Hugel baby...

Tour.
das.
Hugel.

If my punctuation seems unnecessarily dramatic, just wait. It'll make sense in a moment.

This past Saturday I participated in an annual Austin cycling event called Tour das Hugel. I have no idea what "hugel" is, but the ride is 108 miles long and includes more than 11,000 feet of climbing. Yes, I meant to type eleven thousand.
I know, right?

The ride, obviously, is pretty intense, and I've struggled to make those numbers make sense to non-cyclists. I guess one way of thinking about it is like this: imagine the average amount of calories needed to breathe, blink, and otherwise function is 1,100. During the hill ride I do on Sunday mornings, I burn about 1,500 calories on top of that basal 1,100. That ride is 20 miles long and usually includes approximately 1,700 feet of climbing. So just based on elevation gain, an individual could burn approximately 9x the amount of calories doing this ride than they would sitting on a couch watching movies all day or 4x the amount of calories they would burn doing an extremely intense work out (which is what I consider my Sunday morning rides). Okay, now hopefully, we're all on the same page.

The ride started at 7am. I guess there were about 150 people at the start. I had planned on doing the ride on my touring bike, but since the fork is busted, I borrowed my boss's Soma Smoothie for the ride (a bike which weighs 8-10 lbs. less than my touring bike. I don't know what would've happened if I'd actually done it on my touring bike - probably died). The first loop was 40 miles long, and it was called the "easy loop." Calling anything easy on this ride is idiotic, and the way people were riding during the first loop made it anything but easy. When finally the group caught a red light, I asked a guy next to me what time it was. "Eight fifteen," he told me. Then, he added, in his thick Mexican accent and with a great deal of exasperation, "They are doing this ride like it is a race." I was relieved to hear that I wasn't the only person that was uncomfortable with the pace, but in recognition of his frustration and with my mind on the remaining 90 miles, I furrowed my brow and replied, "I know. It's a little rough." At the time, I hadn't considered the fact that a lot of people were probably only doing the first lap. They had no reason to pace themselves. There's even a separate t-shirt for people who only do the first lap, the "Hugelito."

I'm the first person to pass - in blue with white arm warmers

By the end of the first lap, I had decided that there was no way to train for the Hugel. Nothing could make you ready for it except it, and no one is going to do it in advance in training for it. It's not a race, you know. Next year, I think it might be yoga and maybe doubling the elevation gain on my Sunday rides, but I still think the ride will be pure masochism (Wait - did I seriously just type next year?).

Before starting the second part, I sat there resting, and my boss, AJ, pulled in a few minutes after I did. Everyone was resting, stretching, and commiserating as if we were done. Once in a while, another group would leave to start the "hard lap" or second part of the ride (70 miles with the hardest climbs). It had been lonely riding by myself or with people I didn't know for the first lap, so I decided to wait for AJ before leaving. Just before we were going to roll out, one of my coworkers, Tim, rolled in. AJ and I were going to wait for Tim, but he took long enough getting water that we gave up and left.

AJ's bike had fallen over while we were resting, and now, it was shifting really poorly. The derailer hanger was bent - a pretty hard thing to fix while out on a ride. He would ride a hundred feet, stop, bend it with his hand, adjust the cable tension, and try riding again. Eventually, he got it shifting well again, and we got on with the ride.

The second part might have been harder, but it had all the hills that I climb every Sunday. At least, I knew what to expect, which was comforting. Eventually, because of AJ's mechanical problems and one wrong turn, Tim was able to catch up. He had brought with him an older guy who had made attempts in previous years who knew the route fairly well. Ladera Norte provided it's usual breathtaking view and a nice spot to rest for a moment. A few miles later we past a convenience store, where we stopped, and I bought some blueberry muffin bites. A young guy on an Indy Fab rode with us for a while. His mom was riding SAG for him in a little convertible Mazda, which seemed like a nice day for her. The weather and country were pretty. Apparently, it was his first time riding again after a year off the bike because his heart had stopped during a race. Crazy.

Eventually though, the older guy quit and the younger guy fell behind. Then it was just AJ, Tim, and I for a while. A crew of Texas 4000 riders were with us for a bit, and some guys I know from other rides around town stuck with us for a bit too. By the time we got to the rest stop at mile 68, AJ and Tim weren't that excited to continue. From there, there was a 17 mile loop out to Mansfield Dam and back, after which you finished the ride. It was pretty easy to skip the loop and just head back, and I had to do a fair amount of encouraging to avoid doing just that. I liked being pushing into the roll of motivator. It made me forget that I was exhausted, and I probably would've been considering quitting had I been by myself.

