Steam And Heat

For the past five months, gyms have been closed here in New York.  That means lots of people can use, not only treadmills and exercise bikes, but also saunas and steam rooms.

During the past few days, though, it's been steamier than A Wish Upon Jasmine. (Picking on Fifty Shades of Gray is way too easy!) I mean, it's literally been steamy.  

This is what I saw from the shorline of Greenwich, Connecticut, where I rode the other day.

And this is what I saw from Point Lookout, on the South Shore of Long Island, where I rode yesterday.  That same mist filled the horizon along the Rockaways.

It was odd to see such heavy fog over the water when, only a kilometer or two inland, the sun burned through haze and on my skin.

So, as temperatures soared past 33C (92F), I pedaled 145 kilometers, with some hills, and 120 kilometers (flat) on consecutive days.  During any of the past few summers, this might not have been normal.  But this is the first time I've ridden as much in two days since my crash and hospital stay.

Oh, and I got to sweat even more than I would have in any sauna or steam room.  And I enjoyed a refreshment no gym could have provided!  

Urban Planning, In Brief

As an urban cyclist, I agree:

Mellow Johnny Sends A Loud, Clear Message

I love food and music.  So, some of you may find it unfathomable, or even criminal, that I've never been to Austin, Texas.

Perhaps I'll get there one day.  In addition to the sounds and savory stuff, there's another reason to visit.

I mean, even if you don't care about bicycles, how can you not want to check out a place called "Mellow Johnny's Bike Shop?"

Apparently, they're part of a chain in the area, each store with its own management.  So, a policy at Mellow Johnny's in Austin might not prevail at MJ's in, for example, Fort Worth.

Actually, that scenario is not as hypothetical as I made it seem. In fact, the Austin shop has done something that the managers of the Fort Worth store aren't--and don't agree with.

Will Black, the general manager Mellow Johnny's--Austin, has announced, on social media, that the shop won't be selling any more bikes to the city's police department.  "It was a staff-wide store decision," he said, "that we discussed for a pretty good length of time to make sure we were all on the same page and doing the right thing." 

No one incident sparked the decision, he explained.  Rather, he and his employees were concerned that, during Black Lives Matter protests in the city, officers were using the bikes to block Black Lives Matter demonstrators.

On Wednesday, when Black announced the decision, Mellow Johnny's was in the second year of a five-year contract with the police department, which has more than 150 bicycle patrol officers in its downtown area police command.   The shop's action follows similar moves in the industry.  BikeCo, the North American distributor of Fuji bicycles, suspended sales to police forces in June, citing the use of bikes as weapons in protest marches.  That move is significant because Fuji had been one of the major bicycle suppliers to police forces in the United States.

"We are not anti-police," Mellow Johnny's post continued. "We believe our local police will protect us from the threats we are receiving right now" on social media.  Thankfully, there have also been messages of support--which, I suppose, isn't too surprising, given Austin's reputation as a "progressive" community--and the sense of fairness and justice I have seen in cyclists throughout my decades of riding and working in shops.

The First Time Without Her

Around this time last year, I had just returned from my trip to Greece.

And it was my mother's birthday.  Little did I, or anyone, know it would be her last.

Before taking a quick ride out to Flushing Meadow Corona Park (site of the climactic Men In Black scene and the "the valley of ashes in The Great Gatsby), I called my father.  Though he is not religious, he went to church and lit a candle in honor of my mother, who was not terribly religious but attended mass and lit candles.  We agreed that it was strange--and, for him, lonely--to experience her birthday without her.

Of course, I was thinking about those rides I took along the ocean during my visits with her and Dad in Florida and my high school days in New Jersey.  She never rode with me (or anyone, as far as I know) but she never discouraged me from cycling.  She seemed to understand that it was, and always would be, part of who I am.

As she is.

It Wasn't Hiroshima, But....

Seventy-five years ago today, American soldiers dropped the world's first nuclear bomb on Hiroshima, Japan.

I will not try to debate whether the bombing, or the one in Nagaski three days later, was necessary or ethical.  The effect of those blasts was, I believe, best summed up two millenia earlier in a Calgacus speech, as recalled by Tacitus:  Ubi solitudenum facient, pacem appelant (They make a wasteland and call it peace.)

I have seen the aftermath of the 9/11 attacks, and of various natural disaster.  I cannot, however, pretend to have ever seen devastation resembling anything wrought by those weapons. 

Even what I saw yesterday pales in comparison.

