Making the Call

Cycling is a tough activity, don't let anyone tell you different.  It's tough for the professionals who compete on bikes and it's tough for people who ride them to work.  The only difference is the speed and the equipment.  The stakes are the same.

In a split second, everything can change.  We're out there on the road with nothing but what we have on our backs to protect us from the multi-ton metal boxes flying past or the spot of pavement that refuses to let a bike stay upright for no explicable reason.  Even when the situation is primed for cycling, things can still go wrong, terribly wrong.  There's the road, there's our bikes, there are the cars, there are other people, there animals, there's the weather, and there are other cyclists.  There are too many variables, even on a closed course, that will never permit cycling to be as safe and predictable as football.

All of us who tuned in to watch the US Pro Championships were heartbroken when Lucas Euser and Taylor Phinney went down hard while trying to avoid a race motorcycle during a tricky descent in the road race.  Euser was able to walk away from the accident.  Phinney, who won a stage of the Tour of California thanks to his descending skills and the US Pro Time Trial last Saturday, didn't get up.  He suffered a severe compound fracture to his left fibula and tibia.  That is a horrible injury, more than likely a season ending injury.  Thankfully, he's young so it is likely that he will come back from this, but it'll be a long road.  All it took was a second for disaster to strike.  It can strike someone who knows better than most how to handle a bike.  It can definitely strike the rest of us.  No matter how many hours we spend in the saddle and no matter how much practice we get, there's always the chance that something could happen.

But, we don't think about it too much.  We can't.  If we played out all the possible tragedies that could happen while riding, we wouldn't ride.  We'd go to a gym and ride a stationary instead.  We'd get in our cars and drive to work instead of loading our stuff in panniers and pedaling to the office. We wouldn't be cyclists.  But, we have to be smart about riding.  We need to push our limits, but we also need to know when to make the call.  Sometimes, it's wiser to sit a ride out than push on.  We need to know our bodies, what level we can take them to before we end up doing damage.  We need to know when the road situation isn't safe to ride.  There is a limit.  We have to make the call when it comes to our safety. The line is different for everyone, and no one else can make the decision for us.  It's a part of cycling.  Sometimes those lines change, like the more we descend the more comfortable we get with it.  Others stay firmly in place.  But, we know when we're pushing the envelope and when we can handle it.  No  Rapha ad, no editorial, no Twitter comment should determine how we approach our personal safety.  Lately, pro riders have been taking some flak for protesting the conditions in races.  It's easy to say, "You're a professional, suck it up."  But, we're not on the roads with them.  We really don't have the right to make the call.  No one has the right to make the call for the rest of us either.  We ride the roads, we know our bodies, we know our bikes.  We make the call.

Over the last month, my husband was out of town on business, a lot.  So, I dialed it back on the bike.  I popped it into the trainer and missed quite a bit of nice weather.  Being completely and utterly alone here adds a variable into the equation I don't really want to mess around with if something were to go wrong.  I played the conservative hand to mitigate some risks.  While I'm sorry I missed some potential good days out there on the bike, I'm not sorry I made the call.  It would be better to miss a sunny bike ride than end up in a nasty situation while the only person that would notice I was missing was six hours away.  I know that close calls are common on a clear, beautiful day when my husband is riding with me.  Heck, I barely missed creaming a woman who stepped out in the street, backwards, from behind a 5 foot tall hedge last weekend.  It was miracle we didn't connect!  If we had, it would have been nasty.  If I was alone it would have been worse.  If I was completely solo in Germany at the time that situation would haven been an even uglier business.  So, that's why I draw the line there.  I keep rides stationary or in short circuits if I'm solo in Deutschland.  Some may not agree with that decision, but sorry, it's not your call.

Cycling is tough.  We have a lot to take into account when we ride.  There's quite a bit we can control.  We can care for our bodies so they don't fail us out there.  We can keep our bikes in top shape to avoid debilitating mechanicals.  We can ride defensively and carefully.  But, there's a lot out there that's totally out of our hands.  We know that.  It's up to us to deal with it the best we can.  Only we know how.

The Secret

I'm going to let you in on something.  You know all those pictures in the magazines, the blog posts, and Instagram of people cycling in Europe on these wide open roads in these grand vistas? You know those inspiring write-ups about solitude on the European roads?  Those quiet little villages with nothing but sheep and the perfect little cafe?  Ok, those places exist.  They do, I promise.  BUT, that's not Europe anymore than DisneyWorld or the Grand Canyon is representative of America.  The reality is Europe has cities and cars and lots of people too.  It's not a postcard, it's a living place.

