powerfully on the pedals, muscling the bike's single, high, gear. A cheer went up from the small group of us at the start-finish. 
	I can tell you the course is not nearly flat. I assume Bob suffered terribly heaving that big gear over the four or five steep rollers out there. And lots of guys thought it was blowing harder than usual after the turnaround that evening. 
	Whatever the reason, despite his ambitions, despite our hopes for him, our leader did not finish in the top third that night. Nor, to be honest, did he finish in the third below that. He did turn in a creditable time, a time only 14 seconds slower than Steve Riley's wife Barb. 
	And Barb, we agreed unanimously, rode incredibly well for a woman in her fifth month of pregnancy. 

ZOn The Pulse
March 7, 1988

SOLVANG, CALIFORNIA 
	I ventured to California's central coast March 7th to ride and observe the famous Solvang Century. About 4,000 other riders showed up, same day, to ride Solvang. So bicycle traffic got congested on the scenic narrow roads. Kinda congested. Like, say, Tokyo streets or the San Diego Freeway, only quieter. 
	Many Solvang riders had personal sags. At each rest stop, you'd see the same few riders chatting with friends or family who'd arrived there by car. I wouldn't have noticed, but the cars used the same generally narrow, crowded route we riders did. Some of those cars passed me five or six times. 
	Some of the congestion was simply slower riders struggling on the hills. No worries. One merely wended his or her silent, resolute way through them as they tacked from center line to road edge, back and forth. 
	Dodging breathless folks who are tacking up a two mile hill sharpens your timing. It hones your panic reflexes. And, luckily, it polishes your perhaps dulling sense of superiority; you're not really fast, but you're faster than they are. Feels bittersweet, like winning a dangerous bunch sprint - for 12th place. 
	On flat roads, huge packs would pass us on the right or left at some lunatic's whim. Packs of unlikely loners, they seemed to me, huddled together for aerodynamic advantage and mutual mayhem. 
	Hey, nobody likes to crash alone. 
	Our little group caught a guy on a Merlin who was riding with a woman. We rode along with the two of them; genial conversation passed between us. Then, a startlingly huge bunch passed us on the left, a clicking, gnashing, squirming mass following three or four tandems. Passed us and moved over right in front of us. 
	Gosh, I thought, there must be 100 in that swarm, elbow to elbow, tire to tire. Can't be more than 100 people I'd ride that close to in all of Santa Barbara County today. I doubted that the selection process for that group weeded out the "Freds," as they say in southern Cal. 
	I looked over at the guy on the Merlin. We shook our heads: fear, we agreed, was the appropriate response. Each holding one hand palm-down to warn the three or four people behind us, we slowed, soft-pedaling a gap between us and what looked like imminent catastrophe ahead. 
	Seconds - nay, splitseconds - later, in the precise center of the mass of bikepath Olympians preceding us, bicycles (oh, and their riders, too) began to cartwheel in a manner never anticipated by the out-of-work aerospace scientists who contributed, hands-on, to their design. 
	End over end, steel, carbon fiber, aluminum and titanium bicycles alike, no preference expressed, pinwheeling in the air, flashes of light glinting off polished parts. 
	Some of the best bicycles in the world rotated in mid-air, waiting for permission from ballistics to land. Some of the finest components waited to grind themselves into early recyclement, into mineral traces on the road. 
	After the awful noise ended, my friends and I pedaled carefully through the wreckage. Some of these guys have just canceled their '92 riding season, I thought. On the seventh of March. Back on the bike again in July, maybe, after the bones knit. Sad. 
	Riding a beautiful 100-miler like Solvang brings even an elite, studly, big-mileage hammer like myself back in touch with cycling's basic truths, truths you learn after sixty-plus miles. 
	Truths like: There's nothing excessive about eating four PB and J sandwiches at the lunch stop - if you pace yourself. Take three, maybe four full minutes to eat 'em. If you get bored between sandwiches, munch oatmeal cookies. Enjoy. 
	Like: After 80 miles, if the road rises at all, it rises near- vertically. At least once, no matter how long you've been riding, you'll reach for low gear as eagerly as a drowning man reaches for a lifesaving rope - and already be in it. Gulp. 
	And like: After 90 miles: Gee, 65 miles is a great length for a bike ride. 

Something He Said
Anytime

AT THE VELODROME 
	Once in a while someone will say something that may not mean much to you at the time. Or, you won't understand what that person meant just then, but later what they said comes to mean something to you. 
	Once I heard Bob say, almost to himself (He was talking with a guy, but the guy may or may not have heard): "If you're feeling good, the gear doesn't matter. If you're not, no gear'll help." 
	Clearly Bob was talking about track racing. Trackies start races in a given gear; they can't change mid-event. They're committed. They do change gear for different tracks or different events: so many inches for a massed-start; so many for a sprint. 
	I believe Bob meant to say something about cycling in a greater sense. That some things we feel matter a lot in our riding lives don't hardly matter at all. 
	For instance: at that time, the top racing bicycle sported high flange hubs and centerpull brakes. The unbeatable Jacques Anquetil preferred that set-up and so did many of us easily beatable replicas. 
	I remember hearing a junior rider complaining to a friend. It seemed his paper route money would not stretch far enough for the purchase of a pair of Mafac "Top 63" brakes. He'd have to ride the next race on his cheap old sidepulls. 
	That race was a shopping center parking lot criterium with wide, sweeping corners. The last time a rider needed brakes on THAT course was when he pulled up at one of those construction- site toilet shacks for a pre-race pee. 
	No way would those Mafacs make the slightest difference in that race, or in very many races, it seemed to me. What WOULD make a difference was the guy's attitude. If he felt defeated by his equipment, he might as well not even pump his tires. 
	I can remember people griping about having to race in last year's jersey style, or on last year's fad sew-up. I heard guys agonize about whether to use a 13-21 or a straight block for a rolling road race, or fret at length about riding some race without a 16 cog on the cluster. 
	Every one of those guys, if you sat him down over a beer, would tell you about the time he was out riding his old clunker training bike on the heavy trashmo wheels. And he fell in with some faster guys out training in a slick paceline; and he hung in with them on that old hack and maybe kicked a little butt in some sprint. AND probably couldn't tell you what the cogs were on the cluster. During the glorious ride he probably forgot what color his bike was. He just knew everything worked great and the bike, well, was just there for the ride. 
	One year at the District Championships I remember feeling good, ready to race. Soon after the start, I flatted my rear tire. I stood dejected until a truck stopped and someone offered me a wheel. 
	We did the wheelchange and I set out in pursuit of a long- gone pack. I caught one guy, then another, then maybe two together. I felt I did a great ride. True, I never saw the pack or the closest chasers, but I finished well enough to qualify for the nationals. 
	After the race, I took a moment to inspect my lucky spare wheel. The rim barely missed my brake blocks. The tire was the bulkiest, heaviest training tubular imaginable; probably wouldn't fit in most frames we ride today. The gear cluster was one an old, out-of-shape smoker might choose for heavily loaded Alpine touring. 
	I have no idea how a wheel like that one got into the follow truck, but I'm thankful that it did. Had I been told before the District's that I had to ride a wheel like that or stay home, I think I might've stayed home. And missed my great ride. 
	Fitness and desire and frame of mind matter and lots of other things do not, just as Bob said. Unless I miss my guess, that's exactly what he meant. 

Smooth, But Not So Fast
Anytime

IN A RACE 
	As you may remember, Bob, our shop's owner, had lost a key ingredient for success in our club time trials. Bob, though stylish, lacked speed. Speed, a frequently used word among cyclists, can mean many things. Whatever you meant when you used that word, Bob lacked it. 
	After his none-too-successful debut, old trackie Bob quit showing up at our Wednesday evening events. He persisted in training, though. We'd see him, out early in the mornings or just before sundown, spinning on that old track iron, smooth in his low fixed gear. Smooth, but not very fast. 
	At that time, interest all over the country in veteran's racing began to increase. Veteran's racing, we thought, a novel idea: guys over 40 slugging it out, just like kids, in road races and criteriums, risking coronaries and debilitating injuries. We racers thought that was terrific. Guys we figured were scuffing their feet on death's doormat turning out to race their bikes just like we did. 
	We joked about a Geritol Grand Prix and road races that would have to be timed with a calendar. We chuckled at the idea of follow cars equipped with spare wheels and cardiac care. Bob continued to train and did not chuckle. 
	When a customer traded in a perfectly clean five year old Italian road bike on a new one, Bob set the trade-in aside and discouraged potential buyers. After a while, we realized he had quietly acquired a modern derailleur bicycle. 
	He kept on riding the fixed gear on training rides and on his errands, riding the bike more and driving his old pickup less. We noticed but said nothing; after his effort at the time trial fell short, we felt the less attention, the better. 
	Bob rode through the winter, except when it rained. By late February, he was piling up the miles, still entirely on the stiff-hub bike. His face showed color; his eyes gleamed. He'd lost the last vestiges of waistline pad. His thigh muscles always had looked stupendous, relics of his six-day racing successes; now, they looked a little less bulky, more defined. 
	First of March he started riding the ten-speed. When we saw him, he'd be spinning in gears as low as ever; slowish, spinning miles. The third week of March he showed up for one of our group rides. On the road, he neither slowed us up or set the pace. He took average pulls and pedaled silky smooth. 
	We all could see how well he sat the bike and how easily he made it go. We had no idea if he had developed any speed. He rode with us about once a week, never aggressive but never off the pace. He seemed to float along, but if a gap opened he could close it almost instantly, showing no effort at all. 
	In the springtime, we racers focused our ambitions on a road race promoted by the local tourist club, run traditionally in late April. That year, the club added a veteran event. The vets had to ride 40 miles, same as the juniors. The hardest part on that course is a steep climb about two miles long, just past half way through. 
	Since the course was close to home, we'd try to train on those roads once or twice the week before the event. It was on one of those pre-race rides I saw Bob, grinding up the hill as I flew by on my way down. I waved but we passed each other too quickly to speak. I knew immediately that he intended to ride the road race. 
	That thought made me worry; he'd done so poorly at the time trial. What if he trained and rode modern equipment and STILL couldn't cut it? Then, 10 days before the event, he fell off his bike. 
	He'd been in a paceline on a club ride. A new rider three guys up saw a dog and braked suddenly. Bikes and riders covered the road. Bob didn't fall hard, but he lost some skin and bruised his knee. I wondered if he'd still try to race. 
	As I drove out, race-day morning, I saw Bob, in his warm- ups, pedaling to the start. I waved and looked in my mirror, trying to see if he was favoring his knee. At the shop, I'd noticed it still swollen but, painful or not, nothing visibly spoiled that spin. I crossed my fingers. 
	I got busy with my own race while they ran off Bob's, so everything I can tell you is hearsay, but it's probably accurate. The vets race started off pretty fast but soon slowed, as the nervous guys realized they weren't dropping anyone. And the climb promised to split everything up soon enough. 
	Bob mostly sat in, is what I heard, and took a couple of pulls. I suppose he must have felt kind of good, back in the pack after all those years. The hill remained, though, the big problem. 
	Then, Bob had some bad luck, but at the best possible time. His front tire blew out its sidewall, scaring some of the guys. No one fell and Bob got over to the shoulder safely. The senior pack had just passed the vet group; suddenly the senior support car appeared. A mechanic handed Bob a wheel. 
	He probably lost only a quarter-mile to the pack, but the climb started barely a mile up the road. Bob tried to make up as much time as possible before the hill, according to the support guys, but the real story happened after the climb. It happened on the valley floor, on the slightly downhill curvy road, on the fast 15 mile stretch to the finish. 
	They say he passed five or six guys on the descent, guys who'd gotten sawed off on the climb. None of those men could stay on his wheel, not for any more than a few hundred yards. On the flat, they say, he turned the big gear as easily as he had the 63. He gained steadily on the pack. 
	Bob caught one chaser after another, shedding each man off his wheel almost immediately. Three miles from the line, he made contact with the bunch, rode straight through to the front and shared the pace-setting with three or four others. 
	Club members had the road at the start-finish closed curb- to-curb. A dozen veteran men appeared, spread across the road, to contest the sprint. Four of those men, as I understand it, pulled away from the rest. Bob pushed his wheel in front and held it there, sprinting like you'd think he would; impossibly low gear, legs spinning like a turbine, no waste, no visible effort. People screamed: a local hero, unbelievable. 
	After the finish, as near as I can find out, he picked up his warm-ups and kept on riding. While we waited for the other races to end, he must have pedaled home. At the roadside award ceremony, when the rep called Bob's name, I went up to collect the prize. 
	I gave him his prize at the store on Monday. He'd won a fine set of hubs, that anyone would've wanted. That same week he strung them up into race wheels. He gave those wheels to a junior for whom he seemed to have less distaste than he had for the rest of us. 
	As far as I know, that kid is riding them today. 

