2013 Bike Hour II: The Bikening.

It's that time of year again! Soon the equinox will be upon us and no matter which hemisphere you call home, the equinox means Bike Hour.

 

As I explained in typically coarse language last equinox, Bike Hour is a completely unstructured, unorganised excuse to celebrate and ride your bicycle in the hopes of inspiring those around you to think about bicycles. Whether you choose to channel that inspiration through a filter of Strava Obsessed Roadie, Penny Farthing Oddity, BMX Session, Twee Hipster Coffee Run or Urban Commuter is entirely up to you. My personal favourite form of inspiration is jealousy so I try to look like I'm a much more interesting person than I really am who is pedalling somewhere much cooler than I really am. (Reality: I am probably returning incredibly mainstream video rentals or buying cat food.) The point of Bike Hour is that none of these variables actually matter as the only goal is to be out on your bicycle during the designated hour.

This time around the promotional materials are hot-pink so of course the Bike Hour Facebook has been linking to women's bike blogs in the lead up to launch, thus handing The Patriarchy yet another gender-conformity victory in the Bicycle Wars. And as this is the internet, I'll just put this here:

THAT WAS SATIRE.

Anybody already familiar with the 'Lady Bike Blogosphere' (Blogs written by Lady Bicycles, obviously) will not be overwhelmed by new discoveries as it's all the regular offenders such as LGRAB, Bike Pretty and Lovely Bicycle! but it's great to see somebody outside of the pink-spoked circle encouraging others to venture in. And you have my permission to use 'Pink-spoked Circle' as a euphemism because it certainly sounds dirty as balls. And that was AFTER I mentally took it down a notch from 'pink-rimmed circle'. Now that we've all thought about our genitals for a while, the only thing left to do is ask:

Where will YOU be this Bike Hour?

Your bicycle, not your Pink-Spoked Circle.
At least not in public.

Gratis Bike Hour promotional materials are available here if you do decide to organise a community event, otherwise you're free to crank your pink-spoked circle alone. I've heard it's just as fun that way.

Tour De Bore 2013.

It's that time of year again in the Fat-Bottom household. Time for late nights, tour tracker graphs and the piquant mixing of vague national pride with mind numbing boredom. Really, as an Australian watching the Tour De France this year I could not be more proud:

#OricaGreenWedge
(Source: au.sports.yahoo.com)

You're welcome, every person in the bicycle sport spectator world. Not only is it the most interesting thing an Australian has ever done in the Tour (And I include 'Our Cadel' in that sweeping statement) it also birthed the best Twitter hashtag of the week. Unfortunately, it was all downhill from there as Orica yawningly redeemed themselves by winning a couple of stages or something, I don't know - I was simultaneously reading Game of Thrones so it was a contest between which kind of carnage caught my attention. Something did catch my attention during ad breaks in the long broadcast and it was my adopted state of Tasmania's so-dumb-it's-genius application of, well…look, just see this:

In case you didn't know, Tasmanian Salmon is a B.F.D in Australia. And in case you missed the long form of the campaign, Tasmanian Salmon is a 'natural performance enhancer' (Sneer sneer on YOU, dopers!) as evidenced by the fact that Tasmanian Pride and Tour De France Person Richie Porte is a graduate of 'The Huon Salmon – Genesys Wealth Advisers Pro Cycling' team. You know, that one. I particularly admire the whacked-out VICTORY! closing shot which I get to see every single ad break because the live feed cycles (see what I did) through the same 3 advertisements every. Single. Night.

"Mother. Fucking-"

"SALLLLLMONNNNN!"

There's also this:

Yeah, that's a pretend live salmon stuffed near his crack.

Even before moving here I had eaten my own enormous share of Tasmanian salmon and while I can confirm it is delicious, it has yet to propel me far beyond the Burnie Boardwalk. One thing you will see if you watch the long version or visit the website is where Porte got his stamina; A lot of Tasmanian landscape is featured, nonsensically masquerading as France (The Allez! sign) or at least as somewhere more exotic than down under Down Under but you can clearly see it is made up of the kind of gradients that would serve you well if dreaming of the Tour.

Until the bitter end of this event, Ginger and I will continue to stay up until 2am waiting to watch one minute of cycling even though the preceding 3 hours and 59 minutes contain not nearly enough castles and bloodshed. For that, I still have my Game of Thrones book.

