Biking year-round in Dillon,
Mont., means experiencing the extremes of August’s suffocating heat
and smoky forest fires, to January’s sub-zero frozen nostrils and
fingers too numb to grip. But the scenery and sparse traffic makes
me appreciate bicycling and living in southwest Montana, even when
the view is what I see from a mud-encrusted mountain bike.
Folks who hop in a car and travel only a few blocks
continue to amaze me, especially ones like the Neanderthal in a
Dodge 2500 pickup who pulled out of his driveway in front of me. He
spewed a suffocating cloud of diesel exhaust as he traveled all of
six blocks. I also notice that some of my colleagues drive their
cars the entire grueling three or four blocks to the college
campus. They’re a lot like those able-bodied high schools kids I
see who drive a quarter-mile to school in vehicles fancier than
I’ll ever be able to afford.
Wouldn’t it be wonderful if
communities across the West embraced the power of pedaling? Imagine
glancing out your window on a sunny morning and seeing more people
on bikes than those in cars, heading to work, root canals or IRS
audits.
Standing outside my house, looking over the
picturesque Beaverhead Valley, it’s hard to believe that pollution
or global climate change are major problems facing everyone. What I
see are magnificent snow-capped mountain peaks in the Pioneer,
Tobacco Root, Blacktail and Ruby ranges. It makes it an effort to
care about melting glaciers, ozone depletion, running out of fossil
fuels, or what my wife is hollering at me out the kitchen window.
But as caretakers of this Western paradise we live in,
it’s everyone’s responsibility to minimize our impact on the
environment. For my part, I’m leaving the truck parked in the
driveway and saddling up the old bike. Slinging my right leg across
my bike and settling down on that narrow seat, I’m taken back 40
years to George’s Repair Shop, where I picked up my new, gold
Schwinn Varsity 10-speed, with drop handle bars. Riding now revives
that first feeling of freedom, speed, energy and being an
irreverent — make that obnoxious — kid again. Besides reliving
one’s childhood, riding a bike means:
*A healthier you.
Mine is an over-do-it, open-throttle kind of bike riding that can
lead to profuse sweating and long days sitting in damp blue jeans.
While I know staying hydrated with an inexpensive, mildly chilled
domestic pilsner is prudent, my boss is still wrestling with the
concept. Perspiration is your body’s way of saying, “Hey, cut it
out!” But don’t let that discourage you. Regardless of how fast you
go, cycling equals calories burned, which equals feeling fantastic.
*Sharper senses. Your senses come alive on a bicycle.
Cycling stimulates a youthful adrenaline rush as you dodge crazed
motorists with cell phones plastered to their heads. That’s easily
forgotten as you notice blooming lilacs, singing Western
meadowlarks and the occasional, early-rising pajama-clad neighbor
locked out of her house.
*Lower maintenance costs. Every
time I turn around, I’m dumping money into our German-made wagon.
Opening the hood I think, “This is more complex than fixing Social
Security.” A bike is a beautiful statement in simplicity with
inexpensive parts and maintenance costs just a few cents more than
a Happy Meal. Why, a set of tires costs about the same as an oil
change for a behemoth SUV. Plus, the best fuel, served around
40°F, comes from a fermentation process involving barley and
hops.
*Reduced impact on the environment. Bike excursions
are environment-friendly and a great place to start rebelling
against the pollution-belching vehicle, three-car garage mindset
evident these days. Hopefully, when folks see me on my bike,
they’re reminded that there are better ways of traveling — even
during the winter when my balaclava makes me look like a conehead.
I love to keep on pedaling, morning and night. It’s my
way of making a statement about taking care of the environment I’m
blessed to live in. So what if the mile-high altitude still leaves
me gasping for oxygen? Think of it as a Rocky Mountain high that
combines feeling really dizzy while sweating like a sumo wrestler.
You just have to keep pedaling while humming “Take Me Home, Country
Road.”
Joe Barnhart is a contributor to Writers
on the Range, a service of High Country News in Paonia, Colorado
(hcn.org). He lives, pedals and writes in Dillon,
Montana.
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