She's riding a bubble gum pink beach cruiser the size of a Plymouth on the shoulder of a busy road. I'm running interference on my bike, riding slightly behind and slightly to the right of my teenage daughter as sort of a human buffer, lest she be bothered by two tons of speeding metal to my left. Knowing how to ride a bike in traffic is, to my mind, a necessary precursor to knowing how to drive in traffic when the time comes. There are rules. You must follow them, or bad things could happen. These little excursions of ours out into the world beyond our tree lined neighborhood streets are a …

It was just an hour. It was just a couple of dozen people. It was just a bike ride, for goodness sake. But it was more. The bike ride recently organized by the mayor of a small central New Jersey town was emblematic of a cultural shift, a national movement toward embracing so-called “alternative’’ modes of transportation, bike advocates say. Any way you look at it, Sunday’s hour-long ride through the streets of Freehold Borough led by the town's mayor, J. Nolan Higgins, was enough to turn some heads. Mine included. “To me, that shows there’s a sincere interest by the walking and cycling …

(Editor's Note: The Unnamed Bicycle Column is moving from Mondays to Thursdays beginning this week. This column originally ran in November, 2011. We'll be back on Thursday with a new column. Thanks.)Like putting on your favorite pair of jeans for the first time, you know when you’ve found the right bike. You know it right away. You’re pretty sure the first time you see it, nearly positive the first time you sit on it and ready to give over a credit card regardless of the price after a short spin around the parking lot. And while there may be some tinkering here and there to make the perfect …

It was bound to happen, I suppose. Ride a bike for a period of time, and someone is going to call you Lance Armstrong. It’s just going to happen. Twenty-some-odd years ago, I’m sure cyclists were called Greg LeMond, too. Bicycling, specifically American bicycling, does not have a lot of high-profile stars. Greg LeMond was it a chunk of years ago. Today, it’s Lance Armstrong. He’s the “it’’ guy of bicycling — the seven-time winner of the Tour de France, arguably competitive cycling’s premier event. He’s the athlete who overcame testicular cancer and went on to greatness. And the mere mention …

I had for once remembered to bring my camera on a recent ride through town. There were some offbeat landmarks I wanted to get photos of for work, but I almost never remember to bring the blasted camera with me. Today I did. And so pleased with myself for remembering to bring it, I nearly rode past one of the landmarks I wanted to shoot. As I stopped on the side of the road, rather abruptly, I noticed another cyclist up the road a piece heading in my direction. I pulled out my camera, snapped a couple of quick shots and jammed the thing back into my side pocket. Right about this time, the …

Fred’s bicycle allows him to see patients in rural Zambia with greater ease. Bharati’s helps to provide her with access to an education she might not otherwise get in India. Mirriam, a disabled Ghanian woman, has a chance to disprove the stigma that comes with her condition by being the best bicycle mechanic around. And Carlos, a Guatemalan farmer, uses his specially modified bike to increase his productivity. A bicycle in the right hands can change the world. * * * * * When the weather cooperates, I ride about a little less than 20 miles a day, roughly. I do it for several reasons: To keep …

Three miles. Three miles was all I could ride without a break on my first few rides after deciding to get back on a bicycle after a 20-some-year hiatus. They were a hard-earned three miles, too, what with the wheezing and the heart pounding and all. I felt lucky to have completed them and dreaded the thought of riding that same distance back home. I learned some things on those early rides, too. For instance: Cars move very fast when they pass by less than 12 inches to your left. The shade from a tree canopy changes the temperature considerably. The unexpected smell of a patch of honeysuckle …

The sun, wisely, was still sleeping when I arrived for the ride, my headlight leading the way to the start line where a growing gaggle of cyclists lined up for the long miles ahead of us. I saw no familiar face. I was meeting two friends for today’s ride, or at least I was supposed to. It was an old man bike day for us aging freaks. Each of us had been bitten by the velo bug late in life. I called one of my friends to see where he was. He was running late, clearly, and was still looking for a parking spot. The other was delayed by an inbound train problem. Strangely, I was the first to arrive…

Normally, this space is reserved for some, hopefully, high-minded treatise or philosophical pondering of some universal truth that was directly, or at least tangentially, related to one of my recent bicycle rides. Not today. I’ll admit it: I just don’t have it. It’s tough to have a weekly epiphany, turns out. Like many of you, I’ve holed myself up in the house, turned up the thermostat and, mostly, neglected my bicycle in favor of beer and carbohydrates of all kinds while waiting for spring. I have, however, been reading an awful lot about bicycling lately and doing what any good bicyclist …

It was around 2 p.m. when I got the first call.  I had just dismounted my bike at the third rest stop along the New York Century Tour, my first ever long-distance tour. I was about 60 miles into the 100-mile event when my cell phone rang. I hadn’t seen the two friends I had started the tour with in miles and I had been riding alone for a good chunk of time. It was nice to hear a familiar voice. It was Mrs. Keith. She and the kids decided to come up to the city and hang out at the finish line to be my cheering section when I crossed, but she was in traffic at the Lincoln Tunnel and feared I’d …

