Three short stories from Hannah’s recent trip to the USA that demonstrate the reach of the bike and the unspoken bond shared by those who ride them.

A Field in Idaho.

I’m cruising round an unfamiliar town, alone, early on a Sunday morning. The bike I’m riding is not mine – it’s a hotel beach cruiser style bike with backpedal brake and high swept bars that seem designed to add wobble to every journey.

But I am riding, covering ground and following my nose as the mood takes me. An interesting looking signpost here, an inviting snicket there. I’m free to roam free. I’m not really alone though. Other riders smile at me smiling at them as they tow goofy looking dogs in trailers. I shout ‘well done!’ to kids taking their first wobbly pedal strokes as parents run along ready to make the catch. And then in a playing Theld I spot a gathering of 50 or so mountain bikers, moving in purposeful coordination. This is not the pre-ride milling and testing of suspension, is it mountain bike ballet?

There is simply no way I’m going to ride on by, and I pedal my cruiser cross-country and introduce myself to one of the riders. These are coaches from the Idaho branch of NICA.

I’m soon enlightened to the fact that this is the National Interscholastic Cycling Association, an organisation devoted to getting high school children to become mountain bikers.