A good portion of my cycling is through villages very similar to the one shown here.  It can be a pretty intense experience.  The streets through these towns are narrow to begin with, and then they are made narrower by parked cars.  Pretty much every corner is a blind one.  Buildings are right on top of the road  and there's just a wee strip of sidewalk.  There are intersections that are a free for all, meaning there is no indication of who has right of way.  There's this road furniture designed to slow down traffic.  Really, it just serves to make things more difficult.  And, guys, cobbles are really, really common.  Every single town center is paved in cobbles, some new and smooth, others at least 100 years old and just as gnarly as the one's you see in the Classics.  Hate to burst bubbles here, but there is nothing pleasant about riding over cobbles.  Then, there are people.  People live in the villages, towns, and cities of Europe, believe it or not.  Even the smallest village has people walking around during the day.  Some of these people step out into the street without looking, walk out from between cars, blindly open car doors, let their dogs and children run willy nilly into the streets.  The cars, of course, can be an issue too.   There are four rush hours- morning, before lunch, after lunch, and the evening.  In some regions there is only one road connecting all the communities so traffic can get pretty backed up even in the little one horse towns.  Speed limits are higher.  ATVs are street legal.  Tractors are street legal.  Vehicles I can't even identify are street legal.  It can get pretty wild on these roads.  All these everyday things can combine to create situations that would make your average American cycling advocate soil themselves.

Of course, yes, cycle paths and on road infrastructure are more common.  But, cycle paths aren't designed for sporting cyclists.  They can be used for training, but they can get just as congested with commuters and folks out for a leisure ride as the roads are with cars after lunch.  On-road lanes are common in large cities, but in smaller cities and towns they are as rare as they are in America.  Some of them are routed in inexplicable ways which confound those who have never followed them before.  Oh, and people park their cars in the lanes over here too.  The systems of Belgium, The Netherlands, and Denmark are not the norm.

So, if people want to ride the epic roads seen in the calendars, blogs, and magazines they have to throw the bike on the car and drive to them just like you do when you want to ride epic roads in America.  For the most part, European cyclists have the same challenges American cyclists do.  It's not the Promised Land (ok, Belgium is the Promised Land).  Before you start freaking out and labeling me as negative, don't panic.  Bare with me here.  Riding a bike in the majority of Europe is better than it is in a good portion of the States, but not for the reasons you may think.

The secret to happy cycling is not in lanes, lights, sharrows, paths, or boxes.  The secret to happy cycling is attitude.  Jerks and morons are everywhere, and that's not going to change anytime soon.  But, there is a prevailing attitude from cyclists, drivers, and pedestrians that bicycles belong on European roads.  For the most part, drivers aren't surprised or miffed when a bicycle appears in their path.  Well, if they are they keep it to themselves.  Pedestrians are still oblivious, but they don't go ballistic when you gently bring them back to reality with the ding of a bell.  Other cyclists still do stupid things, but those guys are in the minority and generally live in cities.  Close calls still happen, but they aren't rooted in hatred and ignorance.  They happen because the situation was just sketchy.  They happen because city planners come up with some wacky designs.  They happen because people get distracted and don't pay attention.

So, you know what, America?  You have the potential to become the greatest place in the world to ride a bike.  No, you don't have roads with the heritage, you don't have the storied legacy and rich cycling culture.  But, you have wide roads and open ones.  You don't have to go through busy city centers unless you want to.  You have intersections that make sense and standardized traffic laws.  The odds of getting plowed over by a thresher are slim to none.  You have endless cycling possibilities.  All you need to do is to change your attitudes.  Drivers, stop thinking the roads are your's to own.  Stop believing you're the dominate form of life.  Cyclists, stop believing that drivers supersede you on the totem pole.  Ride like you belong there, deliberately and legally.  Pedestrians, while I realize you're few and far between, just try to remember that there are other people in the world and they really don't want to run into you.  Law makers and enforcers, start enforcing traffic laws and seriously prosecuting violators.  If drivers aren't held accountable when they endanger the lives of others, their attitudes won't change.  While you're at it, go after cyclists when they are on sidewalks or riding the wrong way.  If our attitudes change to being more mindful of others and accepting of all transportation methods as equals, we can revolutionize American cycling.