As it turned out, the loop out to Mansfield Dam was the nicest part of the ride, and at mile 75, a funny thing occurred to AJ and I. We were climbing up a hill just as hard as any other that day, and I ask him in a voice that surprised me by how calm and relaxed it was, "Do you find yourself not getting winded anymore?" I continued by clarifying, "It's just your legs hurt." He responded in an equally relaxed voice, "Yeah." It seemed that, as hard as we were working, our respiratory systems had simply acclimated, and we weren't huffing and puffing anymore.

AJ, Tim, and I at Mansfield Dam

We finished the loop out to the dam, and headed back. It was a long tedious climb out, and we needed to stop and rest again at the rest stop - crackers and gatorade never tasted so good. Then, we headed back. There were some severe hills just to get back to a main road, and Tim had had a speed wobble earlier in the day, so he was being cautious on the descents (I can't blame him). Finally, we got out to Ranch Road 2222. We sat at the light, waiting to cross and ride the half mile to the start of Jester, the last and arguably toughest climb of the ride, and AJ said to me, "You know Jester is the end of the ride, right?" I looked at him, and he continued, "We have to ride back, but the ride is officially done at the top of Jester." I was overcome with excitement, pride, and relief. All I could say was an emphatic, "Fuck yes!" I high-fived AJ and turned around and did the same to Tim. Then it was on to Jester.

The Good, the Bad, and the Furley

So, road season has come to an end.
And, the shop I'm working at is sponsoring Austin's Cyclo-cross and mountain bike series, the Dirt Derby. The great thing about this is - well, a lot of things. I was going to say, "the great thing about this is I get to race for free," but there are probably a few more great things that out weigh that. It's awesome hanging out there, at our booth, chatting with everyone, watching the races, and drinking beer. I'd never raced cyclo-cross before, but I figured my touring bike would be a great bike for doing so. I ordered some 27 x 1 3/8" knobby tires (offered by only one company!) and gave it a go. It felt really natural and familiar. I guess I've done tons of riding off-road - farm roads with Leo and upper campus at UCSC. I kept being reminded of racing BMX when I was like five. The track is really similar, but I'm surprised that I would remember so well the feeling. I guess some stuff when you're a kid just always stays with you... like riding a bike (funny, huh?).



Anyway, the second week, I was already winning the beginner's race, so I decided I should stick with the intermediate race. Though half a lap into the intermediate race, I wiped out and destroyed my rear wheel (the guy behind me ran over it). Then, I got bit by an ant and had an allergic reaction (sneezing, face swelling, itchy body, and anxiety). It would've been a total wash if a pretty girl hadn't given me an amazing shoulder rub to help me relax (the highlight of my week, by the way).

The next day I rebuilt the wheel, installed it, and realized that my fork was buckled. Did I mention that it's a 27" fork? They do not make replacement, high end, 27", touring forks anymore. I have to try and find an old one or have a new one made. Lame, ay?

I'm considering picking up a really inexpensive single-speed cyclo-cross bike that I can get as an employee purchase from Raleigh. It's called the Furley (named after Mr. Furley from Three's Company). It has disk brakes and all the braze-ons make it possible to convert it to a geared bike in the future. I think it's a good investment for the money.



I just love my touring bike, and I actually do tour on it. In fact, that's why I bought it. I shouldn't trash it doing other stuff. So, when it's fixed, no more racing on it.

Mr. Racey Guy

I think, just maybe, I'm the worst blogger in the world. I promise to try and be better. By 'better,' I mean that I'm going to update a little more frequently.

Let's pretend that the reason why I hardly ever update this blog is because I ride my bike so much. Hmmmm...
...yeah, I like that.

Guess who has started racing. I'll give you a moment.

Okay - If you guessed me, you were correct.