On the day after a not-quite-hurricane struck this area, I went for a ride in the direction of Connecticut.  Along the Pelham Bay Park trail, I had to detour around downed limbs and other parts of trees.  Still, my ride was going relatively smoothly until I crossed into Westchester County:

Less than a mile north of the city/county line, this tree toppled onto Mount Tom Road in Pelham.  So I backed up a bit and took a right, figuring that the road would take me, if in a more roundabout way, the direction of my ride.

Didn't get very far.

On that road, a couple of guys were sitting in their car.  "Be careful out there," the driver yelled.  He explained that his friend had just been out cycling and encountered broken power lines as well as downed trees.

At his suggestion, I cut through the golf course into a residential area of Pelham Manor.  I knew that I would end up at or near Boston Post Road, a.k.a. US 1, where I could re-orient myself.  At worst, I figured, I could ride US 1 for a bit, as it has a decent shoulder--and, I thought, was less likely to contain obstacles and hazards like the ones I'd encountered and been warned about:

So much for that idea, right?  I turned down another road blocked by a tree.  For a moment, I thought perhaps the storm was some cosmic conspiracy that threw down those trees as a "wall" to keep riff-raff like me out of the upper reaches of Westchester County and Connecticut.

Of course, that thought was no more rational than any comparison between what I was seeing and what the survivors of Hiroshima and Nagasaki carried with them. 

What My Recovery Is Telling Me.

"Recovery tells you what it needs."

Madelyn, a social worker/addiction counselor uttered those words of wisdom years ago.  I worked with her, for a time, when I was conducting writing workshops for kids whose family members were in, or recovering from, addictions.

Her words are making a lot of sense to me now. To her pearl of wisdom, I would add that a recovery tells you what you're ready to do.   I want to ride as much, and at the same pace, as I did before my accident.  If I'd crashed back when I was working with her, it might have been possible.  Actually, I believe that it will be.  It's just taking longer than it might've in my youth.

Still, Madelyn probably would have told me--even then--that I was doing well.  (She wasn't a cyclist, but I think she spent some time in a gym.)  The other day, I did another ride to Point Lookout:  120 km round-trip.  Two days before that, I took my first ride to Connecticut since my crash.

My trek to the Nutmeg State was particularly gratifying, not only because it was longer (140 km) and hillier.  When I got home, I feel as if I'd finished the trip I took the day I crashed, when my ride back from Greenwich ended in New Rochelle, about 30 kilometers from my apartment.

I was happy to have done both of those rides, but they further enhanced the meaning of my old collaborator's words:  I was more tired at the end of the Connecticut ride than I'd been the last time I completed it. Oh, and even though I slathered my skin with sunscreen, my skin took on quite the lobster hue.  Whenever my skin absorbs a lot sun, I get sleepy.

I got what I needed before, during and after I rode.   Madelyn knew what she was talking about.

The Same Sky?

Today Isais blew through town.

To be fair, it wasn't quite as bad as I expected it to be.  Yes, we had a lot of rain this morning and early this afternoon. The wind broke a few twigs off trees and cardboard signs off stores.  

Worse was predicted.  The Weather Service even issued a tornado watch for this city, and a warning for Monmouth County, NJ (where I went to high school) and Suffolk County, about 50 kilometers from here.

As clouds thickened, the sky darkened, so the watch/warning was in my mind. So was this cloud formation I saw the other day:

It's hard to believe I was looking at the same sky today.

The Real Uses Of Bike Tools

Do you have a Campagnolo corkscrew?

Or a Park Tool pizza cutter?

Or a Maillard Helicomatic freewheel remover with a built-in bottle opener?

Well, then, you are misguided.  A real cyclist knows you don't need food- (or drink-) specific utensils:

I mean, you can eat pizza with a bicycle fork.  Right?

Well, all right:  As a New Yorker of Italian heritage, I would never, ever use anything besides my fingers to handle  Neopolitan or Sicilian slices. (A person of my background also does not allow any sort of topping on her pizza.  Pineapples?  Barbecued beef?  They're like chocolate chips in a bagel, as far as I'm concerned.)

So what do you eat with your cone wrench?

Girls Rule--The World!

Half a century ago, Beryl Burton broke the 12-hour time trial record.  Not "just" the women's record, mind you:  She broke the record by a full eight kilometers (five miles), which is something like a runner shaving five minutes off a marathon record.  