Do I Seem Hurt ?
Anytime

BEHIND A CYCLIST 
	I'm riding my motorcycle down a long gentle grade on a curvy two- lane. I come up behind a gray primer Chevelle SS396 convertible, top down, three young guys in it. The guys are not, I figure, on their way to accordion lessons. Not in that musclecar. 
	In front of the guys is the reason I caught 'em, a man pedaling a ten speed, helmeted head down, centered in the lane. I watch the Chevelle guys to see how they'll act, blocked by the cyclist. As I watch, they patiently drive 19mph behind him (awright, dudes!) for a mile or two, then turn off. Now I'm behind him. 
	I ride up alongside on my motorcycle. I notice the mirror on his helmet. I wait until I'm sure he's not scared of me next to him and I say, "you know, there were three young guys in a primer Chevelle stuck behind you all the way down that last hill." 
	He says, hey, he was going the speed limit. 
	"Maybe so," I say, "but if I looked back and saw THOSE guys in THAT car behind me, it'd strike fear into my heart. I'd move over." 
	He says he's got as much right out there on that road as they do, or as anybody does. I tell him I'm aware of that, I ride as many miles on a ten speed as he does, probably. I say that I think, due respect, that he's missing the point. 
	The point: who cares who's right? Why get in the way of a car? Not just a car with machodude danger signs, but any car. Why do it? Why not be considerate? Why not act the way you wish other people would act? Seems so elemental. 
	The guy with the ten speed says he'll watch out for primer Chevelles in the future. I think: this guy is unclear on the concept. Unclear. 
	Then it's the next Wednesday morning. As I do most mornings, I read Herb Caen's column, the most popular part of the most widely read paper in northern California. Caen runs an item about a stretch limo, creeping along, caught behind an oblivious lane- hogging cyclist on a mountain road. 
	The limo follows the cyclist uphill for an eternity. Finally, one of the passengers, in a dinner jacket, stands up through the sunroof and pelts the cyclist with ice cubes from a champagne bucket. Rich people are awfully clever, don't you think? 
	The cyclist (I'm not making this up), ignoring the ice cubes, defiantly continues up the center of the lane, inexplicably, damnably, never-endingly ignorant. 
	Do you sense my frustration here? I know the guy in the limo acted stupidly, but he'll probably only harass one cyclist in his life. Who knows how many drivers the cyclist will annoy? 
	Hundreds of thousands, perhaps millions, of people read that column, chuckled at the madcap ice-tossing Mr. Bigbucks and shook their heads at the typical uncaring cyclist. "Why are they like that?" For northern California bike riders it was a PR disaster. 
	Whoever you are, pal, when you resolutely blocked the path of THAT limo, you did major harm to cyclists for hundreds of miles around. In ten inconsiderate minutes you reinforced an already vivid negative stereotype in the minds of more people than populate most states. 
	My guess is you could care less. YOU're all right; nothing bad happened to YOU. Other cyclists will just have to take care of themselves. On one level - your thick-headed, narrow, self- centered level - you're absolutely right. 
	But let's imagine what the highway world would be like if every cyclist behaved the same way you (and way too many others like you) do. What would it be like if all bike riders demanded the whole lane just as guys in Trans-Ams do? On the basis of, "Hey, I've got just as much right here as ANYbody!" 
	News would travel fast. There'd be a bounty on us by the weekend. Law enforcement would be helpless, palms up. Trans-Am guys would collect black shorts as pelts; they'd redeem them at participating convenience stores for 12-packs and pretzels on the eve of their annual festival, Super Bowl Sunday. 
	Don't be an idiot. Do what's best for YOU even if it's good for everyone else. Even if it's the right thing. When you hear cars comin' up behind you, get out of their way. 

Standing the Heat
May, 1989

ALBANY, NEW YORK 
	I worked the first Tour de Trump [now, Tour DuPont] as Darcy Kiefel's motorcycle driver. Darcy was chief staff photographer for the Tour. Press photo people get to ride in front of, behind, and through the race, so we saw what happened as well as anyone. 
	I'd like to tell you everything but memories pile up on top of one another. I will tell you about a hill on the first road stage, from Albany to New Paltz, New York. Maybe that'll give you some idea... . 
	The race bible listed Devil's Kitchen as a difficult hill and warned us about possible mud slides. Some of the teams, the smart and lucky ones, put on big freewheel cogs, 23s and 24s. Their riders could pedal up the hill. Guys with 21s did not fare so well. 
	But Darcy and I didn't need low gears; we had 1000cc of motorcycle to get us up the hill. We asked each other, how bad could this one be? We decided we'd go up with the front group. 
	When I saw the hill my heart went to my mouth. I heard it later described at 17% to 20% but who knows? It was super-steep and narrow, a rough old broken-up road. Water an inch or so deep streamed down the hill; you couldn't see the road surface. You could only see the shiny surface of the water. Mudslides covered the road in places. The shoulders were soft mud; your foot sank right in. 
	You couldn't see any other motorcycles; just Darcy and me, with the bicycles, ridden by the best in the world, on that awful hill. The riders in front did fine. With some momentum and a clear road, they could sit in their saddles and pedal right up the hill. 
	Other riders, with high gears or without luck, got balked on the slope and had to slow down or outright stop. Lots of those guys ended up stalled on the climb. 
	The motorcycle felt huge as a motorhome on that one-lane hill. Even though I steered over until the wheels sat half on the pavement, half on the mud shoulder, it took up way too much room. I had to be careful not to put my (and Darcy's, and the motorcycle's) weight on my outside foot. If that foot sank in the mud, we'd slowly tip over, down the shoulder into muddy trouble. 
	Meanwhile, dozens of bike riders, some of the best bike riders in the world, walked and yelled for pushes and zig-zagged up the hill, crisscrossing the road like novices in front of us, stopping our progress. So many riders clogged the road I couldn't keep the BMW moving forward. The engine protested, faltered, trying to die. 
	The scene got more and more unreal; I realized we didn't dare stop and we sure couldn't go. Whatever we did, we were totally IN THE WAY. 
	Then we crossed paths with a rider going from side to side in the road in front of us. We stopped just in time, clumsily; he fell over into us, crying, swearing almost incoherently at us in what sounded like English, but, as many times as I've tried to remember, I'm not sure. 
	I caught him as he toppled over onto my leg. I helped him back onto his feet and wheels, all the while trying to hold the motorcycle up. 
	He couldn't get started again on that streaming wet steep hill without a push. He kept wailing, a stream of syllables that occasionally sounded like words, calling for someone to push him. But help was not forthcoming; other guys had their problems, too. 
	Darcy, who'd climbed off the motorcycle to shoot pictures on the hill, (when in hot water, take a bath), jumped back on. I got the Beemer going again and tried to find a way up through the craziness, up and away to someplace where I could forget I'd ever heard that people race bicycles. 
	I heard guys yelling, hey, get that goddam motorcycle out of here. I could smell clutches burning, smell hot engines. Two motorcycles needed work, I heard later, after the Devil's Kitchen climb. Rental vans got old in two miles. 
	I stalled the engine twice trying to keep from hitting riders crossing in front of us. Two guys on another motorcycle close behind, trying to follow us up the hill, barely got stopped in time to avoid hitting us. 
	I got Darcy and me to the top and we got out of the riders' way for the descent. My undershirt lay cold, soaked, against my back. I thought: well, Maynard, you dreamed of driving a press motor in a European-style race and here you are. How do you like it? 
	I felt I'd interfered with the race, gotten in the way. Then I thought: hey, if Darcy and I hadn't been there, doing our job the best we could, who would shoot the pictures? Who would come home and sit down and type this story? I couldn't get settled in my mind about it. 
	Darcy, who has worked the Tour and the Giro, who has spent months in Europe shooting pro bike races, had fewer, if any, misgivings. All in a day's work to Darce. Not me; Hey, I had misgivings. 
	So, after the race, I asked a couple of pro riders. They said the motors are always there, part of the racing. Sometimes in Europe the motors crash and take out riders; it happens. But the riders and the races would not get publicized without the photographers. The photographers couldn't get good shots without the motorcycles. 
	It's OK, the pros said. Eventually I believed them. I'm pretty calm about it now. It was tougher to be cool on that hill there in New York. Yes, even for a seasoned cyclo-journalist like myself, just doing his job. 

Getting Started
1983

SAN RAFAEL, CALIFORNIA 
	In 1983, as an adult returnee to college, I enrolled in a writing program at Dominican College, in San Rafael, CA. I had no idea what I'd do with my training. I'd written a stack of papers, short stories and poems, but my writing didn't seem to be going anywhere. 
	I signed up for a journalism class called: Writing For a Living. What an idea, I thought: the stuff of dreams, to write for your living. You did not make a living in that class but you did get to write, every week. And be graded with a thoroughness bordering on fanatic. 
	The teacher demanded accurate editing. Otherwise, he applied red ink in astonishing amounts. 
	He forced us to do interviews, sometimes several a week, collecting quotes for our articles. He had no patience with excuses. He was very much "real world." We got the feeling that if we could please HIM with our writing we could please anyone. 
	While on his torture rack, I supported myself as a sort of manager at a bike shop in Fairfax, CA. One day, as they say, the phone rang. A gentleman from nearby San Francisco was starting a monthly free newspaper, to be called California Bicyclist. He was looking for writers, he said, to submit copy, especially copy about bicycle racing. 
	I told the gentleman that purely by accident he had reached the precise bicycle racing journalist of his dreams. Busy at work, I wrote down his number and, for several worthless reasons, failed to call him for a month. 
	When eventually I did recontact him, he seemed glad to hear from me and gave me (oh boy, oh boy) an assignment. He thought me worthy to cover an important weekend of racing not far away. He even promised me a truly paltry sum of money for my prose and photographic efforts. 
	Please understand that I would have paid that man for the privilege of attending those races as "working press." Why, TV and radio would be there, and correspondents from the established bike papers and magazines. And I would be there, shoulder to shoulder with famous names in racing writing whose work I'd admired for years. 
	I covered those races. You could say, generously, that I did an OK job. I took pictures and interviewed famous racers, went home and wrote copy and he used it. I received in time a truly paltry sum of money. 
	But my name was in print. My name...in print. I had a byline just like Art Hoppe. People came up and told me they liked my article. I felt set apart a little, as if maybe I knew something the bikie in the street did not know. After all, I had talked to George Mount. 
	I began to do a monthly results column for that paper including a paragraph or two of local racing news. I suffered my first ego deaths from severe editing. 
	I continued my little column, kind of let down; perhaps I wasn't cut out for bicycle journalism after all. I had the tools, thanks to my writing teacher at Dominican. I had a camera, thanks to CitiBank. I had a little experience, thanks to California Bicyclist. I needed something more: a connection. 
	Suddenly, my friend Owen Mulholland, who'd been writing about racing in bike magazines for years, asked me to call his editor at Winning Magazine, the wonderful new Euro-style racing monthly, just one issue old. 
	Owen had been assigned a regular column, focusing on a fictitious bike shop. He had in fact submitted one article, which Winning ran, but he told me he doubted he could come up with a story every month for the column. He thought maybe I could. Don't ask ME why. 
	At that time there was no fiction in any cycling publication. They ran technical articles detailing ad nauseam how things worked, touring articles about where or where not to ride, diet articles and racing reports slash predictions. No fiction or poetry was the rule. 
	I called the editor at Winning. He told me he wanted a humorous, sentimental column about a bike store, a story that might make a reader more sympathetic with a shop owner or employee. 
	Having been such an employee, I felt capable of writing such a piece and I did. It was somewhat funny and certainly sympathetic but it was not what he had in mind. Crushed but still determined, I wrote another article, focusing, this time, on a real, historical racer whom I knew to be a buddy of the editor's. Winning took it. 
	And paid me a paltry sum of money, it's true, but I became, in that instant, the only published writer of bicycle fiction (non-fiction optional at writer's discretion) in the country. I became responsible for a page or so in the back of that magazine; a page that would be blank but for my invention. 
	My friends read my articles; several told me how much they liked them. Others, foolishly believing that I wanted the truth because I said I did, rated the stories OK, but not terrific. I tore those folks' cards out of my Rolodex. 
	This is the sixth anniversary of that column. Six happy, nervous years of trying, monthly, to tell a story about some small thing I see in our tiny subculture. The truest and most accurately told stories sometimes take on a universality. People write letters claiming they're sure that what happened in the story, happened in their town or their shop. Those stories must be, at least a little, about LIFE. 
	I find it difficult or impossible to write about things I'm not passionate about. I love the enthusiast press in all my activities. I love the lore, the history, the language, the legendary characters. I hope you do, too. Those passions serve me, maybe, as a kind of apprenticeship for the writing. 
	It'd be hard, as I said, for me to write generally about LIFE. I have found it easy (sometimes) and gratifying to write about bike riders I've known or imagined. Almost by accident, some of the stories turn out to be full of LIFE. At least according to my remaining friends. 