I started racing! I never would've considered it, but the guys at the shop started talking about doing it for some reason. They just assumed that I would come along with them when they went out the first time. My boss gave me a shop kit, and I stripped the fenders and racks off of my touring bike and off we went. Here, in Austin, is something called the Driveway Series. It's a weekly crit series on a Grand Prix circuit built for car races, so the asphalt is super smooth.
I'd really never done anything like that before. I've done alley cats and Santa Cruz's epic Wild Cat race, but real road racing was something I'd not ever considered.
The first week could've been better. I went in to it so relaxed (so that I wouldn't freak out) that by halfway through the race I dropped off, and I never caught back up. FYI, when you fall behind in a race, you don't have anyone to draft off of anymore, and you work twice as hard to move for the remainder of the race - not fun. I guess it also didn't help that, even with most accessories stripped off, my touring bike still weighs 27 lbs. Most of the guys out there are rolling on bikes that weigh <20 lbs.
The second week, my boss lent me his Ti Litespeed. My only goal was: don't drop off, and when it came down to it, I hung in there. I was actually performing quite well, but the bike... well, the bike needed maintenance that I wasn't aware of and I ended up throwing the chain. I shifted it back on, and I started to catch up. Then, when I tried to take a sip from my new, plastic water bottle, I squirted the water into the back of my throat and I started choking. I've been riding with steel water bottles for so long that I've actually had to learn how to take a sip, while panting and not choke on the water (it seems like a lot of people take that for granted). By that point, I fell behind again. I wasn't going to recover, but at least there was only a couple laps left.
My sole goal remained not to fall behind for several races. I kept telling myself, "Keep up enough to not fall behind. Just draft off these other guys, so I don't have to work so hard." I got more and more confident each race, until I was determined to get a top twenty finish. Often I felt really strong. About my fifth race, I felt so strong and calm that it was down to the last five laps before I even felt like I was working. But the next week, things changed.
It was the sixth race for most of the guys from the shop. We planned on really working together as a team, and it payed off. JP and Tim, the two strongest guys riding with us were regular shop customers. They, plus one of the other mechanics at the shop (Paul) and myself, we're killing it.

Team Peddler, in the lead!

When Paul and I dropped back into the group, JP and Tim kept leading the race, and there it stayed for the last couple of laps. Then, we came around the final turn for the finish line, and everyone sprinted. Later I would find out, that someone clipped JP's rear wheel hard enough for the back of the bike to drop out from under him. He went down, hard. He was in the lead, so everyone had to try and maneuver around him. I saw his body on the ground, rolling toward me, and other guys hitting him and going down. I whipped hard to the right to avoided running over his head. A wave of panic washed over me, and I thought that I should stop to help him. Everyone around me continued sprinting though, so I mashed on the pedals, bared down, and finished my sprint for the finish.

Final Sprint - that's me in the black helmet

When I crossed the finished line, my first top twenty finish, I was gesturing behind me to the wreck and saying how bad it was. I couldn't find any of my teammates, and I wandered around the spectators - not sure what to do. Finally, I jump back on the bike and rode out to the wreck. JP was bleeding from his head and complaining about his collar bone. Paul had gone down too, but he was up and coherent with hardly a scratch on him. Tim avoided it all as I had, and was there attending to JP. Two other guys went down as well. They both had concussions, but one of them hardly knew where he was or what was going on. The other guy had his jersey off, and his back was nothing but lacerations from neck to waist.

JP grimacing as they put his arm into a sling

My performance has dropped off a bit in subsequent races, and I think it's fair to say it's a result of nervousness. They've also, it being the end of the season, combined the Cat 4/5 race (beginners) with the Cat 3/4 race. It's earlier in the day, so there's a little more Texas heat to deal with, not to mention it's longer and faster.

I'm hardly going to end this entry on a down note though. Despite fear of crashing, I've still totally fallen in love with racing, and I've set a goal of building up my own racey bike by the start of next season (spring). I just never would've imagined liking it so much! I guess if I had, I would've tried it years ago.

ATX

I've been doing a lot of riding since I got to Austin (aka ATX). The first few weeks here was mostly social riding and drinking. That was fun, and I met a lot of people. But to be honest, I got partied out pretty quick. I went on three Thursday Night Social Rides (TNSR), a Full-Moon Ride, two or three Wednesday Nooner rides, and two or three Skellies Rides. I've settled on just going on the Skellies Ride. It's an alternative to the huge, weekly TNSR. It's much more tame (i.e. less drinking/more riding), and it's small enough that it's possible to learn everyone's names.
Strangely though, I've met a few people who, just last week, started a new ride. Right now, it happens on the same day as significant mountain stage days on the Tour de France (I really hope we continue it after the Tour is over), and we ride out to the west side of town and hit some of the major hills. The first week it was on my birthday, which was a great way to start my new year. I took my rear rack off my touring bike, ditched my messenger bag, stuffed my u-lock into the back of my cut-offs and climbed some of the most fun hills I've climbed since I was in Santa Cruz.
Oh - did I mention the ride meets at 6:30am? I'm getting 25 miles of riding and the most intense climbing I've gotten in over a year done before I usually wake-up! Unbelievably, I find myself to be more awake and energized than if I slept for two extra hours and didn't burn all those calories.
We went again this past Saturday. This time I left my u-lock at home and dug out my bike shorts and jersey. I noticed a pretty significant difference with just the wardrobe change. We also added an additional climb - much harder than the others. Supposedly, it's a 24% grade at one point!