Almost two years ago, Denise Mueller-Korenek rode faster on a bicycle than any woman--or man--before her.  She beat a then-23-year-old record by 27.3 kilometers, or 17 miles, per hour.  At 296 kilometers per hour (183.93 mph), she rode faster than an Airbus A340 taking off.

Now, here's another addition to the pantheon of women breaking men's records:  Cat Dixon and Raz Marsden pedaled a tandem bicycle around the world in 263 days, beating the previous record by 18 days.

Cat Dixon (l) and Raz Marsden (r)

Their 29,391 km (18,263 mile) route took them through 25 countries, where they encountered everything from a continent-wide heat wave in Europe, monsoons in Asia and brush fires in Australia.  

But perhaps their most daunting challenge was one they couldn't have anticipated.  They caught one of the last ferries back to their native England--where they began their ride--on the day, in March, when the COVID-19-induced travel ban began.

Oh, and they're only a few years younger than I am!

Their feat has been recognized by the Guinness Book of World Records.

(Thanks to "voyage of the eye" for alerting me to Ms. Dixon's and Marsden's story.)

Going For A Cyclist's Jugular--Or His Neck, Anyway

Getting knocked or pulled--or simply falling--off your bike is almost certain to cause you injury.   Trust me, I know!

So when someone sent along this news clip, I felt rage at the cops.




What isn't clear is what, exactly, the kid did to warrant that kind of treatment. The street was closed off so neither the young man, nor the friends who were riding with him, "obstructed" traffic, as one of the officers claimed.

It seems that those boys did little, if anything, more than to taunt the cops: something that kids of that age, who naturally thumb their noses at authority figures, are wont to do.  

I have to wonder, in the wake of George Floyd'ss murder, what one of those cops was thinking when he went for the kid's neck.

Nobody's Flying

Here in New York, some people have returned to their normal workplaces and most stores, bars and restaurants--at least, the ones that survived the shutdown--are open, if operating at a fraction of their normal capacities.

If anything, life is more restrictive for people coming into this city--or New York State--from about 30 other states or territories.  Visitors, or people returning from, those places are required to self-quarantine for 14 days.  An airline ticket, especially if it's purchased online (as most are these days), makes it easy  for authorities to track arrivals.

As a result, yesterday morning, I took 50 kilometre ride along the north shore of Queens and Nassau County--that is to say, directly under the paths of flights that would normally take off from or land in LaGuardia International Airport--and didn't see a single aircraft in the sky.

This brand-new LaGuardia terminal disproves, at least for now, the notion that "if you build it, they will come" (or go).

Or perhaps it shows that even if something has wings, it might not fly.

If even s/he isn't flying, who else is?

A Socially-Distanced Peloton?

For many Americans, the beginning of the baseball season, however belated and truncated, was a sign that things were "returning to normal."

(What does "normal" mean anymore?  What did it ever mean?)

Well, less than a week into the new season, something that the league commissioner, team owners and others who had a vested interest did not anticipate--or simply ignored the possibility of--happened.   It seems that they if they foresaw anything, they envisioned one or two players on a time getting infected, and isolated.  

Instead, 17 members of the Miami Marlins tested positive for the virus.  As a result, at least the next four games on the Marlins' schedule have been postponed.  Given that the schedule is already belated, truncated and compressed, no one really knows how or whether those games will be made up.  Moreover, other games have to be postponed or rescheduled because the Marlins were playing in Philadelphia, and the next team that comes to town will either have to reschedule or find a way not to use the visiting team's clubhouse.

More important, though, are the family members, friends, girlfriends, flight attendants, restaurant or bar workers or others those infected players may have contacted--not to mention members of opposing teams.

I mention the Marlins because their situation got me to wondering about other sports, including bicycle racing.  Baseball is not a "contact" sport; players typically come within six feet of each other only when they run or slide into a base.  On the other hand, in basketball players. for example,  are normally within inches of each other, and are wearing very little.

What I said about basketball players also applies to bicycle racers in the peloton.  In major races, a hundred or more riders are pedaling--and breathing hard--in an area about the size of an eat-in kitchen in a New York apartment. 

I thought about all of this when I learned that the Vuelta a Burgos was running.  It's the first international race held since coronavirus shutdowns began in March. Race organizers tout the precautions they are taking and, to date, no rider has tested positive.  Still, one has to wonder whether the race will end without anyone coming down with the virus.




The same question could be asked about the Tour de France.  It would normally end about now, but has been rescheduled for 29 August to 20 September.  Tour organizers have devised two different sets of protocols.  Still, one has to wonder whether either would be sufficient, especially there seem to be new outbreaks in parts of Europe as well as the US.

