| Seasoned gearhead deflowers bicycle virgin (12/03) | | Print | |
| Written by Sam Bowman | ||
Andrey: The bicycle machine is a hell of a thing, the most efficient mode of transportation known to man. Not as magnificently disastrous as a motorcycle, sure; but efficiency, according to communism, is as glorious as devastation. In the hands of a true professional, the bicycle sometimes allows people to transcend the fabric. To transcend is really the ultimate goal of pursuing the bicycle; it proves that the machine is saturated with magic. After all, who were the Wright brothers but bicycle mechanics? So, one day I walk into the journalism room to witness fellow newsman Keane Ng bursting into tears. I try to stay away from people displaying emotions of any kind, but reluctantly I asked him what the deal was. I learned that Keane was an empty vessel, having never experienced "the magic." And so I came to understand that I’d have to pick up where Keane’s parents had failed. I’d have to teach him the ways of the bicycle. The First Lesson Keane: Andrey has a tendency to pop up totally unannounced, like some breed of prairie dog or meerkat or gopher or crocodile. He ploinked up behind me, tapped me on the shoulder and stared into my eyes with his intense, I-Am-Andrey-And-Today-You-Are-Going-To-Ride-A-Bike look. He took me out to the road behind the new wing and geared me up in a helmet, elbow pads and knee-pad/shin-guards. I looked like somewhat of a dorkus malorkus, but I maintain that protective gear is cool. Andrey: I honestly didn’t know what to do. I figured it’d be best to avoid doing any pedaling and get him used to the idea of sitting on a moving bike, so after explaining what the controls are, I sent him down the hill behind the science wing. He cruised down entirely on his own, with his feet dangling off the bike, for a solid 20 feet before almost plowing into a parked van. That made me happy. Keane: I walked the bike over to where the road had a slight incline and sat down. By now a crowd of observers had gathered: It seemed the entire staff of The Lowell was watching from the nearby windows. Of course, I enjoyed the attention. Andrey told me I was to just roll down the hill and try to go straight. I was a little hesitant, so he gave me a push. I started to move, though I was incredibly wobbly, and for at least three seconds I had balance. Then I lost control and began to swerve, nearly hitting some stupid white van doubtless filled with vending machine treats like Double Barrel Salami or Handisnacks. Andrey seemed pleased, so we started trying to go on flat surfaces. It didn’t work out. Andrey: I tried to explain the idea of balancing. If, for example, the bike starts to lean over too far to the left, you’d turn even further left, since in a left turn your weight shifts to the right. It was hard to explain, and he didn’t seem to understand. Keane: Kobzar tried to teach me some methods for keeping balance, but every time I tried them the bike fought me. I felt like a rodeo clown trying to ride a disgruntled bull. Turn left! No I want to turn right! Stay up! No, I want to fall down and make you look like an ass! Kobzar: After a few failed attempts, it became clear that the most effective learning method was for me to run alongside Keane holding the seat, thus keeping him upright. Keane: Andrey grabbed the back of the bike seat and pushed me forward, just like caring fathers do for their wide-eyed sons. I could tell that he did not want to have his hand that close to my ass, but I made him do it anyway. He told me I was too stiff, and that I needed to move my arms. "You mean that I have to dance with the bike?" "Yeah," he said, putting his hand in his hair. "Kinda." After a short break, I tried putting this strategy to work. Dance with it, I kept thinking to myself. The further I am from being able to ride this bike, the closer that hand gets to my ass. Not good, man. Kobzar: We were making good progress until a security guard lectured us about liability, made some stupid sarcastic comments and kicked us out. Apparently, I can drive down the road behind the school in my car, through dangerously blind pedestrian intersections, but I can’t ride a bike through them. Keane: I don’t know if it was the aura of marijuana from the joints of nearby Riordan kids or simply some sort of cosmic alignment, but the reservoir, where we went next, was a magical place. There, with the cries of young children gallivanting about the grass, Andrey and I made our last stand against the untamable bicycle. I hiked my pants up, rubbed my hands together, took a few big breaths, and got on the bike again. Andrey grabbed the seat and pushed behind as he ran. "Ok — I’m letting go…now!" he said. I looked down at the ground rushing by. Going pretty fast, I thought to myself. The bike started to twitch, and swung to the left. I jerked the handlebar to balance it out, and smoothed the bike straight. Wow. I didn’t fall. It started to twitch right, and I eased the imbalance again. Wowie-wow-wow-wow. I was flying forward, wholly balanced: The rodeo clown was riding the subdued bull. I started to pedal and pick up speed, charging through the pot-filled air. Such a feeling of natural ecstasy I had not felt in very long. Andrey: We hit a snag a few days later when Keane smacked into the dance studio on Halloween. That was a shame. I wish I had been around to explain the foot brake to him. He