At the top of Ladera Norte this past Saturday.

The guy organizing the ride has hosted breakfast after both rides, and he puts the Tour on his big screen while we eat and drink mimosas.

It's gotten me pretty excited about riding again. I mean, I always love riding bicycles, but tearing around town on my track bike and long-distance bike touring... well, I guess I've just gotten used to them. I'm not going to stop doing either; they just aren't getting me ecstatic anymore. This new ride has got me pumped. I'm even thinking about a new bike...

Ticketed for Riding not in the Bike Lane!

New York has done some major improving in recent years to their bicycle infrastructure. But, what it seems has come along with that is NYPD's finest giving seemingly idiot citations to cyclists. I tweeted about one example back on April 15th. Here is yet another example.

The Next Chapter

So, my time in DC is at an end.

I came. I saw. I got seasonal depression.

I know that DC has mild winters compared to some places, but I don't know how people make it through winters that last half the year. I spent the first decade of my life in Louisiana, my teen years in Florida, and most of my twenties in California; I'm used to actual mild winters - not winters that seem mild to people from Minnesota. Cold weather shouldn't last more than two or three months. If you're still having to layer at mid-day in the month of April, it's time to find somewhere else to live. So, I have.

I had really been keeping an eye out for jobs all over the country. I searched for jobs in Los Angeles; I have so many friends there and the weather is great. I searched for jobs in New York City. I just went there for the first time a couple months ago, and I fell in love with it. I searched for bike jobs everywhere, but nothing quite came to fruition. Finally though, I settled on Austin, TX.

I was supposed to move to Austin last year. When I was struggling with unemployment in Santa Cruz, a good friend of mine there insisted that I move and stay in her extra room until I found some work. At the same time, I was pretty sweet on a girl that was going to move there for school late last year. It sounded pretty appealing, but I had already packed all my things to move back to my mom's in Florida. So, it got put off. In the meantime, I ended up moving to DC for a summer job, and the girl I was sweet on decided to go to a different school. When the job ended, I got apathetic and stayed in DC.

I guess I feel like I should've move to Austin at the end of the summer, but maybe a year in DC was good for me. It was certainly an experience. I spent eight months working at a bike shop, and if I continue working with bike projects, that'll sweeten up my resumé.

When and how to move to Austin became the next question. I'm still living blessedly car-free, so I had to do a bit of research. Renting a van was prohibitively expensive. I considered renting a car and just loading all my things into it and driving there - the way that I moved to California. It turned out to be about the same as what it would cost to ship everything freight and I wouldn't have to worry about gas with shipping.

I knew that a friend was getting married in Santa Fe, NM on May 21st. I really wanted to go to that, but it was so close to when I was planning on moving that it complicated things a bit. I thought it would be a great idea to bike to Austin from DC, but then I would get there and have to turn around and fly to Santa Fe and back. Also, I would have to leave DC way earlier to complete the trip before the wedding.

That's when it hit me. I could fly to Santa Fe with my bike, and then ride to Austin from there.

The distance to Austin from Santa Fe is about 700 miles, which sounds much more reasonable than the 1,800 miles between DC and Austin. Also, I've not really been through that country. I've driven the stretch of road between Amarillo and Denton, TX a couple times, but that's about a 150 miles further north than the route I'd be taking. So, that became the plan: Santa Fe -> wedding -> bike tour to Austin.



As it turns out, shipping a bike and camping equipment is as expensive as a return flight, so in the future, I'm not really going to be able to justify doing this again financially (I could still justify it in other ways). And, I'm swearing off big cross-country moves for a while. It's too much. I swear if I have tape up another box in the next year, I'll breakdown completely. I don't even want to hear the sound of packing tape being pulled off the roll. But, everything is pack and shipped off to Austin, now, where it will be waiting for me, hopefully all in one piece. I fly out to Santa Fe tomorrow.

