Bicycles vs. Cars: Which Is The Better Value?

Yesterday a friend informed me that she's purchased a Schwinn bicycle, and she's loving it. It looks like this:



We talked bicycles for a bit, and she said her father once did a value exercise: he figured out how much we paid per pound for bicycle technology, then contrasted that with the per pound price of automobile technology. Strictly on this basis alone, the car is a vastly better value.

Here's how this exercise works in my circumstances, in Canadian dollars: the sticker price for a new Toyota Yaris is $14,995. Its curbside weight is roughly 2,080 lbs. That works out to about $7.20 per lb.

The sticker price for a new Fisher HKEK is $1,299 (Cdn). Let's say it weighs 50 lbs (bearing in mind it's probably a shade lighter). That's a value of $26 per lb.

Of course, the sticker price is only the tip of the iceberg when it comes to automotive costs: it doesn't take long for gas to add up, and were we to keep our car for 20 years it's likely the cost of maintenance would exceed the sticker price. Still, if we contrast the resources that are poured into a car's manufacture vs. that of a bicycle's, this is quite a staggering disparity. (Tangential note: using the Inflation Calculator, the bicycle I bought for $900 twenty years ago ought to cost me $1600 today. So it could be argued that bicycle values are improving, albeit very slowly.)

Retro-Aspirational vs. Hopeless-Aspirational

I have a neighbor who, on any given weekend, can be seen pampering his Cadillac (I'm talking about a car, now). This treatment takes one of two forms: he's either hosing off the dust with his portable pressurized sprayer, or he's following this up with a quick wax-and-buff (using a power buffer, of course). Sometimes his buddy shows up in a vintage El Camino, and they'll smoke cigars and buff the cars.

I kid him about it. He grins and says, “Yeah, I'm just an old gear-head!”

Well, that may be the case, but I have to wonder. I haven't seen him attempt anything more involved than a wash-and-wax. Is that all it takes to be a gear-head these days? Some afternoon I'm going to pipe up: “Sir, I've known gear-heads. Gear-heads have been friends of mine. And you, sir, are no gear-head.”

Neither am I, but I used to hang around a few. In high school I had a friend who rebuilt a vintage Ford. When I first heard the news, I swung by his place to see what he was up to. In his back yard he had a rusty hulk resting on cinder blocks. The engine and transmission were gone, the cab was gutted — it didn't even have doors. I watched him as he climbed in and out of this iron carrion, then finally decided I should say the exact opposite of what I was thinking: “Well, it doesn't look entirely hopeless.”

He stopped what he was doing, and squinted at me. Finally he looked back at the object of his affection. “Not at all,” he said, and got back to work. I still know next to nothing about such things, but I was truly impressed with the flashy, rumbling, tire-squealing vehicle he finally pulled together a year or two later. He drove that thing like he was cock of the walk, and I figured, “Good on 'im. He bloody well should.”

Cut to the present. There's a kid who rides an Orange County Chopper to my daughter's school. I'm talking about a bicycle, now. He wheezed and teetered past me the other day, barely missing my toes with his fat tires. “Cool wheels,” I said. He mumbled thanks, and my older daughter rolled her eyes. “He's such a jerk,” she said.

My daughter might be harsh in her assessment (as 10-year-old girls are prone to be), but I'll silently back her up on this. After all, what's this kid done to deserve attention except buy something flashy? In fact, let me just make a blanket generalization. Television shows like Orange County Choppers and West Coast Choppers can be entertaining to watch, but when the final product is a one-of-a-kind bike that Billy Joel is going to park in a garage full of Hogs, I have to wonder: what's the big freakin' deal? What say we devote a show to Billy Joel's landscaper next?

Hot Rod Culture. If you can make it, I'm impressed. If all you can do is buy it, well, not so much.

I'm in a very tiny minority on this issue. I'd say half my town owns an Orange County T-shirt, and most of these people couldn't be bothered to wash their cars. That's aspirational marketing for you: you can't afford Billy Joel's motorbike, wouldn't care for it if you did, but you wish you could, so you wear the shirt.

Or you buy the bicycle. No kidding: Orange County Choppers ”makes” bicycles for adults.

For adults.



I joked about riding a My Little Pony bicycle, but honestly: I'd rather be seen pedalling something with pink streamers than an Orange County bicycle. Not that My Little Pony is offering such fare for grown-ups — yet. But Schwinn is. Not only does Schwinn make the Orange County bicycle, it's also resurrected the “Pea Picker.”