	I Wheel Away From Okayama
December 5, 1886

OKAYAMA, JAPAN 
	The first essential element of success is to have sufficient confidence in one's self to brave the criticisms...of a skeptical public....Over 100 years ago, Thomas Stevens departed San Francisco to begin the first ever bicycle trip across the United States. He completed his ride in 103 days which was an amazing feat considering the obstacles he had to overcome. Stevens' vision was much larger, though, as he sailed to England to continue his trip around the world! 
	He completed his round the world trip on December 17, 1886, logging about 13,500 wheeled miles. His trip took him through fifteen countries, numerous cities and countless experiences. As an example, he writes the following of Japan, ...the happiest state of affairs seems to exist among all classes and conditions of people in Japan. I suspect the Japanese children are about the only children in the wide, wide world who really enjoy studying their lessons and going to school..." and "...with happy memories, 
	I wheel away from Okayama on Monday morning, passing through a country of rich rice-fields and numerous villages for some miles. The scene then changes into a beautiful country of small lakes and pine-covered hills, reminding me very much of portions of the Berkshire Hill, Mass. The weather is cool and clear, and the road splendid, although in places somewhat hilly... 
	Thomas Stevens was born in Berkhamsted, England and immigrated to America where he worked as a frontiersman. At the age of 29, he decided to attempt a bicycle trip around the world - never mind that he did not own a bike nor did he even know how to ride one. In Stevens' days, bikes were high wheelers and acquiring the skill to ride one is not easy. But he was an energetic, realistic man who never tired of reading travel literature. He was described as a man, who, when determined to a obtain something, sacrificed nearly everything to acquire it. He did face unbelievable obstacles, in his day, while making his trip. 
	Even if the conditions of a century ago have changed, the spirit that charged Thomas Stevens is still alive in everyone who has ever dreamed of crossing the country by bicycle. Thomas Stevens will always be the father of transcontinental cycling and should be remembered by those who can appreciate the thrill of adventure. 

<
The Way of the Behemoth Bike
Anytime

ROAMING EVERYWHERE 
	In an era when road cyclists will spend thousands of dollars to remove a few pounds from their machines, Steven Roberts has found the other extreme.  His bike, a recumbent that he calls the Behemoth (Big Electronic Human-Energized Machine...Only Too Heavy) weighs a mere 580 pounds with its accompanying trailer.    The 105-speed Behemoth is Steve's third big bike since he started his odyssey in 1983, and has replaced the 275-pound, 54-speed Winnebiko II.  "I used to get 40 miles to the pizza," he says, "But as [the bike] has gotten heavier, it's down to 25 miles." 
	The reason the Behemoth is so heavy is that it is Steve's home for extended tours of the United States, and it features not only every "bell and whistle" known to the cycling world, but a lot that exist nowhere else.  Estimated value of all the electronic gadgetry is $300,000, but much of it was donated by manufacturers who value Steve's advice and unique experience. 
	The Behemoth is an eight-foot long self-contained home with virtually every high-tech computer and communication device that isn't a military secret.  It has extra wheels that pop out to keep him from tipping over when his hill climbing speed slows to about 1 mph.  Among Steve's electronic gadgetry are four computers, a TV set, cellular phone and modem, satellite navigation, CD ROM libraries, anti-theft alarms, a fax machine and printer, helmet-mounted two-way radio, and a music synthesizer for the times when words fail him.  The grips have pressure switches that allow Steve to type while riding, and since 1983 he has roamed the United States on his ever-growing bikes, supporting himself by writing about his travels and testing new technology. 
	Since he built Winnebiko I in 1983, technology has come a long way, and in 1986 he upgraded from Winnebiko I with its 300 baud modem and Radio Shack portable computer to Winnebiko II.  Part of his problem was that he had to find a phone to communicate with other computers, and the fact that he had to stop to type.  With the second bike he went wireless, and added his unique "keyboard" on the grips, which requires him to type in ASCII.  Out on the road again, he wrote a book, "Computing Across America." 
	Behemoth was born in 1992 after Steve had settled down for four years in Silicon Valley to work in the computer industry.  The itch for the road, and the desire to test all the new equipment got to him, and once again he is out on the road, doing the two things he loves best, riding and computing, and keeping in touch with his many friends through GEnieNet, HAM radio, and his modem. 


Crossing the Forty-Mile Desert
May 2, 1884

THE EDGE OF THE 40 MILE DESERT 
	Thomas Stevens decided to cross the United States, and go around the world, on a high wheeler in the fall of 1883. At the time, neither did he own a bike nor did he even know how to ride one. He was an adventurous fellow with ambitious goals and while developing his plans, he taught himself the difficult skill of riding a high wheeler. The following is a passage out of his diary which reflects his thoughts on crossing the formidable span of the Forty Mile Desert in Nevada. 
	"At Wadsworth I have to bid farewell to the Truckee River, and start across the Forty-mile Desert, which lies between the Truckee and Humboldt Rivers. Standing on a sand-hill and looking eastward across the dreary, desolate waste of sand, rocks, and alkali, it is with positive regret that I think of leaving the cool, sparkling stream that has been my almost constant companion for nearly a hundred miles. It has always been at hand to quench my thirst or furnish a refreshing bath. 
	More than once have I beguiled the tedium of some uninteresting part of the journey by racing with some trifling object hurried along on its rippling surface. I shall miss the murmuring music of its dancing waters as one would miss conversation of a companion. 
	This Forty-mile Desert is the place that was so much dreaded by the emigrants en route to the gold-fields of California, there being not a blade of grass nor drop of water for the whole forty miles; nothing but a dreary waste of sand and rocks that reflects the heat of the sun, and renders the desert a veritable furnace in midsummer; and the stock of the emigrants, worn out by the long journey from the States would succumb by the score in crossing. 
	Though much of the trail is totally unfit for cycling, there are occasional alkali flats that are smooth and hard enough to play croquet on; and this afternoon, while riding with careless ease across one of these places, I am struck with the novelty of the situation. 
	I am in the midst of the dreariest, deadest-looking country imaginable. Whirlwinds of sand, looking at a distance like huge columns of smoke, are wandering erratically over the plains in all directions. The blazing sun casts, with startling vividness on the smooth white alkali, that awful scraggy, straggling shadow that, like a vengeful fate, always accompanies the cycler on a sunny day, and which is the bane of a sensitive wheelman's life! 
	A desert forty miles wide is not a particularly large one; but when one is in the middle of it, it might as well be as extensive as Sahara itself." 

8Strada Model
Anytime

SANTA YNEZ, CALIFORNIA 
	A new year, a new decade and a new bike. And made-to-order, just for me. I'll walk you through its purchase and first weeks of use; you may find the process interesting. You may want to find a Tim Neenan and a bike like mine for yourself. 
	I never had bike problems in the past. I've ridden Italian production bicycles the last 10 years and found them delightful. I never thought I was a custom-bike kinda guy. I worried that I couldn't design one as well as the Italians I'd relied on all those years. 
	Then, last spring, I got to thinking I should have an American-made bike, built by someone I know and trust. That bike wouldn't need to be adaptable to the middle two-thirds of a bell- shaped curve of cyclists. It'd be made for me. As my builder says, "we only build one size: your size." 
	The frame would distribute my weight properly over its length. It'd account for my habit of pushing my butt off the back of the saddle on climbs. I could choose its lugs and crown and seat cluster, direct its cable routing. I could pick the paint and the parts. The bike would reflect my tastes. 
	Right away I thought of Tim Neenan, my friend since the late 70s. These days Tim builds Lighthouse frames out of a workshop next to his home in the lovely Santa Ynez Valley, just inland from Santa Barbara, in central California. 
	Last spring, my wife, Shelly, and I visited Tim and Lorraine in Santa Ynez. While we were there, just for fun, he measured me and my bike and drew a sketch of what HE'D have me riding, when and if. Planting the seed, he was, and in fertile ground, evidently, because it sprouted. A month later, I sent him a deposit. 
	After he opened the deposit letter in March, pleased and surprised, Tim called, asking if Shelly and I could come down to Santa Ynez once more. We'd go for a ride or two and he could watch me on the bike. He'd remeasure me and my bicycle and make dead sure he was building me the just-right frame. We'll be down, I said, but it took until July before we were able to get to Tim's for my fitting. 
	We rode together twice, once flat, once hilly. Tim measured me again and taped and angle-gauged my bike. He told me what he thought I should have: a shallow seat-angle, a longish top-tube, such and such a head-angle and bottom-bracket height, all that stuff. 
	We decided my bike should be as Italian as could be; we'd be on known, hallowed ground there. I chose all Italian frame components: tubing, lugs, bracket shell, crown and tips. Shelly picked the color, a medium blue we figured we wouldn't get tired of. I paid the balance of my bill. I owned a future Lighthouse. 
	After the trade shows in October, Tim called and told me he'd just applied the last decals and the final clear coat. I should come down, he said; we'd put my bike together and go for a ride, my Lighthouse's first ride. 
	Shelly and I put the box of Campy Croce and Chorus parts in the car and drove to Santa Ynez, but I wasn't nervous. If she says I was, don't believe her. I don't know why she talks that way. 
	Need I tell you the frame was beautiful? Need I say that the paint was perfect, the details fussed-over? Should I say that, because of its deliberately Italianesque style, Tim called my bike the Mod. Strada, Road Model in Italian. There's the decal, on the chainstay. 
	We built the bike up in a couple of hours. He'd already installed the headset and bottom-bracket, so the rest went right together. We mounted the virtually new, tied-and-soldered Spence Wolf wheels I'd been saving. 
	Tim built my fork with internal wiring for the Avocet computer. The wire runs inside the steerer, then out through the 3TTT stem. Only an inch of wire shows. Clean, clean. The whole bike looks sano, as hotrod car guys used to say. 
	We finished the assembly and rolled out Tim's driveway for the ride, my bars still untaped; I ALWAYS have to readjust my brake levers. I'm so fussy. 
	Any nervousness I might have felt was wasted. The new bike never felt strange. You'd think it would, new and different as it was. 
	For instance, I've never had so shallow a seat-angle. Probably I've never had precisely the same head-angle or fork rake or top-tube length. None of that even entered my consciousness. I worried for a while that the stem and bars and cranks were screwed on good and solid, but I never felt like I was on a new bike, out on its first ride. 
	That Lighthouse is, in its quiet way, by far the best bike I've ever owned. You're aware of how beautiful it is but, while you're riding, you never have to think about the bicycle. The quality of the bike and the builder's attention to its fit are reflected in what you do not notice. 
	It doesn't ride hard. It doesn't ride soft. It doesn't steer noticeably quickly, nor does it seem stable as a train. It just works. It feels planted, sure-footed. It goes wherever you want it, to the precise spot you want on the road. 
	It never needed a change of stem length or saddle height or fore-and-aft saddle placement. It disappears, as the road test cliche goes, under me. It's the best-looking, most undemanding, most responsive tool you could imagine. Worth the wait, worth the money, worth the worry. 
	When I walk into my garage, put on my cycling shoes and clump over to it, I imagine it thinks: oh good, a ride. 
	I imagine it might say to me: Hi, I'm a Lighthouse Strada Model. I'll be your bike. Let's get out on the road. 