It really could be that easy.  If people can ride their bikes in Europe in far more intimidating and challenging situations and not hate every kilometer or get creamed as soon they clip in, then American cyclists definitely can too.  There really is no excuse.

Hitting the Alpine Trails

So, hiking in Europe is a pretty big deal.  They don't do it like we do in the States.  Being out in the backcountry, carrying everything you need to live on your back, filtering your water, and obsessing about bears is an incredible experience that I can't recommend enough- seriously.  But in Europe, long distance backpacking is more a leisure activity, not an exercise in survival.  You don't carry dehydrated food, you don't even need a tent.  In the very popular spots, there's food and drink along the way and there's a bed of sorts available at the end of the day.  Of course, that all comes from the fact that Europe has a lot more people in it.  You're never far from civilization.  And that can make the walking all day thing a whole lot of fun.  Did I mention there was beer?  If you love backpacking in the States you'll love it just as much in Europe.  Maybe more.

The Alps, be it the French, Swiss, Italian, Slovenian, Austrian, or German (not to mention the Liechtensteiner and Monacan), is one of the most popular places to go for a hike, wander, or trek.  Let me tell you, you've never hiked in a place quite like this.  Over the holiday weekend we drove down to the Austrian Alps to get some quality mountain time.  Usually, April is the off season in the mountains, bridging the gap between ski season and the warm weather that permits high altitude trekking and climbing.  Thanks to the unseasonably warm weather this Spring the higher trails were mostly accessible despite one overnight light dusting.

The great thing about hiking in Alpine countries is that people have been doing that sort of thing there for quite some time.  The trails are well established and well marked.  The maps (available at every little tourist information office in every little town) are proper maps.  They're waterproof, have scales and keys, and they have topo lines. They're basically USGS grade and this makes me very happy.  You'd be surprised how rare it is to find tourist maps at this level of detail, and a good map can make or break a hike.  Well, all the maps produced by the tourist bureaus in the Alps are good.  Between the signs at every trail intersection (they're even in the really barren, hard to get to places) and these perfect maps, you don't have to worry about losing your way.  You can plan a route down to the minute.  Plus, along the way there are huts (also labeled on the map).  These huts aren't just lean-tos with a picnic bench.  A lot of them are staffed, rent beds, and serve meals.  One that we came across brewed beer, pretty good beer actually.  There are trails everywhere.  All are labeled on the maps and points of interest are indicated on the trail with walking time.  They even color code the trails for difficulty level.

Despite the cushy support system, the trails can still kick your butt.  Sure, some of the hut to hut circuits stay more or less on the flats and are family friendly.  But, head up a little higher and bring your trekking poles and a good set of boots because you'll be scrambling, balancing on cliff edges, and possibly tackling some snow.  Head a little higher and there are via ferrata routes or bring your ropes and pitons.  Anyway you want to do it, you'll have fun.  Beer, alpine cheese, and hot coffee aren't that far off.  Of course, it's the scenery that makes a good hike, and the Alps have good scenery in spades.

So, if you're visiting Europe take some time away from the cities and sightseeing, grab a daypack, strap on your boots, and go for a walk in the Alps.  You won't be disappointed.

Prepping for Paris-Roubaix

All is quiet now...

This Sunday all of us who are suckers for a great bike race will be sitting down in front of the TV (or hunkering along a roadside in northern France if we're lucky) to witness one of the greatest single day races on the calendar.  For cycling connoisseurs this is the greatest month in cycling.  Sorry, July.  Last Sunday we had De Ronde van Vlaanderen, Paris-Roubaix this Sunday, and then the week of the Ardennes Classics beginning on the 20th.  It's the height of the Spring Classics season, and there isn't a better time of year to be a cycling fan.  I love the Spring Classics, particularly the ones in April, more than anything else on the schedule.  I love how unpredictable they are.  I love the landscape.  And, I love the intensity.  It's really hard to pick a favorite race.  Even after spectating almost all of them last year, I still couldn't pick one.  You can't beat the atmosphere at the Tour of Flanders.  Paris-Roubaix is hauntingly gorgeous.  The legacy and unique nature of the Ardennes can't be denied.  But, for many Roubaix is their number one.  It's a pretty big deal.

This week the teams are out on reconnaissance rides, prepping their bikes and minds for the Hell of the North.  Meanwhile, we fans have our own prepping to do.  We certainly shouldn't arrive on Sunday ill prepared anymore than the riders should.  How does a fan prepare, you ask?

