I’m lying on the bed of a 22nd floor room in a hotel in Sin City. And I’m reading George Orwell’s “1984”. Seems weird to be reading it here in the center of decadence, in a place that, at least through reputation, if no longer in reality, epitomizes everything Orwell’s dystopian future is set on eliminating.
This isn’t the first time I’ve read “1984”. But it has been long enough that I had forgotten how frightening the described future is – more chilling than I could have imagined. But the scariest part is that in my day to day existence, when I’m going about the business of making a living – of working, and being responsible, paying bills, and generally being a respectable citizen – I feel very much like Winston, the (protagonist?) in the book; just a cog in the wheels, a tool that must meet its utility or be replaced. Or, worse yet, be found by the Thought Police to be a non-conforming piece in the machinery, to be retooled or vaporized.
Funny, I came to Las Vegas to have “fun” but the streams of thought caused by reading this book are sobering – though I have downed half a bottle of Scotch…
…And I have no BIKE here.
That is an important point. And it is becoming increasingly important every day…
There are a lot of reasons to ride a bicycle, I guess, not least of which is I’m older, have put on a few pounds, and could use the exercise. But mostly I started riding again for social reasons. Not that long ago, a nighttime party ride went by my apartment. A few weeks or months later, it happened again. And they all were clearly having a great time. With the music and tall bikes and costumes, it looked like a rolling carnival with no motive other than to have fun.
After a Google search or two, I found some local night rides, and I went on a few of them. They were great fun with great people. And I’ve been to quite a few more since – both epic rides, and more intimate ones. But it wasn’t until I was sitting here reading “1984” that I realized what is so important about them to me. Sure the biking is fun, and the partying is fun, blah, blah. But what is really important is the feeling that I am not just a cog or a tool, that I have freedom and expression. None of these are things I learned or acquired through riding, just reminded of them, and of the fact that they should be part of my everyday life; that I have the power to make my daily life whatever I want it to be, and not just what I want it to be, but also the attitude with which I approach the things I choose to do.
I guess a reason the group rides bring this out is that they are more than the sum of the individuals who participate in them. There is a culture, for lack of a better word, that has built up (is building up?) around the riding – a camaraderie that has grown among the participants. And this is what’s becoming so important to me: this culture or kinship. Since I started doing group rides recently, I’ve been seeing people interacting, loving, caring for one another (much like family), many of which, in “normal” life would likely never have met. The love of bikes, riding and partying has brought them (us) together from different geographical areas, cultural backgrounds, and age groups. It spans racial, cultural, economic, educational, and generational divides. A patchwork quilt, haphazard community emerges from the disparate pieces, joined together by an ideology of chains and spokes and sprockets, and of beer and moonlight and other such things, and the desire to share the joy of these things with each other.
And though it may seem incongruous to someone on the outside, it is (we are) a closer-knit community than most modern ones. It is, I think, somewhat of a step back to the village communities of our past – a more primitive community model.
There are no laws, really, but there are rules. There is what is considered acceptable or desirable behavior, as well as undesirable or unacceptable behavior. Good behavior is taught through example, and is by and large practiced by all. Undesirable and unacceptable behaviors are dealt with through varying degrees of public shaming, or in extreme cases, I assume, ostracism – and maybe even ratting out, in really extreme cases of violence.
Desired behavior is a feeling of sharing, fun, love, acceptance, and respect for members of the group and the group’s belongings. Undesirable behavior includes theft, violence, disrespect, meanness, and acts that put the group in danger, whether physical danger, or simply danger of persecution from the community at large, or prosecution by the law. Like a village, members abide by the village rules and are protected by the village community.
…I’ve gotten way off track… And it’s not like I’m an expert. Nor is there any expertise to be had, necessarily. I’m just sharing observations. And these observations are from someone who is still somewhat of an outsider. Those who are outside must earn their way in. And the earning of membership is subtle. It reminds me somewhat of how I suppose the ancient Polynesian tribes and villages must have been. Close-knit communities with extreme openness and caring for their own members, open arms for members of neighboring communities, and welcome for strangers. But, though a stranger might be welcomed, or nearby villages traded and shared with, the village is the village.
Membership in the village is a very desirable thing. Not only does it provide camaraderie and human connection – both highly prized commodities in this modern world of disconnectedness, alienation and gray anonymity – but, in providing those, it abolishes the feelings of being a cog or tool in a vast machine that Winston was fighting through rebellion in “1984”, and that I’m seeking to destroy through pumping my pedals.
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