RECREATION

Thursday Night Social Ride draws all kinds of cyclists

Group ride covers downtown, ends at Barton Springs Pool.

By Pamela LeBlanc
AMERICAN-STATESMAN STAFF
Monday, September 07, 2009

At 8 p.m. on a hot summer night, the Pfluger pedestrian bridge looks like a cross between a crowded bar and a bicycle convention.

A bikini-top-clad woman is riding a beach cruiser, a tattooed guy is pedaling a pint-sized BMX bike and others are balanced on mountain bikes, hybrids, road bikes and commuters. Someone's even weaving through the mob on a hand-welded bike frame that's twice as tall as any other ride on the bridge.

This is the Thursday Night Social Ride, organized by Social Cycling ATX. It's one of a handful of group rides that takes place around the city each week. Details about the rides — some of which are faster, harder and less friendly to traffic — are posted on Facebook and Twitter or spread by word of mouth.

This one's billed as a casual ride at an easy pace, and cyclists are encouraged to stay in the right lane and obey traffic laws. "That's part of our credo — to follow the rules of the road as best we can, and try to let cars pass," says Keith Byrd, 42, who coordinates the weekly ride.

It's 60 minutes of pedal-powered bliss, followed by a dip in Barton Springs Pool or some bike-mounted games at a park and a foray to a nearby beer joint. It's a popular way to spend a summer evening in a town that's crazy about bikes, water and fitness.

Brooks Goldsmith, 32, started the ride in March. He posted it on Facebook, and what began with just three riders quickly swelled to 200 or more. When the group gets too big, it splits into two or three smaller, more manageable bunches.

"A lot of rides have to do with what kind of terrain you ride or what kind of bike you have, or they're for fitness," Byrd says. "This is a large group of really diverse cyclists. It's all different kinds of bikes, all different kinds of people. Everybody's really courteous, and we've kind of fostered that."

It's got an ulterior motive, too — to get more people on their bikes and ease the sometimes strained relationship between motorists and cyclists.

A few minutes before the cyclists head out, Michael Tashnick, 30, rolls up with a six-pack of Tecate beer slung over the top-tube of his bike. He and friend Justin Clowers , 23, survey the scene.

"The people watching's great," Clowers says.

David Tashnick , 31, Michael's brother, saw the ride posted online. "I used to do Critical Mass," he says of another ride held around the country, which started as a way for cyclists to draw attention to how unfriendly cities are to bicyclists. "This one's about the same amount of people, but it's not crazy. \u2026 Normally there's more cars than bikes on the street. This is our time."

A buzz ripples through the crowd, and the cyclists climb onto their bikes. A few minutes later, the group heads collectively south, turns onto Riverside Drive and then South Lamar Boulevard before ducking into the neighborhood south of Barton Springs Road.

A few of the riders have boom boxes strapped to the back of their bikes. One pulls a trailer with his dog, whose tongue is lolling. Another passes out frozen grapes from a cooler he's hauling.

Some cars toot their horns as the group rolls past. Tonight, no one seems bothered by the cyclists.

Most of the riders don't wear helmets (not recommended); a few drink beer as they ride (definitely not recommended).

"We basically say everybody is responsible for his own safety," Byrd says. "We don't promote heavy drinking, but at the same time we're not policing it."

After half an hour of leisurely pedaling, the group pulls into Bluebonnet Food Mart. A few dozen hop off their bikes and head in to buy drinks or snacks. The rest mill around the parking lot, talking about weekend plans, the heat, their day at the office, the biking scene. For 15 minutes, business bustles at the neighborhood convenience store.

"I love it. I meet so many amazing people," says hairdresser Amber Stuhldreher , 26, as she deflects some flirting from a Spandex-clad cyclist. She's wearing a purple bikini top and pink sunglasses, and tattoos brighten her arms, back and stomach. The seat of her bike is covered with dark sparkly material. "It doesn't matter what kind of bike you ride. \u2026 In the five years I've been living in Austin, I've never felt so at home."

Eric Scott, 25, decked out in tiny turquoise shorts, a headband and not much else, is enjoying the mobile party. "I'm no stranger to danger," he says. "I get to meet new folks, drink and have some fellowship."

A 26-year-old hip-hop rhyme master known only as Whiteside the Poet is the dreadlocked, de facto leader of tonight's excursion. "I just made reservations for 250 at the Springs!" he shouts jokingly to the masses. (No reservations are needed.)

A roar goes up. The group will ride through the neighborhood to the spring-fed pool, where admission is free starting at 9 p.m.

"We're gonna head out in 7 minutes," he shouts. "Finish your beers, clean up!"

Bayless Parsley, 25, can't contain his enthusiasm. "Man, it's awesome. Everybody's riding bikes. Awesome!"

After a few minutes, the riders pick up their engineless vehicles and get ready to roll again.

"It is truly better to be your own motor," one of the cyclists hollers at a passing moped.

Like an easy-rolling, rubber-tired herd of cattle, they spill onto the street. They spin up a hill, the riders chatting and laughing, then veer right, down Robert E. Lee Road. The smell of scorched brake pads hovers in the air as they collectively slow, then turn toward the pool.

At Zilker Park, they stash their bikes outside the entrance gate, quickly filling the gravel overlook above the pool. Then, sweet reward: cool water.

Biking mission, well accomplished.

pleblanc@statesman.com; 445-3994