Cred Regain

Official statisticians used to say more bikes were sold in 1971 America than ever, 17.3 million, at the height of nation's bike boom. Well, a new record was quietly set in 2000 with 20.9 million. Thought they'd never top with borrowing, rebuilding and renting so popular, yet noticed 15 to 20 million units sold every year since, a stable $6 billion industry. Curious to see tabulated results for 2013. Don't think Big Auto & Oil want these facts broadcast.

They claim bicycles now outsell cars in every European industrialized country, likely true in developing countries, too, where stats aren't as easy to come by. Shouldn't surprise anyone that during a global recession folks will choose a cheaper alternative. But don't kid yourself that ridden miles significantly supplant driven. Motorists report increasingly longer waits at roadnet pinch points, often several red light changes. In fact, private car production worldwide since 1999 has doubled to 60.3 million/year. Last year 82.1 million motor vehicles of all types were assembled; a quarter of them were sold in China. Oil profits have never been greater. Percentage of Americans commuting by bike remains negligible. Only 47 million bikes were built, although their production is expected to exceed cars by 2019.

In this burgeoning bikescape, prestigious blogs and newswires repeatedly ask how safe cycling is. Why spread fear? Sure, ability and savvy peak between years 15 and 60 bracketed by adolescent inexperience and aged infirmity when bicycling becomes less practical. Yet you risk more doing nothing and going nowhere. Huggers must remain mobile to gather, hunt and shop. Restless, you could simply jog or walk, but it takes too long.

Traffic will always be a dangerous dance, though cyclists hug edges, and most roads are empty 20 hours of every day. Still, incompetents may step on toes or stumble; cycling mishaps in America, guesstimated below 200,000 annually, are underreported because they are seldom as baleful or tragic as nation's 4,000,000 motoring collisions. It's why they insure and license operators and pilots and not cyclists, still unnecessary despite regained credibility. Hawaii is the only state with bike registration; Georgia just killed bill in committee endorsed by Republicans but opposed by majority.

One flustered scofflaw snapped back that bike lanes cause accidents based on same argument as guns cause murders: Illogical. As much as they'd like to accuse inanimate objects and loathe assuming responsibility, abusing users are 100% to blame. Laws mandate bike-ped infrastructure because it relieves snarl and smoothes interaction. Motorists, spoiled by freeway speeds, must nevertheless adapt to seasonal frosted windows, solar glare, and variable density on secondary streets rushed at dawn and dusk. Cyclists can't always work around motorists failing to do so.

A bicycling renaissance, if not already occurring, seems on a cusp with avant garde art, film and theater devoted to it and resurgence in urban pacesetters London, New York, and Paris. Bike America, a 2013 play staged in Hell's Kitchen, NYC, tries to elevate cycling into a panacea for emotional emptiness. Europeans just see a bike as a way to get around villages that weren't designed around grids bred to milk motorists. Nilo Cruz's 1999 play A Bicycle Country, about economic sanctions that turned many Cubans into begrudging cyclists, was performed at Miami's Roxy Center last year; Cruz was the first Latino to win a Pulitzer Prize. Follows central London's 2009 staging of Pedal Pusher with plot around Armstrong and Pantani vying for Tour de France glory. Heather McDonald's 1994 play Faulkner's Bicycle imagined the famous author as a cranky cycling neighbor once his writing days were over.

Blue Vervain

Seasons shift, spins tempt less, writing wanes. Not supposed to care about landscapes traversed, but do anyway. Grand expanses of green beneath glorious dawns and orange foliage crank brain like an antique Victrola, but falling leaves bring inevitable fears and invisible tears, since ice soon appears. For days out of the saddle consider media as a consolation to the ages of man caught in the cycle of life.

Tire of bixliographies that don't list Bike&Chain and the misbegotten but popular practice of decorating lawns with Tom Waits' rusty bicycle leaned against a tree, planted with annual flowers, gladioli, and mood improving vervain, as if some kid fled parent's nest and left it behind for college. Might symbolize a slew of songs that commemorate lost passions of youth or rediscover simple joys once thought unsophisticated. Nevertheless, find many references to bicycling culture not revealed by titles alone.

Alan Bradley's new novel, Speaking from Among the Bones, has a bike upended on its cover. It's from a mystery series about a ferocious 11-year-old girl, Flavia de Luce, a sleuth who rides a Gladys bicycle, what Fanny Willard learned to ride.

Adolescents soon become bored teens who imagine intrigues in well produced video Vélo Volé (Stolen Bike). French singer Thomas Fersen pines away in his own La chapelle de la joie. Hey Ocean bemoans disappointment in Bicycle.

Kiki Lambert would beat ennui by spinning small wheels of her Brompton folding bike, as she sang in Les p'tites roues (sur l'air du Poinçonneur des Lilas). White rap trio Da Gryptions strut to attract Montreal's mademoiselles in The Bixi Anthem. Deadeye Dick is infatuated with vegan love interest New Age Girl (Mary Moon).

