Last March I traded in my battered old Dodge Stratus for a newer, more streamlined vehicle—a Trek 4900 mountain bike. That act has fundamentally changed my lifestyle ever since, and not in a way that I regret. It’s physically slowed me down, to be sure, but it’s also slowed my life down. At an average cruising speed of 11 miles per hour, you learn to be patient because, let’s face it, you aren’t getting anywhere soon. Over time, however, I’ve learned that you can get anywhere soon enough. You just have to stop being in such a big damn hurry. Once I understood that, life on a bike became pretty relaxing. I’ve actually become more punctual recently, because I leave for my appointments earlier, knowing that the only factor is my slowness. I no longer bank on low traffic or good driving conditions to get me places fast, and then get angry when I’m stuck behind a white-haired couple in a Buick. I’m just stuck going 11 miles per hour.

Free-wheelin’

At an early age, the bicycle became a symbol of freedom for me. Growing up down south in Gowanda, the outside world literally rolled past my friends and me via the old great trucking roads—Routes 62 and 39. These roads were wonderful conveyor belts, bringing past our doorstep industrious farmers on huge tractors, rowdy motorcycle gangs, thundering freighter trucks and even the occasional Amish family driving a horse and buggy. To a kid, the curiosities seemed endless and fueled a desire to get out into that other world that produced them. There was no faster path to deliverance than getting a bicycle. After all, the farthest we ever walked in town was the half-mile route to and from school, and that was just to get around. Being on a bicycle, though, was a whole new feeling akin to donning a safari hat—it felt like an undertaking, an adventure. It was a way to get to our favorite hangouts—the train trestle over Cattaraugus Creek, the derelict Peter Cooper Glue Factory, the high school bicycle trails—to explore other neighborhoods and to weave our way down faint trails leading into uncharted woods.

And eventually, too, it became a way out of the valley. With a lot of gumption and a little bit of walking, we would struggle up one of the surrounding hills and into one of the neighboring cowpoke towns—Collins, Perrysburg or Dayton—where we’d see…well, more people like us. Later I bought a Murray Mountain Shadow mountain bike, which carried me to farther-off districts like Eden, Lake Erie, Letchworth and even Pennsylvania once. Now that was independence: to casually tell my parents that I was visiting another state that day, alone. (Years before, I’d chosen a tricycle for my first parent-free crossing of the busy Route 62 in front of my house, something that my friends and I considered a rite of passage on our way to manhood. I chose it over walking so I could get across and back quickly, before my mother could look out the window and catch me.)

These days, however, a bicycle symbolizes a different sort of freedom for me: freedom from traffic, freedom from stress, freedom from inertia, freedom from petroleum, freedom from mechanics and, perhaps most importantly, freedom from one-way streets. Bike’s broken? It’s an easy enough machine that I can quickly diagnose the problem and fix it myself. Curious about what’s going on in a neighborhood? I cut through it on a trip from here to there and I have plenty of time to look around me while I pedal and engage people on the street. Too much traffic? Cut down an alley or through a park. Road rage getting me down? Ride on one of the countless interconnected bike paths to wherever I need to be. And all the while I get to experience the world first-hand and at a more natural pace. If it’s sunny out, there’s sun on my back. If it’s raining out, there’s rain in my hair. And, of course, there’s always wind on my face.

A bike gives its rider a certain amount of financial freedom, too. I’ve calculated that I save at least $200 each month by not paying for gas or auto insurance. Saddle soreness aside, life on a bike is all in all pretty good. Unfortunately, bicycling as a lifestyle is still treated as a sort of novelty in much of our society, and particularly in Buffalo. When I tell people that I traded in my car and got a bike, the most common reaction is a somewhat bemused you’re-kidding-me smile. With the relative ease of automobile travel, it makes no sense to most people to rely on their own power for transportation. And unlike most cyclists, motorists all too often feel a certain degree of entitlement to the road, despite the fact that cycling predates driving and literally “paved the way” here for automobiles. In cities like Portland, Seattle and New York, droves of helmet-clad bicycle commuters clog the bike paths and boulevard shoulders each morning and evening. Here in Buffalo, it’s rare to see many more than a dozen in a day, and bike-friendly is a term that’s only recently entered the local vocabulary. That’s too bad, especially in light of Buffalo’s rich cycling history.

Buffalo’s wheel history

In the 1890s, Buffalo became caught up in the bicycle mania that was sweeping the entire nation. With its industrial background and growing prominence nationwide, the city was set up to become a hub of bicycle culture. During the decade, there were more than 750 bicycle-related businesses, including manufacturers, retailers and repairers, in the City of Buffalo. According to Carl F. Burgwardt, the region’s cycling history guru and owner of the Pedaling History Museum in Orchard Park, “Probably, during the mid 1890s, there were at least 500 different establishments operating simultaneously.”

