Race horse vs. war horse

I could have said pack horse, but I get a feeling of going into battle when I set out on the commute. I know we're not supposed to say that it's a war out there, but a cyclist on the road never knows when hostilities might break out. It's true in motor vehicles, too, but people on bikes feel their exposure more. That sense of exposure to physical harm is probably the biggest deterrent to riding.

I used to ride my road bike to work most of the time. At one time, it was a state of the art racing machine. The state of the art has moved on, but that road bike remains the lightest, swiftest machine in my little fleet. Once in a while I still pump up the tires and take it for a cruise. For the daily grind, however, I mount the sturdy Percheron, mentally armed, if not physically. The lightweight thoroughbred can only try to outrun or outmaneuver anything that threatens us. Darkness falls, we might have a couple of little battery lights if I remembered to bring them. Rain comes down, we get soaked. In cleated shoes, I can't do much walking. On dirt roads, I can get through on the road bike, but it's not at its best. If I modified it to meet more of these challenges, it would no longer be the racy cruiser, and it still wouldn't have the geometry and ruggedness to stand up to long slogs off the pavement, and skirmishes with armored cavalry.

The bike always loses when battle is seriously joined. The metaphor is just that: a state of mental preparedness. The war horse is heavy, slower than the racer, but built to take more of a beating in the feints, retreats, and evasions that make up an average commuting day. Slow to climb, slow to accelerate, it's still pure rolling hell on a downhill with a tailwind. I could ride through a brick wall.

The racer types are on a different trip. Sure, we have our skirmishes when we're riding the fast bike, singly or in a group, but it feels different when you're riding in rush hour -- or whatever passes for it where you live -- than on an elective ride on high performance equipment. The point of commuting and transportational cycling is to get from place to place, on a schedule. The point of recreational riding is to ride.

I've considered changing a few things to make the old racing bike more practical. Interrupter brake levers would be the first thing. They might end up being the only thing. They would improve my riding position for the dirt part of my commute, and in traffic. The lighter bike would certainly improve my average speeds on nice days. I just have to let go of the last vestiges of the racer that I never really was anyway.

Muscle memory matters, too. Because I ride most of the time on a bike set up a certain way, my reflexes are shaped to that. I catch myself reaching for brake levers that aren't there when I'm on the road bike, or test riding repaired bikes that don't have them. I quickly readjust, but if I'm going to do basically the same type of ride day after day, any bike should be configured to it.

The race horse becomes a light cavalry mount. Interrupter levers would make it easier to control the beast while swinging a saber.