Studying Nonchalance
Anytime

NORTHERN CALIFORNIA 
	I dropped in on a friend at his classy, high-end bike store. He walked me over to a good-looking bicycle on display and asked me if I knew the framebuilder; I said I didn't. 
	"I've sold his bikes here for several years," my friend said. "He lived in southern California; built beautiful stuff: road bikes, mountain bikes, tandems... 
	"The thing is," he said, "he died in February, Valentine's Day. Just a young guy. Died of AIDS." 
	"AIDS? He died of AIDS?" I couldn't understand. "Young athletic white guy? Was he a hemophiliac? Did he use needles? You mean; was he gay?" 
	My friend nodded: he was gay. I stood there, numbed by my surprise. Amazing, I thought, a gay framebuilder. For lack of a more intelligent question, I asked if he'd suffered for long with the disease. 
	"Yes he did, but he didn't want fussed over; didn't want anyone acting different around him. He demanded things go on as usual. He got bikes done late, like most builders; you had to push him at times, but he didn't mind." 
	Imagine yelling at a guy you knew had a few months to live, hassling him about finishing some customer's frame. And him liking it. 
	As I leaned on the parts counter and listened, I couldn't get over how shocked I'd been, learning that a framebuilder could be homosexual. I suppose I imagined that something about filing and brazing or figuring frame angles mandated conventional sexuality. 
	Now I can't remember what that something might have been. I'm a little ashamed; I admit it. 
	I admire framebuilders the way I admire all craftsmen, even more, I guess. I imagine they know mystical things the bikie-in- the-street doesn't know. I believe they understand on some fundamental level how the bike works. Puts me a little in awe. 
	And framebuilders know about Eutectic rod and tubing alloy and turret lathes and Bridgeport mills and welded-up lugs and thread pitch and acrylic enamel and all kinds of esoteric (OK - MANLY) things. 
	And to know all that dirty-hands manly stuff and be GAY? To possess all those metal-shop-macho skills and be GAY? Is it possible? Bet your Assos rainjacket it is. 
	You'd think, living as I do here on the shore of R-Rated San Francisco Bay, I'd have gotten over stereotyping gays. I thought I had. 
	I'm sure it surprised you, my readers, how shocked I was, learning that a distinguished bicycle framemaker was homosexual. Wouldn't surprise you. I do believe I learned from the experience; so it wasn't a total loss, as my mother might have said. 
	I don't think I'll be quite so game to plug the next person into a pigeon hole I had ready for him. Or her. 'Course, I won't know the depth of this new awareness until I get surprised again and can watch myself react. 
	That 30 seconds made me think, that's for sure. Occurred to me during that thinking that just living along is like riding lots of miles on your bike. 
	Even after you think you've got it down pretty good, every so often you're gonna fall on your butt. See if I'm not right. 

"Golden" Sunbeam Bicycle
1907

WOLVERHAMPTON 
	John Marston of Wolverhampton introduced the famous 'Golden' Sunbeam bicycle during that brief period in the history of cycling when the initial cost of a bicycle did not adversely affect the design and standard of finish. 
	The 'Golden' Sunbeam represents the highest quality of finish and durability ever introduced into the manufacture of a bicycle. Owing to subsequent economic factors it is most unlikely that bicycles will again be built to this exceptionally high standard of elegance and craftsmanship. 
	An unusual and technically advanced feature of this bicycle is the method of transmission. The gear assembly, driving chain and sprockets are completely enclosed in a steel sheet case which not only protects these parts from road dirt and rain but is so designed as to permit the chain to dip into an oil bath, whereby the lubricating oil is continuously transmitted to the sprockets. A two-speed epicyclical gear-change mechanism is incorporated in the center of the pedal bracket, the change being made by a lever mounted on the top frame tube. Rubber pedals with needle-roller bearings are fitted. The 26-inch diameter wheels have beaded-edge pneumatic tires. The superb brakes are of the stirrup-type rim design and are operated through rods and bell-cranks, by roller-type handlebar levers. A Brooks saddle and a rear carrier arc fitted. 
	In 1907 the standard 'Golden' Sunbeam cost about o20 (English pounds), but some specially equipped models were priced up to 30 guineas. 

From Road to Trail
Anytime

HOW TO SHRED 
	The technical advice that follows is for the rider who wants to smoothly matriculate from road to trail riding, the rider who wants to know what to do in midair just as the trail turns to the right. Unfortunately, riding skills develop by trial and error, by actually crashing. Hopefully, though, these techniques will quicken the learning curve and minimize the number of times you eat dirt. 
	Cadence: In general it's best to pedal 50 to 80 rotations-per-minute while riding a bike. In the mountains, however, this rule doesn't apply: many hills are too steep, some downhills are too scary, and the really tricky spots are too tricky. But a healthy cadence is the easiest way to keep your legs fresh for the longest time possible. Toe clips help keep up a good, even, circular cadence and help keep your feet on the pedals. They also help maintain an efficient pedaling motion: pedal in circles. Also, a good cadence is easiest when your seat has been adjusted properly. Put the seat up high enough so your legs become nearly straight at the bottom of the pedal stroke. 
	Downhill: The idea on any downhill pitch is to not flip forward over the front wheel. To accomplish this, adjust your seat down an inch or two and sit back to lower your center of gravity. In extreme cases move your butt so it is actually behind the seat. Keep your arms and legs slightly bent but not locked--these extremities act as shock absorbers. Keep your hands firmly and consistently on the brakes; you'll get nowhere waving one arm around like a cowboy. Don't brake suddenly, especially with the front brake. Here's the Catch-22 of braking: the front brake does most of the real braking, but you have more precise steering and you're less likely to flip over the front if there is less braking pressure applied to the front wheel. Remember that speed is the most hazardous bicycling condition--it's difficult to get hurt at one mile per hour; at 30 mph it's quite easy. 

wDock 'em up, Roll 'em out 
Anytime

MAEKOK RIVER, THAILAND 
	So, you've decided to go on a bike tour in Thailand. You'll fly into Bangkok Airport which is one of the brightest, cleanest and safest airports found anywhere. You may then head up to northern Thailand, where the borders of Thailand, Laos, and Burma (Myanmar) meet. This area is renowned for its rich cultural history and the infectious friendliness of its people. The sophisticated clamor of Bangkok is left behind as you experience isolated hilltribe villages. You may cycle through an area dotted with Yao and Akha hilltribe villages to Tha Thon which is near the Burmese border. 
	Spending the night at the Maekok River Lodge will give you the opportunity to explore this beautiful area. You can do several things. You can cycle along the River on hardpacked footpaths, trek on nearby trails, or take a short walk up to the enormous white Buddha that overlooks the town. 
	Take a day to absorb the impact of this powerful area. The next day you will board a traditional Thai longboat for a journey down the Maekok River. At Ruam Mit Karen settlement, you may experience the ride of a lifetime: on an elephant. 

The Zen of Mountain Biking
Anytime

ON THE EDGE 
	You're out on the trail, mainlining adrenaline, and you're gloating about the last downhill pitch. You're having quite a bit more fun than you do at work, at least a thousand times the fun. This is not, however, the time to disconnect your intuition about good and bad; it's time to listen to your heart and ask, "How do I go out into the wilderness on a bike and act virtuously? What's the point of being out here anyway?" 
	Well, there needs to be magic and wonder, passion and adventure about being out there: stop to watch a deer in the meadow, a hawk high above the human realm, a small, spirited stream empowered with snowmelt; see a chipmunk chipmunking instead of a co-worker bitching; discover the smell of a pine forest instead of the electrified-defrosted-conditioned-reconstituted-smogged-exhausted air of the city. 
	It's true that there is a roller-coaster element to mountain biking. The adventure involves speed, technical riding skills, a modicum of danger, and buckets of physicality. But adventure alone will get old if you don't have the romance along with it, the magic. If you are not after this magic, drive back to Salt Lake City or Chicago or San Francisco or Portland or Los Angeles and book some tickets to Disneyland. 
	Fortunately, the speed freaks and havoc wreakers represent a small minority of the mountain bike community, just as hikers who cut switchbacks and litter are a minority in that community. Most riders do search out the magic that's hidden around each bend in the trail. These are the ones who always yield the trail to others and help maintain trails once a month. And this group of virtuous riders is growing so rapidly, it's clear that mountain bikers will be the hikers of the '90s. 

Two for Tea
Anytime

TIBURON, CALIFORNIA 
	Happily, the popularity of cycling has been increasing dramatically over the last few years. Thanks to the mountain bike! Another kind of bike which has been gaining in popularity is the tandem bicycle. 
	In days past, riding a tandem was a frightening experience, especially for beginners. The frame flexed as if it were double-jointed, and the brakes were generally inadequate for the added weight. Technology has brought this machine a long way. Today's models are stiff, sure-footed, and equipped with brakes which allow them to be easily stopped. Some models even sport three instead of 2 brakes. 
	Although still expensive, more people have access to tandem bicycles or "twicers" and therefore, more people can explore that certain mystique which sets them apart from solo machines. Dazzling speed, mechanical attention, and relative scarcity lend to the uniqueness of these machines. But there is more. The most obvious is that the riding relationship is expanded to include three elements---the captain (front seat), the stoker (back seat) and the machine. When these three elements work in harmony, the two riders enjoy one of the most pleasurable riding experiences there is to be had. 
	Experienced tandemists have an almost telepathic knowledge of what their partners are about to do. The beginning tandemists must, on the other hand, announce everything, from shifting to taking a drink from the water bottle. The captain, who is in charge of the shifting, must call out the downshift upon approaching a hill. Otherwise, the stoker, who is hammering away, will continue to do so and a sickening crunch will be heard signaling a drivetrain malfunction and possible damage. 
	Since road shock is felt more acutely on tandems, the captain needs to announce unavoidable bumps, and potholes. This gives the stoker a chance to unweight a bit over the rough parts. Turns should announced by the captain and indicated by the stoker who will use hand signals to indicate a turning intention. 
	Tandems have been compared to 18-wheelers: slow uphill, but very scary going down. On descents, the captain has the advantage of an unimpeded view. The stoker has the view of the back of the captain. It can be unnerving to go through a descent at 45 mph with only a back to look at. While screaming descents can be fun, a tandem is best suited for flat or rolling terrain. 
	Above all else, tandems are sociable, providing the means for equalizing the abilities of two otherwise incompatible riders. Couples have been known to get married on tandems, go on their honeymoon on tandems, and in the later years, ride around places like Central Park in New York City on their tandems. There is one warning to heed. If you get on a tandem with your partner and start riding, you may never want to ride your singles again. 

Repairing a Flat Tire
Anytime

ROADSIDE, ON A BIKE 
	You are cycling along, happily singing or humming, enjoying the sunny, crisp day when all of a sudden you begin to feel your bike acting funny.  You look down and, to your dismay, discover that your usually reliable vehicle of freedom has a punctured tire. You have read up on how to repair a puncture and carry a repair kit. And now, it's time to test the theory that within minutes you will be back cycling. 
	Having removed the tire from the bike,  you need to get all the air out of the tire.  You already know that your tubes have a Schraeder valve although the Presta valve is equally as popular.  With the latter you undo the valve and allow it to deflate.  But with the former, you have to use a pen or screwdriver to push in the valve to let the rest of the air out.  Press the valve stem through the hole in the rim. Now you are on your way to repairing your flat.  
	To get to the tube, you pinch the tire walls firmly together all the way around the tire, the whole time pressing back and forth to work the bead of the casing away from the rim.  You notice that the tire and rim separate easily and you make sure that both beads are down in the rim well.  
	Next, you want to get one side of the tire over the rim.  You first try with your hands, but since the tire was a snug fit you go to your repair kit for a tire iron, also referred to as a tire lever.  You know to insert the tire iron making sure not to pinch the tube, and you find that the tire bead can be levered easily over the rim.  Working all the way around the tire, you do this until the one side is completely off the rim. 
	Before you pull the tube out, you make sure that the valve is lifted out through the valve hole. Voila! Now it's time to find that puncture.  
	You remember that an easy way to find the hole is to inflate the tube and while holding it next to your face, close to your ear, you rotate it .  In this way, you can both feel and hear the air escaping.  Once you've located the puncture, you get some sandpaper out of your kit and roughen the area around the hole. You remember to sand an area which is larger than the repair patch.  You know that you could have used cement instead of sandpaper to accomplish this.  
	Next, with clean hands, you spread an even layer of rubber cement over the sanded area.  You put the tube aside to let the cement dry until it is tacky, which means that the solvent in the cement has completely evaporated. While you're waiting for the cement to dry, you search the tire for the cause of the hole and remove it if you can.  If the hole is on the inside of the tube, it could be a protruding spoke which can be remedied with several layers of tape. 
	Once the cement has dried, you peel off the foil on the patch and know not to touch the adhesive area that is exposed.  Then you press the patch firmly down on the puncture hole, rubbing from the center out.  Using some sandpaper, you powder the cement around the patch. 
	As you let the patch set for a couple of minutes, you marvel at how easy it's been so far. Taking a couple of deep breaths, you realize that your dismay has been replace by a sense of self-sufficiency.  You feel good! 
	After a few minutes, you pick up the tube and pinch it so that the cellophane back splits.  You then peel the cellophane away from the center making sure you don't peel away the patch.  Now you're ready to check your work by inflating the tube.  No air is escaping now, and you are ready to reinsert the tube into the tire.  
	To avoid creasing, wrinkling, or pinching the tube, you partially inflate the tube, just enough to give it shape.  Place the tube inside the tire and insert the valve stem through the rim hole.  You make sure it's straight.  Then fit the valve stem locknut loosely. 
	Now you tuck the rest of the tube into the tire, ensuring it is even all the way around, then deflate it completely. You push the valve stem up into the tire and slip the tire bead over the rim.  You make sure the valve stem is clear of the rim or the bead may catch on it, creating a bulge in the tire. 
	Using your thumbs, press the side of the tire back over the rim.  Kneading with steady pressure, you work back and forth to prevent the tire from popping off at either side.  You find the last few inches tight, so you reach across the tire and yank it into place.  With a renewed sense of energy, you reinflate your tire and reinstall it onto the bike, all healed.  The sense of accomplishment sends you back on the road...humming, singing, and enjoying the rest of the ride. 

