(Lexington TV weathermen treat snowstorms, high winds, patches of ice, rain, heat, cold and frost as mortal threats to the public well-being. If I governed my life by their forecasts I would spend most of September through March locked in my room, likely hiding under the bed.)

It wasn’t dangerous out there, or even particularly unpleasant — and this very possibly will have been one of the worst nights of the year to ride.

Toward the end of my 3-mile trip, the wind was in my face, there was a little ice in the wind and the going got a little tough. At such a time one might ask himself, “Self, why do this?”

“Self,” I would reply, “Here’s why: Freedom.”

The other day I was buying a toilet, of all things. The proprietor (Day’s Plumbing, the best plumbing store ever) mentioned water conservation as a reason for the purchase. He had noticed my bike and asked me: “You’re green, aren’t you?”

No, I’m not green.

I don’t ride a bike to work every day because I buy all that nonsense about carbon footprints. I don’t think global warming is man-made, and I think Al Gore is a glutenous gasbag.

Thanks to the green movement, there is a certain tight-lipped puritanism and a cloud of fake morality about bicycle commuting these days.

I ride a bike because it’s fun (more about that later) but mainly because it saves money. Lots of it.

Saving money means saving time. Time saved means freedom — freedom to spend more time with my family, to work on church stuff, to remodel the garage, to write on here a little.

If I weren’t riding my bike, my family would need a second car. That means either a car payment (we don’t have one now) or shelling out $5,000 or so for something dependable.

There would be, what, 50 bucks a month or so for insurance.

That second car would need gas, oil changes and tires. It would need to be washed and vacuumed now and then.

That’s a lot of money, which means a lot of time, because it takes time to earn the money.

There are less tangible savings as well.

Since our driveway runs through our back yard, there would be another car parked out there — less room for the kids to play.

Then there’s the fact that I don’t have a gym membership. Without bike riding,  I would need to get one, find time for another form of exercise (there’s that time angle again!), or go to seed (more than I am now).

You can get a fantastic commuting bike and all the gear you would need for $2,000 or less — much less, if you get a good used bike. That’s it for your costs, until you need a new tire ($20) or a tuneup once a year or so (around $50) — although I recommend you buy a few tools and learn how to do the tuneups yourself.

For less than $2,000 you could very well be getting freedom from a second car. That’s significant. You might also be gaining freedom from gaining weight. That’s significant also. It’s expensive to buy new clothes every 6 months to a year, as your waistline expands.

I consider the fun of cycling to be a bonus (since I would probably be doing it anyway). I love it, plain and simple. It’s a great stress-reliever. I like the self-sufficiency. I like the wind and sun on my face. I like having to pay attention to the weather and figuring out what to wear.

I realize not everyone lives within biking distance, and that biking might or might not be practical for most people.

That’s fine with me. Drive a Nissan Armada, if you want. Drive it two blocks each way. More power to you. (I’m not “green,” remember?)

If you ARE thinking about cycle commuting, or if you’re trying to remember why you are doing it, forget about the environmentalist noise. Fake morality keeps most people going for maybe a week.

From years of personal experience, I can tell you: Lasting motivation comes from remembering that cycling means freedom. And fun.

Once I jumped on my Coast to Coast 10-speed (plastic shifters! plastic brake levers mounted on the stem! Note to self: post more about this bike later) on a whim and rode 30 miles, from my home in Chadron, Neb., to Fort Robinson, and back again.

It was summer. I rode in the heat of the day.

I took two cans of pop in a handlebar bag — no water. No patch kit. No pump.

I remember riding back into Chadron, taking my hands off the handlebars, just enjoying what I had done.

It was exhilarating.

A little bit of this feeling comes back every day when I’m pedaling to work. Corny, maybe, but true.

There is more to riding a bike than riding a bike.

Such memories came back to me while I was reading this post by my friend Laura, and seeing this picture of her with her bike from the days of the banana seat and the sissy bar:

The abbreviated version: While pulling my Burley D’Lite trailer behind my Bridgestone XO-1, I tried a sharp U-turn. Just before I fell, I thought: That’s gravel, and I’m going too fast. The front wheel skidded out from under me, and I went down on my left side.

