Some time ago a journalist working on an article for GQ about bikes reached out to me, and here is that article:
As they say, the Internet is forever, so this will only help perpetuate the myth that I am some sort of “expert:”
By the way, if you were wondering about what the Best Bike Brands are, here you go:
Well, there’s that settled then. I guess I can stop blogging now and all us bicycle “experts” can finally close up shop once and for all.
We talked for awhile, and I think you can probably guess which brand I was yammering on about for most of our call, though to call Rivendell “old school” is rather facile. If anything, Rivendell have broken with tradition more than any of the mainstream bike brands, who generally follow each other very closely and take their frame design marching orders from whatever the big component manufactures are doing. (“Memo from SRAM to industry: you will use the Universal Derailleur Hanger now.” MESSAGE RECEIVED AND UNDERSTOOD.) People think of stuff like electronic shifting and disc brakes as “cutting edge,” but Rivendell’s decision to lengthen their chainstays by like 30 feet despite the protests from the aesthetes (to say nothing of their decision not to use disc brakes) is a bolder decision than any mainstream bike company has made in years.
Alas, at the risk of offending the writer–which I don’t mean to do at all, I enjoyed talking to him, I’m glad he’s getting his work out there, and I wish him lots of success–articles like these are ultimately pointless, as it’s completely impossible to say what the “best bike brands for every kind of rider” are. (Okay, apart from the Brompton part. They really are the best folding bikes. In fact there is literally nothing to say about folding bikes except for “Buy a Brompton.”) Otherwise, nobody knows what’s best for you except for you, and there’s really no easy way to find out. Sure, there are people who think they know what’s best for you, like the government of North Korea, but you wouldn’t want to live there, would you? Probably not–though I hear gravel’s really taking off there. In fact, I asked the AI to generate an image of “Bound Gravel: North Korea’s Premiere Gravel Cycling Race” for me and here’s what I got:
Strange, isn’t it? The one thing you’d think it would get right is the text. I guess the AI must have some sort of reading disorder.
But what of the person who earnestly wants to know what the best bike is? How does he or she know which one to get without an article in GQ? Well, unlike the President of North Korea, I can only speak for myself, and the short answer is that it’s a lifelong journey. Also, once you do finally figure it out and get that bike, you’ll need a different one with a taller headtube. (Once you’re over 35 you’ll need an additional centimeter of handlebar height every five years.) Here’s the path my own journey has taken up until now. It is divided into two parts. There’s Phase I:
[Photo: Danny Weiss]
And Phase II:
[Photo: No Idea, Sorry!]
Phase I is everything from when I first learned how to ride a bike up until my teenage years. Phase II is everything from college until now.
Things I Learned During Phase I And How I Learned Them
Fundamentally, I think cyclists are born and not made. That doesn’t mean non-cyclists can’t ride bikes–I’m sure most of the people riding to and from work and school in Amsterdam aren’t cyclists, just like most of the people on the highway with you aren’t car enthusiasts. But if you’re really a bike person you’re going to find your way to it sooner or later. It’s just a question how long it takes.
Of course, in your formative years, it all comes down to your parents, and I was certainly fortunate there–and that goes for both of them, though my father gets honorable mention for driving me to BMX races and taking photos of me popping wheelies on my new bike. There are people who are born into bike families where they learn how to mount a tubular tire in kindergarten and join the Sunday group ride at 11, and there are people born into families who hit them in the head with a frying pan when they ask for a new bike. I’d say I was safely in between, which is to say the Goldilocks zone, where I basically had all I needed bike-wise, provided I figured out for myself what it was that I needed and articulate it accordingly.
As for how to figure out what I needed, that required something called “freedom”–the freedom to ride around alone or with friends, jumping and skidding and crashing and fleeing from bike thieves and all the rest of it. Freedom also both requires and fosters some basic self-reliance, and fortunately my old Schwinn BMX was able to withstand my attacking it with crescent wrenches and screwdrivers and whatever other non-bike-specific tools I dug out of the toolbox. You figure out how to raise your bars and your stem, you crudely pry the tire off the wheel, you remove that chainguard because the chain clangs against it when you bunny hop and also it just looks really corny.
