Taqueria

(Seventh in a series of stories about every bike I've ever owned.)

The lard-lubed hubs on this beat up pea-green cruiser made it smell like a divey Mexican restaurant, so I named it Taqueria. It was with this bad mamma-jamma that I experienced the first ever Critical Mass.

It all happened one Friday evening while leaving downtown. I noticed a small crowd of people riding bicycles down Market Street and followed them to Justin Herman plaza, where a sea of bicyclists stood waiting for a ride to take place. I'd never seen so many people gathered on bicycles before.

So, the fall of 1992 in San Francisco became a pivotal time for me as a cyclist. It was the first time I'd ridden with other people socially and as a political statement. The beginning of riding for the sake of riding and in many ways, the beginning of a whole new identity.