Two things to note about this mishap:

1. There’s no reason on earth to attempt a sharp turn on gravel.

2. More significantly: While the XO-1 and I pancaked somewhat spectacularly on the pavement, the trailer was affected not a bit. This was possible because the trailer has a (very) flexible part on the shaft where the trailer connects to the bike. (My 3-year-old daughter was sitting in the trailer at the time of the crash.)

I wouldn’t want to replicate this field test, and I hope you don’t, either — but just know that the D’Lite
will stay upright even when you don’t. That’s one major advantage, in my view, that the trailer has over those child seats that attach to the bike’s rear rack. If your child is sitting in a seat behind you on the bike, he or she is going down with you.

So here’s something a little different.

The other day, at a stoplight in the middle of rush-hour traffic, while I was on my way to the plumbing-supply store to get a new valve for my kitchen faucet, a gent in a work truck rolls down his window and says: “I like your green jacket!”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah — it is really bright — it makes you easy to see!”

“That’s good!” I said. “The chicks don’t dig it — but I would rather be unfashionable than dead!”

Then the light changed. He and I went our separate ways.

Well, not so separate. I saw him at the plumbing-supply store.

He and I talked a little more while we waited at the counter.

Him (gesturing toward the window, through which wee could see my bike): “Is that one of those … new bikes?”

Me: “It came out in … 1977, I think.”

“Oh!” he says, and smiles.

Nothing too profound here. But there’s nothing too profound about most things, transportation in particular. We are all just trying to get where we need to go, for the most part, after all.

A harsh word will be remembered long after it is spoken. But a kind word, or even a hi-how-are-ya type of word, goes a surprisingly long way.

If you ride the bike that has no fenders, it will rain.

Fellas, are you with me here? Can you already see where this is going?

So I am riding the Raleigh Super Course to work yesterday. It has been snowing with freezing rain over the last couple of days. I am coasting up to this footbridge behind Central Baptist Hospital. The footbridge is metal, and it looks slippery, so I am not going to try riding across that.

I get ready to dismount, but as I’m doing so I notice, between me and the footbridge, a hump of slushy-looking snow and ice. This hump is maybe 8 inches high. It looks pretty soft. I figure I will sort of coast through this slush and then dismount. So I am off of one of the pedals and ready to put my foot down as soon as I am past this obstacle, when I find out the hard way that this is not slush — it is solid ice.

The front wheel stops, my body keeps going and The Parts You are Supposed to Protect at All Costs hit the stem with greater velocity than I care to remember. In fact I write this with my legs crossed.

I am proud to say that I did not cuss. All that came out of my mouth in fact, and this is a direct quote, was: “OUCH. OUCH. OUCH. OUCH. STUPID! STUPID! STUPID!”

After crossing the footbridge, while I am pedalling away (accelerating fast, in an attempt to deal with the pain), I notice a guy across the street. He is looking over and sort of taking a few steps my way as if to find out whether I am all right.

Buddy, if you’re reading this, I’m OK — stupid, but OK nevertheless.

Back then, this market segment barely existed at all in the USA. Now, a lot of companies are putting out a product line targeted at average-Joe (non-racing, non-extreme-mountain-biking) riders like myself.

There’s a pretty good range of choices out there that come with basic commuting needs: fenders, a rear rack and a kickstand. If you want an internal hub, you have several nice-looking options. If you opt for a standard derailer drivetrain, you’re in business.

The options narrow a lot if you want a lighting system to come with the bike right out of the box. And since I’m doing most of my research online, it’s impossible for me to know how these bikes actually ride.

Still, it’s encouraging to see that the bike companies are stepping up with practical-looking cycles.

My question is, are shops actually stocking them?

This type of bike traditionally has been a tough sell in the U.S.; it’s a tougher sell if you’re asking the customer to order a commuter sight-unseen.

More importantly: Even if the shops are stocking these bikes — are people actually buying them?

Perhaps even less measurable: If people are buying them, are they actually riding them? (Here are a bunch of interesting statistics along this line, hat-tip to Kent Peterson for passing along the link.)

More to consider, here in Kentucky: According to the 2000 Census, I’m a rare bird: just 0.58 percent of the population here in Lexington commutes to work by bike.

This ugly fella (or gal) gallumphed down the bank on the right side of the road, barely made it across in front of me, then stopped by the curb to watch me pass. (For those of you in Lexington, it was behind Central Baptist Hospital.)

