#WWtBD: What Would the Beard Do?

I am convinced there is magic in the beard.

Some of you may have picked up that every year traveling to Cyclocross Nationals gets a little more complex. We keep adding pieces, parts, equipment, and people to the mix. This year, thanks to the generosity of a friend and the cycling community, we are taking it yet another notch higher - a 24 foot RV with a trailer waggling along behind.

While we were driving to Denver from Cincinnati I was amazed at the response to the RV. There were thumbs ups and acknowledgements from fellow RV drivers as we drove along, similar to what you will see when two motorcyclists see each other driving opposite ways on the road.

What amazed me was the number of acknowledgements that were from men with beards. Not all of them, I honestly can't remember how many, had beards, but a good percentage certainly were wearing a beard. One in particular was boisterous, waving, thumbs up, and almost more excited than I was about the RV as he passed. He was driving a mini-van and wearing a red sweater and had a long white...beard.  Wait a second.  We were particularly close to Santa Claus, IN when he waved at us.

The past couple days I have been pondering the power of the beard. Everyone has seen the Bike Knowledge to Beard Ratio, of which Cincinnati local Tom Swallow ranks highly, but I am now convinced this applies to RV travel as well. Whether the beard is a result of RV living or personal choice, there seems to be a certain wizardry that travels with the beard.

I am now in full awe of pro cyclocross racer Robert Marion.

Travel to Denver in an RV has made me realize Robert has reached wizard status on two separate, yet important, aspects of CX racing. Some may remember Robert from his attendance at Cincy3 and Derby City, or from the tour of his land yacht and accompanying fully stocked trailer that was featured on Behind The Barriers this past fall. No matter how you remember him, this RV driver is starting to channel his inner Robert Marion.

Planning an RV trip is harder than I expected. There are way more things to think about that I was expecting.

Where do they sell bulk propane? You can't exchange a cylinder out of an RV...What Would the Beard Do?

Where will we park over night if we need some sleep? I have a house with me, I don't need a hotel...What Would the Beard Do?

Diesel fuel only...got it...where is the best place to buy it? What Would the Beard Do?

Suddenly I have the urge to grow my beard - if I can't immediately have knowledge, maybe I can grow it? #WWtBD

Today I Met The Grey Bearded Biker

Cold steel, the bike doesn’t have bar tape.  I’ve lived in Cincinnati’s Columbia Tusculum neighborhood for four years and for four years on my commute in to downtown I’ve seen Grey Beard at least weekly riding in the opposite direction.  All year round, his outfit never seems to change: thick dark hoodie, weathered overalls, leather gloves, no helmet.  Some days I’m in my truck, other days I’m on a bike too.  Unbeknownst to him, occasionally we pass at the Montgomery Inn Boathouse, other days St. Rose Church always on Riverside Drive.  He rolls his drive side pants leg up, exposing a light tan leather boot top.  On colder days his messy crop of grey hair occasionally peeks from under a knit hat.  His unmistakable grey beard always catches the wind.  I met him today, it figures, at Starbucks.

Who is this guy who rides away from downtown on a beater at 8:15am?

Cincinnati’s East End and Columbia Tusculum neighborhoods along the riverfront are mixed.  3- 700 thousand dollar houses share the road with modest apartments and dilapidated structures eligible for the “We Buy Ugly Houses” people.  A barge/rail terminal sits adjacent to this month’s latest fire victim and next month’s new condo.  In this mix of wealth and poverty, industry and small business, luxury and staples, on any given Saturday morning a guy carrying a 12-pack under his arm while one-handing a beater mountain bike gets passed by a jogger with $150 shoes and an iPhone strapped to her upper arm.  I’d be stereotyping if both the guy with the 12-pack and the jogger weren’t my neighbors.  To each their own.  Question is where does Grey Beard fit in?

From the fleeting seconds I’ve seen Grey Beard from my truck at 35mph, the 25 year old relic of a bike looks like it was picked from the recycling pile behind the bike shop.  It’s a dirty purple, maybe maroon, with down tube shifters and platform pedals, sort of like the one pictured without the racks.  The seat post is low, but fits his legs.  The bars are turned down and he’s stretched out.  His hands engulf the small hoods, brake lever and all.  All-that aside, he rides with remarkable speed, confidence and form: knees in, back low, beard in the breeze.  What intrigues me the most about this oddity is the lock and chain knotted around the bars and quill stem.  He obviously cares about the bike. 

It's no surprise.  He said he got the bike from a friend’s shed for nothing.  I met him today for the first time at Starbucks, of all places.  I held the door for him as he walked in behind me and struck up a conversation.  “Hey.  I see you nearly every week on my way to work.”  Well spoken, he says he’s almost home.  He works overnights downtown.  He’s on his way home when I’m on my way to work.  He is a neighbor and the bike is an old Miyata.  He invested $250 into it to keep it alive.  Up close, aside from being weathered, the bike sports newer tires.  The cables, saddle, and wheels seem to be in decent shape.  It’s solid vintage steel.  He says he knows his bike isn’t pretty, but it gets the job done, 12 miles a day. 

He asked if I ride and what kind of bike I have.  “I ride a Kuota" clarifying, "an Italian bike.”  I kick myself thinking I was too pretentious with the Italian comment, but he asks if it’s one of those “really light ones.”  "Yep.  It’s carbon fiber.”  Half expecting a roll of the eyes, he says something like, “Man, I just love the brakes on those newer bikes.”  I mention how well they modulate speed.  He understands.  He’s genuinely interested talking bikes.  We're clicking, but the barista was too quick.  My coffee is ready.  Sadly, I didn't have time for a picture.  “Have a good day,” I say.

As I pull my big dumb SUV out of the lot on Earth Day, the Starbucks door swings open.   With coffee in hand, he walks toward his Miyata, now appearing much cooler than the first time I had seen it.  My roof rack catches his eye and he waves.  Affirming, I wave back.  We’re two bike guys, one punching in, the other punching out.