I love my bicycle.
Maybe love is a strong word. I mean, I love sleeping in, bacon, and disc golf, but I feel really, really strongly for my bicycle.
I would drag that sucker into bed with me if I wasn’t so sure that it would leave my sheets looking like a mechanic’s shop rag, and besides, the thing has no idea how to share the covers.
But this admittedly creepy attachment to my primary mode of transportation is a fairly recent thing. Growing up on a very steep hill meant that any casual bike ride on my neon green Huffy would end with a flop-sweat inducing pumpfest that would sap most of the enjoyment out of the activity.
I’ve always enjoyed biking on Mount Desert Island’s carriage trails during the annual family camping trip to Acadia, but I never really considered biking as anything more than a fun recreational activity, and if it didn’t end up a feast of Jordan Pond House popovers and lemonade…what’s the point?
Then I moved to Portland, lost my car in an unfortunate misunderstanding regarding automobile registration (turns out you have to have it), learned to stop worrying, and started loving my late 80’s model Univega.
I understand that Portland is a hilly, somewhat frigid town, pockmarked with potholes, but give it a chance, and you’ll find it’s one of the most bike-friendly cities around. One ill-advised journey to South Portland showed me the flip side of this issue; getting honked at, cursed, and buzzed by SUVs that weigh roughly 25 times what I do taught me to appreciate the Penninsula.
But aside from the pure enjoyment of cruising down Congress St at 1 a.m. weaving in wide swaths down the city’s main artery, with the whole road to myself, biking has irrevocably changed me. This might seem dramatic, but tell that to the 20-odd pounds i’ve shed having to pedal myself home from campus each day, too proud to walk alongside my bike.
I was always too intimidated to tackle any auto-related projects myself, but all that anxiety disappears when you can literally see every working part of your vehicle. And while I still defer to the pros for maintenance requiring scary-looking tools, I’m not afraid to roll up my sleeves and tighten up a spoke or two.
A sense of accomplishment, a mandatory daily workout, and not having to watch my dollars and cents roll away in the digital read-out of a gas pump? Not a bad deal for sixty bucks.
The coming winter has got me breaking out the gloves and hiking socks, but it’s far from breaking my spirit. Having only shelved Old Red for the chilliest two months last winter, I am one of those foolishly hardcore bike commuters who would rather arrive in a class a shivering, pink block of wind-whipped contentment than wait for the Metro.
It hasn’t all been rainbows and butterflies, my bike and I walking hand-in-handlebar through the verdant bluffs of Portland. I’ve skinned a couple elbows, invested in some peroxide and toothbrushes to work out that stubborn gravel, and hit a parked car or two, but I can’t see myself giving up on this marvelous machine that has changed the way I experience my everyday life.
So to all the USMers out there lining up for the parking garage, or driving to school just to get those extra few minutes of sleep: I would suggest strapping on the Specialized, hopping on a Huffy, or taking out the Trek, and change your commute for the better.
And yeah, don’t hit our news editor with your car. He’s the only one we’ve got.
Thanks for reading,
Matt Dodge