My Bike Has A Name
Many people think I’m strange for naming my bikes. They get uncomfortable with the personal connection between a human and an inanimate object.
This is the first time I’ve rode my older bike, Malvin, a 1987 Miyata Nymbus, into the office in almost a year. His bars are wrapped with bright orange tape and his tubing is emblazoned in silver and blue paint. White, slick tires lighten the appearance of his massive 61cm frame. Malvin rides different than my other bike, Betty. His towering steel structure sways so naturally when pedaling off the saddle, and I feel as though the power on my legs doubles because of it. Turns are taken wide and smooth, like a lazy drop down a park slide. He catches eyes but is humble in his presence. Malvin is an old bike with a young soul.
I name my bikes for two reasons:
- I am more likely to care for something that has a name instead of it being just a thing that I bought.
- There is no part of me that questions the life of my bikes. They are characters that contain just as much personality and reliance as a good friend (they’re just a bit quieter).
I know cyclists understand where I’m coming from with this. There is a connection that everyone builds with their bike; a connection that’s hard to break. The bike becomes a innate part of a person’s life. Not many who ride can deny that.
With that in mind, maybe it’s time to give a name to that “bike.”