Life in the Bike Lane Tom Frady Most of you out there in the Bike Lane Army (BLA) have had a bike for some part of your life. I’m guessing you remember your first bike. Or the one that changed riding from transportation to passion. Maybe it was a shiny new Stingray with a banana seat or a hand-me-down that had seen better days. That bicycle was more than metal and rubber. It was freedom. No longer were we confined to our driveway; we could get to the end of the block. Ou

Life in the Bike Lane Tom Frady You may already be a member of the club. It has no dues, meetings, secret handshake and no special parking privileges. The only requirement is that you occasionally wave at a complete stranger for no apparent reason while on your bike. If you are one of the six or seven loyal members of the Bike Lane Army (BLA) you already know I spend a fair amount of time riding around this part of Placer County. If there is one thing I have learned from all

Life in the Bike Lane Tom Frady Uh oh. The driver is out of his car and coming toward me. But he’s not mad. He’s lost. If you six loyal members of the Bike Lane Army (BLA) will check your archives, you’ll be reminded that I have said, “I know my way around the backroads.” I often tell Ms. Bike Lane, “I’ve been here on my bike.” On this particular day, I was on a solo ride and had stopped at the intersection of Garden Bar and Fruitvale, taking a break and straddling my bike in

Life in the Bike Lane Tom Frady There was a time when I didn’t consider getting lost while riding my bicycle a failure. It was called "Wednesday". Before Garmins and Wahoos were attached to our handlebars telling us (politely) to "turn left in 300 feet"—we navigated using highly sophisticated technology known as "I think it's this road." Sometimes it was. Sometimes it wasn't. Those wrong turns were half the fun. The ride leader would insist “I meant to come this way. I wante

Life in the Bike Lane Tom Frady Cyclists spend a lot of time waiting at traffic lights. We don't like to admit it because we're always talking about freedom, open roads and headwinds. But the truth is much of today’s cycling consists of staring at a red light while balancing awkwardly on one foot. There’s plenty of rural riding around here, but most of us live in a town and need to get out, which means traffic lights. The good news is that red lights might introduce us to peo

By Rod Monsees "The Death Ride". The name itself is intimidating. What crazy person would want to participate in an event that suggests it might end your life? This year, there are three such crazy people right here in Sun City Lincoln Hills; Mike Rubino, Doug Smith, and Rod Monsees (me). Mike and Doug have done the event more than once in recent years, so they helped me do the right kind of training to prepare. I had never done the Death Ride or anything like it. Prepar

Life in the Bike Lane Tom Frady For years, I was one of those dedicated cyclists who would ride through anything. Rain. Wind. Cold. Heat. Locusts. The occasional COVID. If Mrs. Bike Lane asked, "Are you riding tomorrow?" my answer was always the same: "Of course. Weather is just another variable." Then I'd spend the evening obsessively checking three weather apps, two radar sites, and a woman on YouTube who predicts storms using the collective behavior of her 13 cats. But the

Life in the Bike Lane Tom Frady You six loyal readers know I am nothing if not a student of human behavior. But forget university laboratories. Forget focus groups. To witness seemingly rational adults become confused, uncertain and participate in a silent philosophical debate, look no further than a four-way stop. Bring a note pad. The rules are simple. The first person to arrive goes first. If two vehicles arrive simultaneously, the vehicle on the right has the right-of-

Life in the Bike Lane Tom Frady There are riders who can tell you the exact number of miles they rode last year, how many feet they climbed, what kind of donut they had at Mile 26.3 (Crumb), and the temperature at the top of Baxter. Then there are those riders who just don’t care and can’t quite remember where they rode last Thursday. That is why keeping a bike journal matters. At first glance, a ride journal seems unnecessary. We already live in a world where phones, watche

Life in the Bike Lane Tom Frady There are two kinds of bicycle rides that stay with me long after I’ve put my Giant back on the rack. One is the country ride. For me, that often means heading north from Lincoln toward Camp Far West Lake or maybe east-ish and up-ish to Auburn-ish. These roads have hills, open fields and shady asphalt and (if I didn’t ride with a talkative group of friends) one’s thoughts might become louder than the traffic The other is the neighborhood ride,

