The Return of the Bicycle Book

Light fiction or non-fiction has, it seems, always been a part of my life, although not employed, as had been the case more recently, as a form of escapist or self-consoling diversion.  For many years I read light fiction at the gym, while pedalling away on an exercise bike, as a diversion, something to alleviate the boredom of the task at hand.

Recently I have been reading bicycle books again, or occasionally listening, but the purpose is the same and the requirements are similar, I am resurrecting the term, at least for my own use.  The requirements are simple:  there must be some kid of plot or narrative that keeps me moving, the writing must be light or brisk but it cannot be so beautiful that I want to stop and savour the language, nor can the information be particularly thought provoking, because I will stop and ponder, and stopping is particularly beside the point.

Several of the Cobbled Court series of novels I read recently were "bicycle books" in that I actually read them on an exercise bike.   One of the local fitness centers sent me a pass for a promotional one week membership, free of charge, in hopes that I would join and I took advantage, although I primarily just used the exercise bicycle and did a few stretches.  Considering the number of rainy days we've had, that exercise bicycle proved quite useful, and I am now considering purchasing one, or purchasing a stand for my bike, rather than joining an actual gym.  I'd still rather be outside when possible.

But back to reading:  These novels worked well on the bike, as they move quickly and are engaging.  Although there were times when I wanted to keep reading after my exercise session, I managed to put them aside, and since these particular novels were short, I knew I could finish them in the next day or two (about 2 to 2 1/2 hours reading time).  They were a good reintroduction to bicycle reading and I will probably soon build up to longer books or novels (I read James Clavell's Shogun on the bike.)

But when it is nice out I am walking.  I can't read a book when I walk, but I can listen to one and this has been a revelation to me.  Previously, although I could read on the bike, I could not read while walking on the treadmill.  This ability to read while walking on the treadmill was something I always admired about George.  He would get on the treadmill, crank up the grade until it was quite steep, put his New Yorker or Economist on the stand and start reading and walking.  I couldn't do it.  I would always stop.  I listened to music, not soul-soothing music, usually something danceable, often disco.

I listened to audiobooks, usually when I was working in the garden, knitting,  or cleaning house, in settings where I could stop and ponder if I wished.  It didn't occur to me that there might be an audiobook equivalent of a bicyle book because, well, bicycle books were something I actually read while sitting on a bicycle, and, being a fast reader, I needed a tremendous supply.

And then I moved to Knoxville and started walking outdoors, in my neighborhood.  It is a lovely neighborhood, and a safe place to walk, but I am not exactly communing with nature.  I need a distraction.  Enter the audiobook.  The pace of audiobook "reading" is slower but the requirements for listening while walking are similar to the requirements of reading while biking: there must be a narrative, the reading must flow easily.  Fiction is good, but once again, not the kind of fiction that makes we want to stop and reflect. Popular non-fiction such as current events, biography, or poplular science can also be good, as long as there is not too much hard science involved. 

Sometimes I am surprised.  Of the three books on my current reading list, only one is a bicycle book. I purchased Leah Carpenter's Eleven Days thinking it would be a bicycle book, but already it is a book that makes me pause and ponder, a book to read a leisure.  I am listening to Steven Johnson's The Ghost Map while I am walking and it is proving fascinating enough to keep me moving a little longer each day.  As to John Muir, Travel's in Alaska is beautifully written, breathtakingly beautiful in parts, but there is no real narrative, and the prose is so dense, in places almost poetic, that I can only read a few pages, sometimes only a few sentences, before I have to pause and let the beauty of what I have read settle in.  This is a book to be savoured slowly. 

For future reference, books on the list which I read as a "bicycle book" either on the bike or while walking will be marked with a B at the beginning of my brief review.  This simply indicates that it is a book that I found to be a light easy read, not necessarily that I did or did not like it, nor even that it is not worth reading more slowly.