Outside of Taichung Taiwan the land rises up in mountainous jungle threaded with roads that wind like a milk-drunk toddler’s path through a living room. My visit to Taiwan was being sponsored by a Taiwanese trade organization that was hosting a number of journalists for factory tours that would be reported in trade publications. We were seeing exactly where the sausage was made. And if anyone out there is still claiming that Colnagos aren’t made in Asia, well, I have photos.
Our days began leisurely, with breakfast in a high-rise hotel, somewhere around 9 am. By this time I’d already been up for three hours and had ridden my bike into the aforementioned mountains to see birds, primates and reptiles I’d only ever seen in books and on TV.
On one of these mornings I found a climb that was, apparently, popular with local cyclists. It wound perhaps 5km from town and a boulder the size of a Mini Cooper (the original) sat at the side of the road, engraved with congratulatory words to cyclists who made their way there.
As I sat on my top tube, recovering from my effort, with sweat that would never evaporate dripping down my body, three riders arrived, stoked to have finished what turned out to be a regular outing for them. They spoke halting English and we managed to chat a bit.
Then I looked down. All three of them road flat pedals.
I was stunned. They were on nice quality, carbon fiber road bikes with good quality Shimano components—Tiagra and 105. They wore cycling shorts with matching jerseys. Matching. These were not riders out for their first foray into the wilds of Taiwan. They were experienced cyclists who happened to ride flats. Their reasons where simple: They felt more secure riding flats.
I can argue the myriad ways clipless pedals better the usage of flat pedals. from power transfer to control, clipless pedals are a superior way to pedal a road bike. But. What you can’t argue with is enjoyment. As we talked, I found myself feeling increasingly enthusiastic about their decision to ride flats. And it opened my eyes to something we’ve seen all too much of in cycling: rampant elitism that drives away people who might want to ride bikes.
I returned to the U.S. a week or so later and began watching to see if I ran across anyone on a road bike with flats. Nope. Nada. Niente. Until last week.
I’ve begun working with Bike Works in Seattle to offer bike fits to their clientele. Bike Works is a nonprofit community bike shop that sells mostly used bikes that have been refurbished. Most of the new bikes they sell come from the distributor Quality Bike Parts, which owns Salsa and Surly. In my limited time at Bike Works so far, most of the riders I’ve seen come in the shop are riding flats. That’s not so surprising when someone arrives on a hardtail mountain bike that was made in 1992, but to see someone on a Specialized Roubaix equipped with flats, well, that gets my attention.
Part of what I’m seeing, of course, is a result of the clientele Bike Works has fostered. This place is elitist the way Metallica plays Debbie Boone. Whoever you are as a cyclist is fine by them. It has to be, even among the many community bike shops I’ve visited over the years, the least snobbish operation I’ve ever encountered. And given the quality of some of the bikes donated (it’s not uncommon for someone to donate high-end hand-made bikes such as Rivendells), if ever there was a community shop that could look down their noses at riff and raff, this would be the place, but I’ve yet to see them do anything other that try to get their clientele back out the door with a working bike.
My point here is less about the shop than what a welcoming attitude does for riders who don’t see themselves as fancy. I’m encouraged that something so simple could make cycling more approachable.