my goodness there’s a lot left unsaid

But, in about ten minutes, I’m going to have to get out of bed, walk back into the weirdly empty weirdly full lounge room and try to find a way to get it all in the back seat of the car. We both have hangovers and severe sleep deprivation. We’re a little bit cranky, a little bit joyous. Over in the other world, things went rather well and I’m glad to have crossed something major off another to do list.

Interestingly enough though – and I’ve had several times to mention this to the folks in person, so I hope they don’t mind if I rehash it again, but I’ve spent the last few weeks relishing with great tenderness the calibre of people that I’ve encountered this past year or so riding about in Melbourne, and riding about in a sociable way. Protecting the privacy of the individuals (and because I’ll only fear leaving someone out), I am bowled over by the ladies and men that I have met. They are dedicated enthusiasts, johnny come latelies, rash beginners, seasoned professionals, squealing with excitement, major MILF action, letting the dog off the chain, getting back into the spin again, and happy to meet you. Not just my friends, but the event organisers, the shop owners, the repair peeps and the coffee sponsors.

Without any substantive research to support this proposition, I want to put it out there and say that Bike People Are Good People. And that I genuinely mean it when I pass you my card saying that adults on bikes give me hope for the future.

I would also like to, oddly, end* where it all began which was with a cheeky pisstake and an overt obsession with alliteration. And an admission. That I was wrong. Admitting that you’re wrong is hard going sometimes, but – depressingly enough – I’m wrong a lot.

When I started this blog, I’ll admit that one of my motivations was to be the anti-Fyxomatosis.There you go, I’ve said it.

Whether this was just pure sour grapes that my partner would spend more time looking at the site than talking to me, I considered the site the perfect representation of a scene which I found alienating and overwhelming. Ultra-masculine, with its slick styling, focus on the obscuring specifications of this part and that part, and coupled with an aesthetic which I often worried was no more sophisticated than if you have a hard on, will you buy this bike?

I didn’t read the site, but I had a lot to say about it, though mainly only to said partner, who eventually did talk more to me, and not just about bikes. I didn’t necessarily want to do anything to attract said fyxomatosis reader, to compete for space, but instead, wanted to offer something so daggy and so dinky that it somehow lowered the bar to a point where anyone – no matter if they were a woman, or their bike was a total heap of garage rusting crap and not a hand restored 3 Rensho obscure superfind from eBay, or that they had no definition in their calves, or that they weren’t in the slightest bit cool – anyone could say they were excellent, mad mo fo, joyous, heart leaping, on it, wet Labrador in the house happy about cycling. Anyone except recumbent riders. And magpie cable tie wearers.

What I have learned, however, is that standing outside is the easiest place to pass judgment and criticism and the position of the most narrow mind. It is the place where we allow enough distance to presume difference and to continue reinforcing divides which are artificial and silly. It is reflective of fear and insecurity and absolutely, the place I was coming from.

And so, I figured, if I wanted to think things about something (such as alley cats are scary and full of mean hipster boys who can’t fuck) then I better get out and ride one. If anyone was mean to me, then I could go back and comfortably keep bitching about things feeling well justified. So I rode one. And then another. And then another. No one was mean, everyone was excellent. People baked vegan cupcakes and no one got left behind.

And once I started reading and some of the wash of component jargon passed over me, I also began to realise that this person, whose work that I had often passed judgment on, was only available for judgment because they were “in the ring” so to speak. I might muddle this up (and this post is getting quite long because I think I’m avoiding ten hours in a car), but what I realised is that having an opinion about something is not the same as actually engaging with it. And, once I actually engaged with the site – the person, the events it supports, the bike culture it is so often a flagship for – I began to realise that the image is not the reality, and that as a part of this community I am absolutely a part of creating that image of what it means to enjoy bike culture.

I’ll never be the coolest cat on the street, or the fastest ride, but the fyx website doesn’t squeeze out my space as a dinky lady rider, that’s my insecurity. It doesn’t oppress women, that’s the whole goddamn system and, as a nice suburban bisexual, I kind of want to buy the pretty bikes too once the cute ladies are riding them, and fuckit, they’re good photos and hot bikes and if there’s only going to be narky feminists bitching and moaning about things, how will we ever have dialogue and difference and understanding?

So, I want to say, I’m out of the closet – I love reading your website too. I read, not for the bike bits and boobs, but for the sheer enthusiasm. The genuine passion. The absolute commitment. The respect for beauty and excellence. The credibility of having kept on keeping on. The good prose. The infrequent typos. The great photography. And your wife’s cooking.

I can only apologise for my fearful judgment with this simple phrase – thank you for inspiring me. Whether the initial inspiration was somewhat negatively grounded, in trying to come to terms with elements of what I thought you “represented” I have had my assumptions challenged, my prejudices shaken, and my horizons broadened.

You have my profound respect.

And I really like your helmet. A good friend of mine has one, and basically, I consider that what’s under that lid is complex and beautiful and a sign of a fine mind. I don’t know why Giro don’t include that in their marketing.

*when I say “end”, I mean give it a rest for a week or two until I find somewhere to live and work out if there’s a shower for cycling at my new work. And get my bike out of a shipping container, and consider gears for the future of Brisbane’s hills.