Bicycle Commuting Sans Helmet--Cool?

Apparently, one reason potential bike commuters still fire up their engines every day is an aesthetic aversion to wearing helmets.

In this recent NYTimes article on the fashion of bike commuting in the Big Apple, dummy court attorney James Vicente declares, "Riding a bike should be normal, and you shouldn’t have to wear a funny Styrofoam hat."

He clearly has never handled a dooring case. Or a "T-boned by a fat lady" case. Or an "I fell over the speed bump" case. Or a "I clipped in and then ate it in front of all of my friends" case.

These events may seem harmless enough, but think of it like this: Picture yourself standing up. Now fall backwards without extending your arms, or stepping back to catch yourself. Your big fat head just struck pavement from an average height of 5' 1" if you're a dude, or 4'almost 8" if you're a lady. (Given a head length of 8".)

Even if you've been diligent about your calcium intake, your cranium is heading for a Humpty Dumpty moment when you fall off of your bike. You don't even have to be moving. It's a big drop for a very unbouncy, and quite important body part.

The NYTimes author concludes that not wearing a helmet, à la Dutch bike commuters (who have enviously made bike commuting a simple fact of daily life), is a "style perk" afforded by riding a stately Dutch bike.

If a point of the article was to examine ways, like introducing Dutch bikes to the city, to make bike commuting hip and fashionable to people who don't self-identify as "cyclists", the author should have more responsibly jump started the "wearing your helmet is cool, yo!" initiative in the process.

Because people fall--and not only when descending Alpe d'Huez in a pack of 20 cyclists going 50 mph. Even a fall from 0mph can have dramatic consequences.

Drooling on yourself for the rest of your life, Mr. Vicente, is far less fashionable than wearing a "Styrofoam hat".

Triathlete with Two Left Feet

Coachubby made a New Year's resolution to not cuss. Not that he cussed much before. Really, about the only thing that could coax a full-out four-letter word from his mouth pre-2009 was bike maintenance.

As with all good resolutions, this one came unhinged this past Sunday---for a completely different reason.

After driving one hour to do a recon run to connect part of the elusive (in parts) Backbone Trail that supposedly runs 70 miles from Point Mugu to Will Rogers State Park along the Santa Monica Mountains, coachubby made a terrible discovery.

He brought two left shoes.

This is what happens when you become loyal to one brand (asics) and one color (black) of running shoes. Other friends have said they know which shoes are their new shoes by dirtiness. Coachubby, however, made the discovery that black shoes are not only cheaper (who wants black shoes?) but they never look dirty.

Hence two left shoes.

To coachubby's credit (or demise) he turned the insole around, stuffed the arch with toilet paper, and continued on our recon run--at a pace far faster than I could ever match with perfectly normal shoes.

To coachubby's discredit, this is not the first time we've driven far away from home to do something involving running or biking only to find out he forgot a key element of the activity.

After driving two hours north to Santa Barbara to ride a century last year, coachubby realized he had forgotten his helmet.

D'oh!

After waiting a bit for Target to open, he was soon able to encase his noggin' in a ruby-red skater-like contraption that said "helmet" on the label. As coachubby's dad said, a $30 helmet for a $30 head. That helmet now lives in the car should another such brain fart occur.

Not that I'm without my own forgetful disaster stories. In college, after riding a bus for hours to a championship cross country race, I realized I had brought my super-cute new heels for the banquet the evening following the race, but not my running shoes.

A friend had brought two pairs of shoes and let me borrow hers. They were 3 sizes too small.

Needless to say, I sucked. A result not unlike most of my collegiate XC results, only that time I had something to blame for my slow turnover.

So what have we learned here? Coachubby's new resolution should be "to remember the essential items that will let me swim, bike, and run whenever I get in the car on the weekend."

I certainly hope athletic accessory forgetfulness (AAF) will not be passed down to little coachubby divas. I can only picture our little kids now, stealing someone's helmet out of transition before heading onto the run course with two left feet.

They'll probably still kick my butt on the run. Just like coachubby.

Wear Your Freaking Helmet, Egghead!

Driving up PCH yesterday, I could not believe how many helmetless cyclists I saw.

(Still not cool in '93.)

In the words of Coachubby last night when he was given less than a full "Gotta Have It" cup of ice cream at Cold Stone Creamery, "COME ON, SERIOUSLY?!"

Riding without an helmet is the cycling equivalent of public nudity. It's like you're mooning us all with your embarassingly bare head. Or a head you think looks cool because you're wearing a cyclilng cap à la Tour de France riders in the '90s and early 2000s.

Surprisingly, most of the moronic riders I saw were men in their '40s and '50s. Having realized a sense of my own mortality in my late teens, I'd think these guys would have realized they are not Superman by now.

Even if you think you have nothing to live for, which I seriously doubt, otherwise you wouldn't be out enjoying a gorgeous ride up PCH (unless you're there for the sole purpose of blaming your death on an errant RV who can't drive between the lines), there are still a lot of people who will be adversely affected by your splattery demise.

Nobody wants to spend their Sunday scraping your brains up off the ground.

Sound gruesome? Well, that's what's going to happen if, I don't know, you accidentally hit a rock while admiring the view (like coachubby did a few years ago--he was wearing a helmet. It cracked, he didn't.), or your aerobars suddenly snap off of your bike, like what happened to David Superlucky as told by Brian Melekian in his blog. This lucky guy only became a helmet convert that morning after enduring constant heckling from his buddies.

Accidents happen. Ones that don't involve cars or other people. And while CHP officers sometimes refer to helmets as "head caskets", they're talking about the helmets of motorcycle riders who crash doing 80mph.

Unless you're going for a land-speed cycling record, a helmet might be the only thing standing in the way between you and the afterlife. And don't think you'll be going to heaven---you were highly inconsiderate in your last waking moments by not wearing a helmet.

No, helmets can't save your life all of the time, but they have consistently been the only thing sitting between cyclists and permanent purgatory as a living vegetable.

Just ask David.