First off, it doesn't hurt to review the events of last year's race.  You can watch the entire broadcast of the 2013 Paris-Roubaix here.   Of course, it wouldn't hurt to catch up on the 2012 edition either and relive Tom Boonen's famous solo ride.  Next, there are the documentaries.  The most well-known is Jørgen Leth's A Sunday in Hell which documents the 1976 edition featuring The Merckx, Roger De Vlaeminck, Francesco Moser, and Freddy Maertens.  This is one of the greats in cycling documentaries, but a little difficult to get your hands on.  Snippets are available online, but if you want to watch the whole thing you'll have to buy a copy.  Those aren't too easy to find either.  The next great documentary is the 2009 Road to Roubaix.  Lastly, you can catch the CBS broadcast of the 1988 edition which not only covers the race, but provides some great behind the scenes footage of Team 7-Eleven.  And, if you don't mind an amateur's attempt, here's my quick video of the Arenberg from last year.  


Trouée d'Arenberg from CG Inlux on Vimeo.

As for reading material, I have two recommendations.  First of all, the write up on The Inner Ring website is a fantastic, quick read on the history of the race.  They also feature some beautiful photos.  For a more lengthy story of L'enfer du Nord, check out the recently published book The Monuments by Peter Cossins.  I haven't gotten to the Roubaix section yet, but the Liege-Bastogne-Liege chapter was very well done.  

With all that under your belt you should be pretty well prepared for Sunday.  As for Sunday itself, all you have to do is find the least dodgy feed (unless you live somewhere that will broadcast in English), sit back, and watch the drama unfold.  Of course, all of this would be more enjoyable if preceded or followed by a bike ride (depending on your timezone).  But, you're guaranteed a successful Roubaix if it includes a great menu.  I've spent most of the week focusing on my Roubaix Day dinner and I'm pretty pleased with the final lineup.  For those who are interested, here's what I've come up with:

Starter

Deviled Eggs de l'enfer

Main

Poulet avec Pavè

"Punctured" Flat Noodles with Herbs

Classic Spring Classic Salad

Dessert*

Cinnamon-Sugar Dusted Shortbread Cobbles

or

Nutella Mud Pie

*Dessert Menu dependent on Sunday's weather.  I'm hoping for rain.

Drink pairings have yet to be determined.  I'm taking recommendations, as long as it's something I can find in a German grocery store.  

Anyway, Sunday will definitely not disappoint in regards to the racing.  Will Cancellara pull off a fourth win?  Will Boonen set the new record for the most wins?  Or, will another contender take the glory?  We'll find out on Sunday.  See you there!

Stranger Things Have Happened, I Think

I'm pretty sure we all have things we hate, downright detest.  We probably have lists.  Well, I have a list.  When I was a kid my list was Mathematics (this included all branches therein, homework, and class), going to the orthodontist, piano recitals, and Easter dresses.  I loathed Math (or Maths as you may prefer) because I didn't get it, struggled with it from the time we began subtracting, and it was always the thorn in my report card.  The orthodontist, well, who really enjoys the orthodontist?  People sick in the head, that's who.  The fellow who "reshaped" my mandible and scarred a good portion of my childhood was old-school in his methodology.  His techniques included, and I kid you not, hammers, chisels, cement, and the employment of assistants with a disturbing lack of empathy.  While I'm glad I no longer resemble a bulldog, I can't say I ever warmed to the guy.  Piano recitals were just irritating.  Spending months on end practicing the same tired tune over and over again for the supposed entertainment of other parents who really only care about their child's performance always struck me as ridiculous.  And, Easter dresses?  That was just a matter of taste, the bane of the tomboy.  Since reaching adulthood, the list has certainly changed.  Math no longer troubles me, I have mastered the calculator and can successfully get through life.  The orthodontist hasn't been seen in over ten years and my mouth is quite happy about that.  I haven't touched a piano or publicly performed music in ages.   Of course, I haven't had an Easter dress since I began choosing my own wardrobe.

But there's still a list of preferred avoidances.  The list is mostly composed of food products like quiche and smoothies containing too much roughage.  Flying from US airports is on there.  Climbing hills on a bike is somewhere near the top of the list.  Like Math, I hate it because I struggle with it.  That's probably pretty lame of me.  I stopped hating Math because, basically, I no longer needed to do it.  I didn't "defeat" my Math issue by working harder at it, I just went through my formative years detesting about 100 minutes of every day spent in class and doing the work, having a pretty crappy attitude, then blissfully moving on once school was behind me having never really faced the beast.