I have a bit of anxiety - mostly having to do with camping in the middle of nowhere by myself. I haven't had much luck finding campgrounds. I guess I'll just camp wherever I get tired. I also am not sure how many days I'm going to do it in. The original plan was to do it in seven to ten days, but I think it might be interesting to kick up the milage a bit. I've been kind of fascinated with RAAM (Race Across America) lately, and the idea of doing as many miles in a day as daylight will permit sounds like a great challenge.

I'll keep updating my progress while I'm riding via my twitter account: http://twitter.com/VeloTramp

Wish me luck!

Dusting off the old: My opinions of Critical Mass

I wrote this for a class a couple of years ago. By this time I'd been to so many Critical Mass rides that I'd lost count. I was feeling particularly disillusioned, and it definitely came out in the paper.
I'm not sure how I feel now, but I can still identify with it quite a bit.


On a Friday night in September of 1992, a couple of dozen individuals, after responding to flyers passed out on Market Street, congregated in San Francisco with their bicycles. They collectively rode around town before settling in to the Zeitgeist Bar – thus Critical Mass was born. This was a time of increased bicycle advocacy. Many people were attempting to assert their legal right to the road as cyclists for a number of reasons, and Critical Mass played an important role in the effort to create a safe space for cyclists. It was direct action activism, and it usually was nonviolent. Critical Mass, whether warmly received or not, forced people to become more aware of cyclists in the road. Its atmosphere was fun, and beyond its initial goal of creating space for cyclists, it encouraged people to get on their bikes.

As times have changed and the efforts of bicycle advocates and (arguably) Critical Mass participants have changed the sociopolitical landscape of cities like San Francisco, the need for Critical Mass has waned. Now that space has been created and cyclists have come to feel empowered, Critical Mass rides are quicker to turn negative, and what was once an important tool in grass roots activism now hurts efforts to make the streets safe for bicycles and their riders.

In August of 2006, I had just returned from a summer in Paris. I had been warned about the culture shock that I might experience coming back to the United States after being away for a while, but I was still surprised by how frustrating I found things that had seemed so natural just a couple of months before. Much of it was superficial, like the tiny differences one might expect, but how I got from point A to point B seemed to unnerve me more than anything else.

By that point, the Mayor of Paris, Bertrand Delanoë, had begun transforming the streets of the city by reclaiming space once exclusively for cars and re-designating it for pedestrians, bicycles, and public transportation. This made the streets of Paris into places where people could live and not just a space through which traffic flows. The difference was something that I felt very much while I was there. I walked, and I took the train, both underground and elevated. I saw the streets on which I traveled. I breathed the air. I interacted with the people around me.

Returning to a car culture Mecca of the United States, like Los Angeles, was very difficult. It seemed that I needed my car to do everything. I was frustrated, and like many people who experience culture shock upon returning home, I was depressed. I tried walking, but “nobody walks in L.A.” I wanted to utilize the metro, but the train system in Los Angeles is inefficient at best. It was in this context that I first heard of the Midnight Ridazz.

“There’s a big bike ride in Los Feliz tonight. You guys should come.” My friend and I were intrigued, but it took a little more to actually convince us. The manager of the climbing gym I worked at explained, with little elaboration, that a bunch of people show up at an announced location; they then leave in unison for a predetermined location along a route described on the back of spoke cards handed out before the ride. He said that there’s usually beer and a lot of cheering. Later that night when we arrived at the meeting point, we found approximately 1300 cyclists of all shapes and sizes. There were people on mountains bikes, road bikes, beach cruisers, commuter bikes, and something that I’d never before seen, urban fixed-gear bicycles. The camaraderie among the participants was amazing. Everyone talked and joked with each other. It was a collective bound by one thing – our bicycles and a desire to have fun.

Moving forward we're inviting everybody to join in the fun.
The Ridazz that be have created this site to help empower YOU to
create your own rides, routes and good timezz. Start yourself a
recurring ride, have a bar crawl or even throw a one timer in the day-
light... It's your ride.