{To Leg It or Wheel It? 
Anytime

EXERCISING 
	Curiosity has struck the cat and you're wandering how many miles of bicycle riding equals one mile of running? 
	Well the answer depends on a few parameters and is not so straightforward. You need to take into account the terrain, the wind, your speed and weight. Your skills in running and biking and your overall fitness are major contributors to the answer, also. 
	However, there are ways to approximate the answer. Since cycling is more efficient than running, one mile of the sole to the pavement equals about 4.5 to 5 miles of turning the crank. Generally speaking. Headwinds increase the effort in cycling more than running, but body weight is the opposite. Also, you might be more efficient cycling than you are running, or the other way around. So, when trying to answer the question for yourself, alter the 5:1 ratio for any of these significant personal factors. 

Tools and repairs
Anytime

UP THE CREEK 
	It's 6 p.m., and you're ten miles out in the backcountry. You have paid your dues for five hours, and now it's time for the downhill plunge; you figure you can still make it for your 8 p.m. dinner date. Unfortunately, the next time you shift down to climb a short hill, your derailleur shifts past the biggest cog into the spokes. The bike stops instantly, catapulting you toward a shrubbery. Whoa, whoa, whoa. No physical damage , but your derailleur looks like a worrier's paper clip, and several of your spokes look like two-hour linguini. Major malfunction. If you don't have a tool kit and some extra spokes, you will spend the night in the woods and, worse yet, miss that dinner reservation. Recommended tools: 
	
	pump 
	
	patch kit 
	
	extra tube 
	
	tire irons 
	
	extra spokes 
	
	freewheel remover 
	
	spoke wrench 
	
	chain tool 
	
	Allen wrenches 
	
	needle nose pliers 
	
	crescent wrench 
	
	screw driver 
	
	spare brake cable 
	
	lubricant 
	
	rag 
DRoute of the 1992 Tour de France
July 4-6, 1992

FRANCE 
	Twenty-two teams of nine racers each competed in the '92  Tour de France, which began July 4 in San Sebastian, Spain. While  this was hardly the first time the Tour has ventured beyond France's  borders, 1992's 2,380-mile route also included brief forays into  Belgium, Holland, Luxembourg, Germany and Italy. 
	This international Tour was designed to celebrate the growth of the European Economic Community, which concurrently loosened trade restrictions  and created a common currency. 
	From a racer's perspective, the crucial feature of the '92 route  wasn't its border crossings but its bypass of the Pyrenees mountains.  These steep peaks on France's southwest border with Spain have been  included in every Tour since 1910. But this year, aside from one brief  flirt during the second stage, the Tour steers clear. 
	Otherwise, it is a typically grueling Tour de France with eight  relatively flat stages, two mild mountain stages, three hard mountain  stages, three individual time trials (counting the prologue), one team  time trial, five rolling stages and just one rest day. 
	The longest stage, No. 12, is 174 miles between Dole and Saint  Gervais-Mont Blanc. The shortest, No. 6, is 93 miles between Roubaix  and Brussels, Belgium. The two most difficult days (at least on paper)  appear to be stages 13 and 14, each of which include five severe  mountain passes. Overall, the Tour includes 13 climbs rated most  difficult, an increase of three from 1991. 
	If the Alps don't propel one racer into a clear lead, the final  individual time trial, stage 19 from Tours to Blois, should decide the  overall winner. That this leg comes on the final Friday (and not  Saturday or Sunday) is a design of the organizers, who are determined  that the high points of the Tour not be overshadowed by the Olympics,  which begin Saturday, July 25. 

^Smiling To The Finish Line
Anytime

HONOLULU, HAWAII 
	So you've heard of triathlons and know they involve the sports of running, cycling, and swimming. And you've heard of triathletes. But if you're like me, that's the beginning and end of your knowledge of the sport. 
	Well, it all began one boisterous night in 1978. Some Navy boys were partying in a bar in Oahu when they began "discussing" Hawaii's endurance events. They had a difference of opinion when their commander suggested they combine the three events into one continuos event. The Hawaiian Ironman Triathlon was born combining a 2.4-mile Waikiki roughwater swim, a 112-mile around-the-island-of-Oahu bicycle race, and a 26.2 mile Honolulu marathon.  
	In this premier event, fifteen guys tested out their toughness. The race for first place ended up being between two graduates of the Navy "tough guy" squad who almost killed themselves trying to win. The race had a total of twelve finishers, all of whom received a trophy ---a tiny sculpture made of nuts and bolts with a hole in the top where the head was supposed to be. 
	The second year of the event also had fifteen participants ---one of which was a woman. One man competed in a superman outfit; another, in bull horns; both an indication of the lighthearted attitude of the racers in this extremely grueling competition.  Tom Warren, who came to win, did so in eleven hours and fifteen minutes. 
	Upon the third Ironman, in 1980, "Wide World of Sports" showed up to televise the event in which 108 competitors showed up to test their endurance, mentally, physically, and spiritually. Within two years, the race had grown in popularity such that there were 850 racers participating. In 1983, the Hawaiian Ironman began turning away thousands of applicants. 
	Today, there are a variety of triathlons ranging from  the Ironman to more regional and less grueling races which include a 1/4 mile swim, 7.4 mile of cycling, and a 3 mile run. Literally, tens of thousands of athletes train and compete all around the country in these races. 
	Famous names from the Ironman history books include Dave Scott, Erin Baker, Paula Newby-Fraser, and Scott Molina. 

Trick Riding For Money
1899

TRICK RIDING 
	"His tricks are so startling and often so daring that a description of them would fill a goodly sized volume" was the quote carried in a German magazine describing a young trick rider by the name of N.R. Kaufmann. He was promoted by those who realized that aside from racing, they could make money through trick riders. Kaufmann who was from Rochester, New York, was among the first to "play" Europe. His act was indeed sensational. 
	His opening act began with his entering the stage and laying his bike down then exiting. He would then run full speed up to the bicycle, grab it and pull it up, and swing himself over the handlebars and into the saddle. Then, standing on the pedal, he would operate his bicycle with his hands, seat himself inside the frame, and guide the wheel with one hand and, turning the pedal crank with the other, ride at full speed around the stage. Then, unwinding himself, he would again swing into the saddle, raise the front wheel off the ground and at the same time turn the handle bars completely around, and pedal about on the rear wheel. 
	Kaufmann's closing trick was an unbelievable headstand on the pedal! It was not surprising that he was soon the most famous of all the trick riders. 

(Uh, You Know
Anytime

NORTHERN CALIFORNIA 
	I fell off my bike just after Christmas and got hurt. I've been thinking about that fall a lot, but falling's not what I want to talk to you about. 
	I'll tell you about it if you're curious though. My friends and I had just started down a steep trail. At about two mph, I believe, I flew over the front end of my mountain bike, landed on my head and then my side. I say "believe" because I don't remember any of it. 
	I don't know what caused me to crash. I do remember seeing a rut in front of me in the trail. Maybe I put the front wheel in that rut and clumsily tried to steer out. Or maybe I grabbed the front brake too hard. I'll never know. 
	I woke up with paramedics clustered around me asking questions, trying, as I understand now, to gauge my level of consciousness. I'd been out 10 or 15 minutes. 
	My three buddies, arms crossed in front of them, stood off to one side as the paramedics carried me up the hill and loaded me into an ambulance for the thrilling ride to the trauma center. I imagined my friends, watching, thinking: there but for the grace of God.... 
	At the hospital, I found out I'd broken a rib or two when I fell, but that isn't what I want to talk about either. 
	Not that those ribs didn't hurt for a few weeks. They did, especially when I sneezed or coughed. They hurt when I raised my body up to look at the bedside alarm clock. They hurt getting in and out of cars. I had to be careful about laughing, too; it was best to have my wife Shelly tell me what happened on Seinfeld. 
	Nevertheless, the ribs were no big deal. I say that now, six weeks later, but I believe I'd have said it even then. The ribs hurt but you knew they'd get better if you only waited. You could deal with it. 
	But my eyes. I hurt my eyes, but even that's not what I want to talk to you about. 
	I did hurt 'em, though, and since the crash, I've had double vision when I look down - especially down and to the right. I hurt a nerve that directs a muscle that stabilizes my left eye. That eye no longer aims exactly where the right one does. Not all the time. 
	Now I have to close one eye to read. I see two bowls and two streams. When I look back over my right shoulder, I get momentarily confused. I see two sets of stairs under my four feet; one set where stairs have always been, the other set slanting off somewhere. This eye thing is a pain. 
	The docs say a frontal head injury will commonly give you double vision like mine. Happens in bar brawls and car accidents. Takes six months, maybe a year, to clear up or, if it doesn't, you can have surgery. 
	Because of the vision weirdness, I'm unconsciously holding my face turned to one side, my chin down, and my head tilted off the vertical, all trying to compensate, to see the way I did before I fell. People who know me notice. 
	And because of the head tilting, my shoulder and neck muscles are suffering. Three visits a week to a chiropractor ought to help; but, hey, my muscle problems are my own and they are not what I want to talk about. 
	My eye doctor says that if my injury had been a little more serious, it could've been, uh, you know, serious. Maybe I wouldn't have been able to talk. Maybe I'd have had to quit writing. Think of all my disappointed fans. Might've been riots. 
	My injury would surely have been more serious had I not been wearing my helmet. The helmet did just what it was made to do. The styrofoam inside cracked, absorbing energy that was rudely trying to crush my temple. 
	Which brings me to what I want to talk about: your helmet. If you ask me, you oughta wear it. 
	Maybe you'll wear it and nothing will happen. You won't have needed it. What the hell. Maybe you'll wear it and something will happen. Something could. Things do. Did to me. 
	If something does happen, you'll be glad you had it on. Shelly and I are real glad I was wearing mine. 

Up A Creek
Anytime

MOUNTAIN BIKING 
	I felt a tremendous rush the first time I rode a bicycle without the training wheels at age seven. Part of the excitement was the realization that I had discovered something very dangerous. 
	My seven-year-old intuition still proves true today: riding a bike can be a dangerous undertaking. If you do crash, you might brake your collarbone and you'd be lucky. You'd be lucky because at least you were wearing a helmet and you didn't conk your head on a rock. And you were riding with a friend who could cover you with extra clothes to prevent shock, prop extra food and water next to you, and then scurry off for help. 
	But the danger of mountain biking isn't just the big crash. A simple mechanical failure, a sore knee, or exhaustion can strand you way out in the backcountry and force an unplanned night in the woods. If you don't have the proper supplies like food, extra clothes, plenty of water, and something to fend off the wild pigs with, you might as well be on Mars, dude or dudette. 
	Minimize the risk: 1) Never ride alone. 2) Always wear a helmet. 3) Avoid violent speed experiences and out-of-control riding. 4) Carry a good first-aid kit and know how to use it. 5) Bring along two quarts of water per person per day. Don't ever count on finding water along the way. 6) Always, always, always bring along a topo map of the area. Don't try playing Journey to the Center of the Earth. 7) No matter how nice the weather is, carry extra clothes, food, and a flashlight. Also toss sun screen, a lighter, and a knife into that pannier bag. Always wear eye protection. 8) Is it hunting season? Wear a bell and something bright or go road riding. A bullet hole through your new jersey is a nice way to mess up the rest of the week. 