I'm with DarkoV on this front: you can't go back. "Rosebud" is a fine thing to meditate on, but there's no point in dropping a bunch of money on what is finally just an accessory to a pleasant memory. Unless you're going to build it yourself — from scratch, of course.

My First Bicycle

My first bicycle was a golden Garry, with a banana-seat. It was a birthday gift for ... number six? Can't remember. But I do recall watching my father remove the bicycle from the trunk of the family Chevrolet.

I've Googled a bit, but this is the only picture I've turned up. It's from an eBay sale, no longer listed. This model is older than the one I had. It's also a "girl's" model, which surely accounts for its excellent condition. And I never had a headlight. But the handlebars ("sissy bars") are similar, as is the seat design (mine was a glittery blue, with white stripes down the sides). Curious to note the Winnipeg license plate on the front wheel. Were Garrys made locally (as in, "Fort Garry")?



A few weeks before I received my bike, some neighborhood kids got me pedalling on a small CCM children's bike. The construction of that bicycle, in contrast to the Garry, was closer to what mountain bikes are today -- designed, in other words, to distribute the child's centre of gravity between the pedals, seat and handlebars. A banana seat puts the child's weight squarely on the back wheel, and makes balancing trickier.

It was bitter medicine for me to relearn how to ride a bicycle. When my father finally allowed me on the streets, then accompanied me on his bicycle, I shrieked at him to quit swerving toward me. Funny how it's my younger daughter who now shrieks at me.

The Incredible 'Wow!'

Michael Blowhard gives Youthful Desires a big thumbs-up!

Darrell's an elegant and mischievous writer, he's an imaginative inventor of characters and narrative lines, and he's an inspired evoker of young-male experience ... The result is a small miracle of unpushy quirkiness and sweetness. Reading "Youthful Desires" is like hanging out -- and just for the pleasure of it -- with a longtime friend.

Did Kerouac feel this good after reading his NYTBR rave? I think not. Not just praise, but also Michael's usual thought-provocation in one dandy package, here.

But wait: there's more!

Stereotypes don’t apply here. These stories sting with contemporary dilemmas, ache with love broken by culture, tickle with small comforts. His short stories are not dashed off in incoherent moments of self-indulgence, but worked out over decades with much reflection ... Darrell’s gift is both his empathy for ordinary guys in tough trade-offs and his grip on the big problems that theologians take on. In my opinion, that’s the heart of ministry AND the heart of literature: “Where do we come from? Where are we going? What must we do to be saved?” -- Mary Scriver

It’s been a long time since I’ve read any fiction, and about as long since I’ve read anything not directly related to doing my job. I wasn’t sure how it would go, but it seemed no longer had I opened the book - all of a sudden I was on page 99 -- Preacher Dan

If you folks have enjoyed reading his alter-ego's blog, you will enjoy his book. I encourage you all to buy it -- DarkoV

[H]e's a wonderful, funny, evocative writer, as we all knew, and that's true of his fiction as well ... reminded me of the late Breece D'J Pancake -- Philip Christman

My heartfelt thanks to one and all! Now, if I can just get my head through the door, I believe I'll tend to the laundry...

Training Wheels: A Misnomer If Ever There Was One

In a comment to the post below, DarkoV recalls the glory days of "riding at a 45 degree angle, on training wheels." Training wheels were never an element in my past, but when it came to my daughters I indulged them. I even attempted actual "training" with said wheels, by elevating their angle. After a few minutes of watching my daughter honing her 45 degree technique, I figured I'd better avoid the chiropracter's bill and get those wheels back on the ground.

Fortunately, there's a better way to get kids used to the balance of a bicycle. Lower the seat so their feet can rest securely on the ground, then remove the pedals. The kid pushes the bicycle, like she would a scooter, and very quickly gets a sense of its balance. My girls are cautious by nature, so it took a couple of afternoons of this before they got the hang of it. But I've seen other kids master it within an hour.

When "Aspirational" Just Isn't Enough

I’m not sure why we bothered with the bicycle shop, except we were three young guys on a Sunday afternoon, bored with football and ready for a change of scenery. The only other open shop was the ice cream joint down the street, and we’d already had our fill. So we slouched in to see the high priced tubular finery.

