the model bicycle

 - by erin

By which I mean a beautifully engineered marvel made of paper.

Michaux 1864

Or, if you prefer something a bit more modern:

the ordinary 1883

The bikes are crafted in a half-inch scale, and the pieces are lasercut into one sheet of thick black paper — all to make for a happily low-tech interactive process: X-Acto knife, tweezers, and glue. (A steady hand and a hearty supply of patience and care — perhaps a magnifying glass too — might also come in handy, I’d imagine.)

And (hopefully) at the end of it, a lovely, tiny bicycle. *squee*

(I do swoon over miniatures.)

*

[All pictures from upon a fold.]

a look back

 - by erin

Hey, remember all that time ago when I added a mirror to my cockpit and I was all filled with a sense of promise about our future together? Ah, those days – when the prospect of checking on the world behind me while I rode made me all giddy and uncertain. It feels like an eternity ago.

Which means, of course, that I have waited way too long to write any kind of useful report on how the mirror and I are getting along. We have long since lost all sense of self-consciousness around each other. In fact, we have somehow become – silently, and completely without me noticing – a seamless unit.

I do vaguely recall those first days when the mirror was an enormous distraction. We had so much to learn: getting the right angle so I could actually see more than just my arm steering the bike; cross-referencing reflection and reality to determine just how much closer the cars actually are than they appear (Whew! that difference is dramatic! What looks like yards is actually more like feet. This may not at first seem an impressive disparity, but let me just say that a couple of uncomfortable closer-than-I’d-like calls were involved in the learning process); and remembering that my most pressing concern is everything happening in of front me – you know, no reason to spend all my time looking backward just because I can.

This awkward initial phase was insufferably long. I nearly gave up. Were it not for the half-baked theory I cooked up  that the sheer fact of having the mirror on my handlebars changed my relationship with the cars on the road, I surely would have surrendered. But I was rapt with the thought that my mirror gave cars a sort of touchstone to relate their experience to my experience. As if they were thinking: “I have a rearview mirror, and she does too! Maybe we can get along and play nice together.” Or maybe cars simply felt more accountable because I could now see them coming up behind me. Or maybe not.*

Maybe this is all a little far-fetched. Nonetheless, it was the reason I persevered. But then, something magical: I had to merge to my left and I saw a familiar pattern emerge – check the mirror, quick glance over the shoulder, signal, and go. (I know this dance. I can do it in my sleep.)

And this is when I realized that the mirror and I were a team. That we had found our way together. That I can learn to forgive how much more awkward my bike is to park with this protrusion extending from my bars. That I can calmly set the mirror back into position every darn time I get on the bike. That all these apparent inconveniences are so totally and completely worth it because the mirror and I are now one.

That is all.

. . . . .

*Or maybe I was just getting along better with the cars on the road because the mirror made me feel more confident as a rider. A distinct possibility…

pretty, pretty

 - by erin

It must be that I’ve been living under a rock. How could I have missed these gorgeous Plato bikes from Republic? Um, for the entirety of the bike-loving summer season. A $399 Dutch-style bike that comes in an array of pretty colors? What loveliness to behold!

If these bikes are anywhere near as fun to ride as they are to customize (the interactive build feature on Republic’s site totally kicks ass!), and if the bikes themselves are of decent (enough) quality, this seems to be a huge win for transportation bikes. Maybe these Platos can even knock the ubiquity of the sub-$500, fully sprung mountain bike down a notch or two. This would not hurt my feelings at all.

Which brings me to why I had wished, hoped, and prayed that the views of Plato I’d been seeing around the internets the last couple of days were mere previews of a future release. (And I did really hope for that, despite the impossibility of the timing.) I haven’t seen one of these bikes out in the wild. Not for the whole summer. And I would have thought an idea as great as a sub-$500 Dutch bike would have taken off like wild fire.

*sigh*

Perhaps I am impatient? Perhaps word of this is just making its way past circles of bike enthusiasts and the clique of Urban Outfitters shoppers? [Urban Outfitters has a bike shop?! (Does my surprise age me?)]

Perhaps there’s still time for Plato’s popularity to surge?

Perhaps next year?

nine/one

 - by erin

September! You’re here!