A socially-distanced peloton?  Perhaps a race could be run that way.  But would it lose something, like a basketball game in which defenders can't stand between a the basket and an opponent dribbling the ball.

Would Renewable Energy Sustain This?

Yesterday I advanced the crazy idea that Samuel Beckett may have been a sustainable transportation advocate.

If he were, he probably would have favored renewable energy.

So, would he have approved of this?

It looks like something someone would have created during the days of the "penny farthing" (high-wheeled bicycle) were folks thinking about "renewable energy" or "sustainable transportation."

Was He A Sustainable Transportation Advocate?

What if Socrates were the protagonist of The Odyssey? 

Well, for one thing, it wouldn't be called The Odyssey because its central character is Odysseus.  So what would The Socratessy (or whatever it would be called) be like?

And what if, in such a story, Socrates had a bicycle?

I have to admit that I never pondered such a scenario.  Perhaps it means that I'm not as creative or deep a thinker as I've fancied myself to be.   Or it may simply mean that I'm not Samuel Beckett.  

Although I've read his poetry and most of his drama (of which I've seen performances), I am guilty of ignoring his fiction. Why? I don't know.  But after coming across an article by transportation policy analyst Gideon Forman, I plan to read Molloy.

Like his best-known works, Waiting for Godot (En attendant Godot) and Endgame (Fin de partie),  Beckett wrote Molloy in French.  (He was born and raised in Ireland but spent most of his adult life in France.)  The title character is, like Socrates, a kind of brilliant philosopher who is homeless. He is on a quest to reunite with his elderly mother; Odysseus is trying to get home to his wife.  And, in another sort-of-parallel to the ancient Greek tale, Molloy is not certain that he will arrive--or that he is even on his way to his destination.

Molloy, who has leg problems, nonetheless undertakes his journey on a bicycle.  "Crippled though I was, I was no mean cyclist," he says.  As Forman points out, however, the bicycle signals poverty:  Molloy can't afford bus or train fare, much less an automobile.  

But, as Forman points out, Beckett--whether or not it was his intention--shows what a democratizing force the bicycle is:  Even in his poverty, with his handicaps, Molloy still can ride it.  

Perhaps most interestingly of all, the bicycle becomes a sort of companion like the eponymous donkey of Juan Ramon Jiminez's Platero y yo  (Platero and I). "Thus we cleared these difficult straits, my bicycle and I, together," Molloy says of his mount.  I imagine that Molloy--and perhaps Beckett himself--would understand the grief I feel over crashing Arielle, my Mercian Audax, or the bikes I've lost to theft.

Could it be that Monsieur Beckett embedded advocacy for cycling (and other sustainable transportation) in a story about uncertainty?

A Bike Thief's Luck Runs Out

Yesterday I subjected you, dear readers, to a story about a bike shop break-in and my ruminations about how the COVID-19 epidemic has turned bicycles into scarce and valuable commodities.

Well, today, I'm going to introduce you to a bike thief who seemed not to be motivated by the current bike boom and shortage.  

In Mesquite, Nevada--just over the state line from Utah--police responded to a bicycle theft at the Virgin River Casino. (Am I the only one who thinks "virgin" and "casino" look odd together?) Not long afterward, at a nearby gas station, someone jumped into a car that had been left running and drove it away.

According to Mesquite Police Sergeant Wyatt Oliver, people often leave cars running so that it won't get too hot inside.  The key (pun intended) is to lock it before leaving, he explained.  It seems that most people remember to do that, so Officer Oliver says, such a theft "doesn't happen very often."

The thief did something else that "doesn't happen very often."  When vehicles are stolen in the area, thieves normally make a beeline for the nearby freeway.  Our anti-hero drove to another casino where employees reported someone "acting suspiciously."  Mesquite police officers then showed up and arrested Danielle Derosia of Henderson, Colorado.

Danielle Derosia

So what motivated her?  My guess is that both thefts were "crimes of opportunity."  Finding an unattended car with its engine running after she'd just stolen a bike may have led her to believe that she had luck on her side and she decided to try that luck in the casino.  And, though she had the impulse to steal, she wasn't thinking like a seasoned thief, who would run as far and fast as possible from the scene of the crime.

Whatever her motivations or level of "street smarts," she stole a bike.  That won't win her many fans on this blog!

