Getting My Groove Back!

Finally, oh finally! Today I felt like myself on my bike again. Not watching my speed. Not watching for black ice. Not getting off every couple of blocks to drag the poor bike across a snowbank or to cross a tricky intersection in order to make a left turn. While Spring has not fully sprung yet, winter is definitely gone and the roads are clear. So what if it's raining and there isn't a green leaf or flower in sight (other than on my tights)? I got my cycling groove back!

Taking it nice and slow on the Gazelle since the snow began to fall in December, I'd almost forgotten how awesome this bicycle feels to ride when I really push it. Though heavy, it accelerates wonderfully and moves fluidly with my body. It is tremendous fun to cycle 17mph on this gorgeous beast - steering with my hips and leaning into turns with abandon - sometimes to the amazed looks of passers-by and fellow cyclists. Oh my 50lb flying machine, how I've missed these good times!

And if you're wondering how I know that I can go 17mph on the Gazelle, it's thanks to the Co-Habitant's computer on his Pashley. Yes, he has computers both on his roadbike and on his transport bike, and when we ride together he likes to inform me of my speed. Although secretly pleased, I dutifully pretend to be annoyed. I mean, come on - a computer on a Pashley Roadster! What's next, bottle cages? Oh wait...

Well, as you can tell, I am in a fine mood. I had not fully realised until now how much cycling this winter had been stressing me out. While I am always vigilant when riding in traffic, the sort of hyper-vigilance the road conditions commanded over the past two months really did a number on my nerves. I guess for me, cycling is both stressful and tedious if I expect to have to execute emergency maneuvers at any moment. I wouldn't make a good bike messenger for sure.

Of course, one downside to the winter ending is that all the thick wool hats I've been making (that our apartment is now littered with) will soon have to be retired until the next cold season - but that is a small price to pay for getting my cycling groove back. It has been weird to keep up Lovely Bicycle for the past couple of months while doing only a minimal amount of cycling, and I felt almost fraudulent to be waxing lyrical about bicycle design and cycling-related issues while riding hardly 10 miles per week. Hopefully that is all in the past (that is, until next winter) and I will soon once again have the pleasure of boring you with descriptions of 40 mile rides on my roadbikes, trips to distant grocery stores, and discoveries of new-to-me lands.

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You Take What You Can Get!

Today was the first time in two months that I went on what can even remotely be described as a "recreational" ride. Having finished my errands, I continued onto the Charles River trail for a half hour - then turned around and rode back. The wind was brutal and the temperature around 30°, but the trail was finally free of snow and I couldn't resist it despite my continually running nose. 

It felt weird to cycle "for no reason" after not having done it for so long! I kept thinking "wait, where am I going again?" before remembering that I wasn't headed anywhere in particular. But I'm sure I'll get used to it soon.

The Charles River trail now has less snow on it than the roads do - which is odd, because I didn't think they'd even plowed it all winter. Maybe it's warmer next to the river.  As for the roads, the snow has mostly melted - but hardened snowbanks still pop up when you least expect them, making transportation cycling like an obstacle course that requires constant merging in and out of traffic. I keep looking out the window and hoping that finally, today cycling will be normal again. But it isn't quite there yet. You take what you can get.

On the road, I had a conversation with a motorist at an intersection that I've had several times before (not with the same motorist, mind you). The light had just turned red and the driver began signaling a right turn. Since I was already on his right, I positioned myself slightly ahead of him and waited for the light to change.

Driver (good-naturedly): You trying to race me, hon? I'm pretty sure I'll win!

Me: What?... Oh. No, I'm trying to make sure that you see me and we don't collide when you turn right. If I'm further back you might not see me.

Driver: Huh?  (thinks about it for a moment) Oooooh. Huh! Okay, that makes sense. And I've been wondering why you guys do that.

For me, these kinds of interactions confirm what I intuitively suspect: Some of the safety maneuvers that cyclists take for granted as being logical and inherently understood by both parties involved, in fact often aren't. So here was this motorist, apparently wondering for God-knows-how-long why the heck all these cyclists need to make it a point of stopping slightly in front of him at intersections, and the reason simply never occurred to him until I explained it. And no, I don't think he was teasing me by pretending not to understand. Still, at least he was friendly and from now on he'll know. You take what you can get!