If you have never seen an opossum in action, you are missing out. His top gear approximates the walking speed of a three-legged dog. Good thing for him that it’s not survival of the fastest.

RESPONSE: I have found drivers to be polite, overall. Occasionally someone will honk, or a driver will holler at me to get off the road, but even that is rare.

In 6-plus years of bicycle commuting I have had two serious incidents, and one that was scary and could have been serious. All three of them happened on the University of Kentucky campus.

The scary one happened on Shawneetown Drive. A Lextran bus nearly ran me down from behind — the driver just barely missed clipping the edge of my handlebar. I caught up with him at the stop sign at Shawneetown and Alumni Drive, and yelled at him to watch it. He yelled back something to the effect of YOU watch it. While I was writing down his bus number and route, he hollered something else at me. I wrote a letter to Lextran, then received a nice reply stating that the driver basically denied my version of events. I hope my letter is still in his file.

At least he missed me, and he might have thought he was giving me enough room. I think it was inattentiveness or incompetence, and not malice. I can’t say that about the next two events.

Once while riding on University Drive late at night, after finishing work on second shift, someone threw a box of bottles out a car window and hit me in the back. I knew the car was behind me but did not know something was being thrown. I did not go down.

Another time, in almost the exact same spot, someone leaned out the passenger’s-side window of a van and shoved me in the back, with two hands. I didn’t go down that time either. Having learned from the first experience, I got a partial license-plate number and called it in to campus police. I did not follow up to see what happened.

The fact that I have ridden late at night a lot, due to the second shift, probably has increased my odds of having a run-in with a jerk.

Still, even in broad daylight there have always been, and there will always be, jerks on the road. The only way to avoid them is to not ride (or drive). I refuse to let them run my life.

No, really — it was.

I was riding my Specialized Milano home from checking out a gym (a dive — I didn’t buy a membership.) Since it was pitch black, and raining, and I had no lights, no reflective jacket, nothing but a couple of reflectors on the bike, I was riding on the sidewalk. In the interest of safety.

I was standing up on the pedals when my front tire plunged about a foot into a missing section of sidewalk, then hit the edge of the next section.

The bike stopped dead. I kept going — over the handlebars, somehow still holding onto the handgrips.

If you don’t already know, I hope you never find out that it’s sickening to see the pavement approaching your head at high speed.

I landed squarely on my left shoulder, lay there for a few minutes taking inventory, and hoped for the best.

THE AFTERMATH: The front tire went flat, and I had no patch kit or pump. Besides, since I had no flashlight, it might have been to dark to fix the flat anyway.

However, it wasn’t too dark for several guys in a pickup to see the accident. They pointed at me and laughed pretty hard as they went by.

I walked the bike home. Fortunately, it wasn’t too far.

THE DAMAGE DONE: Nothing but a bruised shoulder, as I recall. It could have been worse.

Much, much worse.

The bike got a couple of scratches.

ANALYSIS: What could I have done to prevent this, or: How can you avoid my fate?

1. Before riding in the dark, get (at least) a headlight and a blinking taillight, so you can ride in traffic with confidence that you will be seen.
2. Ride on the road. There are several excellent reasons to ride on the road rather than on the sidewalk, but for the purposes of this story, suffice it to say that there are a lot of badly paved roads out there, but there are a lot of worse sidewalks. (At least, that’s true here in Lexington, Ky.)
3. Above all: Stay seated while pedaling. When riding for transportation, there’s almost no reason to stand up on the pedals. If it’s too hard to pedal, downshift. When you stand, you are at greater risk of your foot slips off the pedal, and, as I so ably demonstrated, you might fly over the handlebars  after hitting an obstacle. Once you are up in the air, all kinds of bad things can happen — you can land on your head, or in front of oncoming traffic. You can jam or break a wrist, or break an arm. The list goes on.
4. Slow down (boy, do I wish I would have). Make sure you can see the ground far enough in front of you, soon enough, to see and avoid obstacles.
5. Carry a patch kit and a pump. In this case a flashlight would have helped as well. I could have been walking a lot further that night. Self-sufficiency is always best.

Sometimes crashes happen — biking is no different than driving in this regard. But a lot of crashes don’t have to happen. This one certainly didn’t.

This happened shortly before I started bike-commuting regularly — I was still a rookie at riding in the city.

Fortunately, it turned out to be a cheap lesson; the next one was a little more expensive.