This is very good news. Because it means, of course, that fall is very nearly on its way. And fall is…well, fall is the real most wonderful time of the year.

I am so excited I could nearly burst.

(Yes, even though it happens every year.)

new adventures

 - by erin

A brief list of (ordinary) things I have never done on a bike:

  1. stopped and put my right foot on the ground
  2. started my bike with a downstroke from my left foot
  3. hopped a curb
  4. broken a bone
  5. felt anything other than panic the handful of times I have inched my way down a steep hill
  6. ridden on a beach
  7. ridden through snow
  8. hauled cargo
  9. explored a new city
  10. breached the California border
  11. camped out for the night

Since I have also never regretted trying out new things on my bike, this could turn out to be kind of a fun year ahead, no?

Well, as long as I stay away from # 4, that is.

obeliskal

 - by erin


by Christopher Chung/The Press Democrat

No, your eyes do not deceive you. That is, in fact, a gigantic tower of bicycle parts. Sixty-five feet of bicycle parts, to be precise.

Created by artists Mark Grieve and Ilana Spector, this bicycle obelisk (Cyclisk is its actual name) is the newest of Santa Rosa’s public art installations.

Apart from its sheer size, what is creating buzz about this particular sculpture is its location: smack dab in the middle of a stretch of automobile-related businesses. And it does seem to be making waves:

All afternoon visitors and neighbors asked questions and offered opinions about the structure, including the role of public art, the appropriateness of the materials and location, cost of the endeavor, and the deeper political messages behind it.

The diversity of views triggered by the sculpture is exactly what…Grieve and…Spector hoped to provoke.

“I wanted everyone to just bring to the table whatever they wanted to,” Grieve said. “I don’t want to dictate anything to anybody.”

Happily, the feedback seems to fall primarily in the realm of awe-struck admiration. Which is a lovely thing. My favorite comment from the newspaper article, though — by leaps and bounds — is this:

Jim Bennett, owner of the used car dealership Good Stuff Auto adjacent to the sculpture, said placing a piece of art “that pays homage to bicycles” in the midst of car dealers and auto body shops is “a little bit akin to having a pop art depiction of a hot dog outside a high end restaurant.”

[Let me see if I've got this straight. Bike : car :: hot dog : steak? Well that's a clever little simile indeed!]

The artists insist, however, they meant no overt political statement about “alternative transportation options,” or “bicycle culture,” and claim that bicycle parts were used only because they are cheaper. Though I find this explanation a bit disappointing (also, perhaps, a bit disingenuous, but this second claim is much harder to prove), my excitement that the sculpture exists at all remains unchecked. Not least because of the opportunity to use the word obeliskal in a sentence.

*

You can read the full story in The Press Democrat.

random acts of greatness

 - by erin

Bike geeks, I find as I get to you know you, practice a special kind of multi-faceted geekery. Meaning that you/we tend to geek out about many things. Preferably in combination.

Myself? I am also a knitting and sewing geek. A wannabe book geek. And also, as you probably have already guessed, a photo geek. Particularly when it comes to film. This is not to imply, of course, that I am a connoisseur of any sort. Rather that I practice. A lot. I shoot insane amounts of film. And I get exuberantly giddy when I learn that someone else in this world likes to shoot film too.

Add some new film photographers to the column.

You see, Lorena (known to the internets as Sac Cycle Chic) tipped me off to this lovely project, created by a man named Jay (who I can only assume must also be a lovely person). Jay’s special genius is that he has tied a disposable camera to a public bench, with this note:

Good afternoon,
I attached this camera to the bench so you could take pictures. Seriously. So have fun. I’ll be back later this evening to pick it up.
Love, Jay / The Plug

And the public took it from there.

So far, these have only been done in Atlanta and Tokyo. But Lorena and I might just be forced to take matters into our own hands and bring these community-participation cameras out west.

You’ve been warned.

perhaps my bike has greater potential?

 - by erin

I ask because this bike here kills fascists. (Or, at least, that’s what it says it does.) The only thing I do with my bike is ride it. Sheesh! I’ve got to step it up a bit.

[And to think this whole time I've been blissfully unaware that the specter of fascism loomed so large in bike polo.]

Good luck to you! Hope you rout them all!