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First vs Second Winter of Cycling

With my second winter of cycling drawing to an end, I am thinking about the differences between this year's and last year's experiences. I am certainly a better cyclist this time around, and I've also gone through a great deal of trial and error as far as what works and what does not. Here are some notes comparing this winter to the last:

Choosing the right bike for winter
Before last winter began, it seemed that everyone around me was saying that I needed a "winter bike" - a "beater" type mountain bike. I considered it, but ultimately stuck with my Pashley and it worked perfectly well - as did my vintage Gazelle this winter. After my two winters' worth of experience in the snow and salt, I would say that my ideal "winter bike" is one with a chaincase, an internally geared hub, drum brakes, and stable handling. After seeing others struggle with frozen and rusted derailleurs, I would not ride a derailleur bike for transportation in the winter. After getting snow stuck under the calipers on one of my bikes and being unable to stop while going downhill, I will also never ride a rim brakes-only bike in winter.

Road conditions
Last year the amount of snow we had was typical for Boston: It snowed regularly, but not overwhelmingly, and the roads were mostly kept clear by the plows. My classic upright bike with its regular tires was just fine under those conditions, and I did not feel the need for studded tires. This winter, I admit it: Had I gotten studded tires from the start, life would have been easier. But who could have predicted that we would have one crazy blizzard after another this time around? It's too late now, but next winter I might buy studded tires and keep them around just in case.

Temperature control
Last winter this was a huge problem for me - my biggest problem in fact. I just could not get the layering right and would constantly feel either too hot or too cold. This winter I embraced wool, and these problems disappeared. I am converted to such an extent, that I have now sold or given away most of my non-wool clothing, and wear a combination of stuff I've knitted myself and stuff I've bought from technical wool brands like Icebreaker, I/O Bio, Ibex and Smartwool (I plan to write a comparative review of different items from these brands soon).

Recreational cycling
Last winter, I hung up my "sporty bike" (at the time my vintage mixte) in early November and did not retrieve it again until April. This winter I rode recreationally all through November and part of December, and managed to go on a couple of winter rides even after it began to snow. I also got a trainer and began to "cycle" indoors when it became apparent that this winter would me much worse than the last.

Adjusting expectations
If you live in an area with harsh winters, the simple fact is that you will likely cycle less during the winter season - no mater how tough you are. Though mentally I was aware of that last winter, I was not prepared for it emotionally and found myself in a constant state of frustration as a result. Despite this winter being much worse than the last one, I knew what to expect this time around and it was much easier to take. I still cycle for transportation, but my traveling radius has decreased. I also walk a lot, take public transportation, and spend more time working on projects indoors. That's just how it's going to be until (I expect) mid-March or so, and I have adjusted my expectations accordingly.

I know that many of my readers took up transportation cycling around the same time as I did, and are now going through their second winter as well. Have you noticed any differences? lessons learned that you could share with others? And for those who have been cycling for longer, does it get easier with each winter, or are there ups and downs depending on the year?

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Tricks of the Camera

I had three lenses with me in the camera bag yesterday, so I thought it would be neat to illustrate how different lenses affect the way a bicycle looks in pictures. Here are three photos of my mixte standing in the same position, taken with (left to right:) an 85mm lens, a 50mm lens, and a 35mm lens, using identical camera settings. Notice any differences?

Here is a closer look at the picture taken with the 85mm lens. First off, notice the relationship of the bicycle to the trees: In this picture the bike looks like it is positioned in between the trees. There are hardly any trees in the frame itself and if I wanted to I could crop them out all together, making the bike an isolated object in the midst of snow and sand. There is also not a great deal of background information in the space above the bike: a few stairs, but that is all. Furthermore, the things in the background are kind of blurry in comparison to how sharp the bicycle itself looks. And finally, take a look at the size of the bicycle's wheels. The bike is slightly turned toward the camera and the front wheel is closer to me than the rear. But despite this, the front wheel does not look much larger than the rear; the bicycle looks proportional. The 85mm lens is considered a "portrait lens" precisely because it creates these effects: It isolates the subject from the clutter of surrounding objects and reduces unflattering foreshortening effects in the subject's face and body.