A Consequence Of The Current Bike Boom

By now, you've heard from me, Retrogrouch, other bloggers and various media outlets about the new "bike boom" spurred by the COVID-19 pandemic.

That "boom" means that bicycles as well as helmets, locks and other related items are scarce, or unavailable, due to disruptions in supply chains.  

About all I remember from my economics course is "supply and demand."  The professor, it seemed, intoned that phrase about three or for times every class.  

When there's more demand than supply, prices go up. Of course, you don't need an economics class to understand that--or that, in such circumstances, when demand continues to outstrip supply, enterprising folks will find ways to appropriate some of the supply.

That last clause is, as you know, a polite way of saying, in such a situation, some will steal--whether for themselves or to supply unmet demand. 

The thing is, victims of theft tend not to  care much about why someone steal from them.  They want their stuff back, or to be remunerated for it.  And, depending on their beliefs and temperament, they want the thief to be penalized. 

While bikes are stolen in "normal" (whatever that means anymore) times, whether from the street or a shop, it seems that, lately, there's been an increase in the number of shop break-ins---and the amount and dollar value of what's taken.

In the wee hours of Tuesday morning, a white pickup truck pulled up by Pearland Bicycles in Houston.  Someone emerged from the vehicle, crowbar in hand.  In prying open the store's glass door, he shattered it.  He and two accomplices ran inside and grabbed whatever they could.  Within minutes, they had about 20 bikes. Pearland owner Darryl Catching says he lost around $40,000 in the burglary.




Some of the bikes were already sold and waiting for customers to pick them up, he said.  So it is even more imperative for him to replace those bikes than if they had simply been standing in the showroom.

Because the thieves struck at 1:30 am, they had time.  How much? "Looks like one of them, he went to the restroom," Catching said.  

Sea And Sun--And More Sun

Yesterday I took another ride out to Point Lookout and back:  120 kilometers out and back.

The ride takes me along through the Rockaways and along the South Shore of Nassau County.  The day was hot and sunny so, even though it was a Tuesday, the beaches were full of sunbathers, swimmers and people just hanging out.  Others were hanging out on the boardwalk, where, interestingly, I saw more families (or, at least adults with kids) cycling together than I can recall from previous rides.  I guess it's not a surprise when not only kids, but their parents (or other adults in their lives) are home.

One way this ride differed, though, was the way I felt at the end of it.  My legs felt pretty good, and the pain in my neck and shoulders is dissipating.  When I got home, however, I felt tired in a different way from the fatigue at the end of my last Point Lookout ride.

I felt woozy and very, very warm.  Within seconds, it seemed, of sitting down, I fell asleep.  About two hours later, I woke, with Marlee in my lap.

Today I realized that not only the heat, but the sun, had worn on me.  Normally, at this time of year, I would be well-acclimated to both.  But my layoff, in the wake of my crash, kept me indoors most of the time.  And, of pedaling next to the ocean for much of my ride only magnified the sun's rays on my skin.  

Just about every year includes a ride like the one I took yesterday.  Usually, it's in mid- or late May, or possibly June.  This spring, however, was (or at least seemed) cooler and cloudier than usual.  I think I missed the first true summer weather when I was in the hospital, or during my time recuperating at home.

Oh, well.  At least I don't have COVID-19.  Not yet, anyway!

Bicycle Street Leads To Disappointment

By now, you've heard umpteen stories about how the COVID-19 pandemic has spawned a new "bike boom":  New cyclists are pedaling up and down streets and lanes; bikes and parts are flying off showroom floors and shelves.  Meanwhile, some cities and other jurisdictions are making plans for new bike lanes and other forms of infrastructure.

While all of these developments are signs that a bike culture might be developing here in the US (at least in some areas), you know that a city already has a bike culture when merely creating new bike paths or other provisions for cyclists is not, in itself, a cause for joy.  In such a place, at least a few people know enough when a new policy or facility could be better--especially when good ones cost the same (or not much more than ) bad ones.

Berlin, Germany seems to be such a place.  Immanuel Marcus, in an article for the Berlin Spectator, says that a new "bicycle street" in the city's Kreuzberg district "disapppoints."  One problem, he says, is that the "Kortestrasse" sign was not fixed but was on a metal post that could easily be carried away.  The other "Bicycle Street" signs between the Sudstern subway station and Mariannenplatz share this defect.  To Marcus, this is an indication--to at least some people--that the bike lane designation is "provisional".