While I’ve been away, hunkered down in my warm home and neglecting my bicycle, which sits idle, cold and lonely out in my backyard shed, I have been working steadily on my beer belly. Yes, it is coming along nicely, thanks for asking. But the other day I got an email from a regular reader of this column. Beyond being surprised that there actually is a regular reader of this column, the letter got me thinking about riding, generally speaking, and specifically why it is I ride. Part of it, sure, is for the physical benefits — and the lack thereof is apparent in my current state, as …

Editor's Note: I'd like to thank everyone for taking the time to read this column. There's nothing in my work week I like better than putting this together. I've tried to make this less about the bicycle or its parts and more about the spirit of riding and all that goes along with it. I hope I'm at least marginally successful. The Unnamed Bicycle Column is off this week and next, but will return Jan. 9, and, as always, at 11:11 a.m. Today, I'm re-running my favorite column. It didn't get the fanfare of some, and wasn't nearly as popular as others, but this is the one I most enjoyed writing. …

I may as well have just marched outside and smashed the silly little toy right in front of the child. It would have at least saved everyone some time. The two small ones were outside this weekend, heartily riding their bikes in temperatures just above freezing. That they wanted to go outside at all, what with the siren call of all the electronic gadgetry beckoning them to remain inside, warm and idle, was commendable. And that they wanted to ride their bikes in this weather, all the better still. The boy was on his month-old BMX, making laps on the neighborhood street in front of the house. …

I am an avid procrastinator, an Olympic-level Avoider of Things. And Christmas shopping is at or near the top of the list. I despise all the commercialism, loathe hearing anything jingly before I’ve even taken down my Halloween skulls and assorted creepy things, and there’s a vein in my forehead that throbs with a dangerous and heavy metronomic thud when I hear the words “Black Friday.’’ I’m absolutely sickened by the naked money-grubbing and the co-opting of an entire season that ostensibly represents its antithesis. It troubles me on a number of levels, not the least of which is how …

It was the pink pig that got me. I don’t know why, but as I’m gaining speed, tucked into a snarly racing position – shoulders down, crouched and pumping up this latest hill, that’s all I can see: A pink, stuffed, toy pig. I can’t get it out of my mind, though with every turn of the crank, each a little faster than the last, I try to blot out the memory of a terrified little girl’s last minutes on this Earth. And that pink pig that marked the spot where she died. I should downshift, because the incline is frankly just way too steep. Normally I would, but this is not a normal ride. I have more …

It just may be a long, fat winter. Sunday was but the second day this week I was able to put in a few miles in the saddle. It was as pleasant of a fall day as a person could possibly ask: Sunny, warm but mild, with just a hint of wind here and there. I rode for about 20 miles, or thereabouts, with a frequent crunch under my tires as I pedaled over fallen brown leaves heaped in mountains on the side of the road and past the people in the midst of making them. I waved to people working out in their yards, other cyclists out enjoying the morning and even a horse or two on some of the farms I …

Like your car, your house and nearly every other possession you hold dear, your choice of bicycle says a lot about you. None of your stuff defines you, for certain. But choices are definitely reflective of personality. Racers, or those who want to be, tend toward flashy, uber-light, skinny-tire bikes that put the rider in what appears to be a sneering position. Those who bike to work tend toward heavier, more comfortable bikes that place utility over aesthetics. Off-roaders? Well, you’re just a type unto yourselves, aren’t ya? For whatever it says about me, I ride a Bridgestone 600.  It was …

Like putting on your favorite pair of jeans for the first time, you know when you’ve found the right bike. You know it right away. You’re pretty sure the first time you see it, nearly positive the first time you sit on it and ready to give over a credit card regardless of the price after a short spin around the parking lot. And while there may be some tinkering here and there to make the perfect bike more perfecter, nothing changes that your machine just “feels right” immediately. It’s not an easy task, either. Bicycle fit is something of a Black Art, what with angles and geometry and frame …

I don’t want to be one of those fair-weather cyclists, the kind who only ventures out on a bright, sunny day, rides only under ideal conditions and cowers in fear at the first sign of the inclement. I want to ride my bicycle, far and often, regardless of the weather. But let’s just face it, weather is an uncooperative sort. One day last week, there was a light morning rain, right smack during the time I had planned a ride. I hadn’t been out at all to that point, and I was real antsy to get on the bike. But it was raining, see. And rain, for those who don’t know, tends to make you very moist. …

Abner Thorp is a dead man. He's been dead for quite some time, actually, but I've only recently met him. Some of his family, too. They're also quite dead. The Abner Thorp cemetery is a tiny speck of land adjacent to an access road to the back of the Manasquan Reservoir, along Southard Avenue in Howell. Driving past it in a car, you might not even notice it. But one day recently on a ride through that section of Howell, I decided to go straight through a traffic light instead of turning left, as was my then-usual route. That's when I met Abner. * * * * * Abner Thorp died just a shade into the …