Now that tweed rides have achieved a certain national significance, there seems to be quite a bit of conjecture about what the rides mean: a return to dandyism, the hipster search for identity, self-conscious posturing, a yearning for an "authentic" American flamboyance.
Actually, I’m a little chafed by all these suggestions. None seem to really get at the core of the ride, which, in my mind, is simply this:
Get on your bike.
Is that disappointing? Does it seem an overly simplified answer? I suppose it could.
But if you think about it, the great success of the tweed ride is that it reaches the largest cross section of bicyclists possible. Retro grouches meet fixie jocks meet Sunday strollers meet I-haven’t-ridden-in-years-but-dress-up-sounds-fun experience seekers. Enthusiasts of every strain, and novices alike, get on their bikes and ride. Together.
And I cannot possibly overstate the importance of the costume here. The costume gives us common cause. If you have never been on a tweed ride, you are likely to scoff at this. Frankly, I wouldn’t blame you. It is a ridiculous thing to say, particularly in all seriousness. It should be possible to organize a group ride of this size and scope without requiring specific attire. Especially since these tweed rides (or, at least, my tweed ride) are essentially pub crawls. People like pub crawls, and they will want to come anyway. Which is, perhaps, true.
But the tweed dress is an easy unifier. We are all here together. We need to watch out for each other. Should a tweed rider get a flat tire, say, some of us will need to stop and offer assistance. This actually happened to us en route. And I was thrilled to hear the call of “Tweed down!” echo through the throng of bicyclists. Five or so people pulled over, proffered patch kits and tire pumps and encouraging words to a rider they had only met twenty minutes ago. This is what the costumes get you: a quick in to building a community.
What happens after the ride?
I didn’t get a chance to meet everyone on the Tweed Ride, but I did introduce myself to 40 people, roughly speaking. In the week since, I have encountered about 25 of them while out puttering around. We have stopped and greeted each other by name, shared handshakes and smiles and small talk about the neighborhood. I have been out to dinner with 11. We rode there together on our bikes. 2 have come to my house for breakfast. 2 have invited my husband and me to a party at their house. And all have introduced me to more of their friends, bicycle riders or not. A week is early yet, but the prognosis for these new friendships is good.
Also, every business owner who participated has told us that they loved hosting the tweed riders. Not only were we good for their businesses, we were kind to their staff and a curiosity draw for non-tweeds. We have been warmly welcomed back everywhere.
I can’t think of another ride that can do all this. That can merge the interest of so many different riders, and match them with those of local businesses and city planning agendas. I can't recall another local group ride so delightedly received by so many different people: participants, pedestrians, onlookers, and (even) law enforcement. Critical Mass doesn’t come close.
I haven't meant to sound defensive. And I realize that I do. Putting together the Sacramento Tweed Ride (which, I admit, would have gone exactly nowhere without the mister's enthusiasm and elbow grease) was among the most positive things I have ever done. Mr. and I both feel -- not invincible exactly -- but kinetic, enlivened by the knowledge that we can coax a real event from a whole lot of hopes.
We are now more connected to our neighbors, our city, and our bicycles than ever before. And I sense this is the case for all the other tweed riders too. This is well beyond the payoff of a less ostentatious, more bicycle-focused ride. And certainly beyond what a testosterone-fueled fuck you to cars can buy.
This is a step toward the city we've always wanted. And probably the one you wanted as well. I'm pretty sure of myself here, but I have good reason. You donned possibly the most lovely, fop-arific, ridiculous tweeds I could ever hope for. And I can't think of why if not to build something great.
(Also, it was a lot of fun.)
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