In the days that followed, I quickly found the website that facilitated communication between ridazz, and I was in. The rides were themed usually , such as “pajama party,” or “Warriors” (the film, not the basketball team). I began going to every monthly ride and many of the smaller rides people would have in between. After a couple of months, I noticed the postings on the site for Critical Mass rides. They seemed like the more politicized parent-ride of the Midnight Ridazz. I went on a Los Angeles Critical Mass ride here or a Hollywood Critical Mass ride there. By the following spring, I’d discovered the Santa Monica Critical Mass that a friend participated in every month. Something about the vibe of that ride in particular appealed to me. Before the ride, members of the Bikerowave, Santa Monica’s DIY bike shop/tool collective, would stand up and explain the loose outline of how the ride functions. They’d also make pertinent announcements about where the ride stood with the local cops.

On the rides, there was almost always a police presence of some sort. The first ride I went on was big enough that there was a police helicopter circling us (in Los Angeles they send out a police helicopter for everything). Twice during the Santa Monica CM, I stopped riding to speak to the police. Once, it was by myself because a police officer yelled at me for corking an intersection. Corking is a regular practice during big rides. Someone at the front of the group will stop in an intersection to block traffic in the case that a light changes before the entire group has made it through. I had actually been operating under the idea that it was semi-legal. I thought that it fell somewhere in the realm of parades blocking traffic, but the police officer and his partner, both of whom calmed down considerably in response to my earnestness, explained that my misconception was a little absurd.

The second conversation with the authorities was with an L.A. Sheriff’s Deputy, though I wasn’t directly a part of the conversation. Quite a few of us stopped to support a participant in the ride who the deputy had stopped for not riding in the bike lane. The deputy attempted to falsely assert that we were not allowed to ride in the right most lane and leave the inside lane free for cars. The deputy said we should’ve been single file in the bike lane (this would, of course, stretch us out for half a mile). The deputy stubbornly held his position as one of the Bikerowave volunteers quoted the applicable county and city transportation codes. It seemed like it was going nowhere, but finally both sides gave a little. They agreed to open a dialog for the future and exchanged information (if I understand correctly, the present situation is that the Santa Monica Critical Mass is under serious threat from the Santa Monica Police Department. Most of the riding is now done outside of city limits – presumably under some sort of balance struck with the county Sheriff’s Department).

There is an awkward balance constantly being sought with the rides. Participants are actively engaging in direct action protest. It’s an act of civil disobedience, but sprinkled throughout the crowd are bicycle advocates, people whose overall goal is to create substantial space for bicycles in the overall picture of city transportation. The tone in the ride is “We are taking over the streets whether you make room for us or not.” This becomes problematic when a conversation is started with the people who have an influence over creating that space. For example, in the middle of the described conversation with the sheriff's deputy, a friend’s five-year-old screamed from the trailer in which he was riding, “Whose road!?! Our road!!!” Of course, he didn’t know any better, and he was quickly quieted. This scene, though, illustrates the problem perfectly. The action is successful in forcing a productive conversation between the cyclist and the authorities, but then the uncontrollable aspect of the action, something akin to the unstoppable snowball of a Warner Brothers cartoon, rears its head. How can an action, with all the tact of a sledgehammer, transition to the negotiation table? Is the problem that often the people carrying out the action are also the people engaged in politicking before and afterward?

In the 1990s, the bicycle counter-culture was building steam, and its advocates argued on its behalf for diverse reasons. Concern over the environmental impact of cars had become a significantly more mainstream idea than it had been in previous decades, and bicycles were becoming a staple in the freshly renewed green movement. Urban planners noticed the stark contrast between the American car-culture and the bicycle cultures of Amsterdam or China, and many American cyclists held their infrastructures as potential alternative models for communities in the United States. This also related to the belief that the behavior of the public and how individuals treat space is determined by how roads and the areas around them are designed. This all led to the rejection of the car to varying degrees and on various levels. Michael Replogle, president of the Institute for Transportation and Development Policy, stated in 1992, “It was the American Dream to reach this point, but we come out of it feeling cheated. ”

This discontent grew through the nineties as oil wars in the Persian Gulf and international trade agreements were made. The Internet made the world smaller and advertising narrowed what it meant to be a man, woman, or teen. Hierarchical control of societies, western and eastern and north and south, became refined – sometimes apparent, but very often it was more and more subtle. The Zapatistas described this system of oppression as neoliberalism, and it sparked a new kind of activism.

Activist collectives sprang up across the globe. In an oligarchical world, autonomous, direct action, do-it-yourself, grassroots groups became an important way for individuals to make their voices heard. The line between art and activism blurred as actions took place such as the Global Carnival Against Capital, a mass demonstration/street party that occurred simultaneously and with no centralized organization. It took place in over 40 cities worldwide on 18 June 1999, coinciding with that years Group of 8 (G8) summit. The city in which the demonstration was the largest was London where an estimated 5,000 to 10,000 participants swarmed the financial district from the Liverpool tube station. They forced they’re way into a futures and exchange building and completely shut it down.

