Bicycle Friendly Communities

I've often wondered if there is any sort of governing board that determines what makes a community bicycle friendly. Every time I see the signs - "Welcome to Carmel - A Bicycle Friendly Community" - I have to wonder: What qualifies a bicycle friendly community?

Most likely, it seems that a town planner would just have to sink a few hundred bucks to place signs at the town limits. But really, that isn't fair. For example, Brownsburg is absolutely not friendly to cyclists, and slapping a few signs up isn't going to change that.

A bicycle friendly community should have shoulders on its roads that are relatively free of debris. It should contain a number of bike paths and marked trails. It should absolutely not have signs pointing out bike paths that lead only down scarred, potholed country roads. Its retailers should not be stingy with water.* It should contain at least one bike shop.

*I stopped a Dairy Queen on my way back from Warsaw on Tuesday. It was hot, I was thirsty, and I just needed my bottles filled. The young woman behind the counter informed me that she was not allowed to provide water to anyone who did not order more than $2 worth of food. Trouble is, the place is a Dairy Queen. A hot dog is 99 cents. An ice cream cone is a-buck-fifty. I was going to have to order two of something or order the pail-sized portion of chocolate malt. Or hit the sink in the bathroom. I chose the sink in the bathroom. Elwood, Indiana? Not a bicycle friendly community.

I mention all of this, because when I was in South Bend, a man was shot off of his bicycle* by men who wanted to steal the bike. (He's okay, now, I think.) This is the type of behavior that has no place in a bicycle friendly community. In fact, if South Bend has these signs, I think they need to be taken down immediately. This is also the kind of behavior that makes my mom a little nervous.

*I wondered what I would do if a man came after me with a gun and wanted to steal my bike. I'd let him have it, I think. He, not having the necessary shoes to pedal the thing, would have a significant amount of trouble getting away. I, wearing the shoes, which are in no way designed for running, would give a ridiculous pursuit. Eventually the police would show up, right? Or, I would say something like: "That's a pretty nice gun. I'll trade you the bike for the gun, straight up." It's worth a shot (pun), and let's be honest, you've heard of dumber criminal stories.

The roads and shoulders in South Bend aren't the best either, but there are a few trails, some mountain biking, and a number of cycling retailers. Still, there's the matter of that dude getting shot. South Bend, Indiana is welcome to reapply after a full calendar year of not shooting their cyclists.

The Kindness of Strangers

I wrote a few days ago about my uncanny ability to make friends out of strangers. It's a good skill to have in that moment of the transformation. After all; most people leave a place and have only a fleeting familiarity with a few faces. I like to know the names and stories behind the faces. That's because most people are interesting if you give them a chance to be interesting.

But there's something else great about my social prowess.* It means that if I spend enough time in one area, I'm bound to start knowing the people around me. I don't see as many strangers waiting to become friends. I start seeing friends who were once - only briefly - strangers.

*It feels weird to call it social prowess. Prowess sounds like the word prowl, and that sounds like a thing creepy dudes do. I'm not a creepy dude, am I? (I might be.)

Tonight, I cruised into downtown South Bend and stopped for a Mocha Dark at the South Bend Chocolate Cafe.* I locked up the bike, popped in the headphones, and strolled around the city, imagining myself to be more of a stud than I am. It was a perfect night for the thing, and seemed like an appropriate way to celebrate the Cubs' ninth inning win over the White Sox. (Yes, I did have to squeeze that in somehow.)

*Fact: South Bend does the best chocolate in the United States. I'm leaving for New Mexico in something like six weeks and I can say that I will miss South Bend Chocolate and Traders Point Creamery very much. I wonder if either would sponsor a cyclist.

While I was at the cafe, I recognized a man that I met once. My friend Cory got married in June 2005. I was his best man, and his uncle was one of the groomsmen. The primary thrust of this paragraph is that I recognized Cory's uncle. We spoke for a minute; then I got ready to go on my way.

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I was fifteen feet away from my bike when it happened. The tire exploded with a kind of -BOOM!- then a slow and depressing -sssssss- sound. It was locked up on the fence that surrounded the outdoor cafe and I am certain that each of the patrons heard the thing go. If they didn't notice the sound, they certainly heard my droning cry of "Ohhh no!"

People reacted with an uncommon level of concern, offering whatever help they could. But in the end, it was Cory's uncle - a man I'd met once - who came to the rescue. He offered me a ride home, which I accepted readily. He, his wife, and his son* helped me load up my bike and drove me to safety. It's the kind of thing that Paul and I will almost require of those around us as we travel to Minnesota and then to New Mexico.

*Cute wedding story, and I hate cute wedding stories. During Cory & Beth's wedding, the flower girl stubbornly refused to sprinkle the flowers as she walked the aisle. Cory's nephew - who was the ringbearer - confronted her later; asking, "Why didn't you do your job?" Her response? "Oh. I didn't want to make a mess."