Getting Into Racing
Anytime

COLORADO SPRINGS, CO 
	The path to participation in bicycle races like the Tour de France begins at criteriums held in parking lots and in business districts in towns located in Europe, Australia, North and South America. Riders with the talent and the mental strength rise through a series of classes to the professional ranks, where the physical demands are among the most demanding of any sport. 
	All careers start with the first race, which for most riders is one of the hardest of their careers.  There is so much to learn!  Bicycle racing is more than a test of who can go fastest on a bicycle, it is a complex sport requiring a thorough knowledge of tactics and strategy as well as the physical ability to execute them.  These come only from experience. 
	Most riders understand the importance of drafting and attacking at the proper moment before they ever race, but the lessons don't mean anything until the rider tries to apply them.  Suddenly he or she is surrounded by other nervous riders of questionable ability, and the whole group is traveling at nearly 50 kph.  Now, what was it I was supposed to do here?  Draft?  Attack?  Hang on the back of the pack for dear life? 
	The Tour de France is a team sport in which support riders help a star who carries the team's hopes.  Beginning road racing is nothing of the sort; it's every rider for himself.  Even when riders represent the same team, they don't work together as effectively as a top pro team.  Physical superiority and adequate tactical skills go further in beginning racing than they do in the pro ranks. 
	No one should enter any type of road race without practicing the basic skills of the sport.  These include the ability to ride in a straight line and familiarity with the dynamics of group riding, drafting and leading.  Lack of these basic skills is not only dangerous, it is a sure way to bring the wrath of the pack down on the rider's head. 
	The best way to practice for a first race is to ride with a club or a group of experienced riders.  Even casual rides among seasoned riders will include all the elements of racing.  Riders will draft and take turns pulling, and now and then they might sprint to an agreed landmark, or attack on a hill.  Experienced riders will usually fill in newer riders on aspects of their technique, if only for self preservation. 
	Virtually all road and track racing in the United States is sanctioned by the United States Cycling Federation (USCF), and an USCF license is required for riders to compete in these events.  The USCF is in turn affiliated with the worldwide cycling body, the Union Cycliste Internationale (UCI), which governs world championship events.  For information regarding a racing license, contact the United States Cycling Federation, 1750 East Boulder Street, Colorado Springs, CO 80909. 

Can we steer?
April, 1818

MANNHEIM, GERMANY 
	In April 1818, Baron von Drais de Sauerbrun was responsible for a great technical advance in the evolution of the bicycle, and the historic significance of his achievement cannot be overemphasized. In the stately gardens of the Luxembourg, the Baron proved his bicycle could be balanced, propelled and steered, and that he could consistently travel at a speed greater than a man walking. Many of the Baron's demonstration runs on his machine were accomplished at an average speed of 8 mph. 
	By the year 1820, hobby-horse journeys of nearly 30 miles in just over 2 hours had been accomplished. These achievements encouraged the building of similar machines throughout Europe, and as the cult of the hobby-horse spread, riding schools became established to educate enthusiasts in the control of their unwieldy machines. In 1818, a coachmaker named Dennis Johnson, of Long Acre, London, introduced the hobby-horse into England, and a year later he developed a special model to be used solely by ladies at his London riding school. This may be regarded as the first ladies' bicycle, but it weighed over 60 pounds and was difficult to maneuver although Dennis Johnson's gay advertisements would imply the opposite. Johnson took out a patent for his lightweight men's machine which weighed only 38 pounds; it had a wooden backbone and a special stay rod to retain the hobby-horse in an upright position when not in use. 

Riding The Vortex
Anytime

BI-CY-CLE (b<'si k'l) n. 
	A vehicle consisting of a tubular metal frame mounted on two large, wire-spoked wheels, one behind the other, and equipped with handlebars and a saddle-like seat: it is propelled by foot pedals. vi., vt. -cled, -cling to ride or travel on a bicycle. 
	On my bike, I am what I am. Around the corner or around the world, I never know what is around the next corner, but I go there without fear. A bicycle is so much more than a collection of wheels and gears and brakes. it is a freedom machine. A young girl, taking her first ride down a gentle grassy slope without a guide holding on, a racer in the Tour de France sprinting towards the finish line, a soloist heading out on a long winding journey along unknown roads, all of these people share the freedom and joy. 
	On my bike, I can smell the flowers and hear the birds. The wind blows against my face. I am free. 

/I Want This Bike
1995

SPECIALIZED DESIGN 
	Bicycle riding popularity has skyrocketed within the last two years. Outsiders designed a bike that was unconventional, but in their hearts they knew they had something worth pursuing. The mountain bike has been one of the prime reasons for the renewed excitement and market growth in this industry. Specialized, one of the premier manufacturers of bicycles, asked two designers to disregard the limits of the current technology and design something innovative and shocking. They did, and along with innovation and shock, they added beauty. 
	The one pictured here is the FSX which stands for Future Shock Experimental and is the future of mountain bikes. Its specification includes a carbon/Kevlar monocoque frame, front and rear air/oil suspensions, and cable-actuated hydraulic disk brakes. The single-sided fork and swing arm allow tire changes without having to remove the wheels. A continually variable transmission, activated by a twist grip, is contained in the rear hub (no derailleurs). A "cyclecomputer" is housed within the stem. Its features are selected via another small twist grip, and the wiring is concealed within the frame during construction. Only one size frame would need to be made. Different "seat frames" and handlebar/stem combinations would be used to fit a range of riders. 

The Bicycle Wheel
1993

WIND TUNNEL PROVEN 
	The bicycle wheel has come along way from its humble beginnings in the workshops of ironsmiths. Light weight super strong materials such as carbon fiber and kevlar have been used to make the wheel not only stronger, but also more aerodynamic, an important consideration for riders who are trying to cut their wind resistance while riding in time trials or against other racers. 
	After the frame, wheels are the most vital element in bicycle performance with weight and shape the two critical factors in their design. Initially, designers decreased wheel weight by making them with spokes. It was later discovered that, as the wheels spin, the spokes churn the air thus generating aerodynamic drag which increases proportionately faster than ground speed. Designers went back to the drawing board and traded weight for better aerodynamics. Today, several different wheel designs exist which racers use for different events. 
	For instance, Greg LeMond uses a disk wheel on his bike in his specialty: the time trial. Although they tend to be heavier than spoked wheels, disk wheels more than halve the amount of drag at 30 mile-per-hour (48 kilometer-per-hour) of spoked wheels. Their aerodynamic advantage is reduced since the air has already been disturbed by the bike and the rider. Overall, however, disk wheels can be much faster than spoked wheels. You will see them on racing bikes at velodromes but you will never see them as front tires. They are unsafe as a front wheel since they produce steering torque in crosswinds, making the bike extremely difficult to handle. 
	The Specialized DuPont Composite wheel is made from fibers of carbon, aramid, and glass, over a foam core, bonded to an aluminum rim. An open-sided area of about 50 percent reduces vulnerability to crosswinds and makes the wheel safe to use both on the front and rear. Each spoke acts as an airfoil that generates forward lift in a crosswind, like a sailboat tacking in the wind. Despite being almost 50 percent heavier than a standard 2 pound (1 kilogram) spoked wheel, at speeds over 17 miles-per-hour (10.5 kilometers-per-hour) the DuPont has faster acceleration. In a 25 mile (40 kilometer) time trial, they claim to save 2 to 3 minutes. 
	A most unusual design results from combining radial spoking, in which there is no spoke crossing, with a pattern of spoke-crossings, in which a given spoke crosses another. Whereas radial spoking is rarely used, the vast majority of bicycles use a three-cross pattern. The combination of these two, with one-third of the spoke radial and two-thirds crossed in a 36-spoke wheel, allows the aerodynamic advantage of radial spokes to work with the greater acceleration capability of the crossed pattern. You will usually see this unusual wheel used with ultra-lightweight time-trial bikes. 
	The HED CX wheel combines 18 bladed spokes with a carbon-fiber composite rim. The spokes help reduce wheel weight to about the same as a 32-spoke wire-on wheel, giving sufficient open area so that the wheels can be used for both the front and rear in crosswinds. The spoke pattern is a mixed radial and two-cross. The carbon-fiber rim has a give similar to a hard-inflated tire. In a 25-mile (40 kilometer) time trial, CX wheels will save around 2 minutes. 

Wind
Anytime

AT THE END OF A CENTURY 
	After the rest stop, 15 miles to go, a hot wind came up and blew in their faces. The route, scenic enough earlier, now took them through an old military base, block after block of cardboard- looking barracks long abandoned and condemned. Not much to see. 
	No doubt she was tiring. He didn't mind the riding in front, towing her in the heat and headwind. He could do it forever. But the miles had worn her down. Drafting him at 16 or 17mph was beginning to be more than she could manage. He'd look back, she'd be off his wheel. She'd grin: sorry, tried, couldn't do it. He'd wait, ride slower. 
	He thought about how often it happened that way. Late in the ride when the weaker partner was tired, a mountain would rise up or the wind would start to blow or a tire would go flat. Some straw would break the partnership's back. 
	They both knew she wasn't nearly as strong as he. She'd done a better job than either expected for nearly the whole ride. He knew she was dead game, that she'd hang if she possibly could, that she wouldn't give up. Hell, she wouldn't even stop smiling. 
	Nevertheless, as he waited, he felt himself becoming impatient, wondering guiltily if she truly was making an effort back there at all. 
	He felt himself growing tired of the century, ready for it to be over. He wanted a cold Coke, his helmet off and his back against a shade tree. He imagined the beads of condensation on the red can, the liquid rush of cool post-ride air in his nose and mouth, the feel of the grass on his stretched out legs. 
	Riding slow now, waiting, he looked over his shoulder, saw her there five bike lengths behind, going nearly the same speed he was. She never dropped very far back but she couldn't quite keep it together to stay on his wheel. 
	He'd told her to think of his wheel as a lifeline. When you got a little tired or your concentration wandered, he'd said, and you came off that wheel, even for a moment, you had to spend big-time energy to get back on. Best plan is to stay on. She'd nodded as if she'd understood. But had she? 
	He moved over closer to the curb and eased off. She pedaled up alongside. How you doin'?, he asked. She smiled. Fine, she said, how're you feeling? I'm doing good, he said, you gettin' kinda tired? 
	Oh, my back hurts a little, she said, arching her back, holding the handlebar with her fingertips. And this ride sure gets boring the last few miles, huh? I remember from two years ago. Always have to ride through this army base. Boring. Not too many more miles now, he said, sit in if you can. 
	But she couldn't. As he waited, he sank back into his thoughts. He could ride mile after mile at, say, 17mph, into the wind. As long as she could sit on, she could ride that fast too. But the second she came off his wheel she could only ride maybe 11 or 12mph, agonizingly slow in that heat and on that boring road. 
	He caught himself calculating how much longer the last miles would take at her 11mph pace than at his 17. He made himself stop before he lost respect for himself forever. Have to wash your mind out with soap, he told himself. When he checked behind, there she was, on the wheel. 
	At 13.5mph he made himself think about how she'd hung on behind him through the middle miles of the ride. He remembered how they'd rolled by surprised guys, guys down on aero bars, guys in PDM jerseys, guys on carbon fiber bikes with titanium saddles, guys with valuable high-tech water bottles, sometimes more than one. 
	They'd rolled by guys on flat sections, on long, gradual descents and on gentle upgrades. Passing guys was kind of a thrill, she'd admitted. I'll bet, he smiled. 
	At 13mph he remembered how she'd been reluctant to stay on the wheel at first, unused to trusting another person as her eyes. How she'd gotten more and more used to it as the miles passed, until, if she saw a hill ahead, she'd slip back there without him suggesting it, to save energy for the climb. 
	At 14mph with her on his wheel, he remembered how at first she'd lost time in corners, slowing down more than she had to, slipping out of the draft. Didn't take long for her to figure it out, though, and until she tired she'd hung in fine, better than fine. 
	He remembered all those things on the hot, boring suburban highway as he pedaled his bike 14mph, monitoring her success on his wheel. He'd glance back; she'd grin, hanging on. 
	Soon, maybe about the time he remembered how she'd learned to trust him in the corners, even the ones with a little gravel on them, he began to recognize the street they were riding on. He began to see cars with roof racks parked on both sides. 
	Just as he was considering how far she'd come since morning in skill and courage, he saw the high school parking lot where the century started and finished. Hey, he said, you did good. Wanna do another lap? 
	They rolled in side by side, flopped the bikes down in the grass, in the speckled shade of a big tree. I'll sign us in, he said; you relax. He checked them in, pocketed their patches, filled their bottles with cold water, grabbed a napkinful of miniature chocolate chip cookies and two bananas and found the soft drink machine. Bought two cans. 
	Didn't take him more than five minutes to do it all. She was still smiling when he sat down under the tree, spread open the napkin full of cookies, opened both cans, grinned and handed her hers. 

Wind
Anytime

RACING WITH THE WIND 
	Bicyclists love wind. . . when it is behind them. Rare, this is. More often, the wind blows in your face. 
	Bicycling alone into the wind is, to put it bluntly, a drag. If at all possible, try and tackle gusty days with a friend or two. Then all of you can draft each other, taking turns at being in the front. When you do so, the front person takes the lead, the others tucking in behind him or her, following closely behind. 
	For drafting to work efficiently, your front wheel should be afoot or less away from the rear wheel of the bike in front, so you should all be skilled riders and take care to communicate information about the road's condition and f you are making any sudden moves, like stopping or braking. This way the front person not only breaks the wind for those behind but also supplies information crucial to safe cycling and drafting. The front rider pushes the hardest, but only for a short period of time. 
	Some bicyclists switch the lead every five minutes or every half mile. Racers will switch as frequently as every thirty strokes of the cranks. This way you take turns 'fighting" the wind and it's not so wearying. With companions and a breakfront, the miles go quicker. -- Arlene Plevin, Cycling. 

