What Does He Call It?

 Why do some of us name our bicycles? Well, for some of us—for me, anyway—bicycles are companions in our journeys.  Thus, our bicycles have stories, and it only seems fitting that anything with a narrative, or narratives, should also have a name.

Our bicycles’ sagas include epic rides and errands, life-changing events and daily routines. Also, our bikes have, if you will, their origin stories, whether with robots in a Southeast Asian factory or a craft shop in Portland.  Or, in the case of one machine, specifically a “skyscraper” bike, its conception, if you will, took place in a Midwestern university’s engineering class.

Wynn Grame “saw an image” of a double-decker bike like the one he built “and it just stuck in my head.” Once friends donated bikes, he recalled, he “just had to do it.” And so his class project, and current mode of transportation, began.

From cutting up the frames to taking his first ride, Grame’s build took six weeks during which he squeezed in shop time while working on his summer internship and on weekends.

Sometimes, our bike stories include learning something new, whether about a custom in some place where we take a ride or a skill which may or not be related to the bike.  In Grame’s case, it was something essential to the origin of his bike:  Before he started building it, he had never welded.  Not even once.

I have seen “crane” or “giraffe” bikes like his, but have never ridden one.  So it was very interesting to learn that, aside from the “cool” factor, there are benefits to riding his creation. It “offers excellent visibility on the road,” he explained, “because cars can see you immediately” and are “very cautious around you.”  Hmm…Does that make “blinkies” and reflective clothing unnecessary?

I’ll take his word for it and give him “props” for building a bike.  But with so many interesting stories already part of its identity, I wonder whether Wynn Grame has given his bike a name.

Biking Bauhaus

A warm, or at least mild, early March day.  And I spent a good part of it doing errands.  At least it was on my bike.


Is a day like this one a foreshadowing of the season that will soon come?  Or is it a respite from the long, wearying season we've been experiencing?  Or is it just a teaser?


What if days like this were labeled?  What if bikes were so labeled?  Some announce themselves as racing bikes, city bikes or "comfort tourers" (whatever they are) in the decals on their frames or other parts.  Nearly all bikes--even the ones that aren't so marked--are marketed under one designation or another.  


What if there were truth in advertising?  One bike might be labeled, "sound design, solid construction."  Another would have to say, "Ignores 140 years of accumulated wisdom."  Yet another would have to say, "Designed by art-school dropout on crystal meth."  


Or they could tell you what they offer.  "Arcane design and proprietary parts."  How would you like a bike that so announced itself?  "Plastic with a pretentious name."  Then there are those bikes that could tell us they offer a "comfortable ride," "speed" or, perhaps, "flawless shifting and braking."  They could take their inspiration from this:

That building is in my neighborhood, more or less.  I've always wondered whether "Cornice and Skylights" was an advertisement?  An announcement?  The name of the firm that built or manages it?


Whatever its story, it has nothing on this building on the eastern end of Long Island:

You guessed it: Ducks and duck eggs were sold inside this building by a duck farmer.  (Now there's a career!)  Now it's a museum or visitors' center or some such thing.  I'm not surprised, as the days when one could make, or order in a restaurant, a dinner consisting of duck, potatoes and vegetables from Long Island are long past. (Such a dinner could be had during my childhood.  The ingredients could even be bought at our neighborhood's Waldbaum supermarket.)


Hmm...Can you imagine a bike shop or factory shaped like the product made or sold inside?  Is that Bauhausian?  Or some other -ian?  Or Ian?