Now the same scene, but taken with a 50mm lens. Notice how much more background information is visible in this picture. And it's impossible to crop out, because all that extra stuff is directly behind the bike, rather than around it. The same trees that were spread out to the right and left in the previous picture, now overlap with the bike's wheels and can't be cropped out. More stuff in the space above the bike is visible as well - now we see not just the stairs, but a winding path. And the background scenery is in sharper focus than in the previous picture. It's a nice composition as far as narrative goes (we get more of a sense of the bicycle being in the woods), but a portrait or product photographer would tell you that the background is starting to compete with the subject of the photo. One of the trees looks like it's growing out of the pannier, and the winding path draws the eye away from the forms of the bike itself.

And same scene once again, but with a 35mm lens. The entire patch of woods and the street behind it have now been wrangled into the shot. The background scenery is just as sharp as the bicycle itself, and there's so much of it, that the scene looks altogether cluttered. Also, notice that the front wheel of the bicycle looks considerably larger than the rear, as a result of being closer to the camera. Foreshortening effects are pretty strong with this lens: If I were photographing a person's face, their nose would appear exaggeratedly large in comparison to their eyes for the same reason as the mixte's wheels look to be different sizes.

There is much more to be said about differences between these lenses, and in fact I haven't given a proper introduction to camera lenses at all - but that would take ages and it's nothing you can't find in an online reference. Hopefully, these pictures illustrate the way in which lenses play a role in bicycle photography, and why sometimes it seems like you just can't compose the shot you want with your camera. For those of you who use digital SLRs with interchangeable lenses, which do you prefer to use for bicycle photos?

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Misadventures in the Thaw

As you may have inferred from the dearth of personal posts and new pictures, there has not been a great deal of cycling lately. But suddenly, yesterday: a thaw. A cursory glance outside suggested that the streets had somewhat cleared of snow, and so I eagerly dragged out the bike. But what was meant to be a productive day, became instead a frazzled misadventure.

Liberated from the heaps of snow under which it's sat for over a month, my entire street now looks like it's being dug for trenches. I am amazed that this could happen over the course of a single winter, especially since they'd just recently repaved it. There is barely a foot of road where the asphalt is not broken, and it's nearly impossible to cycle through what is essentially one big ditch.

Soon I was on the main road, which has bike lanes in both directions. That is the bike lane in the picture above. When the blizzards were in full force, it was understandable that the bike lanes were not cleared. The whole town was covered in yards of snow, and I don't think bike lanes deserve special treatment compared to traffic lanes and sidewalks. But they do deserve equal treatment, and for the past couple of weeks they have not been getting it, as far as I can see. Everything except for the bike lanes is now cleared.

After a couple of swerves and dodges, I decided to get out of the bike lane altogether and cycle on the road. The drivers thought I was insane. Apparently, they are no longer sympathetic to cyclists being in the traffic lane, because the conditions aren't harsh enough to evoke the "winter weather mode of politeness." I got a couple of "what are you doing??" gestures through rolled down windows, and my feeble attempts to point at the slush and ice in the bike lane elicited only blank stares. The bike lane looked fine to them - at least fine enough to make it no longer acceptable for me to be out in the traffic lane. After this happened a couple of times, I gave in. I didn't want to be right. I just wanted to get where I needed to go without arguing with every third car that passed me. So I got back in the bike lane. And that's when it happened: My first near-accident.

