*Sweet article provided by Mark, Nicely said and I caught myself more than once saying..."uh huh! haha...been there" and "oh yeah...isn't that the truth" or "Haven't I had that same feeling or run into those same situations..." We are a strange breed of 1% ers...and I love it. Thanks for the article!

FIXED GEAR OUTLAW

By

Mark Correal

The fixed gear rider is a throwback to the outlaw motorcyclist of the 60’s. Hunter Thompson would have had a field day with a group of misguided bike riders who are loathe to follow the elite, mainstream lifestyle of cycle clubs. Denim is worn in place of spandex or lycra. Sweatshirts and hoodies replace expensive cycling jerseys designed to mimic the ones worn by the great Armstrong in the Tour.  Like our motorcycle 1%er brethren, we ride bikes that for the most part have been built by ourselves, barely street legal,  the allure of which is hard to explain,  yet powerful to those of us under it’s spell. They are not as fast as a road bike over the long run. They cannot coast and are not as energy efficient as the standard road, city or mountain bike. Yet no bike is as responsive or mimics our carefree personality, than does the fixie.

Here in New Jersey, a group of riders in my normal cycling club, have converted to fixed for evening rides. Some hardcore fixies have begun using the damn things for commuting, shopping and transportation! As such, a prime group is ready to become a new chapter of the Fixed Gear Hooligans. I’m not ashamed to admit, even as a 50 year old man, that I am one of them.

It first began back in the 80’s when I was riding my mountain bike to work. I read a book published by the Readers Digest which touted the value of the fixed gear for training and general riding. The photos in the book of these sleek creatures, with no cables or derailleur to encumber their graceful lines, caught my eye and I have been under the spell ever since. But it took until last year when I built my own fix from a old Panasonic touring bike, that I fully fell into the world of the fixed gear rider.

Like most conversions today, my bike is a 80’s vintage Japanese frame, built up with today’s components. Stripped down and repainted, the bike now sports an original Takae crank set, new sealed bottom bracket, new wheels and a Dura Ace cog. The gearing is 42:16, which is perfect for the hilly section of northern NJ where I ride. A set of bullhorns and front brake, finished the build. After a suitable time getting acquainted with this set up, the serious riding began.

The initial ventures out into the public roadways were laced with near disaster. A ride up Rt. 23 to my local bike shop was an experience with traffic unlike I had known with my Trek 21 speed road bike. Steep hills became a chore both going up and down!  I was forced to ride with an awareness which extended far further down the road than before. Yet, never did I experience the feeling of oneness with any of my other bikes as I did with this creature. She went as fast or slow as my legs would move. Slowing now involved leg tension, instead of cable tension. The bike and I were one and the same. Without coasting, it’s personality and mine merged into a hard core, but smooth and satisfying feeling of enjoyment. Damn, the ride was fun! Cars exiting parking lots were more of a hazard than before, due to my inexperience in stopping. But nothing, not even these wankers in their cars, could ruin the ride. Eventually reaching my destination, I noticed Jason, the owner of the shop and his workers looking with disbelief at the sight of the bike and I pulling into the lot. “Who the hell would be crazy enough to ride a fixed gear on Rt. 23?” was a sentiment they readily communicated to me as I entered the shop. I don’t recall the purpose of my visit, but most likely, I needed a part for my bike, which by now was fully rebuilt, but always getting an improvement, providing I could hide the expense from my wife. After the usual chit chat with the regular hangarounds, I left.

A nightly ritual is to ride around a parking lot of a nearby supermarket, which has little traffic. This lot serves as my private velodrome, with three laps equaling one mile. Instead of counting laps, I would do laps for a period of time, usually 30-45 minutes. With my MP3 music blasting in my ear, the bike and I sail around in a world of motion and timing. Cars pulling into the lot are easily avoided or cut off with such ease that it seems other worldly. Only the wheels turning, the sound of music blasting in my ears and fresh air seem relevant to the ride. And it is only on a fixed gear can I get this feeling of  flowing with the world around me.

While the ride at the ‘velodrome’ is fairly traffic free, not so the 2 mile ride through highway and parking lot traffic. Yet as my experience grew, so grew my bold dash through traffic to get to my destination. The bike and I now fly through a crowded strip mall lot, into and out of a Wal-Mart lot, past Blockbusters, a golf course, Wendys and a Quick Check, with the ease of the wind passing along the line of cars stopped in traffic. Drivers unsure of this phantom on two wheels weaving madly through the traffic,  pull out abruptly into my path and freeze when they realize a crash is unavoidable, only to stare stunned as I glide around their vehicle to become a shrinking speck in their rear view mirror. One night as I fly through the strip mall, a woman driving a mini van passed a car illegally parked along the curb and sidewalk adjacent to the stores.  She then finds herself in my lane with an unavoidable head on crash coming on, a look of horror causes her to almost drop her cell phone. As it was a cold night, I was wearing a full face cover black ski mask with ski goggles. This get up,  topped off by my white helmet and dark gloves, must have appeared to her as an invisible specter operating this machine. But at the last second, I swerve to the right, improbably squeezing between a parked vehicle and her van. As I pass, I extend my hand and my fingers tap alongside the glass windows of the van, giving the rear door a quick tap as I cleared the rear of the van. I looked back, only to see the driver lean out and shout what appeared to be “ass”. But by the time she could finish the passionate exclamation “hole”,  I was already gone. Wouldn’t matter if I stuck around for the finish as my MP3 music drowned out her tirade.

Another feature of the fix gear is the silent world in which it moves. No freewheel or gear changes to announce it’s presence, results in a situation I will call goosing. I came upon it quite by accident, I was pedaling past several pedestrians walking in the road and as I went by them, they jumped and cursed. I guess it was at me because I didn’t see any fecal matter they could have stepped in. Because it is so quiet, the fix approaches and passes so fast, that the event for some reason is startling to the person being passed. This is a phenomenon I have notice occurring when I also passed other riders as well as people in the parking lots.  I found that it seems to effect those who are facing away from the bike’s approach, or whom are not paying attention (remember our friend in the van on the cell phone), more than those facing the approach of the bike. To remedy this, I try to put as much distance between myself and the person being passed as safely possible. However in a crowded parking lot on busy days, this is sometimes unavoidable and an unintentional “goosing’ can occur. I thought of putting a bell or horn on my bike, but even though being a dork is now fashionable, that is going too far.

The ride only a fixed gear bike can give is a passionate symphony of movement through a stream of metal. The rider is transformed from a person on a bike into a flowing pulse of traffic, as much a part of the movement as the 3000 lb metal monsters perilously riding alongside.  The trick is to remain a flowing part of traffic without becoming a hood ornament of one of the 3000 lb. metal monsters. I see why there are some bad accidents involving some fix gear riders. Once this feeling of invincibility takes hold, it is hard to reconcile it with common sense. But it must be done for safety’s sake. Nonetheless, a fixed gear ride is something that all should enjoy at least once, but maybe only us 1%ers  will regularly do.

HEY...Get me back to Fixed Gear Hooligans!