Then, by middle school, BMX magazines entered the picture. I certainly don’t remember reading “What’s The Best Bike Brand?” stories; at that stage it was a more visceral experience, like getting a hold of a Playboy, and I knew what I wanted as soon as I saw it. And while our neighborhood was not exactly a hotbed of bicycle culture, BMX was booming, so there were always kids comparing notes, and we also gleaned plenty by hanging around in the local bike shop and not buying anything. Eventually I figured out I wanted to try BMX racing, and there was a track not too far away:
So that was basically Phase I.
Things I Learned During Phase II And How I Learned Them
Sometime during college, having barely operated a gear shifter for the first two decades of my life, I figured out I wanted to go on long rides. Of course I had a vague sense of what grown-up “serious” cycling looked like, but I didn’t have anyone to tell me what to do, and it didn’t occur to me to consult a book or a magazine or anything, so I started out with a pair of padded half-shorts, sneakers, a fanny pack, no shirt, and the hybrid my brother wasn’t really using. Ironically, this is pretty much how Ultraromance and his disciples approach cycling today, which makes sense because it’s simple and it works.
Eventually though I’d read stuff, and look at people, and sometimes even talk to people, and soon I began to undertake what in the pre-gravel years would have been the typical “roadie” journey. You know, you get a “real” road bike, you get clipless pedals, you switch to bib shorts and wear an actual jersey instead of nothing, you start riding with a group… By no means was I breaking any new ground here–it’s a prescribed path that many have followed. But you know what? For me, it worked! The rides got longer, I learned about hydration and nutrition through trial and error, I figured out how to fix stuff, I worked as a messenger for a bit, I started riding with people, and then racing, and mountain biking, and cyclo-crossing, I gained the confidence to stick with the stuff that worked and ditch the stuff that didn’t, and now here I am riding alone in sneakers again telling GQ writers about Rivendell.
But how did I choose that first “real” road bike? How did I decide what The Best Bike Brand was? I’m sure I must have read a magazine review or two, but ultimately it came down to going to bike shop after bike shop, until one day I went into a bike shop where I liked the bike, I liked the price of the bike, and I liked the guy who was selling me the bike. Eventually I started riding with him and other people from the shop, which in turn got me racing, and which is why I generally remind people (including the author of the GQ piece) who are trying to decide between Mainstream Bike A and Mainstream Bike B that it doesn’t matter, they’re both the same, and that they shouldn’t be shopping for a bike, they should be shopping for a shop.
The Internet
Between Phase I and Phase II, I went from being a child to being an adult. But that wasn’t the only major change, as my entering Phase II also corresponded with the advent of the Internet. When I first embarked upon Phase II the Internet wasn’t yet a part of day-to-day life, but by the time I was getting “serious” I was able to consult Sheldon Brown to help figure out a repair, or read Jobst Brandt excoriating people on rec.bicycles.tech. The latter especially informed many of my sensibilities, and brought me to conclusions I might not have arrived at nearly as quickly otherwise.
Today of course the Internet is utterly pervasive and you’ve got Reddit and forums and influencers and incredibly detailed YouTube tutorials and even Path Less Pedaled guy who will help you find the perfect bike for $100:
[He should really specify that the $100 doesn’t include the bike.]
I even know a bike blogger (he may be the only bike blogger left) who will answer questions or even let you try his bikes for free!
Though like the GQ article, the “advice” dance is largely pointless, as the person asking for the advice rarely gets the answer they want to hear, and the person giving the advice rarely gets the satisfaction of seeing his or her advice heeded. I can tell someone trying to beside from among the latest plastic fantastics that based on my 30 years of road cycling they should just save themselves a bunch of time, suck it up, and buy a [X] already, but they’re not going to listen. Ultimately, people need to ride themselves to their own conclusions, and they need to start with something, anything, even if it’s a family member’s hybrid. Lately it’s fashionable to say cycling shouldn’t have “gatekeepers” and getting into it should be as easy as possible. But it doesn’t work that way. No matter how much help is available, there’s no substitute for getting out there and figuring it out for yourself–and making some dumb, embarrassing, and sometimes even expensive mistakes along the way.
But yeah, the Best Bike Brand is objectively Surly. I mean obviously.