I don't have pictures of what the spot looked like, but it was similar to the watery area you see behind the bike here. I was cycling along a more or less clear portion of the bike lane, when suddenly I approached what looked like water with some slushy edging to it. It was getting dark at this point, and I considered that the water might in fact be covering a layer of ice. But by the time this thought entered my mind, I had a choice to either brake suddenly, swerve around it, or go through it. Looking over my shoulder, there was no room to swerve. And braking seemed like a bad idea in that particular spot. So I went through it. There was indeed ice underneath the water, and the bike's reaction surprised me. It did not slide out from underneath me or flip over upon hitting the ice, but remained upright while "skating" in a zig-zag, much like a car would on an icy road. Incredibly, I kept my balance and tried to contain the zig-zagging within the bike lane, as there was a steady flow of cars to my left. It seemed to me that this went on forever, but in all likelihood it was probably over in less than 10 seconds. I looked back afterward, and the ice-watery stretch was a quarter of a block long. I feel comfortable classifying that as a safety hazard.

I don't mind admitting that the experience left me a bit shaken, and I decided to turn back before reaching my intended destination. I switched on my lights and cycled on the road again, not caring whom I was inconveniencing and how they chose to express that. Then I stopped by a shop near my house to get some olives.

Not having taken my pannier along, I put the olives in a paper bag and secured the package via "rat-trap" - which made me think about rack design again. It is surprising to me that the Gazelle rack, which is rated for a huge amount of weight, has no provisions for bungee cord attachment. I don't really trust these rat trap thingies. I also have mixed feelings about "cafe locks." They are heavy, they are not always easy to use, and you can hurt your fingers if they get in the way of the lever popping back up when the lock is released - which is exactly what happened after my olive purchase.

I arrived home without further incident, albeit trailing olive brine from the rat trap having pressed into the container. A notification of a missed package greeted me with a malicious grin, as I removed the leaking packet from my bike rack and prepared to drag the Gazelle up the stairs. A productive afternoon it was not.

But surely there are lessons to be learned from this. The lure of the first thaw is not to be trusted? Water-covered ice is more treacherous than packed snow? Don't let drivers bully you into a bike lane that you feel is unsafe? Yes, all of those certainly seem to fit, but somehow I don't feel a whole lot wiser after the experience. What exactly am I supposed to do next time, cycle on the road and be shouted at the whole way? Or stay off the bike until the city finally decides to clear the sides of the roads? Neither is an appealing option.

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Skinny, Wide, or Stay the Heck Inside?

Okay, I promise not to make this another post with deep thoughts inspired by the snowpocalyptic weather in Boston. Because at this point, my bikes have reached a state that clinicians like to call "learned helplessness": The individual, convinced that no action on their part can alter their fate, just gives up and stops trying, possibly curling up in the fetal position and gently rocking back and forth. The snow won, dear readers. Oh yes, it won.

Yesterday, this was "the road" outside my house. Perhaps not surprisingly, last night I had a dream about this fellow. Though I am normally drawn neither to Surly nor to mountain bikes, I've had the hots for the Surly Pugsley since the first time I saw one a couple of years ago. I have no intention of getting one, honest. But part of me wishes I still lived in Northern NH, so that I'd "have no choice but to get it," you understand. I have seen pictures of that bicycle ridden through waist-deep snow, through soft sand, and crossing medium sized lakes. And something about the proportions seems just right to me, making the Pugsley an "ugly, in a handsome kind of way" type of bike. The Joe Viterelli of bikes, if you will.

But whenever I bring up the Pugsley with its 3.8" tires as an example of a dream "winter bike," someone inevitably replies that "bikes with skinny tires are actually better in the snow" - which, no matter how many times a proponent of that concept tries to explain it, does not make a great deal of sense to me. While I understand that skinny tires can supposedly pierce through the snow, I am skeptical. Doesn't that mean the bike could easily get stuck? And why do I see only mountain bikes when there's significant snow on the roads?

There is no doubt that my massively heavy, long wheelbase, 38mm tire Gazelle handles better when going over snow than the lighter and sprightlier 35mm tire Bella Ciao. But neither of them is sufficient when things get really bad. And oddly, on the worse days I actually find myself favouring the Bella Ciao, only because its easier to wield when acrossing enormous snowbanks. Poor bike, I look forward to seeing what the chain will look like under that nearly-but-not-quite-full chaincase after the winter is over...

