Biking 101, N = 1 (as explained by Mathematical Induction)



Legend has it that the following dialogue resulted in the birth of the process of Mathematical Induction:

Parmenides: And upon consideration of the form of the One and the Many, we have now arrived at the most crucial question that Mankind faces - How many bikes do you need?

Zeno (of Elea): If the One is considered a part of Many, adding One to Many results in a manifestation of One - so the answer to your question is (N+1), where N is the number of bikes you currently own.

Socrates (hastily interrupting the exchange): By the magic of mathematical induction, this statement is true for N=1, 2, 3, ..... So no matter how many bikes you buy, O Parmenides, you shall always have exactly One bike!

-- from "Parmenides," by Plato*

* Ok. Ok. So maybe the principle of induction is not quite so straightforward in its application to bikes, but I am sure everyone of us has at some time stopped in our tracks to stare at an absolute beauty coming down the trail (... and I meant the two-wheeled ones, of course) wishing they could take one home! But as with most other things in life, beauty is solely defined in the eyes of the beholder, or in this case, the manufacturer's manual. Bike-Nuts will debate endlessly about the form and the function, about the clear, precise lines and organic curves, fight wars over material stiffness and pliability, and in general behave like a boisterous bunch of jocks fighting over spending cuts. In fact, "bike-envy" is probably the most common communicable disease in the biker community. Nevertheless, bike hunting (and buying) can be an exhaustive process at best, and if you are anything like me, you probably bought your first bike at your local bike shop, looking for the most affordable option on the floor. 

While manufacturers can publish all the technical data about the geometry of the bike, the reviewers often describe the bike in terms of its "handling", "feel", "fit" and other subjective terms that differ from bike to biker! These are some of the contentious characteristics that have split the biking community into bickering communes. Some bikers, driven by colorful history steeped in tradition, swear by "Made-in-Italy" bikes and look down upon the upstarts from the US - conveniently forgetting the fact that both bike frames are manufactured within a mile of each other in the same country - Taiwan! Others are hard-core hand-made enthusiasts who prefer the love and care that a custom bike manufacturer puts into each piece over an assembly line parade of cookie cutter bikes. The raging online debate over carbon vs. titanium (or wood/bamboo) possibly occupies 50% of all the forums, and 90% of all usable time, on the Internet! 

My first bike hunting experience was quite uneventful. My wife had been biking for an year with a group of friends as a part of the fund-raising program for Asha, Seattle chapter, and she encouraged me to take the plunge and buy a bike for myself. "You will definitely enjoy it," she said. My first hurdle to the promised nirvana was - finding a bike. I tagged along to a chain-bike shop that advertised drastic markdowns on last year's inventory, in the hope of finding the One. 

I nodded cluelessly as the salesperson explained the difference between "aggressive" and "upright geometry" and wondered if Victor Hugo was a sadistic cyclist as I test rode negotiated a road bike for the first time in my life. Not knowing a Fuji from a Trek, or a "cross" from "road", I simply bought the bike that looked the least intimidating -- plain, silver frame, triple-crank, on sale. However, the one thing that I was absolutely sure of at the end of this transaction was that I enjoyed being on a bike. Technical and financial considerations aside, I had fun riding the bike, and wanted to ride longer, faster and smoother with every passing training ride. Like many bikers, I also developed a strange affinity for suffering and pain - I liked climbing hills! It was by no means an easy task, and the view from the top would often leave me, literally, breathless! The payoff, however, overcame the pain and suffering by a long margin. 

I quickly graduated from a clueless newbie to a recreational cyclist - signing up for century rides, subscribing to glossy magazines with full-color spreads, huffing and puffing my way up the hills as reed-thin old-timers passed me on the left ("left" - always remember to pass on the left) with mildly-encouraging-subtly-disparaging words. I started following the Grand Tours, and a close friend introduced me to the world of cycling superstars. Contador, Schleck, Evans, Nibali, JRod - I had a new set of living collector cards! 
Bike-envy? It's a moo-t point

The process of learning about bikes and about riding them also led me through the labyrinthine web of Internet - to new websites, new blogs, new articles, and inevitably, new bikes. I devoured the deluge of data like an Alpine bovine grazing after a particularly hard winter, hoping to gleam some information out of it at another time. 

Armed with my trusty sidekick, I let the deluge of data wash over me with the indifference of the Rock of Gibraltar facing a relentless assault from the seas. A particular specimen would no doubt interest me - the bike-making tradition, the form, the technology - the cutting edge stuff certainly appealed to the technology-enthusiast  in me. I wanted to be in the know wrt. the latest trends and manufacturers, but the price tag put the bikes out of any consideration. Plus, I had a very good (to my knowledge) bike already! Having ridden the bike to over 3000 miles in various events and training rides, I saw no reason to look at another. Sure, this bike was not the lightest, stiffest or even the most comfortable in the market, but it was mine - and I loved biking on it. 

All that changed once I actively started looking for bike to move from the recreational stage to the enthusiast. It was time to apply Parmenides' induction step: N = 2!

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