2020 Vision, Seeing the road and the future of cycling clearly

The next five and half years will be very telling for the nation and the bike movement so we thought we should be prepared.  In that time, we are going to go through every iteration of government.  We will elect a new president possibly new senators and congressmen, governors and mayors but let's be honest, for a lot of them, bikes are far from their minds.

We decided to lay out some guidelines and some basic ideas for our vision of the year 2020, keeping a few things in mind.

A fate worse than death for a bike.

Cyclists make up a very small percentage of the population.  There are even fewer vocal cycling advocates out there.  So why should anyone care about a small group of spandex covered weirdos?  We are the future, that is why.

By the year 2020, we are going to double the number of bikes on the road.  Said aloud, this seems like a daunting task but when you think about it, not so.  South Carolina is currently ranked #47 on the list of bicycle friendly states. That leaves a lot of room for improvement, but we are also motivated by being able to effectively move up on a yearly basis. Through outreach and our vision for 2020, we are going to grow those numbers.

Accountability:  The vision for 2020 means saying what we do and doing what we say and encouraging the same standards for others.

Expansion in outreach:  The cycling landscape is very quickly finding an interesting level.  One of the things that we have found is that there is a need to be creative in finding a more diverse field of riders if the riding field is ever to expand.  A major part of that is engaging new riders from all demographics.  Let's make it safe, secure, affordable, and interesting.

Creativity in outreach:  Forgive the pun, but we are not trying to re-invent the wheel.  Other states with much more prosperous cycling cultures are doing so much more to increase their base.  We are going to challenge ourselves to think outside of the box and be creative with the way that we form events and engage with the public.

Conservation and ecology:  The price of gas is going through the roof.  Not to mention the ecological effects of driving.  How do we make riding bikes not just fun, not just a hobby, but a culture.  Riding on the weekends is fun, but how can we increase commuting. running errands, and more?  We could reduce the carbon footprint

Health and well being:  What are the peripheral issues that can be tied to the bike?  It is healthier to ride a bike, of course, but how do we get people, en mass to think about about the health benefits of riding, but how to we tap into a larger ideology of what to eat, and when.

Statewide economy:  How do we get others to invest in the bike culture and make the "tent" bigger.  We want to examine the financial incentives that make cycling more appealing not just to the rider, but to local business owners as well.  We want to see business owners support the bike corridor and in turn, the riders support them.

Local Economy  We have seen many businesses that have built themselves on a bike culture and we mean far and above bike repair and sales.  Coffee shops, clothing, event spaces are just a few of the places catering to cyclists.  Get a large enough group of people and they will eventually require services specific to them.

Done correctly, bikes and the cycling culture can be "mainstreamed" very effectively in South Carolina.  It has to be taken out of the shadows and out of the niche and made more beneficial to everyone. #2020visionsc
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Creating A Bicycle Route System Through SC

My mom was born and raised in Sumter, SC and she would always regale us with stories about riding her bike to school (apparently my uncle would ride the family horse some days and he was not the only one in town to do so.) Since my sister and I were born and raised in New York in the middle of bright lights and big city, we were not really allowed to ride more than a block away from the apartment.

A vision of where we were heading.

We would visit Granddaddy's farm every year and ride bikes up and down the abandoned highway but there was always a distance that we did not want to go.  We would ride up and over the hill near the farm house and kick our feet up as we went down the other side.  When the momentum wore off and we passed the convenience store on the other side where we could buy Mello Yello and chips we could never find in NY, we would stop and stare off into the distance, where the heat waves coming off the pavement would end and the road, the tobacco fields, and the sky all came to a point on the horizon and not really have the desire, just then, to go further.

Somewhere along the line, that changed.  At some point in my teens I opted not to stop and would go further and further and see new houses and places that we did not see when we drove into town.  For some reason, I never asked my mom how far it was to the school until I was old enough to drive.  I think it was the year I graduated high school and after Granddaddy had sold the farm that I thought to hop in the car with mom and see because she had never measured it either.

