Fat Guy on Fat Bike

How I Learned to Stop Cyclist-Hating and Embrace the Taint Hammer

As a product of American car culture, I lived with an inexplicable hatred of bicyclists once I could afford my own automobile. This was long before I endured a Lance Armstrong-wannabe roommate who biked in to work in the Minnesota snow, and left his sweaty cycling shorts on the towel rack to infuse the apartment with his body odor aromatherapy. And I was far from alone; stories of road rage against cyclists are common, including diesel truck dipshits “rolling coal” to choke riders, and in some cities the bike lane is treated like free parking. We love our cars, perhaps unconsciously, we see bicyclists as an existential threat to the freedom our gas-guzzlers provide. Let totalitarian regimes like China have bikes! (And uh, places like Amsterdam, where prostitution and cannabis are legal…)

What changed my mind? When I visited the colossal amusement park campus of Epic, they had cruiser bikes all over the campus, and I really enjoyed riding one again. The last time I rode a bicycle was well over ten years ago, and my badly-fitted Specialized Rock Hopper frame was uncomfortable on my knees and hard to pedal. The cruisers were not something I would take into the woods, but they didn’t make me miserable. I had seen a lot of mountain bikers here in the Pinelands, but many complained about the sugar sand. It can bog you down, the slightest turn can become a tumble, and without momentum it can be very difficult to get moving again.

But there’s one model of bike that’s built for snow and sand: the fat tire bike.

Perhaps you’ve seen them? They look ridiculous, with their dune buggy oversized tires. On the street, they are slow and a little clumsy. On a rocky trail, that tire helps smooth the ride and cushion your tush. And on sand, they really shine.

I tried to buy one last year, but supply chain issues had the stores empty. REI sold a fat tire bike for a reasonable price, but they stopped making them right around the end of summer when I started looking. Luckily, my local bike store—Peddler’s Shop in Deptford—had a Fuji Wendigo in stock in just the right size. It’s a middle-range fat tire bike that comes well-equipped, and after I swapped the seat out for a gel cushioned one that pampers my rock-hard glutes,¹ it has served me well.

I am extremely lucky to have a community of local mountain bikers who tend some rather amazing trails. At Camden County College, behind some athletic fields, is a forest carved with sinuous loops, plunging gulches, bridges, ramps, and even a buried truck that has been incorporated as a jump on a course built by CCC Riders for a yearly race challenge. This is one of the more challenging descents:

People also hike and walk dogs here, so you have to keep your eyes open. I’ve only encountered them on the flat sandy trails, so there’s plenty of warning, and often there are side trails to take. The whole area isn’t very large, so it’s difficult to get lost (which means I get lost all the time). I need one of those GPS wristwatches. But then, I wouldn’t find things like this candle and bottle left in the forest, with a curious note attached:

Another great park is Ceres woods, maintained by JORBA. That is not Jabba’s cousin, but the Jersey Off Road Bicycling Association. I’ve only explored one side. There are two parking lots, and I incorrectly assumed that the two sections would connect. If there’s a way, I didn’t find it. I’ll be returning to the “Back lot” in a weekend or two, but for now, this section took me under a highway overpass, through a stream, and to a pretty pond. That was worthwhile. It’s a bit rockier than Camden County, which led me to nickname my bike seat “The Taint Hammer.”²

Wharton State Forest, which I’ve been exploring by car for your enjoyment, also has bike trails! I’m working myself up to biking the Batsto lake loop, which is nineteen miles.

You’ll notice that I don’t ride on paved roads. Because I’m not brave enough! This is New Jersey, after all. Despite our traffic fatalities being low per capita, there is so much road congestion and so many potholes that I wouldn’t even ride an e-bike or a full-on motorcycle here unless I had to. (I would ride a Vespa.)

Instead, I go barreling down trails strewn with tree roots and fallen branches that could catapult me off the seat headfirst into the dirt. At least then, I have no one to blame but myself.

This is how I feel when I’m out on the trails:

The music is by ArnoCorps, my favorite rock band dedicated to the life and work of Arnold Schwarzenegger. They are better than they have any right to be. I am not joking when I say that I own all of their albums on vinyl, and listen to them any time I need cheering up.

If you want to see me fail to make it over a log, crush my nuts on the bar, and crash into the brush while laughing in pain, you’ll have to subscribe. I am not without my dignity. Trust me, it’s worth it.

P.S. I will be enabling chats on this Substack soon; you’ll need the app to participate.