Back in the Web’s early days, I saw a picture of the late Robin Williams among some Silicon Valley DudeBros, including John Doerr of Kleiner Perkins. (This was before the Paypal Mafia and the promise of AI turned DudeBros feral.) They were all wearing spandex bike outfits, and they looked a bit like a NASCAR field. But they were all smiling, because they were out on a long bike ride.
Over some big hills.
I recently saw him again that way, on Facebook, drawn by a cartoonist who calls himself TwoWheels Better.
I thought a lot about the quote on the picture, in the context of my own riding. That’s because, let’s face it, you’re not always flying on a bike.
Getting up a hill is a slog.
Riding along a flat is exercise.
It’s going down the hill that’s flying. It’s freewheeling that’s flying.
This is important in the context of the E-Transport Revolution.
As I have found repeatedly since my return from the Netherlands, Atlanta cycling offers far more chances for flying than Dutch cycling. There’s a lot of turbulence from the road surface, which is washer board everywhere and marked by truly vicious potholes. But I can freewheel down any hill near me at 25 mph (40 kph), the motor off, the only sound that of the wind. Where I live each ride starts with at least a half mile of freewheeling, usually at around 15 mph (25 kph), which is the unofficial speed limit for Dutch E-Transport, the point at which the electric motor on my Swapfiets would cut out.
This sounds great, and for me it is great.
But it’s also a problem.
Speed is Dangerous
What I’m doing is dangerous. I’ve known it since I was a kid. One wrong move, by me or by someone else, and my riding days are over. Maybe all my days. I didn’t pay much attention to that when I was 20. I’m 70.
I’m not saying it’s not fun. It’s huge fun. I’m going faster than I did in the Netherlands, where the bridge over the canal at Maarssen gave me a top speed of about 16 mph, with a quick right-and-left at the bottom designed to make me hit the brakes. The drum brakes on the Swapfiets, which go into action whenever you start pedaling backwards, also slowed me down. They kept me safe.
Not here. I can ride up most hills at around 15, fly along the flats at the same speed, and fly downhill at 25-35. Even with stoplights, I averaged 13.4 mph on the ride to the left. I was slightly slower on my April ride to Loosdrecht, which had no stop signs, no hazards, and no elevation. There I was looking at the scenery and loving it. Here I’m hanging on for dear life.
I need the extra power of the motor to get up the hills. My Swapfiets wouldn’t work in Atlanta.
I like it better here, but this holds a warning for American Fietsers. To be a fietser in Atlanta is show of bravado. It takes courage. Maybe it’s not for everyone, because of the downhills.
Dutch cycling can work in many American cities, from Houston to Ft. Lauderdale, with better infrastructure driven by a critical mass of demand.
But not everyone is like Robin and me. Not everyone wants to fly.
