Step 1: receive a big box from UPS
Step 2: strap the box to your bike
Step 3: ride home
Step 4: stop making such a big deal out of it
It’s not quite towing a truck, like these guys (see below), but it’s handy to have a tow truck when you need one. Pictured here, my Xtracycle, which I usually refer to as my pick-up truck, doubles as a tow truck when I need to tow another bike to the shop.

Tow trucks towing a truck.
I noticed today that the only time I make a point of sharing a transportation experience via social media is when I drive a car. At least twice now I have posted updates on Twitter (I really can’t bring myself to say I “tweeted”) about using a Zipcar. And for good reason. Zipcar is a magical program where, with the wave of a card over a windshield, I unlock a car — and so far, a different car each time — find the keys inside, and drive off. To paraphrase their motto, I use a car when I want to. The autonomy that Zipcar reinforces is palpable whenever I pick up a car and use it to run errands that are otherwise unmanageable by bike. And the fact that I have to reserve the car ahead of time means that I use a car only when I want to, not just when it’s convenient to do so.

Which brings me to what I was noticing. It is that I post updates about using a car, which has become an increasingly rare experience for me. In other words, I don’t post updates about how I get to work every day, how I buy groceries, or how I go pick up dinner. And, well, maybe the way I do those things is more interesting, since I’m doing all of that by bike.
Long time readers of this blog may not see anything odd about this. But just a few months ago, things would have been the other way around. That is, if I am inclined to post updates about what is novel, then I would have posted updates about biking, since that would have been more novel at the time.
After a 2008 mountain bike accident, the full effects of which on my bicycling lifestyle I won’t go into here, left me unsure of myself on two wheels, I started taking the bus to work. But after months of daily walking more than an hour to get to and from the closest bus stop, I reached the point of frustration. While I did enjoy catching up on This American Life and PennSound podcasts, I was spending so much time getting to and from work that I joked that I might as well move in to my office. Later, I worked out a routine catching rides with a friend, which in turn made my daily walk-bus-walk to the office seem epic by comparison. So when my friend’s fellowship year at the Center ended, I started driving myself to work.
A year after the accident, I still was not comfortable riding. And while I rationalized driving as necessary at first, I soon felt indolent, especially compared to my past self. Driving, however, remained my routine through the end of August.
Moving to Davis, California this summer has inverted my paradigm, restoring my sense of independence from the gas pedal. Moving here car-free has reinforced the pattern in my life that bike-reliance is itself cyclical. I’m delighted to be on the side of the cycle in which once again driving is the aberration.
Davis, by design, makes it so easy to bike, I’m not missing a car. The bike paths are plenty, the lanes are wide, and the drivers expect cyclists to be on the road. I’ve seen countless Xtracycles, tandems, recumbents, and other “odd” bikes that would turn heads in any other town. But here in Davis, where on Saturday they set a new bikes-in-a-line record for Guiness’ book, it takes something extraordinary to turn heads. Biking to work, carrying groceries in panniers — these are not extraordinary things. Which I guess is why I didn’t even notice.

Carrying equipment for work, hauling groceries, registering voters…
Try VoteForChange.com to check your voter registration. This is a great website, especially for those in states/counties that can’t/don’t confirm voter registration via the web. NB — Be sure to spell out your street suffix (e.g. Ave would be Avenue).
Down here in North Carolina, we don’t get much snow. Hell, this year we haven’t even gotten much rain. Gone are my college days of putting snow tires on the bike for the winter. For the most part, I keep the same tires, much of the same gear on the bike, and just throw on a few extra layers of clothing as we head into the cooler months.
But darkness here is the same as it is anywhere. As the days get shorter, I will be riding to and from work in the dark, so lighting up my ride is the biggest change I make in preparation for winter.
In years past, I have used a helmet-mounted headlight (a 15W spotlight to help me see where I’m going), a flashing white LED mounted on the handlebars (something to help drivers see me), and a red blinkie light clipped to the back of my helmet. Even though I’ve not had an accident (nor even a close call) at night, I am always thinking of ways to improve my visibility — by that I mean the ability of drivers to see me.
Last winter, I strapped a day glow orange construction vest to the back my bike. While ugly, it catches drivers’ attention both day and night, since it has reflective yellow stripes across it. But after seeing the Down Low Glow at a Cruiser Tuesday ride and thinking more about how doing something unique often calls the right sort of attention to you, I have been thinking about adding their neon to my pick-up truck. But the cost… $100 for one neon stick and battery; $130 for two? C’mon.
So, I went to the local Advance Auto parts yesterday and for $30 bought 5ft of neon wire, 4 bright blue LEDs, and a 6V battery. I took it all home, soldered the wires together, added a switch, and voila… a glowing snap deck.
I ran out of liquid nails about halfway around the snap deck, so I’ve got electrical tape temporarily holding it in place. But I will clean that up soon. I’ll test ride it and let y’all know the reaction.
I’m back on the fixie for the first time in a couple of months.
I’ve been riding a multi-geared mountain bike which I’ve outfitted for commuting with 1.5in inverted-tread tires, fenders (for the non-existent rain), and an Xtracycle Free Radical. I’d gotten used to having gears again.
So, I fix up the fixie last night and hop on it this morning. I crest the first hill in my neighborhood and have one of those classic fixed-gear moments. My mountain-bike-bred instinct is to coast, now that I’ve reached the top of the hill. But my cranks disagree, and the egg beater pedals ignore my feet’s inertia. I do a little gallup to stay on the bike and remember there’s no coasting allowed.