Life in the Bike Lane Tom Frady Cyclists and sailors have a lot to say about the weather. To them, it's not just something that's always there, it's more like a friend who can be really nice one minute and then turn on you the next. The weather is a big part of a cyclist's existence. You don’t really “ride in the wind.” You negotiate with it. When the wind shows up, it has ideas of its own. You lean forward, shift down, and settle into an argument with the breeze and your

Life in the Bike Lane Tom Frady The box is never as big as you imagine it will be. It’s just a little bit of cardboard excitement sitting quietly on the welcome mat, as if it hasn’t been the focus of your attention for the past three days. And yet, there it is: new gear. Cyclists, otherwise sensible adults with mortgages and Lipitor prescriptions can turn into children on Christmas morning at the sight of a box of bike gear. It doesn’t matter how many years we’ve been riding

Life in the Bike Lane Tom Frady With sincere apologies to Robert Frost: What road is this I think I know Not sure if it’s McCourtney though No one will see me stopping here To catch my breath before I go My trusty old bicycle must think it strange To stop with no bathroom in range Between the woods and trestle bridge Oops, I think I just dropped my chain. I give my addled brain a shake And ask if there is a mistake The only other sound’s the whisper Of easy wind at Far West L

Life in the Bike Lane Tom Frady Baxter Grade averages a relentless 7 ½ %. I know this because I have made the calculation myself. Today, somehow, it feels like 15½. And a headwind on Baxter? It feels personal. I will still be hearing my heart pounding in my head later tonight. I have scrambled legs, my sweat tastes like regret, and I just know my Garmin is judging me. Somewhere out of the mist of my addled brain a thought materializes: CRUMB DONUT. I’m not riding fo

Life in the Bike Lane Tom Frady Like me, I am sure you six loyal readers have gasped at the sight of (very) young people on e-bikes and scooters negotiating traffic, pedestrians and other e-bikers. Internet chat sites light up daily with concern, anger and “where are the parents?” as someone’s latest scary encounter is dissected. There are comments almost daily in the local on-line chat rooms. What can we mature riders learn from the actions of this group and the discourse

Life in the Bike Lane Tom Frady Before I thought of myself as a cyclist, I thought of the road as an obstacle between here and there. Now it is the place where I do my best thinking and my most humbling learning. The road has become less a strip of asphalt and more a patient teacher. The first lesson: Attention. On a bike, you cannot just drift. The road demands your eyes, your ears, your instincts. No earbuds. No hoodie pulled up blocking your peripheral view. You must re

Life in the Bike Lane Tom Frady I remember the day a driver leaned out his window at a stoplight and yelled, “Get on the sidewalk!” He said it with the confidence of a man who had never read the vehicle code, but had strong feelings about it anyway. I smiled, waved, and rolled on, biting my tongue and pedaling away with my dignity intact. Sharing the road sounds simple, it’s right there in the phrase: sharing. There are even road signs with a graphic clarifying for drivers ho

Life in the Bike Lane Tom Frady I didn’t know I was competitive until Strava told me I was. I have always felt competitive people were competitive because they had a chance to be the best in the competition. That’s not me. For years, my bike rides were simple affairs. I rode until my legs were pleasantly tired, my mind pleasantly empty (actually that’s my mind’s resting state), and the donut shop pleasantly open. Distance was something you estimated by how long it took to g

Life in the Bike Lane Tom Frady I used to believe my bike and I were aging together, like old riding buddies who talk about the same epic ride over and over and complain about the same aches. Lately, though, I’m not so sure. Some mornings it feels like we’re locked in a quiet competition: which of us is going to creak first? My bike announces its complaints early and often, especially as it racks up the miles. A faint “click” from the chain. A mystery sound you can’t quite l

Life in the Bike Lane Tom Frady He kept the bike in the living room after the crash. At first, it made sense. There was plenty of space in the living room and he told visitors – fewer and fewer of them, now – it was only temporary. The frame leaned against the wall like a patient animal, wiped clean. He checked the pressure in the tires frequently by just giving them a squeeze as he walked by on his way to the kitchen. The smell of rubber and chain lube mixed with coffee and