I got a text from my friend Sam late one night—probably around 11 o'clock. I was a sophomore in college, fresh in my new apartment. As I rode up Sam came running down the street with unmistakable urgency. They were waving me down, and I had no idea what was happening, but their energy was contagious. Sam's friend was stopping through and only had a short time to stay before continuing a cross country journey. Sam introduced me to Chad. Chad had something Sam mentioned before, a tall bike. They promised it would change how I saw the world. It did.
What I found leaning against a weary telephone pole was two Ross department store ladies' step-through frames welded on top of each other. The wheels were removed from the top bike, and a long chain running from the top frame to the bottom bikes wheels. A rickety, beautiful contraption that looked like it shouldn't work. But that night, it did.
After a surprisingly short instruction on how it worked, I climbed on and rode that tall bike around the block and never wanted to come down. I rode it up and down hills, over curbs, over grass and debris. I didn't fall. I just smiled and laughed. I was on top of the world. Something shifted in me.
Riding it felt like surfing. There was a rhythm to it. Knowing that stopping meant I had to dismount. It wasn't hard, but it wasn't easy either. Speeding, up coasting, turning rather than stopping was a different way to ride with the bike rather than having total control. What struck me most was the feeling, freedom. Flying. Moving at what felt like a fantastic pace, even though I was probably only doing 10 miles an hour. The world suddenly felt whimsical and open, like good things could happen anytime I wanted them to.
That night opened a door I didn't know existed. I learned about freak bikes, tall bikes, cargo bikes, long Johns, recumbents, wonky tricycles, quadricycles. These aren't machines built in million-dollar workshops by professional fabricators. They're built by regular people with more passion and love than skill or resources. They're personal. They are real. They have more character than I thought a machine could. They're alive.
Since then, I've built several tall bikes, dozens of cargo bikes, quad-bikes, recumbents, more than I can remember. Each one carries that same spirit from that first ride: the belief that you can create something extraordinary with your own hands, and that it might just change someone's perspective forever. Stay wild friends.