Carbon Trace

Following my punk phase in the mid to late 70s (a phase that continues, differently, today) I had a new wave phase in the early 80s. David Byrne and Talking Heads were a big part of that phase. I still catch myself humming Psycho Killer every now and then.

I’ve been anticipating a good read from his new book, Bicycle Diaries, since I first heard about it last year. I expected a funky read, and that’s exactly what Byrne delivers. Funky, by the way, is a good thing for me.

So Byrne has written a book about bicycling? Well, not quite. “Sort of” would be a better answer. Imagine a series of diary entries or blog posts about visiting, and bicycling in, major world cities over the years and pasting a running contemporary commentary over top. Imagine a mind that’s willing to wander as freely as a casual cyclist on a broad, deserted boulevard. Imagine mashing up a travelogue with 19th-century roots, 21st-century sensibilities, and a free artistic spirit. That’s this book.

What’s it about? Everything. And bicycling.

What’s his purpose riding about these cities and writing about it?

Riding a bike through all this is like navigating the collective neural pathways of some vast global mind. It really is a trip inside the collective psyche of a compacted group of people. A Fantastic Voyage, but without the cheesy special effects. One can sense the collective brain — happy, cruel, deceitful, and generous — at work and at play. Endless variations on familiar themes repeat and recur: triumphant or melancholic, hopeful or resigned, the permutations keep unfolding and multiplying.

In other words you see things and experience things on a bicycle that you might otherwise miss. And these things are important. These things — written on the features of their cities — tell you a lot about who people are.

Byrne’s journey is less about riding a bicycle and more about the encounters his bicycle makes possible. Over large portions of the book, his bicycle is merely incidental. Always there. Always helping him travel from place to place. Always a medium of his experience of a city.

Byrne does examine bicycle culture in cities such as New York, Berlin, Istanbul, Manila, London, among others. He’s an advocate of a very particular kind with a few large points of connection with my own thinking. For example, he’s comfortable with appropriate bicycle infrastructure, which he defines as infrastructure that you’d feel comfortable having your young child ride on alone. He’s adamantly against infrastructure that puts bicyclists in danger for the purpose of making the lives of car drivers easier.

But this book isn’t really about advocacy in any overt sense. The epilogue, pasted on the end as a nod to those needing specific bicycle talk, covers most of what he has to say about advocacy. The rest of the book is experiential. This is the kind of book that makes you want to ride because it’s a quality decision for you life. It’s about life on the streets and where those streets take you. It’s about who you meet on those streets and what you do after you meet them. It’s about the kinds of experiences and relationships that the design of a city makes possible.

I’m confident David Byrne fans will enjoy this book. Others need to enter his open mind with open minds of their own. Set aside what you think a bicycle advocacy travelogue ought to be. Just enjoy the funky ride.

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