I could very well just go about my cycling in the same way, tell myself I'm not built to climb hills and therefore never will successfully and avoid the hills at all possible.  Or.  Or, I could grow up a little.

A funny thing happened on Saturday.  The weather forecast was amazing so we planned a cookout with a few friends for the evening. We decided that an hour or so bike ride in the morning wouldn't be a bad idea given the evening's menu of hamburgers and beer.  It wasn't going to be a killer ride.  I was pretty beat after a full week of long rides and landscaping.  We were going to go easy.  We thought after having explored the major touring routes lately, that it was time to venture more "on road" into the smaller valleys.  So, we headed out.  Despite a Flemish headwind from the get go, things were going well.  After glancing at the map, we chose a 30km loop through some villages that would get us home in plenty of time to prep for our guests.  Google presented us with tantalizing "bike friendly, fit for grandma" roads.  All was going well until the second village.  Then, traffic started getting rather congested to the point we were track standing more than moving forward.  But, the map was pretty adamant that we would be in the clear once we hit the town limits.  I mean, there was a solid green line indicating a bike path next to the road.

There was no bike path when we got out of town.  In fact, this so-called bike friendly road was anything but.  It was a narrow road and a long, solid climb in heavy traffic.  My "Aaargh! Giant Hill!  I hate this!  I hate the world!  I hate everything!" switch was on the verge of getting flipped.  Then, it didn't.  I just kept pedaling.  I wasn't chipper about it, and I certainly wasn't flying, but my legs just kept doing what needed to be done.  When we got to the top, sure, I was hurting, but there we were.  There had been no stopping, there had been no walking.  And, you know what?  A thought crossed my mind.  "Hey, this is actually rather nice.  I think I sorta get the attraction."  Well, then it started pouring.  So much for the warm positive feelings and that beautiful forecast.

Then, we had to go down the hill to the next village.  Ok, I definitely get the attraction to climbing now.  If it hadn't been pouring buckets, my shoes weren't full of water, and if I hadn't been rather concerned about the husband riding on slicks...What am I saying? That descent was one heck of a ride!

After that it should have been pretty straight forward following the signs through the villages back to ours.  The trouble was, the weather just kept getting worse.  There was standing water on the roads, there was no sign of a let up, and it was getting progressively colder.  Once again, Google showed us an alternative "short cut"- solid green line, through forest, little to no traffic.  We should have known better.  I have to admit, I had a bad feeling when we turned onto the new route.  "Through forest" usually means tractor or logging road.  The forests are usually on top of large hills.  Such was the case.  This climb was brutal, vertical, positively evil.  Yeah, and there were still cars who were there for the shortcut, no speed camera advantage.  I was dying.  My poor legs, abused by a week of daily rides broken up with mulch spreading, shoveling, and rock hauling, were screaming.  It was torture.  It went on for miles.  I needed a break, also known as "photo opportunity."  But, we got back on those bikes and kept going, slowly, mind you, and we climbed that sucker.

The next descent wasn't so fun.  The road was tractor wide and it went straight down that hill all the way to the river, no turns, no pauses in the gradient.  It was still pouring.  There was mud everywhere.  I had a death drip on my brake levers.  Now it was my hands' turn to do the screaming.  That descent wasn't fun, it was freaking scary, especially when a tractor came at us full tilt.

We made it home, though rather a little worse for wear.  But, oddly enough, when we pulled into the driveway I didn't think back over the ride and focus on how horrible it was, how much it hurt, and how much I hate climbing.  We talked about how much fun that was.  I realized that actually I could do it.  With a little work and dedication, climbing would no longer be on the hate list.  I may never "dance on the pedals" up 11% grades, but I don't have to hate it.  I don't have to avoid it.  I do have the capacity to improve.  I could actually get to a point of enjoying it.

We'll see.  But, if I start praising quiche you should get concerned.

