real wheels

this is not my bike, but it could be

cyclic memories

I still remember the day my training wheels came off my pink-flowered, banana-seat, one-speed bicycle.

I was a fortunate kid and grew up in the countryside where we had a long driveway that offered a haven of safety for learning to tame the two-wheeled beast.

From the toddler-terrorizing tricycle to the big-girls' bike, and eventually the mountain bike that was more fit to be called a 'hill bike', as there were no mountains to be found. I somehow skipped the joys of road-biking (yes, I used my hill-bike for the triathlon last year.) and I skipped right [back] to the single-speed that I own now, though it sports not a banana seat or raised handlebars.

a bike for beijing

I live in the city. A very big city. One might think that I might finally choose a road-bike, but in fact... having a nice bike in Beijing is not recommended, even if you have a chunk of secured real-estate to house it overnight. Each time I commute by bicycle, I also leave it locked up at the intended destination... leaving my precious wheels vulnerable to a thoughtless thief.

the loyal bike warden (left)

And so, on 2 wheels, I face Beijing with one speed. Correction: on many days, my speed is less than that one-speed, as the tires seem to be unable to hold a steady air pressure.

Having the bike chosen and tires filled, the adventure has yet to begin.

on road rage

Wudaokou is a busy section of the city. Located smack in the middle of the university sector, it is home to a favored subway stop and the accompanying passengers. Some live here, and others commute from more reasonably-priced districts.

Rush hour is difficult to define, as the lull of one rush is, in actuality, the rise of the next. Traffic lights govern the road [mostly], but the flow of foot traffic and cageless-wheeled commuters is harder to control.

A red traffic light does not mean that bicycles should halt. A green light indeed entices jay-walkers from the curbs. And nothing stops the north shoulder traffic from heading west on the south shoulder. Riding with or against the flow of traffic is perfectly acceptable. Stepping into the path of an oncoming bicycle might be dangerous, but...

...there is [almost no] visible road rage.

Road rage is... negligible. In a city of more than 17 million (as of 2007), I am impressed at how smoothly traffic flows without an eruption of emotions over petty encounters that could only be expected. Rush hour happens... sometimes hourly.

Horns, the cars do honk. It might sound like road rage, but there is more to it. Honking is a form of expression that enables these otherwise boxed-in commuters communicate. There are many types of horns. Short, happy honks. Long, pay-attention honks. Double honks that shout watch-out, and triple honks that say here-I-come.

the hum of [my particularly busy] street corner

Bells, the bikes do ring. Mostly, the ringing of bike bells says coming-up-behind-you or don't-make-any-sudden-moves-I'll-maneuver-around-you. I even was 'rang' at one day as a biker passed me in the opposing direction, nothing short of a flirtatious [foreigner] that wanted to make eye-contact. Only in China would you be 'rang' at before you were 'honked' at!

¥0.30 to park your bike as long as you dare

harmony

Buses, cars, bicycles, pedestrians... all hustle in harmony.

Foot traffic can be found at all hours of the day [and night]. Grandma out with her baby stroller/walker, grandpa out for some fresh air. Students in search of a cheap meal, families out for a grocery getting. They are free souls, going where their feet take them, uninhibited by yellow lines and curbs and traffic lights. Only the occasional traffic warden and scolding tones are able to intercept their meanderings.

[Local] pedestrians are smart, in that they continue on their path without stopping dead in the path of wheel or motor like a squirrel in-crossing might. Foreign pedestrians often stop guiltily in their path and look up as if headlights were blinding them, and this increases danger levels significantly.

Cars and pedestrians seem to have a simple agreement about who has the right of way. The agreement is harder to define, but it appears to be whoever-gets-there-first. And this does not imply that a competition is made where none existed. Simply that when two paths cross, judgment is executed equally on both sides... and often so quickly that you'd think it was agreed upon at a meeting last month.

Buses employ a ticket seller, whose job doubles to hang out of the window on right-turns so as to shout requests for clearance around those walking or on bicycles. The approaching mammoth would otherwise be considerably dangerous to those unaware of its quick approach. Bus drivers even exercise a recorded sound-byte cautioning those who would otherwise absently walk into the path of danger. But there is no swearing, no anger - simple shouts of safety expressed in a warning.

Is it that these situations simply do not trigger anger, as elsewhere? Or are the emotions not expressed at the moment (so as not to lose face?) and simply leak out upon some other undeserving candidate?

my bike behind the bridge

As for me, it is a daily reminder to enjoy the ride and the interaction with [thousands?] of fellow commuters each day. We are all in progress, all with purpose.

skills

All those years of riding tricycles, banana-seats, and mountain bikes seems to be paying off. The brake-hand must be ever-ready, and more so the bell-ringing thumb. A foot must be ever ready to catch your fall or assist the failing brakes. I ride with pinkies protectively wrapping the end of the brake handle, in case I pass too closely an elbow or parked car. I must be prepared to lurch over the handle-bars if it will avoid running over a side-stepping pedestrian.

Navigating from my apartment includes first manhandling it from the hallway to my apartment into the elevator, cautiously out the unit's door, past the elderly pausing and children playing, through the electric accordian gate and finally onto a busy taxi lane that is never without the bustle of three-wheeled worker bikes. I bike against traffic on my way to school, and fall in line with the flow on the way home each day. Construction, workers, and potholes must be navigated around and/or over smoothly. Puddles from mysterious sewer projects lie in deceptive wait. Fruit street-food vendors wait on corners and hope to catch your hungry eye. Buses pull up and passengers exit in a way that they are thrust into the unknowns of the street.

pineapple on a stick, ¥1

A day on the road provides countless opportunities for not only accidents, but also [many] a brief glimpse into another's eyes that would be too easily missed if I was safe behind the [car] wheel.