Musing about wheeled pedestrians

The wheeled pedestrian definition of a cyclist is as an exclusively recreational rider. I get the sense this is viewed with contempt and perhaps even alarm as the recreational cyclists generate all the negative effects suffered by bike riders, while the virtuous, hard-working non-cyclist riders toil in obscurity, waiting for the motoring public to see that there has never been anything to fear.

The term "wheeled pedestrian" must be a calculated contradiction to the concept of vehicular cyclist. But for me it conjures up uncomfortable visions of riders on sidewalks, threading among the real pedestrians like a motorcycle on a bike path. Can you imagine if frightened motorcyclists lobbied successfully to be allowed to ride on bike paths because they were afraid to mix it up with the other vehicle traffic on the street?

Many times over the years in print columns and on line I have made the point that a bicyclist is NOT a pedestrian on wheels. A rider on the sidewalk demonstrates contempt for the people walking there. A rider going against the flow of vehicular traffic, as a pedestrian is required to do, shows contempt for the lawful road users and puts them all at risk. Ride at a walking pace if you like. It's great. But you're not a pedestrian. You're a bike rider. You're riding a bike. You might hop on it in a fashionable outfit that blends perfectly with everyone else's everyday clothes. You might stop frequently to run errands or simply to enjoy the space through which you are passing. But you rode a bike to get there. You are not a pedestrian. Maybe, just maybe, if you take the pedals off and scooter that thing along like a Laufmaschine you can lay partial claim to being a wheeled pedestrian. Even then you will be taking up more space among the actual pedestrians and inconveniencing them at least as much as they inconvenience you.

I like segregated bike routes as long as they go where I need to go. It's nice to get away from motor vehicles for a while. The Cotton Valley Trail is a multi use path that the rail car people think of as a rail line, the walkers think of as a walking path and the bicyclists call a bike path. You can see the territorial emanations from each kind of user when different user types meet. The rail cars are worse than motor vehicles on the road, because they can't deviate from their course. The bike riders have to ride responsibly around the pedestrians, though some riders seem to blast past as callously as heedless motorists blast past cyclists out in traffic. Not too many bike riders on the path would consider themselves wheeled pedestrians, and certainly the pedestrians would not acknowledge them as such.

You want to be a pedestrian? Walk.

I actually prefer to walk rather than ride a bike in some places. Even if the distance would go more quickly on a bike, other conditions might override mere speed and ease. Just as short trips in a car become a yank with starting, stopping, traffic and parking, so are some trips not worth doing by bike.

As for the garb, when I ride out to the nearest grocery store it's a seven-mile round trip. I finally got some regular clothing that fits well for that kind of ride, so I can show up looking pretty normal. I still haven't kicked the helmet habit, but once I hang that on the bike and walk into the store no one would know I'm a freak unless they took a close look at my Diadora touring shoes. Those are a model no longer made, with a nice stiff sole for pedaling, but no aggressive tread or wide rand to snag going in and out of toeclips. I have nothing against street clothes. When my commutes were short enough I wore whatever I was going to wear to work. When I refused to give up bike commuting no matter how far I ended up living from work, I had to adapt to a commute that was more of a bike ride.

I am a bicycle rider. I am not a wheeled pedestrian. I dress and ride appropriately for whatever conditions I need to face. I'm not averse to cutting across a lawn or through a field, down an alley or along a path. I'll even make a quick, stealthy connection on a short stretch of sidewalk (sshhhhh!). At all those times, if I'm on a bike I am a cyclist, with all the rights and responsibilities thereto appertaining.

Should I feel guilty?

Yet again I see an article drawing the distinction between "cycling" and "riding a bike." As advocates of everyday bike use try to attract participants by differentiating between cyclists and bike riders I get more than a little sense that those of us who wear the shorts, the shoes, the helmets and even moderate, solid-colored jersies because they are more efficient for our particular route and conditions are somehow part of the problem rather than contributing to the solution of putting bike riding into the main stream of transportation (yes, and recreation) options.

Let the thought process run its course. Rhetoric needs to be developed. The whole subject needs to be explored by many minds. And one day in the distant future, if our species has not managed to prevent itself from having a distant future, all pedalers might get along without judging each other or feeling judged, whether justifiably or not. But for now subcultures appear to be trying to define themselves. Or perhaps it is just the one subculture, attempting to become simply culture, that feels the need to distance itself from the despised minorities of snotty roadies and daredevil urban kamikazes.

No one cares what the mountain bikers do as long as they don't spook the horses or run down any hikers. They're not clotting up the streets and highways with their kooky antics. But anyone who gets on those streets and highways will be criticized.

For the sake of inclusion in the transportation mix, the self-proclaimed non-recreational "wheeled pedestrians" make sure that anyone who will read or listen knows that they stand for normal clothes, upright handlebars, dry skin and normal respiration. They ride to get from place to place over rational distances, content to go faster than a walk but slower than a "racer." They don't sweat and you don't have to, either.

If I lived somewhere with distances, terrain and infrastructure that supported casual riding at a sedate pace I would do so. But I've never lived in such a place. From the mid-1970s when I started paying attention to road conditions as an adult rather than bebopping around as a kid, every place I've ridden has had an element of combat. It might not happen every day, but it could happen any day. It could happen on a neighborhood street or one of the major thoroughfares. It could happen on a cross-town commute or a long training ride when I took long training rides. It shaped my riding style to be more aggressive and agile, to wear stiff shoes, even cleats, so I could sprint out of a bind if I needed to.

Interestingly, I did not go quickly to helmet use. I seriously debated the merits of protection against the fact that it made me look like a dork. Whatever the anti-helmet crowd says in its supposedly fact-laced campaign against the brain bucket, looking like a dork is still a major factor. I also liked wearing my wool hat in the winter, rather than the helmet and various liners depending on the temperature.

I find competitive riders pretty annoying. I was not that annoying when I competed, but that may explain why I wasn't too successful at it. While not every top-level rider needs to be abrasive, any intense competitive activity attracts people who like making others uncomfortable. You can't underestimate the psychological warfare. Also, some competitive people tend to be insecure already, which is what drives them to achieve things and stuff it in your face. So I'll grant that the flashy Lycra crowd may not be our best ambassadors, much of the time. But some of them ride other bikes in other ways as well as just the road machine in pursuit of glory.

I suppose a nuanced, inclusive view does not compress easily into short recruiting messages aimed at the general public, a.k.a. non-riders. Indeed, one major factor that propelled the popularity of mountain bikes in the rise of that boom was the idea that you could sit up straighter, wear normal shoes and ride like a kid again. Then the industry and the competitive types managed to technologize all the simple fun out of it. Now they wonder where everybody went, and "wheeled pedestrian" advocates try to drum up the interest without a poster-bike on which to hang the dream.