Imagine turning gravity from enemy to ally. Envision multiplying your muscles’ efforts and creating the mental simulation of flight. Okay, so I’m guilty of romanticizing an inanimate object and entertaining the fantasy of a land with nothing but downhill streets, avenues and country roads like the impossible Escher print of connecting stairways. But when you think about what the bicycle offers us mere mortals — it’s an amazing machine.
Archimedes, the Greek guru of calculation who gave mathematics its leverage, would be impressed. The mechanical advantage of the wheel and axle, the torque of the crank arm and a variety of gear ratios all working in concert make the bicycle pure mechanical genius. Coupled with the rider’s skill of using the ups and downs of hills to maintain momentum and conserve energy it approaches near mystical qualities. No, it does not defy the laws of physics, but it does generate a wealth of muscle tone and racks up miles of good karma with each pump of the pedal.
Along with being keenly in tune with the center of gravity, cycling clears the cobwebs like nobody’s business. It strips away the isolation of modern life and reveals the lay of the land in intimate detail. Every change in elevation is instantly felt. Every crack, patch of sand, hump and hollow, dictate how you will lean, brake and steer. Familiar routes are not street names and intersections, but ground level observations defining the smoothest and most efficient path. The view over the front wheel is like a vessel looking out for icebergs at hyper speed. Steer clear of the potholes and watch out for sand by the sewer grate. Raise your rear over the permanent frost heave that jars the handlebars like a sucker punch. Catch the stretch of smooth pavement down to the intersection and coast with no hands past the row of lilacs. Breathe deep, it’s all about knowing the terrain and taking advantage.
It’s the double agents of hills and wind that you have to look out for. They pose a love hate relationship where it’s hard to tell who has the upper hand. In my world every hill you climb would have a down side three times as long. With this wistful thinking I’d be below sea level in no time. But from my house it’s a 20-minute ride to the beach, cutting through neighborhoods and avoiding traffic lights. There are several short but timely sections of downhill and one long stretch that on a warm summer evening is simply intoxicating. The warm air riffling through my helmet while gaining speed on gravity’s tab is glorious. I can almost taste that free lunch.
I know coasting downhill isn’t free as it comes with a net loss in elevation and an energy debit. I have to pay it all back if I want to get home again — Sir Newton insists. Eventually my tires skid to a stop on the sand tracked up to the parking lot by the bare feet at Willard Beach. No matter how many hills my muscles invest in it’s a handsome profit as the salt air and blue water are at my disposal.
Elevation is the immovable object you have to reckon with. I prefer busting up a steep grade to savor the downhill, letting gravity pay back my expended energy as I glide through the air as if sprouting wings. Wind, that’s another story for another day — too fickle to predict and impossible to control. Not even Archimedes could calculate the forces Aeolus, the God of Wind, brewed up. He did however theorize that with a lever he could stand in place and move the earth. If he had a bicycle he might have to cinch up his robe so it wouldn’t get caught in the chain, but pedal-by-pedal he could have moved himself all over the earth.
Tim Tyler grew up on the coast in Brunswick and now lives in Cape Elizabeth. He’s a teacher and a writer and is currently working on a mystery set in Maine.