My mom used to lecture me about missing days from school and she had the perfect standing to do so because by all accounts, she had never missed a single one.  So, one day, after years of visiting that farm in Sumter, SC in my youth and when we knew it would likely be our last time there, Mom and I thought it was as good a time as any to see how far it was from the house to the school.

We hopped in Granddaddy's truck and hit the trip odometer.  The strange thing was that as we rode, she seemed defensive and a little nervous.  I could tell that honestly did not remember.  She said that it would often take her about 45 minutes to ride to school if the weather was nice.  If it was really nice, it would take longer because she would stop to enjoy it.  She told me how Grammy would get mad if it took her any longer than that because she would get scared.  I remember my mom repeating the phrase,"It's right up here." and then we would go a mile or two more and once she swore we had missed the turn.  We drove on with the gravelly road humming beneath the tires, Granddaddy's new Dodge truck seemed out of place, as if we had gone back in time and any minute, my uncle Willard was going to come bounding after us on the family horse, somehow younger and wearing a straw hat that he seemed to have had in every picture I had ever seen of him.

We reached the end of the one tobacco field and just for good measure Mom said, unsurely, 'it's right up here."  There was or had once been a road where I turned.  It was rutted and weeds grew in the middle.  Though it was only just getting to be dusk, the sun was being blocked in part by the branches which were now scratching Granddaddy's new truck.  We knew he wouldn't care and the only ones we had to worry about annoying were the ghosts we were stirring up as we passed.

My mothers memory came back immediately as she told me that there would be a barn up there on the left and up there on the left there was a barn.  It had probably been upright and in use in her day, but now it was a pile of iron gray leaning oak wood.  We kept going.  One last time, she said, "it's right up here." and there it was or what was left of it.  We saw a crumbling little shack that once had, as my mother tells it, a bell, topped by a weather vane, topped by a cross.  This school liked to have its bases covered.  We sat there without a word for a few minutes in the waning light and I glanced at her.  I could tell that she was mentally rebuilding the school and playing in the yard with her friends.

Even though we had driven there, I could tell that she had lost all track of time and distance again just as when she was a child on that bike, before marrying my Dad and watching him go off to Vietnam, and before having two girls who went to school right up the block from our apartment in Jamaica Queens.  She was not in that truck with me.  She was on her bike again.

I glanced down at the odometer and saw that we had come just seven miles.  My mom had ridden her bike seven miles each way to and from school without missing a day and not thought twice about it.  In fact she had enjoyed it.  In fact, missed it.  I hit the odometer button again to clear it and Mom did not even throw a glance in my direction.  She never even asked me how far it was.  It was a mystery that she did not want the answer to.

We made an awkward turn in the high grass of the school yard, hoping that there was nothing  that would lance the tires and went back.  The next morning, we packed all of Granddady's things in Granddaddy's truck and an additional trailer and left the farm in Sumter for good.  My Mom bought a new bike when we got back to New York.  She had a couple of others that were modern and sleek.  They had Bontrager timers and were wrought from carbon fiber or aluminum.  This one was steel.  She told me once that she wished they still made solid tires for adult bikes, because she could never remember changing a tube when she was a kid and I thought she was kidding, but I knew that there was a saved search somewhere on E-bay.

There were times, when I was older and still living in NY when I would stop by the house and hang out for a bit when she was not around.  I would see that bike was gone and part of me would wonder, part of me would worry.  She would always come back of course, hauling that bike in behind her.  I would ask her how far she had gone  and she would always answer that she didn't know and I believed her though it was only a half truth.  It wasn't that she didn't know, it was that she didn't care.

Today I put in an application to begin work on a U.S. Bicycle Route System route through SC.  The roads scream to be ridden safely and we need to discover and reveal a new generation of riders who want to go somewhere and do not care.

The Giving Cycle and the Starbucks Challenge...

Covered in spandex as we are, I am often tempted to think of myself like a superhero when I am out on
a morning ride.  Sure I am lowering my carbon footprint and increasing my heart rate when I am cruising, but there are times when I feel less than super.

