"Where's your bike?": on two-wheeled identities

If I board the bus or walk into my office building sans velo, I am inevitably asked, "Where's your bike?"

My response, a white lie, usually is, "In the shop." I've learned this stems follow-up questions. Drivers understand having a car in the shop; they can identify with that, and usually just nod and go, "Mmmm." If I say, "At home," or, "Felt like resting today," or, "I'm running home," it just draws more questions. (Number two response to "In the shop," after the nod/hum: "Flat tire?")

Somewhere along the way, my bike -- bicycles in general -- became part of my identity. For all of us, it eventually becomes more than fun, more than transportation or utility. We begin fine-tuning its appearance (that brass bell, maybe a leather saddle), learning more about how it works, riding further afield on weekends and evenings. Like a safety blanket, it comes with us everywhere: it is part of our personality.

Some bicyclists operate in reverse: after long weeks locking to the same rack, we come to know the other bikes. I am always thrilled and surprised to finally cross paths with their riders, sometimes unlocking at the same time, or passing on the road or at a light, and crow, "YOU are that bike!"

My family speaks to me about bicycles all the time. My mom always reminisces wistfully about riding in East Chicago, Ind., where we lived so many decades ago; we kids trailed her like ducklings. My bicycle is so firmly entrenched as part of my identity at the office (along with bow ties and being The Vegan) that my boss' boss took time to clip a Bike To Work Day article from the paper, scrawl, "For Kyle!" and bring it by. This owes likely to two things above others: 1. I park my bike in an empty cubicle down the hall; and 2. I talk about bicycles a lot.

But we all should. Where's your bike? In your mind and heart, certainly in your daydreams. Maybe in your office. Maybe it IS your office! We connect to our environments, be they country or city, much more closely from the back of a bike. We see and feel (and sometimes unfortunately: smell) it in a way most Americans seldom, if ever, do.

And that is because we power it: we are connected to our transportation. Rather than five percent of a two-ton mass, we are 85 percent of the total 200-pound two-wheeler. Every pedal converts lunch and snacks to launch us fast upon our paths. It is how bikes become part of our identity, beyond simple, shallow cosmetics and aesthetics.

So, where is your bike? You are that bike.