What’s your dream bike?

I am not a bike geek.

This claim is a hard sell to those who know and ride with me, or note the number of bikes in my collection.

But I repeated the claim on Saturday with a comment on a thought-provoking post on Kent Peterson’s blog, in which he explains why he doesn’t buy expensive bicycles.

I’ve been meaning to tackle the subject for some time, so I’ll expand on it here.

I agree with the famous bicycle racer who said It’s Not About the Bike.

This revelation didn’t come from reading the 7-time Tour de France winner’s book, or make its entrance sideways from my run-ins with the crab.

I’m not even that fond of working on bikes; I’m just too cheap (poor) to pay someone else to do it (though I also recognize the benefits of knowing one’s bike from the inside out).

I’m particularly uninterested in the minutia of bike paraphernalia tests and comparisons, and rarely read such tedious fare. In fact, I rarely read anything solely focussed on bicycle mechanics, though I produce such content and make exception for great blogs like Kent’s and the words of good writers who also happen to be cyclists.

The thing that’s so invaluable about bikes is where you can take your mind on one … which is hopefully beyond the mundane details of its components—the bike, I mean.

I’ve called the bicycle a “reverie machine” and that’s what I see as is its greatest value. Sure you can haul your groceries on it, in addition to your own personal baggage, and I’m not saying the cargo bike is not a fine way to carry both.

A whole new genre of bicycle “lifestyle” blogs have sprung up with the intent, it appears, to fight against the corporate helmet conspiracy and promote sartorial cycling with the wearing of tweed skirts and slouch caps.

Personally, I couldn’t care less if someone rides naked (though local authorities may), if that uncovers their dreams.

I’ve often been, as my old friend and fellow bike shop worker Lee Kenney put it recently, one of those “people who supported their habits by working in the trade.”

Even then, I lived under self-imposed austerity. My Nishiki Landau, for instance, was built completely from used parts, with a couple of new additions, such as a Brooks Pro saddle, added at a later date. It was my only bike for over 15 years, and a fine one at that.

Yet I rode guiltily, believing that my cycling prowess did not warrant a finer machine. While my riding/shop-mates gifted themselves custom Roberts and Masis, I took their hand-me-downs—the Nishiki as an example.

Like Mahatma Gandhi, who tested his vow of brahmacharya, or carnal restraint, by sleeping, chastely we are told, between teenage girls, I took pride in adherence to British working-class frugality by ignoring the lure of voluptuous velos, though surrounded by the latest models.

I overcame this peculiar aversion to material extravagance, at least when it comes to bicycle acquisition, only recently.

With the patronage of Rocky Mountain Bicycles, I was able, during a time of severe financial scarcity, to obtain a bike suited to my dream of cycling the back roads of the North, leaving me with enough spare cash to buy pasta.

The “Blizzard” became the second bike in my stable, and I soon found myself addicted to its silky-smooth 7-speed “Hyperdrive” gears. Yes, folks, 1993 was the first year I experienced indexed shifting!

And so began the slow drift into the maw of “must have shiny new bike thing.”

A common reason given—as Peterson did—for passing up “expensive” bikes is the real possibility of losing one to theft. This fear can be assuaged by owning a bike specifically for commuting that is so ugly thieves wouldn’t be caught dead stealing it, and you’d be happy if they did … steal it, that is.

I still have a healthy skepticism for bicycle idolatry and, as I recently griped, I draw the line at disposable toy parts and the annual groupo rollout that looks more like prêt-à-porter than pimp my porteur.

Finally, I agree with Jan Heine, that the best argument in favour of premium bike gear is the quality that should, in theory, free one from tinkering and the need to regularly replace lesser components.

I relieve remnants of abstemious guilt with another fine adage from my English upbringing: “Penny wise, pound foolish.”

Besides, even to someone like myself, impervious to the lurid seductions of polished machinery, is there any more perfect intersection of utility, value, and elegance than that displayed by the German-made Schmidt generator hub?

I neither reject the virtues of utility—that’s why I own several bikes—or the lure of style—lest I be queried on my stint as a fashion photographer.

But, in the end, your dream bike is the bike you’re riding.

Tagged as: bikes, blogging, books, cancer, england, generator, lance armstrong, tour de france