Wheeling Their Way

He is plagued by thieves, insulted by motorists, nauseated by auto exhausts and bedeviled by dogs. Parking-lot attendants overcharge him, traffic cops ignore him, and children pelt him with snowballs. Undaunted, the Great American Cyclist pedals on, propelled by legs he knows are regaining their muscle, energized by a heart sure to be getting the best possible workout--and secure in the knowledge that he is not alone in his passion. Some 64 million fellow travelers are taking regularly to bikes these days, more than ever before, and more than ever convinced that two wheels are better than four.

Both national and local governments have recognized the phenomenal growth of bicycling. The Federal Bureau of Outdoor Recreation recommended recently that 50 miles of urban bicycle paths be provided for every 100,000 residents, and the Department of the Interior has plans for nearly 100,000 miles of bicycle trails and paths to be constructed in the next ten years. Already there are at least 15,000 miles of bike roads in the U.S. Longest is the 332-mile Wisconsin Bikeway, stretching from the state's eastern edge at Lake Michigan straight across to the Mississippi River. San Francisco boasts a 7 1/2-mile bike trail in Golden Gate Park. New York's Central Park drives are closed to motorists and crammed with cyclists every summer weekend. Minneapolis throws open parts of its spectacular parkway system every summer Sunday, and Chicago offers more than 20 miles of bike trails.

Commuting by Bike. Serious cyclists, of course, do not regard the activity merely as a Sunday or vacation sport but as part of everyday existence. Harvard English Professor Joel Porte, for example, sold his car four years ago, and hasn't "even been tempted" to own one since. Instead, Porte, 36, and his wife Ilana, 31, get by on ordinary $35 three-speed English bicycles; he makes the trip from Belmont, a Boston suburb, to the Cambridge campus in 17 minutes flat. Last week, just before her first baby was due, Mrs. Porte was still running errands by bike.

Actress Doris Day regularly bikes into Beverly Hills to shop and expects to keep it up "even when I'm 80." Doctors and professors at Case Western Reserve University in Cleveland frequently commute by bike, as do some members of the Cleveland orchestra--with piccolos, flutes, violins and violas strapped to their backs.

Most dedicated of all, perhaps, is Eugene A. Sloane, 53, public relations director for the Midwest Stock Exchange, who cycles the 25-mile round trip from his Evanston home to his Chicago office every day of the year except in driving rain or a blizzard. On weekends, Sloane, his wife and four kids all go bicycling for a change, often knocking off as many as 100 miles a day. On business trips, he packs his bike onto airplanes, rides it to his hotel and parks it in his room. When he isn't actually on a bike, Sloane writes about them: his 400-page Complete Book of Bicycling will be published this fall.

Though Bike Fanatic Sloane owns six bikes (ranging in price up to $300), most cyclists get along on one. But which one? Rolls-Royce of the domestic industry is Schwinn, manufacturer of more than 60 different versions, from a $35 child's bike to a $445 handmade tandem (a good idea, according to Eugene Sloane, "if the people are compatible. But if the woman is a dead weight and is going to bitch, forget it").

Although three-speed bikes are still the favorite, lightweight ten-speed models are coming up fast. Bicycling accessories have progressed far beyond the traditional horns, lights, speedometers and pants clips; there are battery-powered electric socks to keep winter cyclists warm, a light-weight reflecting vest that can be folded into a tiny packet, and a can of irritating spray--long beloved by mailmen--to ward off persistent dogs.

Signpost or Tree. Thieves, harder to ward off, are thriving on the bicycle boom. To thwart them, careful cyclists favor three chain locks--one locking each wheel to the frame, the third locking the frame to a stout signpost or tree. But the thieves, using bolt cutters, have no trouble snipping through all but the thickest links. In Manhattan, where bicycle larceny has reached epidemic proportions, many owners who pedal to work no longer consider it safe to leave bikes chained to lampposts outside their office buildings. Like cowboys in the Old West, who could not dare or bear to leave their horses unattended, the cyclists wheel their trusty mounts into elevators and park them in the office, where they are never out of sight of a watchful and loving eye.

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