Ride On

The weather in Southern California turned windy and rainy, so I did what any self-respecting Canadian would do, and went to rent a bike. I layered up, and headed out with my purple gloves, green anorak, black studio crops, knee-high polka dot socks, and pink Sketchers. I walked into the bike rental store and it turned out that their specialty was electric bikes. Their catch line was: “The Electric Bike: Both Eco-Friendly & Fashionable”. My kind of store!

They pulled out a dazzler for me: a pumpkin-orange frame, with shapely silver handlebars and black grips, a large wire basket, and a wide-bottom seat, just perfect for my derriére.  The tires were a hybrid between a bike tire and a motorcycle tire. And with the electric assist device mounted onto the rear wheel carrier, the bike weighed a ton. I was neither sleek, nor aerodynamic, but I had done that before.

When I was in my early twenties, I cycled innumerable miles across the coast of Oregon and into California. Sporting brightly colored and ridiculously coordinated cycling gear; I rode my 18-speed Diamondback a minimum of 110 km every day, for 25 days. That trip, taken with five guys and one other girl, was many things, not the least of which was illuminating. I found the edges of my reserve, and vacillated between melting down (or “hitting the wall”, as athletes like to say) and pushing through to a deeper reserve I didn’t know existed.

I am now South of San Diego, getting some solar-assist—my own motor sputtering, chugging, and hitting the wall, during this seasonal darkness. It only seemed natural that my bike ride today should include a little assistance. I eagerly signed on.  During my brief orientation at Pedago Bikes, I was told that with full throttle the bike could go over twenty. I was initially reluctant to use the throttle as it seemed so wrong—for wimps really, not finely tuned athletes like myself. But, after about eight minutes of pedaling that Goliath of bikes, I was exhausted, and I had only made it around the block!

As I made my way toward the Coastal Highway, I started to play with the throttle. I felt like a kid with a new toy. Once on the highway, I put the bike in its highest gear (six) and then nudged the throttle. I kept my legs going, and even shifted my body weight side-to-side, so it would look as if I was working really hard. I was starting to understand this pedal-assist thing, you could maintain some work, and give some away. Brilliant!

Now, comfortable on the highway, and feeling a bit like a glorified loser, I opened up the throttle, and sailed up a hill. In that moment I knew what it felt like to be Wonder Woman. It was thrilling! Sure, Wonder Woman had an invisible plane, but me, I could reach speeds of 20 mph on this electric bike—taking crime catching to a whole new level!

Prior to this, I had only used the power of my own body to move a bicycle through space; moreover I had spent a significant period of my early adult years on my bike, so I knew what the real cyclists were going through. Therefore, there was a line that I wasn’t willing to cross. I wouldn’t pass a real cyclist, who was bearing down on a hill, on my electric bike. That would be like the turtle passing the hare in an electric scooter. Not kosher. Also, I couldn’t bring myself to give the traditional four-fingers-off-the-handlebar wave to the cyclists who were going the other way. I felt like a fraud, but I was also afraid to lift my fingers off the handlebars, lest they lurch and deposit me (and my finery) on the roadside (in a heap of embarrassment).

Later, on the way home, I had several lights to stop and start for, which gave me a chance to perfect a “standing throttle start”, which I can only imagine is like a water skiing entry from the dock. Timing and body position are everything! The “highlight” of the trip occurred while I was stopped at a red light. As I waited for the light to change, I heard a “beep-beep”. I looked around, wondering if I was blocking the right-hand turn lane. There was a silver Honda Element two lanes over; the passenger window was down. The driver was intently checking us out. I wondered if the giant RENT ME sign attached to the bike had caught his attention. He called out to me, “Nice tires”. I moved my head, as if in slow motion, toward the front tire, and simply nodded. “Awesome bike!” he yelled”. Like the glorified loser that I was, I just gave him the thumbs up, and a stupid grin. The light changed, and he drove away waving. Clearly we had made his day, if not the other way around.

Ride on!