:: cyclists inciting change thru live exchange
Gone Bitchen
June 22, 2005
“All right Bitches!”, a woman bursts out excitedly, releasing pent up glee. Her broad smile expands even further across her face when others whoop and hollar in solid agreement. Women, bikes and blinding sun wash in through the open door, soon there is little room to move about freely without knocking into someone bent over a bike. Some set up and get right to work, while others stand sheepishly by their bikes, waiting for rescue. The volunteers quickly swoop in on the newcomers, propping their bikes up on free stands, they ask questions, spin pedals, shift through the gears and begin problem solving. My girlfriend clutches a naked bike frame tight to her chest; huddling together, we pin ourselves between a crowded repair station and the display case. We are forced to separate often in order to make way for women who need to pass into the small back room, where file cabinets full of spare parts are kept. Each file drawer labeled in large block letters scrawled out across fat strips of red duct tape, tells of what treasured part awaits inside. Some drawers are even adorned with visual labels, photographs mostly of headless persons holding stems or brake calipers close to their bodies. One picture shows a boys chest with hubs held up to his nipples.
My girlfriend and I are here for the first time, though we’ve been invited many times before. We know a few of the women organizers here, but we too wait sheepishly by our bike for rescue. There are not enough volunteers to go around, but that has more to do with the surprise number of women that keep showing up at the kitchen. Kelly, who has sewn large green rough cut letters that read “Gone Bitchen” on the back of her sleeveless brown work shirt, tells us that it’s the largest turn out ever when she pauses for a brief moment on her way across the room. She smiles warmly and then quickly returns to assisting a woman in adjusting her rear derailleur.
I look at faces, their eyebrows knit with concentrated stares through spinning spokes, or partially hidden by top tubes. No one talks loudly but the voices mix and float up into the air, bouncing off the bike and tire laden walls; bouncing between the tall walls back and forth like a fast game of Atari Pong. The voices, the hammering, the spinning cogs all seemingly disparate elements, enliven the space with an almost tangible harmonious electric buzz. A man walks in and is informed that he is more than welcome to hang out but he can’t work, it’s Bicycle Bitchen night and only women can tinker, bang and scavenge for the next three hours.
We ask a free volunteer who has gratefully approached us, where she thinks we should start on our frame. “The bottom bracket, this will determine everything else you put on”, JP begins after introducing herself, she is the one with the ever broad smile. She explains that she doesn’t know as much as the others when we pry her for more information, but she will find someone who can help us further...and she does right away... snatching Monica up between lost sheep. JP points us out and Monica nods over towards us and we meet in the middle of the room, where there is some precious space. Monica and my girlfriend get into details and I decide to ditch out at that moment and go next door for coffee. I can see that my girlfriend is not sure about being left alone in the crowd just yet, but I ignore her pleading looks. Outside I get sidetracked into a conversation that goes through a variety of subjects, from spoke cards to non-monogamy in 20 minutes or so. The conversation ends with Jen, whom I have gotten to know very well in a short amount of time, admitting that she has been freezing the entire time and needs to grab a sweater and with my recalling with great guilt that I told my girlfriend I would be right back with her latte. I return empty handed because the coffee shop is overwhelmed by cyclists, and I just don’t have the patience to wait through questions of “do you have anything vegan” or “do you sell beer” when they clearly do not . I should admit that I have an equally annoying question to ask as well, “Do you have soy milk?”...but don’t have the courage at the time to follow in the line of annoying questioners. I am hoping that they do when I come back and it is less crowded; though it is , like beer and veganism not on the menu board.
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