If I made a Tinder profile – which I don’t plan to – I’d have to disclose my love of probing questions right from the start. Doing otherwise would be unethical. I am fascinated by the human psyche, by words, and the ways the latter illuminate the former - often, by accident. Questions are the tool of the curious mind and to those with ears to hear, any answer draws a map of the responder’s inner land. For aptly phrased queries, even refusing a reply tells a tale.
When I’m not engaged in psycho-babble, riding my bike, petting my dog or asking people annoying questions, I run sales and marketing for Astral Cycling/Rolf Prima Wheelsystems. Even there I find ways to assert my inquisitions.
A recent plot of that inner muse was a marketing feature plainly designed to elevate our position through affiliation. Dubbed “Our Friends” it is a semi-regular feature in which I pepper friends in the industry – primarily framebuilders and bike shop proprietors – with questions about their lives, rides, preferences and histories. The marketing cachet is clear, and I personally get a kick out of the project. My favorite question is the one bike dilemma.
“If you could only ride one bike for the rest of your life, what would it be?”
Any and every answer lends an all-access pass into the core of the bike rider before me. Take for example, Ira Ryan’s immediate offer of his cantilever equipped cross-bike – a simple machine for a not-so-simple man with far from simple bike riding abilities. His reply carries with it the obvious soggy-love of PNW cyclo-cross, needed clearance for fenders 11 ½ months out of the year, a certain proud, almost-ironic devotion to the less-than-modern and a stubborn, Flemish love of the hard path.
The answer is simultaneously mid-west blue collar and Portland bike culture. It prioritizes longevity and versatility, and betrays immediately a preference for riding out the door. Having ridden plenty of miles with Ira, I also know it is a suitable reply for the elfish, feather-tainted bike dancing that typifies his head-turning riding style. This is to say, the answer tells us more than a little about the man behind the bike.
My all-time favorite reply came from Curtis Inglis of Retrotec/Inglis Cycles. He replied obstinately, “I’m glad this is a hypothetical question, and I really do not enjoy having to think about it.” He remains the only responder to whom I felt a need to apologize for posing the question. Yet even his coy non-answer speaks volumes. It betrays a love of variation, a subtle refusal to comply and the vivid imagination necessary for the artist. He stepped into this hypothetical universe with both size 12 feet and clearly didn’t like the feel of it. A fair response to what would be a painful predicament for most of us if we really took the situation to heart.
My own take on the matter shares some sense of Ira’s practicality but none of Curtis’ obstinance. It demonstrates my own history, brutish nature and willingness to suffer. The bikes that I first road to youthful freedom were hardtail mountain bikes and I’d ride the same off the map toward the end of my days if the situation demanded it.
Did we do a good job with this story?