If anybody out there is riding on streets that look like this, what bike are you riding and how is it working out for you? And if you say "skinny tires," I want pictures! As for me, I stayed indoors all day today - drinking tea, catching up on work, and daydreaming of crossing frozen rivers on a white Pugsley.

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Stop, Look Around...

All the walking I've been doing lately on account of the weather has made me pay even closer attention to my surroundings than I do while cycling. Everything looks different in the snow - elegant and magical. The thin patch of woods near my house has turned into a majestic white forest worthy of a 19th century Scandinavian painting. It's as if the sky was squeezed straight out of a tube of cerulean blue and the austere vertical strokes of the trees were applied with a pallet knife. It's not my style, but I am certain this scene has been painted many times. It's archetypal.

Upon emerging from the pristine wonderland, I came face to face with this. Literally: It was located at face level, and in my willingness to submerge myself so fully in my daydream, I nearly walked into it.

The city is using excavators to facilitate snow removal, as the plows alone are not enough. The effect is interesting, making the neighbourhood look like an igloo construction zone. In order to clear the center of the roads, the excavator dumps more and more snow to the sides - creating monstrous, densely packed snowbanks that line the streets like the walls of some arctic city-state.

Walking on the sidewalk is a surreal experience. You are essentially in a tunnel - with buildings on one side, igloo wall on the other. Along some stretches, the snowbanks are taller than the average human height, so as a pedestrian I can only see the sidewalk in front of me and not the road to the side of me.

Those "Do Not Enter" and "Except Bicycles" signs are for a one-way side street that has a bike lane going in the direction against traffic. For most of last winter the lane looked like this. How cute that I complained about it then: This year it's been swallowed up by the snow banks entirely.

It is not uncommon to encounter bicycles "buried alive." There were actually three separate bicycles inside this snowbank.

Less common is the sight of a bicycle being ridden - but it happens, especially on the heavily salted main roads. Note how the yellow crosswalk sign, its reflection in the puddle, and the golden light of the setting sun play off the colours in the cyclist's knitted hat - all of it especially noticeable against the white, snowy backdrop. Somehow, everything seems to be reminding me of a painting these days. Certainly this person and his hat deserve to be painted.

It's been over a month and a half now without the car. We signed up for zipcar through the Co-Habitant's work, but have not used it yet. And ironically, the blizzards are making it easier to do without: With the roads as bad as they are, we wouldn't have been traveling to any photoshoots up North anyway, and so we don't feel as if not having our car is keeping us from accomplishing anything. We'll get the car fixed as it gets closer to Spring. But for now, it's been remarkably easy to just forget about that thing and for us both to get around entirely on foot and bike. And with so many snow days, I am rediscovering walking - which I appreciate for making me stop, look around, and see my neighborhood in a new light.

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Regular Wool vs 'Technical' Wool

Despite this winter being colder than last, I am finding cycling in freezing temperatures easier this time around. The reason, is that I have finally surrendered to wool. Clad in head to toe wool, I no longer complain about the cold and life has gotten easier. Pictured here: a long sleeve wool t-shirt from Icebreaker (the red bit sticking out), wool sweater and gloves from Jigsaw, wool skirt and hat that I knitted myself, and wool coat (folded over the back of the bike) from Benetton. Not visible here are Icebreaker leggings, Smartwool socks, and I/O Bio underwear and bra - also all wool.

I've certainly worn wool in the past, and - like Dottie from Let's Go Ride a Bike - I have always loved sweaters with enormous turtle/cowl necks that can be unfolded over my face to protect against the frost. But before this year, I have limited wool clothing to outer layers, and did not think I was tolerant of wool right next to my skin. That was why I repeatedly ignored advice that was given me last year to buy lightweight "technical" wool. I remember trying to wear wool shirts and tights next to my skin before, and finding them irritatingly itchy. Today's manufacturers of technical wool - the most popular being Smartwool, Ibex and Icebreaker - promise featherweight, itch-free garments. But they are also super expensive. It took me a long time to suspend my disbelief and commit to giving these things a try, and it also took me a long time to find everything I wanted on sale. But now that I have, I can never go back. The stuff works, and it really is non-itchy - even for someone whose skin is normally sensitive to wool.