Matthew Good Band wonders about a new hookup in As Long as You're Mine, a new link for a song discussed in Appendix. "Love is just like riding a bicycle, and riding a bicycle is just another way to get thrown." Liaisons definitely can go terribly wrong with intolerable consequences. Both men and women come from Mars or Venus. Sheryl Crow's backlash at being dumped by Lance Armstrong somehow disclosed his doping involvement, as described in Albergotti's and O'Connell's new tell-all Wheelmen. What of Les Wampas' homage Rimini to Italian campione de ciclismo Marco "Il Pirati" Pantani, who died untimely, some say, of depression over EPO abuse accustions? Note stylish skull guitar.

Milwaukee singer/songwriter Peter Mulvey documents his 50 mile ride with Ralston Bowles on trikes to another concert engagement. He's traveled entire East Coast by bike to perform, as well as loops up to 500 miles on recumbents. Pete considers a self propelled musical tour a "Better Way to Go", but will ladies think him a "dork"? Adults can still select their own ways to trek, and Some People go by bicycle or out way too soon.

Sangria Gratuite serenades with anti-car, mariachi tune El Velo Solex. MIght as well have Pierre Péribois chime in with his happy accordion march Nous on Fait du Vélo from Vive les pompiers as dirge rather than When The Saints Go Marching In.

Dyke Unchain

Following famous titles from the late 19th Century, notably A Wheel Within a Wheel: How I Learned to Ride the Bicycle (1893, 104 pp.) by WCTU’s LGBT leader Fanny Willard, one might be led to believe books on bicycling for girls are few and slim. Prejudice against suffragism persisted into the 20th, characterized by that wicked witch on a bike in The Wizard of Oz, whirled disparagingly from Halloween and Sapphic themes. Often hear it deemed evident that female interest has renewed in the 21st. Probably has to do with same old issues: Limited opportunities, stifling paternalism, transportation hardships. Would never imply women need a “what to wear” guide or whatnot. Generic books about bikes could suffice for every gender and orientation, but shrewd to pander to distaff half who buy more books and won't be denied.



UK's Guardian newspaper ran an on-line article asking for comments on cycling in children's books only to conclude there aren't many, although that's not al all true with hundreds on everything from safety concerns to youth motocross. Since juvenile titles are even slimmer, only listed books from the last decade with a Lexile measure above 800.

Cathy Bussey, The Girl's Guide to Life on Two Wheels (Ryland Peters & Small, 2013, 128 pp.)

Beverley Brenna, The White Bicycle (Red Deer Press, 2012, 198 pp.); 3rd novel in her Wild Orchid series about a child with Asperger's Syndrome won Printz Honor this year.

Katie Dailey, Heels on Wheels. A Lady's Guide to Owning and Riding a Bike (Hardie Grant Books, 2012, 96 pp.)

Sue Macy, Wheels of Change: How Women Rode the Bicycle to Freedom (With a Few Flat Tires Along the Way) (National Geographic Children's Books, 2011, 96 pp.); nominated for and won several awards.

Previously mentioned books by Claire Morissette and Elly Blue.

Margie Melvin, A Woman Without a Man Is Like a Fish Without a Bicycle, (AuthorHouse, 2009, 68 pp.)

Selene Yeager, Every Woman's Guide to Cycling: Everything You Need to Know, From Buying Your First Bike to Winning Your First Race (NAL Trade, 2008, 320 pp.); substantial volume probably still shy of pretensions.

Carolyn Keene, A Race Against Time (Simon & Schuster, 2004, 160 pp.); a Nancy Drew Detective Mystery.

Jane Kurtz, Bicycle Madness (Macmillan, 2003, 122 pp.); fictional account of youth befriending Frances Willard.

Hijack McClane

Men argue unfounded opinions more heatedly than scientific certainties. It's how they roll into battle, perhaps because they've hijacked role models. Since last century that usually signifies antiheroes and individuals beset with impossible tasks not of their own choosing. Sorry to have overlooked scene in Die Hard with a Vengeance (1998) where NYC Detective John McClane (Bruce Willis) and Zeus Carver (Samuel L. Jackson) commandeer bikes from Bowery boys because some bad guy Simon says, not their finest hour. The pair worked together earlier in Pulp Fiction (1994), only then Willis rode off on dead Zedd's chopper.

More recently Argo (2012) had Ben Affleck attempting to rescue six American Embassy workers hiding in Iran after Shah's fall. One rejected exodus scenario was to have them all ride bicycles to the Iraqi border 400 miles away. They were supposed to fit in with locals frequently seen riding in this multi-award, Oscar winning film. Can't blame them for jetting out moments ahead of capture.