A customer wearing bizarre, skin-tight clothes was paying an older man who was similarly attired. He wheeled his bicycle out the door, and took off. Then it was just the four of us, in a tiny shop with shiny new bicycles hanging from the ceiling. “Can I help you boys?”

Hm. British.

“Yeah. Why are your bikes so expensive?”

“Well,” said he, “these bicycles might cost a little more than what you’re accustomed to paying, but there are some appreciable differences between these models and the ones you’re riding.”

“Such as?” I can’t remember which of my friends said those magic words, but they opened up an entire afternoon to a tutorial on the finer pleasures of purchasing and riding a refined set of wheels. Chromoly frames; double-butted tubing; alloy rims; side-pull brakes, versus the gimpier center-pull ... am I missing anything? Oh yeah: the clothes. Sweat-wicking, less wind-resistance and whatnot. Sneakers vs. cycling shoes, the difference between hitting a sponge ball vs. hitting a cricket ... erm, baseball.

For the middle-aged gent who was lecturing us, this was simply the well-trod method of introducing three lads to a potential “Life Sport” (the lingo of the day). For three guys on the cusp of 20, this was stuff — cool, shiny, new stuff. Within a week, my friends were riding a couple of flashy, deceptively fragile-looking bicycles. I opted for a used motorcycle, but eventually traded that in for the mountain bike.

Having been informed that my current bike is cruising toward an expensive breakdown, and having been assured by my daughters that lengthy rides are soon to come, I’m slouching back to the bicycle store. My, how things have changed. My old bike, which cost nearly a grand 20 years ago, is a heavy monster compared to what’s currently on offer. And forget side-pull, center-pull, and them new-fangled cantilever brakes of mine: disc brakes are all the rage, apparently.

As with stereo stuff, I’m now disinclined to indulge a salesmen or do much by way of product research. My first impulse, when informed of my bicycle’s dire state, was to visit the Costco website to see if they didn’t have something I mightn’t pick up on my next shopping trip. I discovered, to my surprise, that Costco is selling Cadillacs.


Yep: Cadillac bicycles.

I chuckled, and moved on to the next site. Then, on second thought, I took another look. After all, it’s not like General Motors is actually manufacturing the bicycle — they’re just branding someone else’s work. The 20 year old geek within me woke up and wondered: What sort of frame are we talking about? And who supplies the components?


On closer inspection, the Cadillac bicycles appear to be reasonable “mid-list” bikes: they're being compared to the Schwinn bikes of old (the original “Cadillac of bicycles“), and that’s no small compliment: Schwinn bikes were sturdy, conservatively constructed bicycles that most people could buy and ride to the end of their days. Cadillac offers a similar package, with carbon frames and decent componentry that is priced in line with brand-name bikes offering similar fare.

So, is there a Cadillac in my future? Not likely. Frankly, the brand is a sharp disincentive. I live in a small town, and I’m not keen on being the guy whose car is a Toyota and whose bicycle is a Cadillac.

On some level, a Cadillac brand bicycle is counter-intuitive, particularly in contrast with, say, the Hummer bicycle. If you're the sort to buy a yellow H2 (or whatever number they've reached these days), you’re likely the sort to think a matching bicycle on the roof rack is a good thing. But even an off-road cyclist could be forgiven for being reassured by the brand. HumVees are (ostensibly) off-road vehicles; you needn’t own the car to be persuaded of the bicycle’s off-road merits. Which gets me wondering: who, exactly, was the Cadillac bicycle meant to appeal to?

Best guess: Cadillac SUV customers. If they get a thousand-dollar bike thrown in with the new Escalade, well, bonus! Except most Escalade customers are likely to turn their noses up at any bike that sells for a measly grand. So we’re left with GM assembly-line workers who can buy the bike at cost, or Costco customers caught in the throes of (as marketers like to say) an aspirational impulse.

No thanks. Unless Cadillac undercuts its immediate competition (Trek, Fisher, etc.) and drops another $300-$400 off its price tag, I believe I’ll go brave the bicycle salesmen instead.

Post-script: this guy points out that Cadillac bicycles are built by the same people who manufacture the Tonka and My Little Pony bicycles you find at Sears. “My Little Pony“ — now there's a brand I'd love to ride around this town!

Bon Voyage, Searchie!

Ms. LaFemme departs for the cultivated wilds of Central Europe. Godspeed to you and your pranksters, Searchie. And be sure to post a few photos of your non-Polski Fiat (complete, I hope, with the psychedelic mission statement: "Furthur").