Bad Moon Rising, Good Bike-Riding. (Bike Hour)

I didn't think I was going to make it to the first Bike Hour of 2013, after a completely normal day I suddenly felt terrible around 4pm with sinus pain clouding my mind and a very strong lunch time coffee leaving my body feeling strung out (Which is why I rarely drink coffee). Ginger was engaged elsewhere and couldn't participate so I didn't even have the motivation of peer pressure to get me out of the house. Despite this I really just wanted to ride my bicycle and I especially wanted to try out the bell I had just installed on the Schwinn so I struggled through a 'Nanna Nap' but did not expect to feel able at 5:45. I predictably failed to achieve the perfect power snooze but I did manage to doze long enough for various nasal sprays and tablets to work their respiratory magic and enough caffeine to dissipate so that my heart stopped pounding like a gavel-happy judge. During this quasi-rest my phone had been buzzing with some frequency and on rising I was surprised to discover multiple weather alerts for approaching thunderstorms. My app assured me that the storm wouldn't hit until after midnight so I put my faith in technology, put some tights on under my skirt and headed out into the golden Autumn dusk to embrace Bike Hour.

Wool Modesty Tights? Check. New Bell? Check.

Dork Head and Narcissistic Selfie? Check.
Let's Bike Hour this bitch!

Deciding to take it easy but also target the 'visibility' element of Bike Hour I determined my route based upon the bike path as well as foot/car traffic in my town. I glided past some early diners in a local eatery and sailed towards the beach which is skirted by both a boardwalk and main road. The weather warnings might have scared motorists into hibernation because the usually busy highway was all but empty. People on foot seemed to have an entirely different attitude to the changing weather and I saw the usual amount of dog walkers, joggers and boardwalk strollers, though the playgrounds were curiously abandoned. It was temperate and there was no immediate threat of rain so in the end the only effect of the coming storm was dynamic and stunning scenery with constantly changing light. Next to the skate park I was literally brought to a halt by a spectacular 'Fingers of God' display. My phone could not really capture the clear delineation of each shaft of blazing light, or the scale of it.

To the West, Nature's Majesty.

To the East, surly teens and some of the only bicycles I saw during Bike Hour.

The sea air put me in excellent spirits so I smiled at everybody I passed and was pleased to note they all smiled back. I figured if nothing else, my Bike Hour could be labelled a success for the mere giving and receiving of goodwill. I had a big and bright "HELLO!" and a wave from a toddler as I exited the boardwalk and a lot of smiles from people who heard my new bell. I saw exactly one other bicycle outside of the skate park scooter/bmx posse, a Very Serious Roadie who was blazing along the bike path in lycra-cased sweatiness. I was sorely tempted to shout, "Happy Bike Hour!" in a cheerfully deranged fashion and confuse the hell out of him but I am not innately cruel and I could see he was thinking deeply about whether bike paths count as 'junk miles' so I didn't break his concentration. Instead I simply smiled at him as we passed like two ships in the night - Me, the plucky blue tug boat of the Schwinn and He, the kind of ship where your balls stick to your inner thigh. Thus ended my only encounter with a fellow cyclist during Bike Hour. The rest of the path out of town went exactly like this:
 

A couple of cars,

Leaning on a bench to check my phone,

And then taking a picture of myself once I realised nobody could see me.

Then I made a video of an ugly sand dune because I am nothing if not too lazy to check if I have actually videoed something interesting:

Around the bench leaning, phone checking portion of my Bike Hour I received a message from my Brother saying he was in a newly opened pub in town. Infused with a sense of purpose and the promise of a refreshing non-alcoholic beverage, I ordered him to stay put and eagerly bicycled back to town…with a quick stop on the boardwalk to document my highly important journey and the ever more turbulent sea, of course.

"There's a storm coming…" TERMINATOR CLOSING CREDITS SONG

Once I arrived at the pub I discovered the streetscape was completely bereft of items to which a person may attach a bicycle. I wondered if I should have used the multistory car park bike lockers some blocks previous but in the end I chose immediate gratification/foolhardy trust in strangers and parked next to the entrance. Fortunately, my Brother was sitting within view of it so I could easily keep one eye on the precious and it was because of this I discovered that my laziness had actually resulted in the most successful part of my Bike Hour. As I sipped my lemonade and lime I had a perfect view of multiple people pausing to admire and comment on the Schwinn. Some were pub patrons, some were merely walking past but I did not see a single person fail to contemplate the obviously-being-used-for-transportation bicycle. Their interest gave me pleasure although I admit I tensed up when people came close to stroking it. (That's what HE said.) I was far enough away from the Jenny that nobody could tell which person in the pub had been so radical as to arrive on two wheels. My helmet was left in the basket and I was sweat free and dressed in a way that left no clues. The Schwinn appeared a free agent and so I had accidentally provided a blank canvas for the potential bicycle dreams of my fellow (wo)man. It probably helped that the Jenny looked rather delightful against the building as the light faded. I hope everybody had a safe and enjoyable Bike Hour and I look forward to a little more Bikeception at the next Bike Hour equinox in September!