Precision Riding
Anytime

IN THE PACK 
	If you are a recreational rider, you know that riding close to another rider can be dangerous and, yeah...a bit exciting. Those who race, whether on the road or on the track have no choice. They have to race close to other racers to take advantage of the drafting.  And they get much closer to each other than you or I would on our fun ride. They get inches away. 
	Getting inches away from another cyclist requires trust, quick assessment of a situation, and the ability to react quickly and efficiently to unexpected events. The pack, or peloton, becomes an organism all on its own. Each part aware of the other and reacting to changes. Just like any living organism, when one part begins acting out of the norm, i.e. a flat tire, the rest of the organism adjusts, i.e. swerving to avoid the slowing bike.  This reaction sometimes causes a chain reaction and a crash results. The degree of these crashes range from the most benign, after which the crashee gets up a walks away, to much more serious results. 

A Wobble and A Lean
Anytime

ON THE DRIVEWAY 
	Not long ago, I took the training wheels off my son's bicycle. "Balance is the trick," I told him, though I doubted that he understood. "Don't hold onto me, Dad!" he demanded, concentrating on the placement of his feet on the pedals. I removed my hands from his shoulders and was drawn into the self-confidence blazing in his hazel eyes. 
	At first, the bike wobbled and leaned, and Matthew poked his feet out in all directions trying to right himself. Within a few feet, he fell. But he climbed right back on, and with a slight push he was off again. The little red bike lurched up and down the driveway with Matthew babbling delightedly and pumping the pedals in an awkward, irregular rhythm. A particularly nasty fall drew blood and tears, and the Kleenex and Band-Aids I'd stuffed into my pocket came in handy. 
	Before long, though, he was on his own, cruising out of the driveway and into the street. " Watch out for cars," I called out, but there weren't any cars in the street, so I let him go. And besides, he was too full of himself to stop. Grinning broadly, he turned to look at me over his shoulder. For an instant, I thought he might want a glimpse of the pride on my face. But he simply shouted that he was riding to his friend's house at the end of the block. He wanted to show off and revel in his windfall: freedom. 
	That evening, my son crawled into my lap wearing a tired but satisfied grin. "Balance, Dad," he reminded me seriously. I laughed. Children surprise you. And it occurred to me that I could learn something, too. Although Matthew's independence extended only to the end of the street, what mattered was that he now felt more connected to his world, and so did I for having shared his adventure. 

Women Riders
Anytime

WOMBATS 
	In the early days of mountain biking, few women were involved. Wende Cragg was the first in Marin County to take up the sport, dragging a converted "clunker" that weighed half as much as she did up the steep hills along with the men. During that period she captured with her camera an era that will not happen again, creating virtually the only photographic record of early mountain biking in Northern California. In 1978 Wende purchased one of Joe Breeze's first ten mountain bikes, and was the first woman to take a mountain bike over Pearl Pass. Wende was the second woman elected to the Mountain Bike Hall of Fame. 
	Jacquie Phelan went on her first mountain bike ride in Marin County in 1982, riding a women's three-speed frame with a basket. Moving from road racing into off-road, she dominated women's competition during the first three years of NORBA racing, winning three national championships from 1983 to 1985. She created a unique women's organization, the Women's Mountain Bike and Tea Society (WOMBATS), which now has branches and members all over the United States. She was the first woman elected to the Mountain Bike Hall of Fame. 

We've Come A Long Way, Baby
1895

BREAKING THE STEREOTYPE 
	Up until the mid-nineteenth century, women had basically no options when it came to leisure time beyond a walk in the garden or to the neighbor's for afternoon tea. The advent of the velocipede, a precursor to the bicycle as we know it today, changed all that. With this change came a profound cultural shift as women came out of kitchens and parlors to participate in this new and exciting activity. In 1867, the New York American printed the following passage on the subject of women and bicycling: " Ladies, many of them strong willed and independent, have fought for equality on the platform and in the pulpit, in the sickroom and at the bar. .....They do not see why they should be denied the exercise and amusement which the bicycle so abundantly furnishes..." 
	The most obvious change of the time was in fashion, since the "costume" of the day virtually prohibited any kind of safety, not to speak of comfort, in the ride. The same magazine, the American, once it had pronounced its acceptance of the bicycle, went on to describe a proper cycling costume, and outlined with amazing accuracy on of the stables of an early 1970's Maxi wardrobe. "...What is wanted...is a dress that shall be suitable for either riding or walking. ...Let the outer skirt be made so as to button its entire length in front -- the back part should be made to button from the bottom to a point about three eighths of a yard up the skirt. This arrangement does not detract at all from the appearance of an ordinary walking costume. ...when mounted, the dress falls gracefully at each side of the front wheel..." 
	Knickerbockers had been invented in the United States in the 1850s and bicycling gave a boost to these "bifurcated nether garments." It came to be known as "the bloomer," when Mrs. Bloomer came to be associated with them. Female American cyclists began wearing them in the spring of 1893 causing a sensation. And as their confidence grew, American women founded their own cycling clubs, for which bloomers were often standard dress. 

>Vivid Flashbacks
Anytime

PAIN OR PLEASURE 
	I used to wear wool shorts. Worse, I resisted trying lycra shorts at first. Disco shorts, I called them. Why, you can tell a man's religion from across the street in those things, I said. 
	I figured lycra would come and go like disco did. So I soldiered on in Italian or US-made, black, 100% virgin wool shorts with genuine deerskin chamois. That's what we discriminating cyclists wore in the years of our collective ignorance. 
	If you think about what bike shorts do, you will realize those wool shorts did it all really badly. What should cycling shorts do? They should cover your nakedness. They should warm your thighs. They should hold an absorbent, friction-reducing pad smoothly against your butt. That's all. 
	And what did wool shorts do? Wool shorts covered your body, but not well. They were OK when they were new, or dry, but soon as they stretched (took 6.3 miles) or got wet the legs rode up, the waists and butts sagged down. In the rain, your shorts held more water than your bottle. 
	Yes, you could wear suspenders and keep the waist where you wanted it. But nothing would keep the legs down near your knees, warming your thighs and looking like Gimondi's did in team photos. Team photos were taken on dry days and short rides. Look at Gimondi in an old Tour shot: wool legs bunched up, his shorts looking like a damn bathing suit. 
	We agreed cycling shorts should hold a pad smooth against your bottom, right? Alas, wool shorts stretched unevenly as you rode. Once they stretched, they bagged and wrinkled in the seat, that critical area between tender skin and saddle. Lamentably, the chamois sewn inside wrinkled too. 
	So, after a few short miles there you sat - on a sweaty, salty, bacteria-ridden piece of wrinkled deerskin. The good old days. If you were lucky, the wrinkled deerskin pinched and chafed your tender butt-skin, raising minor, forgettable welts. 
	If you were not lucky, the wrinkled deerskin caused, in that warm and disgusting environment, the formation of major, painful, debilitating saddle boils. They took days to go away, usually days off the bike. 
	Almost everyone got 'em, one time or another. Bike mag articles regularly suggested cures, some nearly voodoo-mystical. Sometimes a doctor had to lance (gross!) them to relieve the pain and pressure. Saddle boils were a pre-lycra big deal. 
	Ah, but the wrinkling wasn't the worst of it. The shorts and chamois were natural materials. They were sensitive. No way could you care for them casually or roughly like crummy synthetics. No machines. No convenience. No way. 
	You cleansed your wool shorts by hand in a sink with Woolite and cold water. You washed them gently, careful not to wring them or scrub them vigorously. Then you rinsed them over and over until you could no longer stand to do so. You gently squeezed the water from them and set them aside to air-dry, out of the rays of the awful old destructive sun. 
	So they never got clean and they never got sanitary. Just the perpetual nastiness would've been bad enough - but even the cold- water-and-two-days-to-dry ordeal didn't keep the chamois from losing its suppleness shockingly quickly. Two or three washings and that proud piece of delicate genuine leather looked and felt like something you'd use with a belt sander to finish furniture. 
	So you'd re-soften the chamois with something you thought might work, some evil-smelling, ludicrously expensive commercial chamois preparation, Noxema, Vaseline, anything, so you could wear your nearly new shorts again. Oh, that slime felt excellent against your butt on a cold race morning. 
	Worst, though, worst by far was when you dressed hiding behind your car door before the race. As you pulled on your shorts, without your realizing it the chamois sometimes brushed the ground. Bits of local geology adhered to the greasy, carefully softened chamois. Ah but, it is important, in sport, to learn to suffer, no? Builds the character, no? 
	Racing in wool shorts was distasteful enough. Touring in them was worse. Consider this: if you have to hand wash your shorts and they take two days to dry, how many pair will you need on a ten day dawn-to-dusk tour? How will you carry the Woolite? The Noxema? The wet shorts? How many days straight will you try to wear each pair? How many saddle sores can you develop in one tour? How tough are you? 
	I remember that after a year or so in lycra, I'd put wool shorts behind me (so to speak). In my soul, I wanted never to see a pair again for fear that the sight might provoke vivid, disturbing flashbacks. 
	But I still own some really special ones - scarcely worn Moas and Vittore Giannis, exotic European company names beautifully embroidered down the legs. I once threw them in a box and took them to a parts swap at a club meeting. Offered them for sale at what I thought was a fair price. Something like, uh, nothing. No takers. 
	No wonder. 

The Long And Windy Road
Anytime

MT. HAMILTON, CALIFORNIA 
	If your tour is a short one, (a single afternoon, or a night or two staying at a B&B), it is possible to travel very light. A simple handlebar pack will hold a map, a few tools, and a snack. Unencumbered by heavy packs, there is no need for a special bike, just about any thing that runs well and is safe will do. 
	Finding a place to ride is easy. Local bike shops are good sources of routes, as many of the employees are also riders. Many bookstores and bicycle shops sell guide books for local areas, with suggestions of routes and maps of the hills and other sights along the way. Local bike clubs are another way of finding good trips in your local area. 
	Ever since the days of Thomas Stevens, who circled the globe on a Penny Farthing bike in 1886, cycle touring has been a popular and enjoyable way to see the world. Ranging from a lazy Sunday spent exploring the local back roads with only a small pack for some food and tools, to an expedition around the world, touring by bicycle offers variety and freedom. Some people like to ride with groups on planned tours with a set destination each night. Others prefer to follow the road, wherever it might lead. The choice is yours. When you are touring by bike, people are friendlier than if you are in a car, motorcycle, bus or train. They recognize that you are doing something that requires effort, and are quick to offer their yard to camp on, or a cool drink. In these days of packaged travel, cycle touring offers true adventure. 

Bicycling Into The Future
2001

THE FUTURE OF THE BIKE 
	
	
	The bicycle is a vehicle for revolution.--Daniel Behrman, The Man Who Loved Bicycles 
	
	
	There are people poking along on bikes near China's Great Wall, and gasping for air as they explore Nepal, Tibet, above 12,000 feet, where the oxygen thins to a few measly molecules. 
	Down below, on other continents, at lower elevations, mere mortals sidle up to traffic lights, take their chances in the more polluted atmosphere of big cities like New York and London. They're pedaling to work or making a living as couriers. Others, myself included, combine exercise, errands, and easy parking, doing grocery shopping and more by pedal power. Or we cycle off on welcome vacations, exploring local vistas and valleys, leaving aggravation behind. On isolated country roads, we forego maps, packing compasses to navigate the open spaces, the long straight fields. 
	Anywhere you go--even the Arctic--there's someone with two wheels and a chain, pedals, and brakes, and the belief in two-wheeled fun and function. Associations, industry--hell, even local and federal governments--are getting into the act. Numerous municipalities are putting stripes on the roads for bike routes, adding Share the Road signs with the painted symbol of a bike. They all know a good thing when they see it, even if some need a bit of prodding. 
	There will always be the bicycle, basically unchanged and natural, a form that functions to perfection. This is something I stubbornly believe. Worthy of great respect (and giver of great delight), this human-powered machine is intrinsic to a livable world. For everyone from the very young to the old, there's a place for the bicycle in all aspects of daily life. 
	It's easy for me to conjure up what may happen with the bicycle in the next few months, years, and even decades--harder to predict with certainty. But then there are many cards on the table, many people in the picture with wondrous ideas and visions. Still, it's neat to reflect on what the future of cycling could hold. Sure, there will be tons of technological improvements--fabulous new clothing materials, stronger yet miraculously lighter frames, and things as yet undreamed of, but I suspect what will really make cycling fun will be improved services and places to bicycle. I believe bicycling's outlook to be tied to something no less than the health of the planet and the people who live on it. 
	So down to brass tacks and imagination. We cyclists have heaps to look forward to. The Bicycle Federation of America estimates 1.3 million Americans take cycling vacations. Strength and encouragement in numbers, I hope. Just contemplate the attraction to people looking for family-oriented activities or concerned with fitness. Factor in the popularity of mountain bikes and the interest in environment-friendly transport, and I'd say the future looks like it's got two wheels in it--everywhere you go. ---Arlene Plevin, Cycling. 

