Yes I'm 48 years old. Yes I am lucky to have a full head of hair, but it is gray. And yes I'm fat. The first 2 reasons are why Annie told me I shouldn't be on a single speed. The fat thing I threw in; it goes with the whole theme of the blog.
There is a difference between riding a bike and living a lifestyle on a bike. All that matters
is being young enough to pull off a fixed-gear or single speed ride. And that's what it is about. It doesn't matter that I was building bikes long before these denizens of counter culture were even born. I'm expected to ride a comfort bike with 27 speeds and a big, fat comfy seat for my big, fat comfy fat ass. Well, it ain't happening, I chose to ride to work last week on the single speed I built myself from spare parts lying around my garage. I'm standing up for middle-aged men everywhere. I'm breaking the barrier of hip. Look out students, Jimmy John's delivery boys and youngsters, I'm not laying down and dying, and I'm certainly not riding a middle-aged man's comfort bike.
Do you have the image of a defiant man marching off, head held up in confidence, standing tall against the sneers and jeers of Millennials, just to prove Annie wrong and recapture his youth? Well I did too. Unfortunately, Annie is not wrong.
I did ride to work last week on my single speed. I road on unseasonably warm days. I road against the wind, struggling to keep pace with the stop lights so I didn't have to sit at every one. It wasn't pretty: I was passed by girls and had to watch as they all disappeared over the next hill. Each day my knee hurt worse. Every night I would ice my knee and wonder if it would just get better tomorrow. Then came Friday's commute home. It was warm and the wind was out of the south at 25 mph and gusting to 35 mph. Portland Ave. on these days is a wind tunnel. It is so windy that I can do track stands at the stop lights like I am on a fixie. By eight blocks I had enough. Everybody and their dog was passing by like the wind was at their back. All the smart people with their multi speed bikes were taking an easy gear into the wind as they breezed by on their way home from work. Oh yeah, and the kids, the kids in their stove-pipe jeans with the right cuffs rolled up past the crank ring, wearing their Chrome messenger bags, rolled past in effortless repose. Smug pricks. I turned off Portland to find a quiet street to suffer my humiliation in private. It didn't matter what street I rode south on: the wind pushed me backwards. One speed, no coasting and it was even downhill all the way. I was feeling defeated and beat down as I was on the last leg of the ride. I turned down Chicago Ave. a rather wide but quiet street. There were no cars coming either way. A guy started to cross the street. I was a long way back when he started. It was kind of curious as he didn't even look to see if a car was coming. As I got closer and he was making his way across, I realized we were going to meet. I was tired, sweaty and kind of pissed, so I figured I'd just buzz as close to him as I could. I though I was justified because on this big-ass street with no cars, he was just going to walk in front of me, making me move. As I got closer, I was getting more pissed because he hadn't even looked at me. Just as I swung a little bit to the left, he stopped. Are you kidding me! He stopped and looked at me with surprise like a "Holy shit! Where did you come from?" look. Too late, I ran right into him. That's was it, I was done... This had been the worst commute ever. We said our sorries and I worked up some more speed against the headwind. Yes, 2 more hills and I could turn out of the headwind.
I got home and declared that Annie is right. I'm too old to commute on a single speed. I sat down at the computer and ordered a commuter bike, with many gears and room for fenders and a rack. Thanks Annie--I see things a little more clearly now. It only took a very long and painful week for me to get it through my thick scull.
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