Friday Morning in the Village

When I think of good places, I think of the mornings there.  I'm not a morning person, so those days that I rise early and see places for what they are then without a pre-caffeine stupor are moments I remember clearly.  I remember a morning in Nice, walking the streets as the cafes were just opening on my way to a flea market.  The city was just waking up, people were going through their rituals, saying their greetings, just before things had really started that day.  It was a good morning.  I remember multiple mornings driving down the roads of Messinia in a Nissan Micra, a plastic cup of poorly diffused instant coffee sloshed next to me, the mist rising out of the olive groves, no one speaking, thoughts about the day wrapping around us.  Those mornings were beautifully painful.  They always started the same way, gut wrenching scenery, sleepy villages, old men and their prayer beads, really bad coffee, and thoughts.

We're three months into the German assignment.  I'm pretty sure it's the mornings I will recall with the most fondness when I look back 10, 20, 30 years from now.  A cup of perfect coffee sitting next to me, still.  The birdsong from the bush of sparrows outside the office.  Crisp, blue white skies and soft morning breezes.  A freighter with a German or Dutch flag chugging through the lock.  Swans flapping their massive wings against the water in takeoff sounding like the whomp-whomp of rotor blades.  Geese having a loud discussion of the day's territory. The next door neighbor going through her morning routine.  Tuesdays are cleaning day, Thursdays are for the garden, Fridays all the windows get opened.  There's a smell in the morning, an odd earthy, spicy odor coming off the river.  I wait until the afternoons after that's lifted to open my windows, but to each their own.

Joggers go by, singles and pairs.  When the sun is first coming up, it's the bike commuters who zip along, the sounds of clicking ball bearings and creaky chains telling the beginning of the day.  Dog walkers shuffle along the path beside the road, quietly.  Neither the dogs nor their owners seem particularly awake.  The village cats skitter through flower beds and along garden walls headed to wherever the schedule dictates.  Folks pass each other in the alley next to the house carrying eggs from the lady one block over who sells them from her front door.  Others carry fresh, still warm Brötchen from the bakery.  They all nod and say "Morgen!"  Some stop for a chat.  The cyclists that pass now are of the recreational sort, at the beginning of their rides, stretching the legs, smiles on their faces, and sun in their eyes.

Dew drips off grass blades and budding leaves.  The church bells ring in response to the ones tolling on the opposite riverbank.  Engines kick on and car doors slam.  Skateboards pass on the way to school.  The sun rises higher, the sky gets bluer.  I'm on the doorstep with a second cup of coffee, waiting for a package of...more coffee.  Sparrows pick at the grass between the bricks in the courtyard.  Two bikes rest against the garden wall, patiently waiting for a ride.  Laughter from somewhere around the corner.  A dog barking in the park.  Shadows getting shorter.  Sun warms orange tiled roofs.

Mornings aren't lost on me, the incurable night owl.  They're the time of promise, before the day has committed itself, while it's still an open book.  Here they're a perfect quiet peace.  They bring a smile, always, three months down the road.  As the day ripens, it goes in different directions, sometimes great, sometimes not so.  But, the mornings?

They always start out good and simple.  Life right now makes perfect sense.

The World is Round, People!

Look at this!  Two posts in one week?  Crazy, I know.  But, I'm feeling inspired, so here we go.

Women's cycling has been in the forefront this week.  With the Women's World Cup starting on the 15th and the fact it's getting actual coverage, the success of the Half the Road film, and the publicity female pros are getting, people are really starting to take notice.  Good things are happening.  It's pretty exciting.  It's also stirring debate, particularly on the same old subject of gear.

Ah, gear.  I'm a gear freak.  I just realized this recently when I was planning for an upcoming trip. I had more gear going into my bag than I had clothes.  I like things that involve collecting gear.  I love backpacking, an activity that is so gear centric most backpackers end up talking gear with each other instead of where they've been.  I love photography, an art that also requires an endless amount of gear and gear to carry said gear.  Then, of course, there's cycling.  You wear gear, your bike wears gear, you need gear for the gear, you need gear to clean the gear, and there's always new gear.  It's a gear freak's dream sport.  So, I'm always looking at cycling gear and I picked up on the debate raised this week on women's gear, specifically clothing.  Being a woman who rides a bike and needs clothing to do so, I have some opinions on the subject.  I've written about it before, and I'll get to that later.  First off though, here's what I think about the debate itself.

I like it.  I'm glad we have people talking about this subject outside of women's cycling blogs and forums.  I'm glad it's mainstream this week.  I'm very happy that people are saying, "Hey, look at this!  There are things that are moving in the right direction, but there's still work that needs to be done."  That means, at least in my opinion, that thanks to media coverage on the pro road side of things, that change is going to trickle down to the rest of us.  I really like that all sorts of women riders with all sorts of opinions are weighing in.  I really like it that the guys are voicing their opinions too.  I agree with some things are that said and I disagree with other things.  But, that's ok.  People are talking about it.