Worse, he says, some motorists don't know or don't want to know what the signs mean.  The only cars allowed on the "Bicycle Street" are those of local residents.  Apparently, there isn't a sign to indicate as much at any entry point to the Bicycle Street.  So, he says, cars "with number plates from places other than Berlin" enter the thoroughfare.  While they is a big sign painted on the street itself, those motorists may not see it--or understand it--until they have already entered. 

(From what Marcus says, it seems that people in other parts of Germany are unaware of the designated bike streets, or even the concept of them, because such things don't exist in their communities.)

Now, I haven't been on the Bicycle Street, so I can't comment on its usefulness or whether it's well-conceived in other ways.  But the fact that someone like Immanuel Marcus can so critique it in a publication that isn't bicycle-specific tells me at least something about the difference between bicycle culture in Berlin and almost anyplace in America.

There's Nothing Like It

I ride Brooks saddles.  About a decade ago, I tried an Imperial version of their B-17.  I didn't care for it. Then again, I've never liked saddles with cutouts, though  I understand that some people won't ride anything else. 

"Peek-a-boo" seats have, I must say, at least one benefit I never considered:

The owner of that Puch will never have to worry about having his or her seat stolen.  That person also will have no use for one of my "tricks".

When He Couldn't Fly...

Day after day, flights home were canceled.

So what did Kleon Papadimitriou do?  He got on his bike.

He began in Scotland, where he's a University of Aberdeen student.  Forty-eight days and 4100 kilometers (about 2550 miles) later, he was back in his Athens neighborhood.



Before he embarked, he set up an app and Instagram account so supporters could follow his journey.   He packed bread and canned foods, he said, and pedaled between 55 and 120 kilometers a day on a trip that took him through Scotland, England, the Netherlands, Germany, Austria and Italy.  His journey included, in addition to the English Channel crossing, a boat ride from Italy's east coast to the Greek port of Patras.

It's now just dawning on him how much of an achievement his ride was, he says.  "I really hope that the trip inspired at least one more person to go out of their comfort zone and try something new, something big."

I couldn't help but to think he comes from a long line of people who would do whatever was necessary to get home.  At least it didn't take him 10 years, as it did for Odysseus, to reunite with his family, friends and everything else familiar to him!

(Odysseus never would have made it as a baseball player!)

A Group By Another Name

I grew up in a time when, if you didn't know the gender of the person you were talking about, you referred to that person with masculine pronouns.  For example, you'd say or write, "If a cyclist wants to do a long ride, he should build up to it by doing a short ride every day."

During that time, terms and labels that are now seen as offensive seemed normal.  Even civil rights leaders referred to Americans of African heritage as "Negroes" and women called their friends "the girls."  And "tribe" was often used to talk about members of a tight-knit group.

Even when it was still an acceptable term, I used to cringe when I heard "Negro," even if it was "good enough for Martin Luther King and Malcolm X," as one of my teachers put it.  Perhaps my reaction came from hearing it pronounced "knee-grow."  As for "tribe," it never occurred to me, until recently, that anyone could find it offensive.  I guess that shows I have more "white privilege" than I realize!

Perhaps the Chris Conroy and Steve Hoogendoorn, the owners of Yeti Cycles, came to that same conclusion.  A week and a half ago, they signed this e-mail the company sent to the media:

When Yeti Cycles started thirty-five years ago, the founders felt strongly about building a community that was founded on racing and the belief that mountain bikes make us better people. We shared this with our friends at the races, at festivals and ultimately at Yeti Tribe Gatherings, where hundreds gather each year to ride epic trails, and enjoy the camaraderie of post ride beers and stories together.

We’ve referred to this crew as the Yeti Tribe – a community of people who love to ride mountain bikes. The notion of tribe was appealing to us because it was community-centric, familial, and had strong social values. 

Recently, we’ve learned our use of the term “Tribe” can be offensive to indigenous people, due to the violent history they have endured in the United States.  The word “Tribe” is a colonial construct that was used to marginalize Native Americans and its continued use by non-indigenous people fails to accurately recognize their history and unique status as Tribal Nations.

After discussion with members of the indigenous community, studying accurate representations of our shared history, and reflecting on our values as a company, Yeti Cycles has decided we will no longer use the term “Tribe” in our marketing.

The community we have built will move forward and thrive. Yeti Gatherings will continue to be our most valued events of the year. We have walked away from a word, but the soul of our community remains intact. We ask you all to join us in embracing this change.

Thanks to the mountain bike community for your guidance and especially to the members of the indigenous community for educating us on this issue.