A Response to Andrew Major's Pedaling Parsimoniously

Editor's Note: When Sam Tracy reached out, asking if he could respond to Andrew Major's review of his book 'Riding More With Less' my response was "of course!" I love debating and discussing with Andrew, and I'm happy to give other folks the opportunity to do so as well, provided they're articulate, which Sam is. So here's his response to Andrew's review.

What a thrill to discover Andrew Major's generous review of Riding More with Less in Bike Mag! Most of my own riding is on city streets, as he correctly assumes, so great to see how the book could also resonate for those going offroad. His extensive treatment of Riding More with Less feels significant, even auspicious—it provides the book’s first published review, and in a cycling publication no less. Andrew raises a number of interesting points in his review, and I’m grateful to the good people at Bike Mag for an opportunity to address some of these.

Perhaps we could have included more pictures in the introductory chapter on tools, as Andrew notes, yet most of what’s described there is easily seen at your friendly local bike shop—or online, if need be. My hope was to spend more time with all the action shots sprinkled throughout the book, where the hand tools naturally take the starring roles. The book might also have benefitted from a treatment of dynamo hubs, as Andrew suggests—I used to run generator lights on various bikes, back in my Minneapolis days, so I can imagine how these would be an improvement over the old slippery-when-wet wheel-mounted generators. But neither are especially common in the US market, as cool as they might be, so they didn’t make the cut.

I probably do still ride like a messenger, in certain ways—what can I say; the reflexes stay with you—but I never wear all black. I much prefer to be colorful! (Working on bikes, I find it's usually enough to simply avoid wearing white.) Andrew’s characterization of bike mechanics struck me as a bit flat, however—it would not have fit any of those I worked with at Capital Bikeshare , at least. Nor do I understand his objection that it is “exceedingly obvious that an experienced bike mechanic is writing,” for that matter: seems like that’d go in the Positives column, for a bike repair manual?

The emphasis Andrew grants to single speeds caught me off guard. While I once owned a single speed conversion, I've never seen them as any end-all, be-all—in hilly places especially, as the book notes. And as is mentioned in that section’s very first sentence, page 210, they only show up towards the end of the drivetrains chapter because knowing how to take these apart can be very useful, when slimming down to 1x1. I have no doubt that the nice thick purple cog Andrew highlights in his review could do much to enhance the single speed experience, but not everyone is going to have $54.95 on hand—some may end up going the long-division route, reconfiguring the rear derailleur as a chain tensioner and so on. So the book explains how that’s done, after providing sufficient information about the various different components involved.

It is true that I was once far more passionate about the fixed gears—in rough alignment with then-current trends, perhaps—and this sentiment led me to grant them the last word on the drivetrains in my previous book, the Bicycle Manifesto . I may or may not be any wiser since then, yet in the winters I still ride the same odd little fixed gear I built 20 years ago: it remains a singular demon, going through the snow. That is to say, the 16”/349 rear wheel still starts and stops spinning as easily as it ever did, which is especially nice on frozen roads.

All that said, by now it is also equally clear to me that my own random inclinations on just what to ride may not be shared by others, so what I call bike no. 5 is not even mentioned in the new book; let alone pictured. In its place come more frank discussions on just what to do with—for example—what many would call the plague of low quality mass-market ‘budget bikes.’

From this perspective, it may be most useful to focus our attention on the range of next-best options—our independent bike shops’ more accessible or affordable fare; all the quality used bikes now available. We should make the most of what we have, if we are serious about promoting cycling; whatever that happens to look like. This is why I sought to offer “a bike repair manual for everyone else.” The focus is meant to be basic, everyday, even a bit worn-out—just like most bikes!

It’s not for me to judge whether or not I’ve succeeded in the effort, of course. I was sorry to learn that Andrew thought my writing might not be suitable for the novice mechanics among us, but others have disagreed—of the Bicycle Manifesto , Library Journal noted that I write “in a humorous, unintimidating tone.” Midwest Book Review rated the same volume “a fine addition to any collection focusing on practical bicycling wisdom.” Providing a foundation for what Andrew calls “beginner-esque bicycle maintenance tasks” is exactly what I set out to do—most cyclists don’t ride or can’t afford the high-end, after all, and I do hope to meet readers where they’re at.

I am glad Andrew enjoyed the chapter on breaking rust—that one was indeed a lot of fun. But they all were, really: what made this project so fulfilling for me were all the great and random contributions sent in from afar. I’m hardly the only one talking about this stuff, after all—as the book illustrates, volunteers and mechanics from Arizona to Australia are using the same sorts of homemade tools to breathe new life into decades-old bikes. Which, in turn, allows cyclists in these other places to ride on; even when they lack the means to purchase new parts.

But this returns us back to an old debate! I caught some heat after my first book, How to Rock & Roll , advocated for reusing parts in certain circumstances, instead of always buying new: a simple prescription, but one that for some contradicted the bike industry’s relentless novelty-for-turnover approach. (Also known as “ model-year mindset ,” in the current vernacular.) Yet as the new book makes clear, this was never an “either/or” equation—it has always been more of a “yes, and” scenario. So many cyclists start out simply riding whatever might be on hand, before maybe upgrading as they can; later on down the road. Right?

If there was one thing I wish Andrew had spent more time with, it would have been the many distinct community bike shop voices which together lend Riding More with Less its unique character; those he somehow dismisses as “my fellow shop rats.” He is correct to infer that the resourceful approach to bike repair only goes from strength to strength, stalking the shiny new even as it redeems the dusty old. And whatever people end up riding—however faded, decrepit, or even obsolete— this tendency ultimately favors more of us on bikes. Which, I hope we’ll agree, can only be a good thing.