When it absolutely, positively has to get there on time and gas is just too expensive, try a bike courier. That's the trend in some cities, according to these stories from New York Times and NPR.

The most impressive part: some couriers are outfitted to carry as much as 200 pounds. Holy cow.

Leslie

Ok. Perhaps not.

But I am extremely proud of myself, more specifically my quadriceps. When I got the newer of my two bikes, I almost never used the big ring on the primary gears. Without much in the way of hills, I didn't need it to build speed going downhill. And my puny little (well, not little. My legs have never been little.) girlie legs just couldn't push that big of a gear effectively on the flat. And I didn't need to go that fast.

No more. The other day, I was using my middle ring up front, and had maxed the back gears out. And I thought, "Wouldn't it be nice if I had a bigger gear, so I could go just a bit faster?" Then I said to myself, "But wait! You do! You can go just a little bit faster!"

This prompted Greg to agree that I ride about as fast as he does now. Of course, since he's always bugging me to race now, it's something less than pure victory.

Leslie

I just finished reading Major, by Todd Balf. The book is a great read -- tons of drama.

"Major" Taylor's parents left the south for Indianapolis after the civil war. Through an odd series of events, Taylor, as a young child, was not only insulated from most of the era's prevalent racism, but he also got a bicycle. He became, arguably, the fastest cyclist in early track racing -- at the time a sporting phenomenon.

Taylor's story is fantastic. Also amazing is the speedy evolution of bikes in their early years. Balf looks at how bikes helped roll over gender, race and class barriers in the Gilded Age. And it's an interesting and lesser-known story of race relations in America.

Leslie

Was I envious when I read Myra's column today?

Yes. I was.

I love reporting, but if I suddenly became independently wealthy you can bet I would hop on my bike and pedal off into the sunset. For those who doubt that bike tour would be fun, I present this point of view: It's like regressing into fourth-grade summer vacation. You get up every morning knowing all you have to do is ride your bike and eat (Ok, fix your bike, set up a tent, filter water, etc.) And you won't get fat.

Uh, how does that not sound like fun?

Leslie

This tip from Aprill Brandon, whose blog is far better read than this, so I should take her cues:

Made in Queens is going to feature a group of kids, originally from Trinidad (the island, not the Colorado town that's the U.S. sex-change capital) who rig their bikes with huge sound systems and cruse around. My guess is this movie isn't coming to Victoria, so I'll have to wait and put it on my Netflix cue. Sigh.

Leslie

Olympic cycling track events start tomorrow.

Let's be honest -- these are oddball (but nifty) events few people watch. No idea how the races work? Here's a primer.

This blog was linked in a recent NY Times story about cycling. I had to go back to confirm -- this is my favorite bike blog this week. I'm happy to report that I doubt anything about my bike could be classified as ironic. Or maybe I'm blind to my own foibles. I am sure, however, that the fork leg mounted brake lever is not for me. I've never touched my fork leg while riding, and if I tried, I'd mangle my hand in the spokes, I bet.

On a more practical note -- I'm in search of cuter things to wear on my bike. If you read this blog, you might have gathered I cycle just about everywhere. Now, I don't mind looking scrubby on my way to and from work -- after all, I'm just going to change. When I go out at night, I can roll up the cuffs on my jeans or wear a dress and ride Yellow Bike.

But when I'm out and about on the weekend I'm usually on the 520, which is better for running errands. So a sun dress is out. But I don't want to roast. So jeans are out. And I really, really hate shorts. I hold dear the thought that the women's wear industrial complex conspired to make shorts look dorky on anyone older than 16. Don't know why they do this.

I have one pair of cutoffs that are OK, but they're plaid, so my thick parts look thicker and they don't have back pockets, so I make Greg tote all my stuff and he always forgets where he put it.

I'm partial to skirts, so I bought a running skirt. It's OK, but not exactly stylish. I'm working on some skirts based on the same design, but I'm not much of a seamstress.

Any suggestions, folks?

Leslie

A story in the NYT talks about cyclist/driver hostilities. Hitting someone, then jumping out of the car to punch him? Really? Isn't that a bit much? I love this response to the story: "Nobody's as cool as they think they are, and no matter what, you look ridiculous to somebody." True words of wisdom.

I'll grant drivers this -- there are cyclists who don't obey traffic laws and do things so dumb it your forehead hurts before you can slap it. People who ride down the wrong side of the road, at night with no lights, etc.

But here's the thing -- if you can see a person, why would you willfully assault him with a car? Most rational people wouldn't, I think. It does happen, though.

Here's what scares me more than angry drivers: the ones who don't pay attention.  On my ride home Thursday, I was nearly hit twice by people who just didn't see me. Both had stop signs, while I did not.

The first driver was a man in an SUV crossing Bridge Street. He left me little room when he pulled in front of me. There was no question I needed to slam on the breaks.

The second driver was a woman in a Benz, crossing Red River. She ran a stop sign. I don't think she saw me, even after I came within a foot of hitting her and almost flipped my bike in an effort to stop.

Let me do a really bad job paraphrasing Kurt Vonnegut when I say what the roads need is a little more kindness.  And attentiveness.

Leslie

larger view

Every year, Portland closes down a bunch of bridges so cyclists can ride in car-free lanes. This year, bicyclists 17,000 attended. Holy cow.

Today, I drove my car to work for the first time in about two months. I really didn't like it. It wasn't much faster, or cooler, since I don't have AC.

But I brought the car home because we needed it to take the kitten to the vet Saturday. While Rudi loves to help make bike repairs, we can't actually move her on the bike. Yet. Here she is, being her helpful self. Also check out the bike-glove tan lines on Greg's hand. Yeah, I know. Hot.

Leslie

Greg thinks it's sooo funny when I get freaked out by dogs chasing me on bike rides. I'll admit, there have been a couple of cases where my panic must have been pretty comical. Like the time the world's friendliest golden retriever chased me, but I was too scared to look over my shoulder and see what was coming after me.

In my defense, the meaty jawed dogs running free around town are what what started my sudden fear. This link on my google home page claims to share the secrets to avoiding dog attacks.

Victoria locals also tell me throwing rocks, squirting water bottles and riding really fast helps.

People keeping their dogs -- especially mean ones -- under control would help even more. 

Leslie