"I'll just lock up on the…um…bastard."

"Eh. I can see the back wheel from inside."

Bike Hour.

You've heard of Earth Hour, where all around the globe people switch off electrical things for an hour to increase mindfulness about the way we consume resources - But have you heard of Bike Hour?

Probably not. Maybe. I only just learned of it myself, fortunately in time to participate later this month. Bike Hour was born in Australia, in fact it was created by a resident of my own recently adopted little island. It is to be conducted twice every year at the equinox so the next one is due on March 20th and if you want to join in you should be on a bicycle between 6 and 7pm.

"What the fuck is this Bike Hour shit anyway?", I hear you politely enquire as you are possibly also an uncouth Antipodean like myself. The full history can be found on the cycle-space blog (a fascinating exploration of bicycles and urban planning) but the notion of Bike Hour is something rather different from the familiar organised rides. If you are expecting to be bolstered en masse by whackily dressed (or undressed) fellow cyclists or Hippie political enthusiasts, you will be disappointed. What Bike Hour aims to achieve is awareness through free and semi-quiet enjoyment rather than annoyance or spectacle.

Bike Hour longs to get all the neglected bikes in all the sheds and all the spare bedrooms out onto the streets and pavements for a no-good-reason-joy-ride to where ever the hell you want or need to go, Just Because. Bike Hour knows that statistically quite a lot of us have purchased a bicycle but also that a lot of us don't really ride them. Bike Hour just wants you to ride your bicycle because you like the idea of riding your bicycle and it is giving you permission to do so in the manner entirely of your choosing. You can dress up like an olde-timey person and bust out the penny farthing. You can slide your sweaty testicles into their lycra prison and improve your Strava ranking. You can commute home if your work hours coincide. You can not change your clothes and just get out into the neighbourhood. If you really can't stand the thought of a world without structure you can even put on a little Bike Hour party for your bicycling friends or organise a community event or group ride, the website has posters to download but the important thing is that you don't have to do anything but the bare minimum which is to use a bicycle for an hour.

Sometimes I use my bicycle to see new places.

Sometimes I use my bicycle as an excuse to eat chips.
Hence the fat bottom.

Bike Hour simply posits that it might be nice if we all went for a ride at the same time without having the same destination. So that maybe people in cars who are watching you glide past or people sitting at cafés who are watching you cruise up to the coffee counter or people walking around on their feet seeing a completely ordinary person like you roll by wonder to themselves, "What the fuck is up with suddenly all of these bikes?" because they are possibly grammatically questionable, vulgar residents of far-flung former colonies too. And then later perhaps they will think about the bicycle they have in their own shed or remember the bicycle they had in their youth and wonder if maybe they too can ride one somewhere for some reason at some time. Hopefully not just on the equinox.

Bike Hour belongs to us all and you are encouraged to spread
the word with free access to promotional materials.
Or not. Do what you like.

Evandale National Penny Farthing Championships

Sympathetically preserved in an enclave about 5kms beyond Launceston Airport sits the heritage village of Evandale, Tasmania. Evandale would already be unique in Australia for its wealth of historic architecture, traditional English village layout and general lack of glaring modernity, but for pedalling fools the charm of Evandale runs even deeper: The entire village is permanently dedicated to Penny Farthing Bicycles. The businesses feature Penny Farthings, some are named after Penny Farthings, there is even a statue of a man with a Penny Farthing in the centre of town and every summer for the last 30 years, the Penny Farthing passion reaches fever pitch in the form of the Championship Races.

This might seem a bizarre thing for an entire village to fixate upon but Tasmania actually has a rich history of cycling enthusiasts dating back to the days when Penny Farthings were simply known as bicycles, being the first kind ever mass produced. People have long toured the state by bicycle and the first Cycling Club was formed in 1884. So many old bicycles are preserved in various museums around the state, it's all the more sad that much bicycle love was forgotten with the universal adopting of cars. The way bicycles are now spoken of in nuisance terms, you would be forgiven for thinking Tasmania had never cultivated an affection for people powered transportation. Fortunately, those who cherish the history also delight in creating traditions, so the Evandale race was born in 1983. It is officially the largest Penny Farthing race in the world and though it is called the 'National Championships' it attracts international interest.

