If you read some of my earlier posts, you might recall that I actually enjoy riding in fog.
That's kind of ironic when you consider one of my rules about riding in the rain: I won't do it if the precip is falling so densely that I can't see more than two bike lengths ahead of me. Somehow, though, it's easier (for me, anyway) to navigate--and pedal--through even the densest fogs. Hey, I've actually ridden through clouds, when ascending and descending mountains in Vermont and the French Alps. Compared to that, navigating a mist is easy.
Perhaps my enjoyment of riding under such conditions has to do with the structure of my eyes: After all, I love riding (or walking or just about anything else) in the diffuse light of places like Paris, Copenhagen and Prague, and of overcast days at nearly any seashore.
Perhaps the best thing about such light and mist is the way it brings out autumnal hues:
What is it about bikes that they are (to my eyes, anyway) best photographed in the fall?
I can honestly say that I've ridden more bikes than most people will ever try. I've mounted steel, carbon, titanium and aluminum bikes--and, yes, one made of wood. Most of the bikes I've owned are/were high-quality steel ones; the others were aluminum. That said, the only material besides steel (preferably Reynolds, but Columbus, Ishiwata, Vitus and Tange are also fine) I'd consider for one of my "good" bikes--let alone a custom build--is titanium.
For all of the bikes I've ridden, I must say I now realize that the range of handlebar styles I've ridden is fairly narrow. I never rode or owned "ape hanger" or "trekker" bars, and I've had only limited experience with aero or "bullhorn" bars.
I've also never ridden bars like the ones Chris Kulczyki posted on his Velo Orange blog the other day:
I love Chris and VO. In fact, I use several VO products. But, for all of his love for traditional randonneur bikes made by constructeurs, I always suspected he had a secret liking of the bizarre. After all, he and I are about the same age and can recall when being an adult cyclist--let alone one with the sort of tastes we share, at least to some degree--made us minorities, perhaps even geeks.
When I use the later term, I don't mean to be derogatory in any way. I mean simply someone who cares deeply about something that's not considered part of the mainstream. Being transgendered makes me one almost by definition. So does my love of poetry and interest in foreign films. So, some would argue, does the fact that I have been part of the academic world.
Anyway, seeing Chris' latest post got me to type "weird handlebars" in Google. Some of the results are, not surprisingly, interesting and bizarre, even entertaining.
I have to admit: I have never been much of an indoor cyclist. When I was racing, and when I was working out, I used to have a set of rollers for the winter. But I've never owned an exercise bike and I've never taken a "spin" class.
"Spin" classes, to me, always seemed to be the bastard children of cycling and gyms. From what I have seen, those who ride in "spin" classes may be getting great cardio workouts, but never mount bicycles they can ride from one place to another. They also seem to want a gym that looks more like a cross between a disco and a boutique rather than one like the one in which I used to lift weights. Frankly, that place--located on a Brooklyn corner that hadn't yet gentrified-- was a dungeon, but I didn't mind: I wasn't there to be seen. The "spinsters" would not allow themselves to be caught dead in such a place.
The folks who designed Swerve must have understood that when they were designing their new studio. Co-owner Eric Posner says, in different words, that his new venture is meant for "an individual to come and potentially meet people." Those who come with other people can "compete together and hang out afterwards."
The funny thing is that although our workouts were solitary, I often found myself "competing together" and hanging out with some of the people who worked out alongside me in what we used to call "the sweatshop". The difference, I guess, is that most of us didn't go there looking for dates. (At least, I don't think most did. I know I didn't.) And if we had coffee afterward, it was in a real old-school luncheonette (Does anybody use that term anymore) a couple of doors away.
And some of us rode home--sometimes alone, sometimes together.
