So I took my own advice. A few weeks ago, I wrote a short guide on how to ride a fixed gear bike. And who was I to say? I had never ridden a fixed gear bike at the time and was mostly just fascinated by their fashion choices.
Sometimes it takes experience to make an educated recommendation.
Sometimes ignorance is bliss.
Yet in an attempt to be a legitimate source, I decide that I have to at least try. My fixie-maniac brother tells me about the weekly Car Resistance Action Party (CRAP) ride on Tuesdays. So I look it up on Azfixed.com and gather the necessary details.
Tuesday rolls around. I pack a water bottle and my phone, I hop on my brother’s fixed gear and I pedal blindly into the land of the fixies.
I arrive at Tempe Beach Park at 7:30 p.m. I’m greeted by an assortment of people who make me feel surprisingly welcome. Everyone introduces themselves. I learn most of them have nicknames, so I feel a little anxious introducing myself as, well, myself.
But they’re all checking out each other’s bikes and naming brands. One guy even has an “aerospoke” wheel up front (judging from people’s reactions, I assume this translates to instant respect). The light turns green.
In a blur they all sprint off on their precisely tuned bikes. My mind’s racing. I remember steps one through three of my directions: get on, keep pedaling, avoid large objects.
Like a flock of geese, they assume the formation — taking up at least one lane of traffic, which makes the “avoiding large obstacles” (namely cars) step a little difficult.
We swerve onto the safe sidewalk that wraps through the greenbelt along Tempe Town Lake. And just as I am just getting in rhythm, making sure my pedals keep moving, a showy guy on a ten-speed decides to pop a wheelie in front of me. I swerve to the side and the showoff hits the pavement.
“MAN DOWN!” shouts Red from the back. I look down, panicked. I double check to make sure I’m at least still pedaling. Relief.
“Go on without me!” the guy says from the ground, as if we’re about to save Private Ryan. The bikers look around, he’s fine. We continue. At this point, I know if I’m going down, I’m going down alone.
The ride is like a funny game of leap frog where everyone swerves around each other, makes casual conversation with the person next to them for a few minutes and then leaps again.
I meet a guy who is getting ready for the Tour de Fat, a bike and beer festival put on by New Belgium at Tempe Town Lake on Oct. 11. Everyone wears costumes and rides decorated bikes. He starts talking about some kind of double-decker bike and my mind drifts off, mostly because my butt is numb. I feel like I should have worn some Kim Kardashian-inspired butt pads to counter the male seat on my bike. But the ride continues. And continues. I have no idea where we are.
After a few red lights (scary when there aren’t brakes), we arrive in Scottsdale. A quick turn around Second Street and we’re at the Orange Table.
Known for being bike-friendly, the restaurant lets us park on the patio. I guess they’re used to this crowd, as the owner seats us outside and the gives a quick warning to the waitress.
The beer menu is passed around and someone tells me that the Orange Table offers $1 off any beer for anyone that rides in on a bike. Awesome.
I look at the menu and it dawns on me. I still have to ride home. I order a Hefeweizen and a grilled cheese in an attempt to lift my spirits. Both are satisfying and I convince myself that I’ll be okay.
I stand up. Nope. If I ever go on one of these again, I really need to get a girl seat. I sit back down. I smile and mutter something about needing to stretch.
The conversation turns to bike blogs and I look for the nearest exit. I make my way to the cash register, pay my dues and find my bike. Careful not to scratch anyone’s customized frame, I pull my bike from the mass and recruit some of the relative-newbies to take the shortcut home with me. Everyone waves and we head off down Scottsdale road.
As we near Tempe Beach Park, we each begin to peel off in whatever direction is home. I arrive at my front door and open triumphantly.
Ten minutes later I’m in bed. And before I can think, I’m asleep.
The next morning I wake up and sorely tumble to my laptop. I sit down to my blank document. I type Getting in with the Fixies, and hit the enter key. I smile to myself. That’s right, I did get in with the fixies, and all I can tell you is crap. I think I liked it.
Reach the reporter at claire.lawton@asu.edu