I am not sure how exactly "technical wool" is made, and most likely every manufacturer's version is different. But the idea is, that the merino fibers are kept super fine, but made to interlock in a way that results in efficient temperature regulation. In comparison, if you examine a "regular wool" garment - like the sweater I am wearing here - you will find that it is more porous, not quite as smoothly textured, and thicker. Even the finest merino and cashmere sweaters do not have the same tissue-weight quality and smooth, dense texture as the technical wool garments.

All this makes it possible to wear "technical wool" next to one's skin, and for those struggling with the cold, I would highly recommend it. Wearing a wool sweater and overcoat did nothing for me last year, when the stuff I'd wear underneath was made of cotton or some other fabric. My underlayers would get soaked with sweat, and then the wind would chill me to the bone when I would stop at intersections. The feeling of my skin being covered with frozen sweat underneath three layers of clothing was just awful. But wearing wool underwear, bra, tights, and long-sleeve tee, has solved this problem for me completely. As far as the difference between the popular brands, I think they are all pretty good and I just get whatever is on sale. For ultra-thin layers, I prefer Icebreaker. And I also love Icebreaker leggings - they are gusseted, whereas Smartwool leggings are not.

For layers that are not directly next to the skin, I find "regular" wool sufficient - either store bought wool clothing, or things I knit myself. While Smartwool, Ibex, Icebreaker and others do offer technical outer layers, I think it is just too expensive for most people to amass an entire wardrobe out of that stuff. And, of course, it is also stylistically limiting. For me, as long as the layers next to my skin are the technical garments, I can wear pretty much anything over them and it will feel fine. I like to knit my own hats and skirts, because making them is fairly easy and I can invent my own styles. But sweaters are complicated, so mine are all store-bought.

One thing to keep in mind, is that thin merino sweaters are usually warmer than chunky sweaters, because the tightly-knit merino is less porous. Unfortunately, I have noticed lately that even stores that used to sell simple wool sweaters no longer do: I could not find a single sweater at our local Gap, Old Navy, or Banana Republic stores that was 100% wool over the past couple of seasons - and I checked at various points in time out of curiosity. Several years ago, you could walk in and buy a wool sweater without a problem, so I wonder what accounts for this change. Has the price of wool risen? J. Crew still offers a good variety of merino sweaters, as well as cashmere, but I wonder whether that is on its way out as well. It would be a shame, since it seems that an increasing number of people are re-discovering the benefits of natural fibers over synthetics - particularly in the winter. What are your experiences with "regular" wool, "technical" wool, and other fibers?

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The Least Daunting Option

Well, it seems that we've been having one of two weather conditions in Boston lately: (a) blizzard, or (b) in between blizzards. When it's the latter, I have been riding my bike - sort of. To be honest, I would not be doing it if I didn't have to, because the road conditions are pretty bad. But the bus makes me motion sick, the nearest subway stop is a 15 minute walk from our house (longer in the snow), and the sidewalks are slippery. So except on days when the roads are completely impassable, cycling seems to be the least daunting option. Still, "least daunting" doesn't mean "easy," and I've had to make a number of adjustments to the way I ride a bike, in order to be able to do it at all.

For one thing, I cycle much slower than usual, because I am scared of hitting not only ice patches, but those mini-mountains of hard snow that seem to pop up when I least expect them, like some treacherous obstacle course. Cycling slowly allows me to see them in time to either brake, or figure out how to go around them safely (I am a slow thinker when it comes to spacial rotation tasks). Happily, there are almost no other cyclists on the roads, so there is no one to get annoyed at my crawling speed - I've found that I can go as slow as I like, and no one seems bothered. I guess to cars, it's pretty much the same whether I am cycling at 7mph or 20mph: Either way, they are faster than me and will have to pass me eventually.

I also simply accept that I will have to get off my bike and walk a lot - across impassable stretches of slush and even over snowbanks. Sometimes I'll walk for a quarter of a block, then get back on the bike and ride for a couple of blocks, then get off again, and so on. It's annoying, but still better than walking the entire way - at least to me. Warmer and faster.