Most mornings, when I am riding, will find me at the local Starbucks both before and after a ride.  I will reveal a Starbucks secret to you.  Starbucks has a desire to be the "3rd place" in your life.  The idea is to be the place you go to when you are not at work or at home.  That is a nifty goal and I have to admit they got me a long time ago when my fiance and I registered our cards.

When we get there in the mornings, there is often a few men and women who ask, very nicely for change to get a cup of coffee.  I fall in that spectrum of people who do not give money to people on the street directly though I do try to give.  If they say they want a cup of coffee, I buy them a cup of coffee. The card is very convenient so I don't have to carry actual money when I am riding.  In fact, I almost always just have my I.D., my credit card, and my Starbucks card.

This morning I found though, I only had I.D. I was unable to ride this morning, but I needed my caffeine fix.  So, I grabbed my keys and my license and dashed out the door.  Of course I got to Starbucks and ordered my coffee.  When I went to pay, I had no money.  It is an odd feeling and people have told me that they have done it before, but never me.

The lady behind me offered to pay for me.  She was a fellow cyclist who I would see on the weekends and I could feel my face glowing red with embarrassment.  The young man behind the counter told me not to worry about it and waved out the entire transaction.  I sheepishly shrugged and grabbed my drink, hot with shame as I added cream and sugar and pondered how for about 90 seconds the world stopped and was purely focused on me with money in the bank and in the cushions of my car, but not a penny to buy my coffee.

I called my fiance and I told him the story.  He asked me why I didn't just use my phone.  Tech savvy as I claim to be, in my embarrassment I had forgotten how to use my smart phone.  to his credit, there was not the least bit of condescension in his voice but it did lead to a discussion about who we are as people.  How we are willing to help some and not help others and as well whether or not those who ask me for change are actually wanting it for coffee.

He and I had long talked about how to change the world and things we could do, but never really anything concrete aside from what he and I do for a living.  We thought, though about what if we killed two birds with one stone.  I went back and got a card (another little know thing that happens is that if someone pays with a gift card and there is change still left on it, they will often throw it away.)  I went back in and asked for one of the cards they were about to throw away.  I registered it and here it sits next to me.  Why?

The number is 6089 2134 5872 3428
go to www.starbucks.com
go to reload card
enter your change or whatever you would like to give to that card number.
spread the word.

I want to see how giving we are as a community.  Can an entire community come together, not to give a man or woman on the street a pile of change, not cash that may go to booze or drugs, but simply a cup of coffee.

Please add to it.  Pennies, dimes, it will only take a second and all we will do with it is buy little somethings for people on the street who ask.

Give, spread the word.  I am curious as to how giving we are.  We even started its own Twitter (@thegivingcycle) handle to follow the progress.  I will post how many people have seen this post, versus how much has been contributed.  Consider it a challenge.  Watch the amount rise.

Carol tweets at @9t9knives and can be reached via e-mail at 9of9productions@gmail.com

I have a friend who...

Just because you can't read the signs doesn't mean they don't have meaning

I have a friend who is out cycling through the middle of nowhere as some have said.   But when you think about it, nowhere to whom?  In my travels, I have gone to a number of big cities and small towns and it is always interesting to think about the people who are getting up and going about their day and who do so every day completely oblivious to the idea that where they are is nowhere.  There in the midst of high rises they celebrate birthdays, anniversaries, and promotions.  Also, in the midst of corn fields and grain silos, they celebrate birthdays, anniversaries, and promotions.

I like belonging to this cult of people who are united by the love of two wheeled pedal power, but there
are differences.  There are people who like grinding through dirt and those who love the uniform hum of their tires on pavement but common to all who truly love to ride is the sound of the thump of their heart and racing pulse.

What made me think of this was that a friend is traveling through Thailand now.  Each day he posts pictures of his journey and the exotic things that he is seeing.  One day, he is on barren and desolate roads.  The next day, he is entering a city.  Day in and day out of constantly changing scenery counting the miles in association with the new people he meets and testing his language skills.