The rise in bicycle businesses attended a rise in bicycle culture. Bicycle clubs sprang up all over the city until there were more clubs and members per capita in the Queen City than anywhere else in the country. There were the Flyers, the Ramblers, the Crescent Bays, the Red Devils, the Press Cycling Club, Eldredge Bicycle Club and Buffalo Bicycle Club, to name just a few. These clubs lobbied for better road conditions and established the rules of the road that we now use for driving. AAA of WNY was actually an offshoot of the local branch of the League of American Wheelmen. Bicycle races at Humboldt Park and the Broadway Auditorium consistently attracted thousands of spectators.

Not only were bikes an important part of the social fabric, they were also simply a part of life. “By the mid-1890s, the bicycle was becoming a near necessity of modern life,” Burgwardt writes in his book Buffalo’s Bicycles, “and by the end of the 1890s it was a fact of life for men and women alike to ride a bicycle.”

In the early 1900s, though, the rise of mass transportation, particularly the streetcar, caused a severe decline in both the bicycle industry and bicycle culture. Overproduction became a problem, and many manufacturers, most notably Pierce-Arrow, either shut down or shifted their production entirely to the automobile. Burgwardt, himself a bicycle advocate, concludes by making this point in support of bicycle riding over driving: “When you’re riding a bike you’re out meeting people, because you’re not riding in a car, closed away from society.”

Two weeks ago, while heading downtown via Main Street, I had an encounter that aptly illustrates his point, and pretty much sums up my bicycling experience in Buffalo. A large African-American gentleman, who more than slightly resembled Philip Banks, was carrying a freshly dry-cleaned and pressed suit away from Dial Cleaners & Shirt Laundry, across from the Tri-Main Building. We made eye contact, and I nodded my head and said, “Howdy.”

“Hey, Ace,” he said, appraising my steed as I passed him by. Stooping to get into his sleek, freshly buffed Cadillac, he paused a moment and looked back at me, a wide smile spreading across his face. “That there’s the best car on the road!” he yelled over his shoulder.

I couldn’t agree with him more.

Here are some local recreational bicycle trips that I’ve discovered over the years. The weather’s right for cycling, so whether you’ve got a black Space Invaders banana seat bike with spokey-dokes (one of my all-time favorites) or a stylish cruiser, dust it off, oil up the chain and enjoy the breeze on your face.

For the roadies

The most obvious places for city folks to ride in the Buffalo area are the Delaware Park Loop (~1.8 miles of repetitive circles dodging fair weather exercisers, albeit traffic free) and the extensive network of interconnected bike trails we have. The trail network includes the Riverwalk, the Scajacuada Creek trail, the Amherst Bike Path and the Erie Canal trail, and allows riders to ride from downtown to Delaware Park, Tonawanda, Grand Island, Niagara Falls and Lockport and points east virtually free of automobile traffic. Maps are filed on the City of Buffalo Web site.

Orchard Park, Colden, East Aurora—Probably my favorite ride in Western New York, because of the hills and stunning scenery, though almost any ride in this area would be excellent. From Chestnut Ridge Park, head south on Rte. 277, turn left on Gartman Rd., turn right on Cole Rd., turn left on Boston-Colden Rd., turn left on Rte. 240, turn right on Mill Rd, turn left on 20A, turn left on Jewett Holmwood Rd, turn left on Rte. 277 and return to Chestnut Ridge. Altogether, this ride takes in 28 miles and an over 800-foot range of hills, both steep and rolling.

Grand Island—From almost anywhere in the city, you can easily access the Riverwalk. From there it’s just a quick and scenic trip along the Niagara River to the southern Grand Island bridge. Once you’re on the island, take the outermost loop of East River Road, West River Road and South Parkway. The loop is roughly 20 flat miles with expansive river views the whole way. As a bonus, it passes through both Buckhorn Island and Beaver Island State Parks.

For the off-roadies

For years, Holiday Valley ski area held the crown for Western New York mountain biking, but thanks to the hard work and advocacy of the Western New York Mountain Bicycling Association (WNYMBA) over the past decade or so, these three gems have also opened up to the public. For more information regarding trail locations and proper trail riding etiquette, visit www.wnymba.org. But for city dwellers who want to stick to the city, try riding the old rail beds in North Buffalo that run between Main Street and Starin Ave and north to Tonawanda, where local kids have built some jumps and the terrain is as rough as the city gets.

Sprague Brook County Park—Freshly christened trails built by WNYMBA last year take riders through ten miles of pristine forest. The intermediate trails roll around Sprague Brook and through the small ravines of several tributary streams.

Hunter’s Creek County Park—Arguably the best riding in the county, there are miles of trails wrapping through dense forest and over all types of terrain. There are plenty of roots and rocks to scramble over, small creek crossings to negotiate and some steep gorges to steer clear of. It’s sure to tire you out, but you’ll never get tired of riding it. This park has also been at the center of controversy over whether the trails are sturdy enough to sustain mountain biking, so ride intelligently and avoid it after heavy rains.

Finger Lakes Trail—Not a trail to be taken lightly for several reasons. First of all, it’s 22 miles of physically and technically grueling terrain. Second, it’s one of the prettiest trails in Western New York, weaving its way along the eastern rim of Letchworth Gorge. Third, it took years for WNYMBA to get permission to ride on it. Check ahead for trail conditions and closures, as this trail is fragile and is closed after heavy rains.