Finally, I've been having to get really creative about locking up my bike. Most bike racks have been made inaccessible by the surrounding knee-deep snow. So I will usually chain my bike to a fence, or whatever is handy - often having to rest it on top of a snowbank.

While all this is kind of miserable, I also find it pretty funny. I am not a "hard core" cyclist by any means and I am extremely risk averse. "Wimp" would probably be the appropriate word. And yet I am one of the few people out there on a bike, which does make me question my sanity. But I guess there is no better motivator than having no other choice - or at least no alternative options that are less daunting. Cycling in slow motion through a winter wonderland is not so bad, after all, when I compare it to feeling nauseous inside of a stuffy bus, or slip-sliding along icy sidewalks.

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Showing Off or Showing How? On Bicycle Blog Exhibitionism

I've been having a discussion with a reader about "the exhibitionist culture of bicycle blogs" and more specifically, about "those girly bike blogs" that, in his view, are the most exhibitionist of all. This is a theme that keeps coming up now and again, and so I would like to say a few words on the subject. Certainly there are elements of exhibitionism to photographing yourself regularly and then posting those pictures on a publicly viewable website. My intent is not to debate this. But consider the possibility, that this element is not the main point.

Human beings tend to learn by doing - or at least by watching someone else demonstrating the doing, which automatically causes the viewer to imagine themselves in the doer's place. Pictures that show a real person - ideally the author of whatever narrative is being presented - performing the behaviour described in the narrative, are more engaging to viewers. In other words, a photo of me cycling through the park, followed by the text "and then I cycled through the park" will make the reader "feel" the experience more poignantly than a photo of the park alone followed by the identical text. This has been demonstrated countless times - mainly within the genre of empathy, motor mimicry, and emotional contagion research - and it is why instructional videos most typically have a human narrator who acts out the instructions.

Even in the absence of visual cues, first person narrative in itself is more engaging to readers than other forms of narrative. That is why fictional stories told in the first person, or personal accounts of events, are more interesting and memorable for most people than scientific writing.

As a graduate student, I once devised an experiment where participants were given sentences to read that contained identical information, but were phrased either in the first person ("I placed the shoe in the bedroom"), in the third person ("She placed the shoe in the bedroom"), or in the passive voice ("The shoe was placed in the bedroom"). When asked questions about the information later ("Where is the shoe?"), participants recalled it best when that information had been embedded in first person sentences.  An interesting side-effect of this, was that people also tended to give more elaborate answers about the first person sentences, frequently adding extra information. For example: "The shoe is in the bedroom, on the rug by the dresser." To me, this means that the first person voice encouraged the reader to use their imagination more, essentially re-enacting the sentence in their mind and picturing themselves taking the shoe to the bedroom. Where would they have put it? Apparently on the rug, by the dresser.

It does not take a huge mental leap to see how this relates to bicycle blogs. By telling personal stories and by posting pictures of themselves engaged in the activities they write about, the so-called "girly bike blogs" make the cycling experience more poignant and memorable to a world wide web audience (especially if the members of this audience are not already bike enthusiasts) than dry, technical blogs ever can. While I seldom post diary-style entries where I discuss what I did that day, what I wore, what I had for lunch, etc., I enjoy other blogs written in that format very much and I find them helpful. Blogs like that do not only introduce ideas as mere concepts: They enable viewers to imagine integrating those ideas into their own lives. To call it gratuitous exhibitionism is to grossly undervalue their impact on audiences.

When it comes to females in particular, there are layers upon layers of self-consciousness about how we are perceived by others - formed by too many social, historical and evolutionary factors to mention here. But... so what? Depicting yourself as an actor - rather than a passive narrator armed with academic phraseology - is a means of connecting with an audience that is emotional and visceral. That might make it disconcerting to some, but it also makes it effective, as it taps into the most basic mechanisms underlying the human desire to communicate and learn. Sure, on some level, it may be showing off. But more significantly, it is showing how.

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