On: Becoming a Cyclist

Most of us learn to ride a bike when were naught but little tykes. You start out with training wheels, then get a big wheels— I’m talking handle bar pom-poms, colorful dots on your spokes, big-ol wicker basket, maybe even a little bell… the works. Somewhere down the road you upgrade to the Wal-Mart $29.99 extra- cushy-gel -padded-seat and hike up the seat post a bit, but the effort put into biking usually peaks then plateaus after about 10.

I probably would have followed down that path, not ever having known what a rear derailleur was or heard the brand name Shimano. Until I met a great force of nature named Todd. Now, when Todd and I started dating, I still thought my Huffy bike was pretty cool: the front brake worked most of the time, the chain was only slightly rusty, the front tire would hold air for at least an hour, and the best part was that I could leave it outside of my dorm in the snow during winter, and it would still work in the spring!

Somehow, my bikes “features” didn’t impress Todd. Oh no, this kid was a genuine bona-fide cyclist (this was before I had ever even used the word “cyclist”). I still remember the first time I saw him in his cycling gear: tight padded shorts, helmet, colorful jersey, gloves, those bad-ass biker sunglasses… I thought he looked like a real dork. He actually kept his bike in his bedroom, and would walk it up his apartment stairs after a ride. I think I offended his biking-karma when I bragged that my bike could withstand being frozen in a snow bank during a Wisconsin winter.

Soon, Todd, who was leading an outdoor cycling class at our college, was teaching me all he knew about the new sport. He even attempted to teach me how to ride his special bike. Who knew that you had to “learn” how to ride a road bike… isn’t a bike a bike? I mean, don’t people always say “It’s like riding a bike! Once you learn, you never forget!” Apparently those people never tried to ride a road bike… that sh*t is hard! But I learned! Todd held on to the bike while I “clipped in” with his too-big shoes. I rode around his apartment parking lot while he laughed at my seriousness (You would be intimated too, had you just learned that you were riding a bike worth more than your car, and wayyy more fragile than your Huffy). I felt like I was Harry Potter riding a broom for the first time.

Two years pass (without me breaking his bike), and we decide to plan a cross-Europe bike trip. I’m still riding my Huffy, and I haven’t successfully crossed over into being a “true cyclist” yet. The planning stages of the trip seem spurious until I finally purchase my first bike: a 2009 Raleigh Sojourn. The bike is beautiful – steel frame, Brooks leather saddle and bar tape, disk brakes, outfitted with Shimano SPD road dual platform pedals and three water bottle holders. The bike is a lovely cream color and yes, worth more than my car. Up until the point of buying my bike, I felt like a total cycling poser. How could I talk to people about my crazy bike trip, when I don’t even own a nice bike? Or a helmet? Or those funny padded shorts? Yet somehow, I didn’t feel like any less of a poser once I owned a bike… now I was just a cycling poser with an expensive bike.

This feeling of cycling poser-ness just got worse when I tried to ride the thing. I fell… a lot. Now, I’m not a graceful faller, oh no, my falls were those really nasty, horribly embarrassing going one-mile-an-hour-and-totally-biff-it falls. For those of you learning how to clip in for the first time: momentum is a must. Actually this feeling of cycling poser-ness still didn’t go away even when I was finally on the road, successfully clipped in, complete with the gloves, the shorts, the sunglasses… and the 40-year-old pulling a baby bike trailer passing me on the left. Yet I prevailed! While focusing on my cadence, the balance of pushing and pulling the pedals, holding my body up while sprawled across the handle bars, I somehow was magically pulling myself along the road.

This is the fun part. Wind at your back, knees pumping, tires zooming, IPod blaring. This was a feeling I could get used to. Of course, there’s a lot I’ve learned since then, and each bike is totally different. I’ve learned how to balance the gears to a cadence, stop without hurling myself over the handle bars or crashing and how to brace my elbows to eliminate “road buzz” pain. Yet the painful truth is… I’m still such a noob. When I’m riding down the flat Wisconsin roads and I see another cyclist, I put my game face on and kick up my cadence a notch… hoping they won’t catch on to the fact that I have no idea what I’m doing.

What better way to learn then 2,500+ miles of Europe?