Self sacrifice falls under the profound phoniness of capitalist expectations for everyone except superhero businessmen on white fixies. Why unilaterally assume risks? You can hardly expect cyclists not to ask themselves this before braving streets devoid of decency where wage earners race thoughtlessly to mundane posts assumed to serve deceit and inhumanity. Welcome to the jungle. When fear rules every transaction becomes a slugfest.

From the previous century, women role models like Annie Londonderry helped half of the population gain human rights with none of the aforementioned bluster and machismo. So salute ladies on wheels without objectifying them. Be grateful they reverse the relentless stress of testosterone.

Great Chained Dane

Whatever you notice by bike will lead down a twisty road. Begin with an observation about a real dog, you might end with a revelation about dogma. Riveted this ferocious beast’s attention by merely rounding a corner then silently riding by minding own business. This jackass sized canine strained at a flimsy chain tenuously stretched behind. Its intent was as obvious as it was vicious, a tragedy worthy of Hamlet waiting to happen in that hamlet. Don't know why people breed and keep pets so huge, except, of course, to intimidate intruders, pony up a fortune for chow and fences, and shoulder responsibility of white man's burden to impose order over unknown anxieties.

Momentary terror pushed aside whatever was being mulled, which is what riders do, pray or puzzle over everything through which they ever lived. There's little else to do while pedaling because listening with headphones is illegal and reading impractical. Prior train of thought had something to do with how cycling obsession resembles proselytizing religion. Not exactly what people think of as doctrine, pedaling does have a spiritual core. Modern credos command control, guilt, manipulation, mass hysteria, and validation of wrongdoing; they demand unquestioning belief in an evolving scheme that involves denying oneself now for a ticket to paradise supposedly redeemable once dead, if the trauma of transition doesn't make you forget to present it. Fear of nature, beastly and inhumane, constrains. They'll instigate crusades against infidels and discontent against secularism, same as cyclists only with motorists and motoring. Either way, organizations exist to chisel from you; outsiders falsely assume adherents behave and think alike; penitents congregate on Sundays; songs designed to instill humility are badly sung; tithing occurs at church or local bike shop. Parishioners celebrate mass en mass, whereas cyclists devotedly mash alone even when convened in groups. Ushers pass plates for cash and coins, whereas cyclists leave coins in gutter and notice tar spots that shine like coins but are as phony as most who boast of belief. Riding can be performed ritually and worshipfully, kowtowing like an acolyte over handlebars among pelaton or posse in communion queues. However, in contrast, bicycling goes back to roots of all beliefs in agape, chaste fellowship, the prototype taught by prophets. What few rewards it offers in camaraderie, education and health are immediately realized while still alive. Going by bike is a loving, nontoxic, nonviolent alternative unlikely to cause harm to anyone other than cyclist who choses to do so. It's self sacrifice for the sake of community. It makes real jobs, not simply stuffs ministers' pockets.

Neither blog nor book tries to replace old wives' tales with newly concocted but similarly wrong substitutes. Adages remain undisputed, apothegms startle, and epigrams ring true, but every one is outdated, situationally dependent, and unworthy of your consideration. "Where there's smoke, there's fire," has been used to accuse more innocents than perpetrators by implying guilt by association. People repeat all sorts of things. Men concocted dogma to consolidate power. Wrongdoers cite maxims to justify crimes. How can you expect decent folks to help those down on their luck? You've got to do your own research if you expect to go forth in safety with authority. Neighborhoods you bike through change over years, usually for the worse. Better there was no literature than readymade sayings that stand in for erudition.

Blaming women for troubles is like accusing religion for causing wars. Implicated? Surely, but not the root cause. Frustration produces aggression. Once unleashed, nobody’s safe. Abused children become abusers themselves, or worse, sociopaths who kill without remorse. If one child is forsaken, some wretch will rise to take out rage on unsuspecting citizens. Kindness in schools identifies and neutralizes threat, yet they cut spending for social programs without considering consequences already manifested in mass shootings. Terrorists abound; mustn't foster means and opportunities though neglect. Religions align with this ignorance. Clerics never speak freely or wisely, hold lies and spin above truth. Yet without good inherent in doctrine, greed and tyranny go unchecked.

Anything you question will alienate a thoughtful audience, all 10 of them. Majority can’t grasp advanced concepts. Often cyclists are not dog lovers. Labann abhors breeders, who for profit foist millions of pets onto a populace that can’t afford to feed itself never mind hungry snouts which wouldn’t otherwise exist. So what if this perspective perturbs PETA? Owners fall for relentless advertising and maneuvering. Aimless arm themselves with ammo and animals. Pets are neither farm livestock nor fauna that contributes to ecosystem diversity. Glad to glance deer poking out of trees at dawn and turkeys settling into suburban spots. Acceptance and forbearance are considered weak positions that invite vengeance. As in the Terry Nation film And Soon the Darkness (previously mentioned but now available), you're more secure if you pair up and stay together. Metaphysics never concerns itself with your survival. Making reliable friends is up to you.