2 Wheels, 4 Legs: a Study in Attitudes

Since the very start of this blog I have shared random, at times ludicrous thoughts about pets and bicycles. But never have I been around such a large number of animals as now that I live in rural Northern Ireland. From being held up by bovine traffic jams, to getting my bicycle grips eaten by shameless Shetlands, to herding wayward lambs, to being herded myself, I've had enough experience with animals on my bike to last a lifetime. What interests me about the whole thing, is the mere fact that animals react to bikes in the first place. For instance, when I pass a sheep, horse or cow on my bike, I could swear that they pay more attention and study me more intently then were I to pass on foot or in a car. Perhaps this is because the hybrid two wheeled beast is a relative novelty for them, and thus warrants a closer look that the beasts they are familiar with. Or perhaps it's because animals, with their natural instincts, know a good thing when they see it. Would it be taking things too far to suggest a look of wistfulness comes over their faces as I roll past? 

Okay, maybe. All the same, certain patterns of behaviour are fascinating to observe - in particular among felines and canines. I live next door to a farm that is home to a handful of dogs and at least 40 barn cats. Whenever I ride, photograph, wash, maintain, or even park a bicycle outside my house, a good few of them come out to get involved. The dogs' behaviour in these circumstance is that of would-be participants. If I ride, they want to come along. If I work on the bike, they want to help. If I take photos they volunteer themselves as models or even try to paw the camera as if to advise on settings and composition. They are like that hapless, enthusiastic brand of intern every employer dreads, whose eagerness to help is matched only by their talent for getting in the way. And, hard as I try to explain that I do not require assistance in this particular project, they remain undeterred until they run out of energy and wander away on their own accord, off to pursue the next thing to catch their attention.

The cats, on the other hand, seem to think their job is to evaluate the machine. Whereas the dogs communicate joy at the sight of any bike that appears in front of them, the cats express caution and extreme skepticism. "What is this thing you've brought here? Better stand back till I examine it."   

And with an air of a put-upon expert who is nonetheless ethically committed to doing a job thoroughly, they circle the bike in slow motion, meticulously examining every inch, rubbing and sniffing and furrowing their brow as if taking copious mental notes, until finally they express readiness to pass judgment upon it. And that judgment is rarely simple in nature. Oh they have something to say about the bike, you can be sure of that. Question is, can you be counted on to comprehend their profound findings? "Pssht, why do I even bother," the cat's face finally says. And with an air of mild disgust the feline expert strolls away unhurriedly - returning every now and again to supervise, just in case you totally mess up whatever silly thing it is you are planning to do with this piece of equipment. "Certainly this job is beneath me," says the peevish flick of their whiskers, "But if I don't help you, who will? Certainly not that cretin, the dog..." 

Adventures in Cyclo Shepherding

The first time it happened unintentionally. I was cycling down a neighbouring farm lane, when I noticed frantic activity in front of one of the cottages. The farmers - a man and woman in their 60s - crouched facing each other with their arms spread wide open, as if about to perform some strange circle dance. As I got closer I saw they were attempting to surround a tiny, highly vocal bundle of white fleece. The creature, sensing that capture was near, leapt and darted about wildly until it evaded the two pairs of outstretched hands and galloped away. Never having witnessed such a scene before, I stood frozen over my bike for a moment, mouth agape, watching the newly born lamb - hardly larger than a cat - disappear down the lane in the direction of the shore. For a moment the others stood silent as well. And then all at once we knew what needed to happen. By the time the farmer said "Would you go and chase it down on your wee bike?" my foot was already pushing the pedal.

So what exactly is involved in herding a lamb by bike? Luckily I had watched sheep dogs do this a few times, so I wasn't entirely clueless. First, I cycled fast, to catch up with the lamb. The rush from the escape having subsided, it now hopped along anxiously, its tail trembling, not sure what to do next. I slowed down and cycled directly behind it, coasting to let it hear the ticking of my hub and sense my looming presence. And then, ever so slowly and carefully, I maneuvered my bike as if I meant to cycle around it and into its path. 

