Don't Tread On Me: Building a Nation of Cyclists

So I’ve been watching this “John Adams” thing on HBO with the guy from “Sideways.” Apart from being entertaining, it’s also informative. For example, did you know that before America was the United States it used to be part of England? Well, it’s true. Granted, that was a long time ago—sometime after the Civil War if I’m not mistaken—but yeah, we actually had to fight England to gain our independence.

The main reason this happened was because a bunch of Americans thought it was unfair that they had to pay all these taxes to England and do all this stuff for them, even though it didn’t serve their own interests. And this got me thinking. As cyclists, we’re a lot like those early Americans. We pay taxes for roads that are designed primarily for automobiles. We’re saddled with a medical care system that’s overburdened by non-cyclists who are chronically ill due to their sedentary lifestyles. And worst of all, we have to go to work and stuff, even when it’s really nice out and we’d rather be riding.

So I started thinking more. In fact, I thought so hard I almost fell off my bike, since I find it difficult to think and ride at the same time. I asked myself, “What is cycling?” Is it a sport? Yeah, sure, for some. Is it a job? It can be. Is it a hobby? A social scene? A form of transportation? A lifestyle? Yes, yes, yes, and yes. And then it hit me like an overzealous new brakeless Pista owner on his way home from the bike shop. Cycling is all that and more. We are a nation.

As a nation, I think we should start acting like one. Now, you’re probably wondering what I mean by that. Do I mean that we should start putting aside our differences, respecting one another, and working together to advance the common good? No freaking way. I’ve been to that nation already. It’s called Canada, it’s extremely boring, and I have no intention of going back. No, what I mean is that we should stand up and demand recognition as a nation. In the meantime, there’s stuff we have and stuff we need. Let’s take a look.

STUFF WE NEED:

Our Own Holiday

As a people we desperately need our own holiday. And I’m not talking about one of those underground holidays either, like Buy Nothing Day or 4/20. Buy Nothing Day is insulting, since there are people on this planet for whom every day is Buy Nothing Day, and I’m sure they’d appreciate it if instead of celebrating Buy Nothing Day people celebrated Buy Us Something Because We’re Starving Day. And 4/20 is just dumb. A day where you don’t go to work and just smoke weed all day? Uh, I know plenty of pot smokers, and that day is called Wednesday. And anyway, these days already cover the 31 year-old “promising amateur road racers” who live out of their cars, and the mountain bike and messenger communities respectively.

No, we need a legitimate, publicly-recognized holiday that’s all ours. And since we’re never going to agree on a day, I say we hijack a holiday that already exists. So why not Arbor Day? Nobody’s using it, and it seems to have been replaced with Earth Day anyway. So let’s just change Arbor Day to Cyclists Day.

Our Own Homeland

OK, this may be a tall order, but as a nation I think a homeland would be great for our self-esteem. Unfortunately, most of the Earth’s real estate is not only already claimed, but is also under dispute. So I think we might just have to steal a little patch of grass for ourselves. And the patch I propose is Long Island.

This may seem like an unlikely choice, but Long Island has a lot going for it as a cycling homeland. It’s big, but you can cycle its entire length in a day. It’s got some nice mountain bike trails, and some nice roads too. It’s got good beaches as well as some of the best parts of New York City. It’s also got two major airports, a decent public transportation infrastructure, and a number of barrier beaches where we can sequester freaks like the recumbent riders and the tall bike people. Best of all, I wouldn’t have to move.

The downsides are the cold winters, the lack of epic climbs, and the huge non-cycling native population that would need to be relocated or forced into internment camps. But nothing’s perfect.

Our Own Cheese

Really, what is a group of people without its own kind of cheese? A nation without a cheese is like a rapper without a clothes line, or a celebrity without a fragrance. (Bottled fragrance, I mean.) And until we have one, nobody is going to take us seriously. If there are any cheese-makers or -mongers among us, we’re going to need a few of you to get to work on that. But just stay away from me in the meantime, because you probably smell funny.

STUFF WE HAVE:

Our Own Industry

Well, we still need a TV network, but we’ve got the magazines and the internet. We’ve also got the factories. This is especially important, because in times of war they can be converted to military use and can be used to produce weapons and ammunition. We’ve also got groups that would be of good use during wartime. Imagine roadie strike forces, stealthily taking to the roads in the night, while in the woods guerilla mountain bikers perform daring sneak attacks. Even the triathletes can be put to use for amphibious assaults. And the tight-trousered, neckerchief-wearing fixed-gear riders can just cower in their basements, sucking on bottles of cheap beer with nipples on them until it's all over.

Our Own Folk Heroes

You want folk heroes? We’ve got ‘em by the pound:

Jobst Brandt=Paul Bunyan
Sheldon Brown=Ben Franklin
Tammy Thomas=Paul Bunyan

(Tammy Thomas, the mythical cycling lumberjack)

I could go on and on...

Our Own Version of the Amish

Everybody loves the Amish. They’re a proud people who have been immortalized and/or shamed in such films as “Witness,” “Kingpin,” and Weird Al’s “Amish Paradise.” Well, if we’re going to be a true nation, we also need to have our own sect of technologically backwards people to visit and gawk at. Fortunately, we do, and they’re called "retrogrouches." Once we’ve achieved nationhood the retrogrouches will form their own community where we can all go to purchase their handicrafts. I’m imagining a quaint little town where we can buy wool jerseys they’ve woven on their looms, lugged frames they’ve built in their workshops, and of course delicious hunks of our national cheese. (See above.) Just don’t take any pictures of them—you’ll steal their souls! And please refrain from touching their beards.