Nobody cares

I rolled up to a traffic light on my way home tonight, and spent a couple of moments chatting with a lean, somewhat-older guy about the warm weather and the slushy spring conditions. Actually, I was the one who mentioned the slop—he was smiling and happy to be riding on a 40-degree afternoon instead of a 5-degree morning.

As the light turned green and he rolled out onto Dimond Boulevard, I noticed the sticker on his dirt-covered rear fender: "Nobody Cares That You Singlespeed."

That sticker had me smiling for about a mile. I've never cared for the haughty attitude that seems to be common among SS riders, and this guy—with his skinny-studded cross bike, orange safety vest and mirrored ski goggles—clearly didn't have time for anyone's silly pretensions.

I thought about asking him to pull over so I could shoot a quick picture of his sticker, but I couldn't. By the time I crossed Dimond, he had already opened a gap on me.

Couldn't have been too hard. I was on a singlespeed.

What it's all about

The best days on a bike aren’t about speed. They’re about the ride, the scenery, the freedom and the people. So today, I went riding with one of my favorite people—my daughter, Hannah. And I told her to ride whatever speed she liked.

She hasn’t logged a ton of miles lately, so when she said she was up for riding the 50K route in the Winter City 30K/50K Randonnée, I wasn’t sure she’d have that kind of distance in her legs. We made contingency plans for bail-out points. I offered shortcuts, because we weren’t bothering to have our cards signed at controls anyway. We were just out to ride.

She declined the shortcuts, stuck to the course, and held her pace all the way to the finish with nearly two hours to spare before the time cutoff. She made me proud. Some kids could have finished faster, but none of them showed up. And I doubt that the average 17-year-old would have finished at all. Besides, it ain’t about the speed. It’s about the ride. And I got to ride all day with Hannah, which is a damn good way to spend a Sunday.

Big thanks to Kevin and Alaska Randonneurs, who put on this event as a fundraiser for Bicycle Commuters of Anchorage, and to all the volunteers, especially the folks at Point Woronzof with their steaming baked potatoes and hot chocolate.

And thanks to Bicycles & Icicles reader Soren, who inspired this post three years ago, and then introduced himself and bought me a post-ride beer at the Peanut Farm this afternoon. It was good to hear that Soren recently treated himself to a Salsa Mukluk so he no longer has to commute on that studded singlespeed.

Nobody cares that you singlespeed, Soren. But we do care that you found the beauty of fatness. Welcome to the corpulent club.