I Love Riding in the City

NAME: Kristin Butcher
LOCATION: Everywhere
OCCUPATION: Subaru/IMBA Trail Care Crew

Why I Love Riding in the City

One of the hardest questions for me to answer these days is, “Where do you live?”

I’ve realized that there is no way to accurately answer this question without a squirrelly look and 15 minutes of follow-up discussion. So, I just answer with the truth.

“Everywhere.”

I’m professionally homeless. I’m in a new city every weekend. My husband and I are one of the Subaru/IMBA Trail Care Crews. We travel across the country in a brightly colored Subaru with four bikes on top and our worldly possessions inside. We teach people, everywhere, how to build trails. We show volunteers how to grow their cycling community. But, mostly, we whisper in ears about how bikes can save the world.
Besides being asked where I live, one of the next hardest questions was posed by Jeff the other day.

“What’s riding like in your city?”

My city is every city. It’s Asheville and Minneapolis and Akron, Ohio. Riding in my city du jour is an exercise in exploration. It’s being the new kid in the neighborhood, armed with only a bike and a cat-load of curiosity. Sometimes, it’s being lost and asking for directions in Chillicothe, Missouri only to hear, “Yeah, whatchyer gonna do is turn ‘bout a mile before Ol’ Man Johnson’s barn…” A week ago, it was getting groceries in Bozeman, Montana and locking my bike between a Magna cruiser and a Playschool Big Wheel. Later that day, it was racing the mountain storm back to the hotel.

I won, by the way.

But there are times when riding in my city is more than just a pedal powered errand or a lost excursion. The best times are when I am not alone. Instead of following the whims of my instinct, I am blindly guided by the flapping shirttail of a new friend. Back roads and hidden paths are revealed with every pedal stroke. The sound of my heart pumping is accompanied by tales of old trails and stories of derbies and the occasional reference to an absent friend, now remembered by a rusty white bike affixed to a guardrail. We pass moms with kids in tow, a pack of roadies pedaling at full tilt, and a Colonel Sanders look-a-like who whistles as he rides. We finally arrive at a basement pub. There are bikes stacked outside.

And that’s what I love most about riding in my city. Here, in Everywhere, USA, I’m not the only one enjoying the ride.

Check out www.imba.com/tcc