During this period, Critical Mass grew as well. What had started as a handful of people became a global phenomenon within a few short years all under the banner of disorganization, that is to say no one is in control of the movement or even the individual rides. Mobs of cyclists meet, ride through the streets, disband, and then meet again the following month. In the same city, one month might have a dozen participants and the next month might have one hundred – without a single individual coming two months in a row. Herein lie both the beauty and the problem.

Critical Mass is not unified under one banner, theme, or issue. Not every individual is riding for the same reason. It is a modern stratagem needed for attacking monolithic socioeconomic systems; alliances must be created with those most likely to advance your cause, despite the exact focus, origin, or desired outcome of each individual. In such an incongruous group, determining overall goals becomes nearly impossible. If each rider is participating in the same action for different reasons, one person’s set of goals might be achieved while the other person’s may not.

How then is success measured? The short answer is: it cannot be measured.

From the outside it will always appear to be the same thing, cyclist making commotion because they’re angry about cars. The serious bicycle advocates could stop coming. The everyday commuters can avoid it, but it will keep going. The people who begin showing up are the people who are on bicycles because of the efforts of the early CM participants (both on and off their bikes). Angry, aggressive young people, unaware of the progress made over the last fifteen years in some cities, show up every month. People that need to blow off steam circle cars at intersections and kick car doors. But, the true believers in Critical Mass, the people who believe that there is no explicit political purpose to the ride would argue that Critical Mass, as a happening, will be that which the participants make it.

Settling in

Here I am, still in DC. Maybe, I'm getting comfortable, and that's amazing considering the temperatures around here.

It's fair to say that these are the coldest temperatures with which I've ever dealt. I've kind of gotten the hang of riding in the snow and ice. My mom came for a visit at Thanksgiving, and she brought me the rest of my bikes. When the weather is really bad, I can ride my 3-speed. It has 26 x 1 3/8 (590 ISO/650A) tires on it which are nice and wide, and the riding position is very upright which allows the front wheel to wander around in the snow and find its own path. Surprisingly, that seems the best way to handle the snow. I'd learned the trick on a motorcycle years ago when riding over the metal grates on bridges - don't fight the bike and the bike won't fight you (or throw you face first into the ground).



In other news, I got a job at a bike shop. It's worked out to be something chill to do while I figure out what direction I'm going to go in professionally. It has also made updating my bikes a very accessible endeavor. I've put some nice Arundel bottle cages, Velo Orange fenders and front rack on my touring bike and built it a new wheel set. This would've cost me a ton without the access gained through the shop, so it's been great.



I'm also learning a lot about bikes with which I otherwise wouldn't have come into contact. There's some steel commuters out there that I'm stoked about, and I'm getting exposure to high end carbon and aluminum bikes.

The town bike I built after my fixie got stolen was decommissioned. It's now disassemble in the attic. I turned it into a three speed for the last month or so I was riding it, but I think I really resented it for being the bike I built post-theft. Kind of silly, but what can you do? How you feel is how you feel.

The touring bike is pretty sharp these days. I think I'm going to put a shorter stem on it and maybe some new pedals, and it'll be ready for a tour the moment overnight lows are consistently above freezing. In the meantime, I've finally started riding the old chrome track bike that dropped into my lap last year. I kind of hung onto it for a while without doing anything because, well, I thought the owner might want it back. But, I never heard anything through the grapevine, and I guess I was missing having a peppy bike to ride around town.



It's a great frame, but it needs some work. It's kind of a mishmash of parts right now - a Frankenstein monster of sorts. I, nor the rest of the mechanics at the shop, are able to figure out what it is either. We've narrow it down to a '60s or '70s Gitane, but that's the best we can do. I guess if I get really bored one night I can go through all of Gitane's catalogs, but that won't be anytime soon.

I haven't gone on a bike tour in almost a year. I'm not very happy about that, but it was an odd year packed with lots of excitement and new experiences. I guess I can't complain. Now that I have all of my bike stuff in DC, the sky is the limit. I'm seriously considering doing some triathlons this year and I've made lots of bike friends to go on rides with. As soon as the weather improves, it's on again!