You Bikers
Anytime

At A Stoplight 
	About twenty of us passed a solo rider up a long gentle grade. Down the other side, he came by us on the yellow line, intent, obviously in a hurry. 
	Just as he got around, we came to a red light. We stopped and so did he, but only momentarily. He looked both ways, took off through the red and was gone. We caught him at the next light. 
	I said, "hey, how did you think that made us look, all 20 of us, when you ran that light in front of so many drivers?" 
	He looked blankly at me and pulled away through the red. End of incident. 
	A week later, my friend Jennifer and I pedaled out through the same suburban area. A guy in a Rabbit pickup turned left across two lanes, close across in front of us, into a parking lot. I followed him in. 
	"Did you see us?", I asked him through his window, "did you see us?" He stared straight ahead. He'd thought that when he'd cut us off, that'd be it. But there I was. 
	He opened his door, satisfied I wasn't going to assault him or kick his truck. He got out, a regular-looking guy, middle fifties, carrying a folder of papers. A contractor, maybe, not a redneck. Somebody's dad. 
	"Sure I saw you," he said. 
	"Why did you turn in front of us?" 
	"Because I felt like it," he said. 
        "Oh, then you have a license to do just about anything you feel like," I suggested. 
	"Yeah," he said, "just like you bikers. You do any damn thing you feel like, running lights and taking advantage... ." 
	"I see," I said, "you're a vigilante. You're gonna get revenge for all the things us cyclists do wrong." 
	"No," he said, "I'm not a vigilante... ." 
	"Then you're a cop. Are you a cop?" 
	"No, I'm not a cop," he answered and began to tell me about more evil things he'd seen bikers do. 
	"If you're not a vigilante and not a cop," I asked him, "what business is this of yours? Why would you endanger and scare two people you've never met? I don't understand." 
	"That's it," he explained to me, "you simply don't understand." That's what he said: "simply." He turned his buttondown-shirted back and walked away. 
	He was wrong, though; I do understand. I understand traffic is nightmarish in urban areas; drivers live with frustration and tension I'd find unbearable. Meanwhile, cycling's on the increase in busy areas and cyclists take advantage where drivers can see. We do. 
	When we break laws where drivers feeling impatient and impotent can see us, we invite future confrontations. Mostly, the cyclist who eventually gets confronted will not be the one who started the driver's slow burn. Innocent or not, we lose. 
	I think some of us lose perspective of our role as road users. We imagine we're out there for reasons somehow holier than drivers' reasons. We're not polluting the air. We're not clogging up the roads. We're not wasting resources. We're treading softly on the world. We shouldn't have to suffer under laws made for cars, we think. 
	We forget how visible we are to hundreds of drivers every day, operating under a different system of laws, one we've conveniently adopted for ourselves. 
	I'm not saying vigilante drivers are right; of course they're not right. We don't harm them but their perception of what we do can harm us. Precise legality doesn't matter; many drivers hate motorcyclists who split freeway lanes. Lane- splitting is legal. 
	Those vigilantes can all go to hell, if it's up to me, but they won't. They'll still be there on the roads we ride. We're dealing ourselves a hand that has to lose. Look at us. We're outnumbered, outgunned and defended by one or two layers of lycra-spandex. 
	You gamble big-time when you flagrantly abuse your rights on the road. You gamble when you run a light while people in cars look on. You gamble when you ride out in traffic, in front of a lengthening parade of cars, in some of which lurk, no doubt, resentful hotheads. 
	You're betting your own (and my) already frail good standing in those drivers' eyes. You stand to lose big by creating, one violated stoplight at a time, a latently lethal, spiteful driving public. You're betting a lot, dude. You're betting our lives. 

-Yours Alone
1980

On Your Saddle 
	These days bike riders don't need to learn obscure skills. You can survive without knowing how to remove a dished 23 cog from an old Oro six-speed. Or how to half-twist a slipping toestrap so the buckle bites into fresh leather. 
	You never have to learn how to deal with a leather saddle. Not a plastic-based, foam-padded, leather-covered, quad- hyphenated saddle; a real riveted leather saddle. A Brooks maybe, or an Ideale. They're relics now, musty reminders of another age. 
	Riveted leather seats represent much that was 19th century about cycling. They were, and are, made by craftsmen in old-timey ways. Wire frames are bent, welded and chromed; pieces of hide are cut, treated, stretched and copper riveted. Like brazed steel bicycle frames, the way leather saddles are made hasn't changed much over the years. 
	They are beautiful. The hand-rubbed ruddy leather loses its glossy newness with use, takes on a soft gray dullness that speaks with quiet authority of its owner's high mileage authenticity. 
	But... if the construction and appearance of those saddles were seductive and foggy-morn romantic, the reality of riding them was, in my view, not romantic. At all. 
	For instance: you had to ride in black pants. The treating oils the canny old craftsmen used to "soften" your new pride and joy turned the seat of your khakis permanently black. That was what all those oils did - smudged your pants. They never softened any saddle leather, that's for sure. 
	To prevent more of those embarrassing stains (your best friends wouldn't tell you) you had to purchase, from your chuckling bike shop parts person, an elasticized opaque plastic cover, made in France. It cost five dollars when a good sew-up cost seven-fifty and it looked suspiciously like a cheap shower cap. You'd stretch it over your glowing, perverse, copper riveted hand-crafted masterpiece. 
	The plastic cover was remarkably ugly but you didn't have to leave it on forever - only until the offending "softening" oils dried out. Five years, max. 
	The oils, as I said, did not work. Those seats left the factories brutally hard; that was the idea. Believers would tell you that your new saddle had to begin its sadistic life roughly half as soft as blue steel. 
	Otherwise, they'd say, it'd wear out prematurely. After only a couple of decades, maybe. That is, if you were a 200-pound insomniac RAAM rider, moonlight roller trainer. 
	Mists of lyric folklore swirled around the "preparation" of leather seats, as the breaking-in nightmare was laughably misnamed. 
	Owners smeared awful glop on top and under their new saddles (my friend Michel says in mid-50s Belgium he and his friends used lard under their Brooks B-17s). Then they baked them, glop and all, in ovens or left them in the sun. 
	Or they beat the leather with rolling pins or ball peen hammers. Some sprayed them, before rides, with improbable, unfragrant concoctions. Some soaked them in motor oil. I'm not making one bit of this up. 
	Many pro shops kept buckets of neatsfoot or their own secret penetrating, softening agents. They unwrapped brand new saddles and deep-sixed them in the oil. 
	Where they stayed, maybe for months, until Mr. Lucky Customer drew his dripping, noxious masterwork out into the air and bolted it proudly in place atop his heroic 531 steed. The leather endured the long soak unyielding as ever, trust me. 
	In England, a small dedicated industry known as saddle- butchery sprang up. Graybeard craftsmen drilled the rivets out of customers' saddles, removed the leather and reshaped the steel frames. They treated and trimmed the leather, then reriveted it to the frames using larger polished rivets. 
	Later, the factories copied the butchers' modifications on production saddles such as the Brooks Pro and Team Pro, two of the finest reasonably priced devices for self-inflicted abuse ever to emerge from the calloused hands of old-world artisans. 
	The leather saddle "idea," mind you, was dandy. Your new seat, in time, would shape itself to your anatomy, yours alone, and the two of you would ride off blissfully toward the horizon. Perhaps this actually happened to someone but I never met him. He also eluded my friends who tried living with those inhumane Victorian creations and failed, same as me. 
	The theoretical shaping to one's own anatomy took some time, more time, probably, than my friends and I were willing to spend sitting on blue steel bricks that soiled our trousers. 
	But maybe you were tough. Maybe you hung on in pitiable discomfort for a geologic age of bike rides and eventually Broke In your Saddle. Congratulations. 
	Two weeks later you got caught out on your bike in the rain. You were wearing your black cycling shorts - but of course - so you had not tucked away under your newly broken-in saddle that ugly opaque plastic French cover. And you had not thought to smear about four ounces of foul impenetrable goop onto the underside of the leather. You misjudged. 
	You had to ride 16 rainy miles to get home. Next morning you noted your saddle had acquired a hammock-like appearance that it would never lose. Sad. Unless, that is, you had correspondingly hammock-like anatomy. 
	You had a decision to make. You could invest another $40. You could spend another four years oven-baking, oil-soaking and distance training (bad roads hasten the process). Eventually you'd own another perfectly formed leather and chrome masterpiece of 19th century craft. 
	Or you could buy a soulless plastic-based saddle that sat great the first ride and forever, lightened your bike maybe 10 ounces and shrugged off repeated soakings. Which would you do? 
	Me, too. 

ABicycle Racing Back Then
1890

CIRCUIT RACING 
	In 1912, August Zimmerman gave a Newark Evening News interviewer a glimpse of what the racing schedule was like in his amateur days, from 1887-1893. "The racing in those days extended over a greater part of the country," he said. "Nearly every state and county fair had bicycle racing as an attraction." Most often, the athletes "rode principally on dirt tracks---trotting tracks--- and we made a regular circuit, going from one city or town to another and riding practically everyday. It was often the case that the riders after spending several hours on a train would be obliged to go immediately to the track where they were billed to appear, and without any warming up go out and ride. This happened day after day." 
	Crowds of farmers and city folk packed the track bleachers and sidelines to watch thrilling finishes. The racers were amateurs who competed as hard for collar buttons and cuff links as they did for pianos, deeds to houses, and parcels of land. One of the biggest sports events of the 1890s was the Springfield Diamond Jubilee in Massachusetts every September, a three-day tournament that drew the best in the country and whatever foreign riders were competing on these shores. They raced for prestige as well as for the prize list, which included diamond pins. In 1892, when basketball was in its first year across town at Springfield College, Zimmerman captured the premier event, the mile. He was awarded a team of two horses, a harness, and a buckboard, valued at $1000---more than double what the average worker earned in a year. His winnings that year, the New York Times subsequently reported, included "twenty-nine bicycles, several horses and carriages, half a dozen pianos, a house and a lot, household furniture of all descriptions, and enough silver plates, medals and jewelry to stock a jewelry store." 

August Zimmerman
1891

NEW JERSEY 
	Victor Breyer, a lifelong cycling enthusiast, journalist, and founding member of cycling's international governing body, L'Union Cycliste Internationale, described August Zimmerman as "the greatest pedaler of all time," regardless of nationality, specialty, or time. He often cited a French spectator who was moved to describe Zimmerman's style "as if the man was mounted on rails, so complete is the absence of wobbling and the semblance of effort." 
	August Zimmerman was a lean but well-proportioned 5 feet 11 inches. Born in Camden, New Jersey, he grew up in Asbury Park and began athletics in a military school where he took to jumping and won county meets in the high jump, long jump, and hop, skip, and jump. He discovered cycling at the age of seventeen. "I liked it so well that I jumped in the game with all the spirit that was in me," he later said. 
	He began racing on a high-wheel bike, as ordinary bikes were called, and soon became a top rider with a reputation for cool composure and grace in lung- bursting, muscle-burning races. Like others, Zimmerman was reluctant to part with his high-wheel when safety bicycles were taking over. But in 1891 he saw that he would have to give in to changing technology and switched. Apparently the conversion was successful because he won the half-mile League of American Wheelmen national championship and set a world record of 29.5 seconds in the last quarter-mile. 
	Early safety bicycles had considerably longer wheel bases than today's bicycles, and their handlebars fitted straight into the head of the frame. This put riders in a more upright and backward position that favored a rider like Zimmerman, whose acceleration and swiftness came from spinning relatively small gears with amazing leg speed. This leg speed, combined with acute timing of his sprint, earned him the nickname Jersey Skeeter and carried him to a phenomenal number of victories. He was reputed to win forty-seven races in one week (which probably included heats) from the quarter-mile to twenty-five miles, and finished some seasons with 100 or more victories---feats comparable to the 267 strikeouts in one season, or the four seasons with thirty or more victories, pitched by his contemporary Christy Matthewson. 