Found the hole in the stream, but kept riding.

I have a friend who is also content to ride the same route every day, challenging himself to get faster and sometimes taking a moment or two to play around.   Then there are others who ride to work and back and to the gym and back and to the store and back.  Friends who claim to save hundreds on shoes because their feet never touch the pavement.  Friends who read and write about where the best bathrooms are!

One of the best bathrooms in Thailand according to Acid Mustafa.

We are an odd bunch.  We speak our own language and the roads and trails look different to us than to those who walk or drive.    The best thing is that I get to say, "I have a friend who..."

Cycling 101

My father taught me to ride a bike the same way that he taught me every other important thing in life (stick with me on this...).  There was one key educational component to everything that he imparted on me: Fear.  It was the way he taught me to swim, the way he taught me to drive, and the way he taught me to ride a bike.  I can think back and the only thing I clearly remember was the firm grip of his big hand on my shoulder and the other on the handlebars next to mine.  Then he would walk and then run beside me as I pedaled.  It is a scene that I had seen a hundred times when I was a kid with other parents and other kids.  I even see it now as an adult sitting in the park from time to time.  A cute little girl will be sitting on a pink little bike and one or sometimes both parents will be with her, holding on, shouting encouragements.  For a moment, my heart is warmed and I move on.

Sometimes there are training wheels.  Sometimes, they do not let go.  I never had training wheels and I was told from the beginning, before I even got on to the bike, that my dad was going to let go.  There was never any doubt.  It was the same when I sat in his lap and he let me steer around the my grampa's farm and the same when he would take me out beyond where my feet could touch the ground in the public pool at the Y.  He always told me that he would let me go.

It was always my comfort that he would be near, though.  When he let go, he would hover until I got the feel for whatever it was and then he would pull slowly away.  With swimming, I could feel weightless and look under the water with my little goggles on.  With driving, I could feel the wheel respond and adjust and later, when I could reach the pedals, it was not so odd to feel the machine respond.

The bike was something different.  Yes, in a car you can go for miles and miles, but there is always the sense of someone else being with you or at least being able to be with you.  Swimming is much the same.  Cycling has always been a whole other animal for me.  The first time Daddy let me go, I felt as though, so long as I had air in my tires, I could go forever and when he let me go, I knew I could go alone.

A few weeks ago, I broke my leg.  It is my first broken bone.  It has not stopped me from driving and I was fitted with an air cast so I can still take it off and swim, albeit slowly and awkwardly, if I want.  I have never wanted to ride my bike so much as I do right now, though.

Riding is that perfect combination of things, that meld of body and machine.  I can further on a bike.  My machine and I can carry more and go faster.  Though it augments my strength, it is still my strength.  Every day, I see people riding and going to strange new places all on a bike, all under their own power.  I miss it and a small part of me is jealous.

A larger part of me is anxious and ready.  I rode my bike a lot when I was well, but never really far and rarely really fast.  Falling that cold April morning was a lesson in a number of ways,  First, watch for gravel and second, take advantage of the ability to do it while you can.  I am already planning my first trip.  I will be traveling across a state that my mother called home before meeting my dad and being hauled up north to be the wife of a teacher.

I have been here for about a month now and I have since traveled to a couple of nearby cities and a couple of neighboring states.  This is the longest I have been in the south and the people wonder about my accent, part southern twang from my mom and part Jamaica Queens.  I can't walk far and I feel guilty for driving.  The road calls to be pedaled. I need distance and it has to be under my own power.

Acid Mustafa in Thailand, making me jealous

Lesson number one is fear. Conquer it and go.  There are myriad other lessons to learn but that is the first and most important.  I am learning that thousands of people are riding all over the world, getting farther and farther afield of their comfort zones and I am jealous.

Carol Jordan is a chef, photographer, and blogger and can be followed at @9t9knives

on twitter or reached at 9of9productions@gmail.com