After some initial moments of indecision, the lamb did what I had seen others do when confronted with this maneuver - it made a U-turn and ran back in the direction of the farm. Slowly I followed close in its tracks to make sure it kept this course. It was growing dusky by this time and my bicycle's headlight was glowing bright, illuminating our path. When the farmers spotted us approaching they were ready and grabbed the twitching creature after I steered it into a narrow, fenced in part of the yard where the newborn lambs and their mothers were kept in a pen. The poor thing had gotten out by accident, but now it wanted its mother - wagging its tail happily and going straight for the milk upon seeing her. All was well.

I would not say that herding lambs has become a habit. But I've helped bring back a few of these wayward darlings now, including this fleecy fellow just earlier this morning. My little Brompton is hilariously perfect for the task - compact and easy to accelerate and maneuver, it can sprint after the lamb, then slow down and hover around it until it turns in the desired direction. The lambs seem to accept this two-wheeled shepherd and behave predictably.

Despite their erratic galloping ways, once caught the lambs are actually quite docile and cooperative. Cooperative enough to sit in my bike basket, I've wondered? But, considering they aren't house-trained, I've never gone as far as to try it.

Horsing Around with Brompton Foam Grips

After nearly two years of owning my Brompton folding bike, I am finally about to replace one of its parts due to wear and tear. To be fair, the components have all held up well so far, in all-weather conditions in New England and Ireland. But I am saddened to report that the foam grips have failed to stand up to the rigours of rural life. The cause of the damage? A horse. Of course. 

Propping my bike against a farm fence a couple of days ago, I walked away a short distance to take some photos of the landscape. When I noticed the chubby creature making its way across the field toward it, I thought it was cute at first. She seemed so curious, making a beeline for the bike on her dimunitive legs with a brisk shuffle and an air of determination. And I thought it was cuter still when she got up close and personal and began sniffing the handlebars. At least that's what I thought she was doing. Alas, when I reached the bike I saw the situation was quite otherwise: A good chunk of the right grip had been chewn off. 

Taken aback by such brazen impertinence, all I could do at first was rebuke her. "Pony, how could you?!" 

In response to this, she glanced up at me with an expression of feigned innocence, all the while continuing to gnaw industriously. By the time I gained the presence of mind to yank my bike away, the grip was but a mangled mess of foam. Pedaling away, I shook my finger at the treacherous Shetland and wondered whether Brompton sold replacement spares.

Here I will backtrack to explain that I never imagined I'd be keeping the flimsy-seeming foam grips that originally came with my Brompton. In fact, I thought they'd be the first thing to go as I'd inevitably proceed to customise the bike. I considered ergo grips with extensions to allow for more hand positions. I considered leather grips in a caramel-brown colour to match my saddle. I considered colourful hard-rubber grips to add some firmness and zing to the so-called cockpit. But in the end I never bothered altering this bicycle in any way at all, and, like everything else on it, the original grips remained - proving perfectly comfortable just as they were. It just so happened they were the ideal size for my hands. And the foam itself was of a good consistency - cushy enough to absorb road shock, but not so cushy as to be too soft. I wasn't a fan of the drab gray colour, but this alone was not enough to make me forsake their comfort. And so the grips stayed and I grew to love them all the more - now wanting nothing but an identical replacement to the pony-ravaged one.

When I turned to Brompton for guidance, they informed me that they now sell replacement foam grips in their online shop. Not only that, but these grips now come in a selection of nice colours. Well then! In my excitement, I almost bought the overpriced little gems in red. But then my boring neutrals-loving side took over, and ultimately I went with the white - as an homage to the vintage 3-speed folders of yore.  

Impressively, the grips arrived to my remote Northern Ireland abode in 2 days. And soon I was fondling their milky-white foaminess in anticipation of mounting them upon the handlebars.

But as I held them up to my old grips, I noticed something alarming: They were not quite the same. The consistency of the foam feels similar enough to the touch, but the replacement grips lack the curvature of the originals - namely, they're missing that middle bump around which the palm of my hand wraps so comfortably. Would holding these new grips feel the same, and dare I risk finding out? 

As I contemplate this important question, I continue to cycle with my old grips for now, my right hand feeling the shredded texture through my glove. As I pedal past the shameless equine responsible for the deed, I shoot her what I hope comes across as a meaningful glance. But indifferent to my troubles, she merely shakes her head and makes a noise which is almost certainly a giggle.