Life On Spoked Wheels
Posted: Monday, November 15, 2010
by George Stay
Mine has been a life spent on spoked wheels.
As a child, I rode by tricycle so much, it broke in half. My wise father got the frame welded back together. I wore that tricycle out, riding up and down the gravel driveway of our rural home, pretending to be a school bus driver, like my dad.
When I could finally find my balance, I moved around on two wheels, most of them non-descript. That allowed me to escape the end of the driveway and explore the world. I could, and often did, spend the entire day on my bike, going wherever whim, fancy and roads would take me. Never once did I fear for my life or limb. I was too busy discovering the world outside my yard.
The actual bike changed a few times over the years and while others had newer, fancier ones, I remained steadfast and proud of mine.
It did take a beating, however. Eventually I got a job. And while riding home one evening, my foot slipped from the pedal and wound up amid the spokes of the front wheel.
“When other teens moved on to cars, I stayed on my bike. In part because I failed my first driver's test. It didn't bother me because I had a best friend with a license and a car and when he wasn't available, or when the trip was shorter, I took my bike.”
I might still be riding that bike if not for an incident that occurred in high school. I rode my bike to school, naturally, and locked it in the bike rack. When I came out, at the end of the day, all that was left there was the front wheel. The rest of my bike was gone, never to be seen again.
Shortly after I graduated, in more ways than one. I got a car, which necessitated I get a license, which I did. But this car was unique. It was a MG (it stands for Morris Garages, a British car company) and it came -- of course -- with wire wheels, wheels with spokes. I loved that little car and all that it could do. I took it racing, I drove it to races in New York and Ohio. I drove it on the most winding and challenging roads in Pennsylvania's mountains and West Virginia's hills.
It, too, took a beating. One winter evening, after covering a basketball game, it slid off the road into a ditch. I tried, with the help of my passenger, to push it out, but to no avail. Eventually, a crowd gathered and six men picked my car up and put it back on the road. I should have left in the ditch. Because a few miles later, while in the city, a drunken AmTrak employee turned right from the center lane into my little car, totaling it.
I gave up on spoked wheels for a decade or two, shuttling from one struggling used vehicle to another. It wasn't until I was out of college and had become a distance runner that I got back on spoked wheels. I bought a used bike I saw at a yard sale because I was going to do a duathlon -- running and biking. I figured it would be a breeze since, in my mind, the running was the hard part. And I did pretty well in the running part of the competition. A lot of people I beat in the first of two running legs, however, blew the doors off me and my used bike in the cycling stage.
That was my one and only duathlon.
I kept the bike, though, and noodled around on it until my sons were old enough and we decided to participate in a 420-mile group bike tour of Vermont. I knew the organizer, who had been trying to get me to ride with him for some time. So I took my hand-me-down to a local bike shop to make sure it was in good working order. And the owner took one look at me and the bike and told me I'd never finish the ride. Because the bike was simply too small for me.
I thought he was kidding. How could an adult bike be too small? He then explained how a bike is supposed to fit -- when the pedal is at the bottom of the stroke, the pedal should be on the ball of your foot and your leg should be bent only a little -- and that this one clearly did not fit me.
Luckily another shop had a taller bike on consignment. I bought it and rode it in the ride. It still was old and out of date, but I continued to ride it a few more years until one summer when I kept having flat tires. After I had two on one ride and had to walk five miles home, I decided I'd had enough.
The bike shop said it was the wheels, they were rusted and worn and were poking holes in my tire's tubes. Because the bike was old, and an odd size, I could spend upwards of $400 on custom-made wheels, the shop owner said, or he'd sell me a whole new bike for $500.
I took the new bike. And now, some 15,000 miles and a set of wheels later, I still am riding it.
Why?
Because I can leave my house and travel upwards of 100 or more miles in almost any direction on paved, low-traffic roads and see the most amazing of sights. A flock of wild turkeys meandering across the road. An owl that once let me get within inches of him as I flew by, bothering only to turn his head to look at me. He didn't fly away or flinch. More than once I have come down the road at a doe and fawns, with the mother looking at me as if she's not sure what the heck is coming down the road. When she suddenly realizes its a human, the three become quasi-cartoon characters, hooves going like mad on the pavement and them not moving an inch until suddenly they get grip and are gone, vanishing in the woods. I've seen fox and rabbit, was nearly flattened by a fat raccoon that ran across the road and under my wheels, and have startled more than my share of hawks, including one that didn't move until I was nearly on top of him
The world looks so much different on two wheels. Nature is right there for you to see, in the splendor of a summer sunrise and the colors of fall's fallen leaves skittering across windswept pavement. It is in the summer showers that drench you from head to foot and in the spring winds that nearly knock you off your wheels.
Spoked wheels, that is.
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Top-level comments on this article: (4 total)I did a lot of cycling at one period in my life, some of it long distance. It is a fantastic way to travel. I must say, though, I liked your choice of car, also!Jennifer, I loved that car. It was not fast, but so much fun to drive and to race. I was sad when I had to surrender it and have never owned another sports car. But, who knows, maybe one day again ....
Nice story. For the first time in my entire adult life I don’t have a car and riding a bike (made as free choice)…and enjoying it.Walter, I'm glad to meet another cyclist. We have to do what we can to save the environment, right?
You making biking sound like a lot of fun. I've never really taken to it, though, probably just too lazy.
The view from two wheels sounds beautiful. Nice story. Thank you.
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