The moral of the story is this. Most people are good people, as long as you give them the opportunity to be. But get to know a person, even just a little bit; and they become a little bit gooder.

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You may have noticed that I didn't mention Cory's uncle by name. That's because I'm horrible with names. I am good at meeting people and remembering every circumstance surrounding the time we met, then I crap on their name. So no, I didn't remember his name.

However, I did leave him with the address of this blog, so there's a real good chance that he's reading this right now, realizing that I never had an idea of his name. This ruins any chance I had of faking it for the rest of my life.

I did do some research. Dean & Donna. The name of their son? No idea.

Thanks Dean, Donna, and son. It's people like you that make my adventures possible.

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Updated: Their son's name is Benjamin. Thanks again to the three of you!

How to Make Friends with Anyone

W.B. Yeats* once said that "There are no strangers; only friends you haven't yet met." This quote runs in stark contrast to something my parents told me, which was "Never talk to strangers." This is because, sometimes, strangers can be creepy.

*I've never met Yeats, so I don't know if he lived by the principle or not. Truthfully, I had to look him up on Wikipedia to learn anything about him. More truthfully, I didn't even look him up on Wikipedia. I just Googled the quote.

I ride bicycles a lot and I wear bicycle clothes. This is usually all the icebreaker I need to kickstart a conversation. So I stopped at a place called the Fiddler's Hearth and I did what I do.


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I met a guy named Tony in Mishawaka. Tony's in the Army and rides bikes to stay in shape in between tours. He's getting ready for a sort-of-big ride into Michigan. Dude was blown away by my 125-mile ride. He has fought in wars, but I was the hero. Cool guy. He should quit smoking though. (His words, not mine.) (Also, my words.)

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I met a girl named Sam who dropped out of college a few years ago after three-and-a-half semesters. That's like quitting a race when you're only a couple hundred yards from winning the Triple Crown. (Bad example. Also, topical.) I told her to go back to school. She said she would. I have no way of holding her to it.

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I met the team of people that organized Michiana* Bike-to-Work Week. One guy owns a bike shop in town, another just finished a Habitat for Humanity project in Las Cruces, New Mexico. Eight weeks ago I knew one person in that town. Now I know a few dozen. This seems like a good sign.

*Michiana is the term used to describe the greater South Bend area, extended into Michigan. It includes, Niles, Dowagaic, and a number of other fairly inconsequential towns. People from South Bend hate the term Michiana. The Michiganders don't mind it so much.

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I met a guy named John who's a painter by trade, but his life's passion is hot sauce. He's been making, bottling, and distributing his own line of hot sauces since 1991, and I met him in downtown South Bend today. He had samples. I tried the samples. They were incredible. I think I will buy some. He told me it's all under-the-radar, and that he doesn't claim his revenue on his taxes and that this makes the hot sauce some sort of illegal contraband kind of hot sauce. Let's be honest; that makes you want it.

John got into hot sauce because he was always going to a jazz festival in New Orleans. He had wanted to be some kind of musician, but didn't have the drive or innate talent. But, he could hold on to the tastes he'd experienced and so he created a new hot sauce. Hot sauce enthusiasts are beyond excited about New Mexico.

He wished me luck and God speed. I'm not sure what that phrase means, but I'd be good with 18.5 miles per hour.

Vacation Revisited

Thanks for all your feedback on my vacation plans! That post was sneaking toward the bottom, so I made another one up top. Keep the comments coming!
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I'm going to be taking a week of vacation from December 26-January 2, and I need my readers (all seven of you) to help make it happen.

You get to plan my vacation. Here are the ground rules.

• I don't have much money. So, if you're going to send me somewhere expensive, you're going to pony up the cash.
• I want out of the state.
• I get the veto.
• It doesn't have to be warm, but it also shouldn't be Minnesota.
• I don't have to sleep at the Ritz, but I would at least like a couch somewhere.
• I don't plan on staying in one place that whole time. Road trip!

That's pretty much it. Get to work.

Vacation

I'm going to be taking a week of vacation from December 26-January 2, and I need my readers (all seven of you) to help make it happen.

You get to plan my vacation. Here are the ground rules.

• I don't have much money. So, if you're going to send me somewhere expensive, you're going to pony up the cash.
• I want out of the state.
• I get the veto.
• It doesn't have to be warm, but it also shouldn't be Minnesota.
• I don't have to sleep at the Ritz, but I would at least like a couch somewhere.
• I don't plan on staying in one place that whole time. Road trip!

That's pretty much it. Get to work.

Mini Vacation

I'm leaving first thing tomorrow morning for a weekend vacation. I'll be in various parts of Michigan and Indiana, maybe even Illinois.

You might think that you know the best part about being on vacation. But you don't.

The best part about taking a vacation is simply turning off my cell phone when I leave and not turning it on again until I get back.

That is all. See you in a few days.

Updated:
A lot of people asked about the trip. It was good. We got lost in Michigan on something called Old Swamp Road. For an hour. At two-in-the-morning.