later ran into a pole on Sloat Blvd. I wasn’t there for that either. Keane: On Halloween my friend dressed as a generic biker/ex-con/tough-guy. A vital part of the hilarity of this costume was the bike: a kids’ tyke, some two feet tall and neon green. I couldn’t resist getting on it. I mean come on, neon green! Isn’t that the greatest color ever? For most of the day I settled on riding around a small flat area on campus, making some turns and what not. But, encouraged by some half-wit friends, I decided to ride down the hill near the dance studio. I started speeding down and, since I had yet to master the concept of braking, completely lost control. I didn’t fall off, I didn’t hit any of the people in the way, but I couldn’t stop once I passed the hill. Brake! Brake! I heard behind, but I continue to refute the existence of any break on that bike. I zoomed straight into a wall and fell off the bike, my glasses flying off, tossed onto the ground before the bike fell on me. Probably to save myself from embarrassment, I started laughing like a loon, as if this whole incident was all a carefully planned joke. Two timid girls (probably freshmen) asked me if I was okay. I laughed in their faces and gave them a thumbs up. Andrey: In subsequent lessons, we made relatively little progress. We devoted three lessons to making somewhat controlled turns, riding in a somewhat straight line, and standing up while pedaling. We’re still working on that one. I was expecting these skills to just come naturally, but I was disappointed with Keane’s slow progress after the huge leap he made the first day. I’m kind of a dick like that. Keane: Now that I have the basics down, Andrey has been trying to teach me the subtleties: turning, braking, learning the gears, etc. Slowly I’ve gained these abilities, but not without growing pains. Strangely enough, though riding came to me with my first lesson, everything else has been more gradual. For that education I found riding around the streets to be the most effective teacher outside of Andrey. But the streets of San Francisco are merciless to the newbie, and I’ve had plenty of humiliating accidents. The other day Andrey and I drove down to Gearhead Bicycles in Pacifica, the little shop of horrors where he works. Upon entry I was startled at the incredible bikey-ness of the place: This was an island in a strip mall ocean, a sort of tiny bicycle-centered world of its own. There was even a smell —some mix of bicycles, grease and flatulence. I immediately felt out of place, especially after they started talking all sorts of bike lingo and cracking jokes about purple bikes. It was like walking into a cult meeting. Not that I didn’t leave the shop dissatisfied — by all means, no. Matt, Andrey’s boss, hooked us up with a primo deal on some primo pedals to replace my dinky ones. They are of the highest quality and cost the lowest price. Thanks, Gearhead Bike! Andrey: Keane seemed pretty distanced. I guess I can see why most people wouldn’t be able to appreciate the humor of a one-point-five inch headtube on a BMX bike, and consequently not be so into the regular bike-shop-style discussions. He said it was all weird and foreign. Keane: Andrey repeatedly commented that I seemed "distant." He surmises that it may be because I don’t have interest in the complexities of biking. That just isn’t true. I am fascinated with the bicycle machine, though maybe not to the level of intimate spiritual connection that he is. I can’t just plop into a bike shop and immediately join an already close-knit bike family. Andrey: Keane was under the misconception that "bike people" make fun of newbies, but as long as your interests in the bicycle are pure, we’ll love and accept you. It’s posers that we hate; people with an attitude who blow lots of money on gear and spend hours on bike forums but don’t ride or know what they’re doing or talking about. Ugh. Newbies are great, though; it’s always good to see more people in the sport. Keane rode big Matt’s bike, a $4000 full-on downhill bike with the latest in downhill suspension technology, down a semi-steep narrow path. I could see, however, that Keane wasn’t as stimulated by the suspension as I was. Still, he’s one step closer to seeing what riding is all about. I realized that we probably wouldn’t get to send Keane off a jump or have him pop a wheelie before this column’s finished. But that’s okay, since he now has a solid foundation of the basics. Keane: I can tell by the way Andrey has been acting (putting his hand in his hair more than usual) that he feels disappointed at my recent lack of achievement. He has been trying to teach me how to pull the front wheel of my bicycle up off the ground to get over curbs and cajoling me to go on extreme, or in his words "gnarly," trails. I have not been too cooperative. I do want to learn all these neato skills, but I’ve almost just mastered the basics; I need time to get a greater feel for the bicycle machine. Look at it this way: I’ve just gained a third arm and learned how to make it move and grab things. Andrey wants me to use it to juggle bowling balls. I can’t do that yet. I know I may sound like a wuss and may be contradicting all your rules for being hard-core, but please let me go at a natural pace. I hope you understand. I love you. Goodbye. Andrey: Oh well, I’ve lost another one. What’s up with that? |
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to listen.
