In the cities, every lamppost, tree, and street sign is disfigured by a bicycle slathered in chains and locks. In the country, one cannot drive around a curve or over the crest of a hill without encountering a gaggle of huffing bicyclers spread across the road in suicidal phalanx. The ungainly geometry and primitive mechanicals of the bicycle are an offense to the eye. The grimy and perspiring riders of the bicycle are an offense to the nose. And the very existence of the bicycle is an offense to reason and wisdom.
Bicycles have their proper place, and that place is under small boys delivering evening papers.
Insofar as children are too short to see over the dashboards of cars and too small to keep motorcycles upright at intersections, bicycles are suitable vehicles for them. Considering the image projected, bicycling commuters might as well propel themselves to the office with one knee in a red Radio Flyer wagon. A certain childishness is, no doubt, excusable. But going about in public with one's head between one's knees and one's rump protruding in the air is nobody's idea of acceptable behavior. It is impossible for an adult to sit on a bicycle without looking the fool.