So here's what I think.

I'm not a roadie.  The Rules?  Eh.  Sure, I definitely agree there's a right way and wrong way to ride road, but I can't get fanatical about it.  To each their own (although, I think sporting team kit and wheelsucking a complete stranger for miles on end is very sad).  I certainly wouldn't pass muster for most roadies.  I'm an amateur.  Definitely.  I ride an entry level road bike.  I'm built like Cavendish during his husky years.  I hate climbing, passionately.  I have no desire to join in group rides or compete, ever.  I can't hang.  I honestly don't care.  Road cycling is something I enjoy doing on my own terms.  I like riding my road bike best.  I like how it handles, I like the aesthetics, I like the speed.  I like the gear.  But, you know what?  I also like riding my hybrid slowly along at German grandma pace, and I like spinning around on my hipster Schwinn in jeans and T on a warm evening.

Image www.teamestrogen.com

What I don't like is getting pigeonholed.  I think the cycling industry loves pigeonholing people, men and women alike.  Get some clear market definitions and it makes it a lot easier to sell stuff.  I don't like being told that because I'm a woman things have to be different for me, that I have to make compromises, that I have to fit in a clique to ride my bike.  I've never been good at that sort of thing, and I've never seen the point of it.  I mean, we're cyclists, right?  We're all just cyclists, men and women alike.  We're all at varying degrees of experience, we all have varying interests.  I don't think anyone likes being told they have to dress a certain way because they ride at one level or another.  I certainly don't think anyone, man or woman, likes being told they have to wear a certain color or style in sport because of their gender.  It's like telling women we have to go back to wearing dresses 24/7 and telling guys they have to wear a suit to work everyday.  It's a pretty archaic attitude.  All of us should be able to find the type of gear that performs best for our needs, our comfort, and our style.  It really shouldn't be that big of deal to find what we're looking for.

Image www.vulpine.cc

Look, I don't wear pink.  I don't do glitter.  I've been a committed tomboy since birth, and I'm not going to betray that when I ride my bike.  It would ruin the experience.  I like subdued stuff and earth tones.  I like solids and classic designs.  I like my jerseys to have real sleeves, pockets that fit more than an energy bar, and cut in way that acknowledges the fact I'm leaning over in the drops just like the boys.  I'm really pleased with brands that carry stuff like that, and I'm excited to see more and more new companies coming to the market with these types of styles.  Rapha has been a leader in that realm, but now we have the recently launched Velocio and the two year old super cool Vulpine in the ring (I mean, look at that sweet merino).  Even established recognizable brands like Castelli are toning down on the girl power centrism.  I'm not saying no one should make the pink, sparkle, flower stuff anymore.  Lots of women out there really like it and that's what they feel the most comfortable in.  That's cool.  We all need to feel good when we're riding.   I'm just really glad the industry is starting to put the breaks on the pink pigeonholing.  The clothing thing is moving in the right direction.  I hope down the road some of the lower priced shop brands will get on board so women with tastes like mine aren't frustrated by their gear options when entering the sport.  Nobody wants to drop a ton of money on clothes when they're first starting out, so cheaper, shop accessible options would be good.  Heck, I still have trouble swallowing some of the prices for the online brands.

But, beyond clothing there's still a lot of work ahead.  I hope the changes in that market will begin to affect the rest of the cycling industry.  WSD models are really making great advances, I'm loving what I see from Giant and Raleigh.  Its nice that those of us who need smaller frames and components can buy a bike off the rack and it's not baby blue or covered in butterflies.  My greatest hope is that I'll be able to walk into any bike shop someday and get treated respectfully and not like the little woman who doesn't know a cassette from a headset.  Not all shops are guilty of this and there are some amazing ones out there that are pleasure to work with, but to be honest Europe needs to try a little harder.

All in all though, I think we have reason to be excited and positive about what's happening.  I hope the debate continues and things keep changing.  As one of my favorite people, Cate Blanchett, said recently, "The World is round, people!"  Women cyclists have just as much right to the road, the bikes, and the clothes the boys get and the sooner we're are no longer marginalized or passed over the better.  I think we're on the right road.