The lovely buildings of Evandale make a congruous backdrop for the bicycles and along with enthusiastically costumed locals the whole event has an air of time travel. If you ignore the smattering of Lycra and helmets you can catch a very convincing glimpse of the past. The village fair happens in tandem on a central village green, the race itself circles the main streets of town and the entire hub is roped off, requiring an entry fee. For your $12 ($10 for Pensioners) you get a programme and access to the heart of Evandale with the fair, the race route lined with hay bales and safety bunting, ocassional Morris Dancers, human statues, singers and of course other bicycle race spectators. Expect an attractive mash of anachronism and a profusion of hats and you will not be disappointed.

Being just under a two hour drive from the North West coast, we did not arrive early in Evandale and thus missed the more parade-like parts of the day but with 20 Penny Farthing events there was still plenty to see. We saw the tail end of the obstacle race, there were other fun-themed races including a relay and a slow race. There was even a 20 Mile race the next day. We were lucky enough to see a lot of championship events, the necessity of the hay bales becoming apparent once we witnessed the speed and cornering lean of the riders. A crash even made the front page of one of Tasmania's papers, looking at the photographs later I had to agree that face first into a bale of hay is certainly preferable to face first into bitumen. Especially from such a height. Fortunately, the only injury was pride.

The Championships were divided by age, with almost every stage of life accounted for. There were junior races for children, general up to 50 and veteran's races divided by decade right up to the over 70s. The over 70s were counselled by the compère to take it easy. I had slowly made my way round the course during the different races and by the time the 70+ veterans raced I was at the halfway point of the loop, out of sight of most of the crowd and officials. I may have witnessed some defiant bursts of speed and general bad-assery. It was pretty fucking great. My other personal highlights included watching riders mount up at the start of each race, seeing the pushing off action required to begin momentum and the end of each race when they washed off speed on the stretch of empty road past the finish line. I particularly appreciated when people took their feet off the pedals and became beacons of pure joy. I will definitely be attending future championships for as long as I have the privilege of living in Tasmania. May the Penny Farthings reign over Evandale for decades to come!

Bad Assssssss.

Scody Tour of Tasmania (With bicycle theft.)

Last weekend provided a treat for both North West Tasmanian bicycle enthusiasts and those enthusiastic about stealing bicycles. The 2012 Scody Tour of Tasmania ran from Hobart upwards including climbs up Mt Wellington, being thwarted by unusually wild winds and snow near Launceston and finally last Thursday it reached the north coast, colliding with the good citizens of Devonport. It was here that Queensland Gold-coast based outfit, 'Team Downunder' had two competition bicycles stolen after leaving them locked in their trailer overnight, amounting to a loss of about AU$26,000 and ending with one rider completely pulling out of the tour. As the news coverage suggested, it will be a hard task for the culprit to either ride or sell such equipment within Tasmania. Despite the presence of tours and roadies, being a bicycle backwater means there's not many $9000 Avanti Quantums with $1700 Garmon computers and $2500 wheels cruising the streets of the North West coast or indeed the state.

Tasmanian cyclist Ben Grenda lines up.
(He won the Burnie stage!)

Those unaffected continued across to Burnie on Saturday via Ulverstone on Friday, doing a 30 lap criterion around an 800m circuit of Burnie CBD before setting off back to Devonport for the big finish. Plebs who fancied cycling on the closed roads could pay $99 for the privilege and tag along as part of the 'Tour de Burnie Corporate Ride', like the annoying little brother of the main tour. On Saturday, Ginger walked into town to view proceedings, wondering why they had elected to set up the presentation podium outside the ugliest building in Burnie rather than the beach directly in front of said ugly building. He said there were about 100 people spectating and he phone-captured the general malaise for posterity. To be fair, the weather had taken a turn for the dour despite being Spring.

Clouds roll in by the beach.

Starting positions.

Rub and tug by the beach.

Praties is a fast food shop that sells baked potatoes with your choice of toppings.
Seriously.

The embarrassing Burnie clipart logo.

The ugliest building in Burnie.

Later, I dragged my fat bottom out of bed and we walked to a bottle-neck on Bass Highway outside one of our favourite cafés and stood waiting for three minutes until I managed to take four entire pictures of the tour as it left town. With a hit rate of 1 passable picture to 3 terrible pictures, I felt satisfied with my work and walked the 10 metres inside to buy an iced coffee and some macarons. Bicycle spectating is hard work.

An insult to bicycle race photography.

(Ginger's camera work.)