Modena Mode

	Modena Mode *Cycling photographer* *Sue Darlow* *has lived for many years in the city of Modena, where you don't have to be a cyclist to cycle.* The first time I visited Modena, a small city near Bologna in the plain sandwiched between the Apennines and the Alps, and famous for its balsamic vinegar, I cycled there from the airport. What a pleasant surprise. In addition to a lovely porticoed city centre painted in warm yellows and earthy browns and the magnificent marble Romanesque cathedral, the place was alive with cyclists. Robert, my host and husband-to-be, had not mentioned this fact to me - and of course this city is hardly known as the cycling capital of the world, or even Italy. Now that I have lived here for so many years and observed the Modenese awheel, something has dawned on me: a 'bike culture' is not necessarily something that is self-consciously created by people who love and promote cycling, who know all about gear ratios, aerodynamics and frame angles and who dress the part.
It can exist in a place where most cyclists don't care a jot about their bikes, couldn't tell you whether their bike had hub or rim brakes, couldn't mend a puncture if their life depended on it, and wouldn't be seen dead wearing any kind of cycle clothing, let alone a helmet. They wouldn't even class themselves as a cyclist, probably, yet these people may use a cycle every day of the week to get somewhere within the city.
	Let me describe the typical Modenese cyclist. The bike is always utilitarian - sit up and beg, one or three speed, a chain guard, a front basket and perhaps a skirt guard. Interestingly, in this rather macho culture, there is no problem for a guy to be seen on a ladies frame. Lights are strictly taboo. Also anathema are panniers - why bother with those, when you can balance ten kilos of shopping in carrier bags hanging from your handlebars?
I once was parking my bike when a park warden noticed my low rider front panniers. Sucking in his cheeks, frowning and shaking his head, he informed me they were very dangerous and would affect the steering too much. I assured him they were fine, based on my ten year's experience with them. This visibly annoyed him and I had to beat a hasty retreat to avoid a confrontation.
	Anyway, how better to display your trendy shopping habits than to hang your Kookai and Max Mara bags on your handlebars? Carrying kids is no problem - pop one on the front child seat and ride with your knees out. You can also accommodate another child behind you. Small dogs can sit in your wicker basket in front, while large dogs can be led on a lead by your side. Girlfriends can be accommodated on the top tube, and school friends can stand upright on the rear carrier. There is even the familiar character who takes his parrot out for a spin, sitting on a special wooden perch attached to the handlebar.
It is well known that the Italians spend a high proportion of their income on clothing, but no one wastes money on special gear for utility cycling. More typical is to see men in suits with ties and gleaming leather shoes and women wearing mini skirts, long slit skirts, stiletto heels, platform shoes, and in winter, fur coats, topped up on occasion with lashings of jewellery. Often the more extravagant the getup, the more lowly the bike, say a rusting, small wheeled, heavy shopper, with a sagging front basket threatening to detach itself at any moment.
	The only helmets are worn by the young American Mormon missionaries one sees around town. Favourite activities to be combined with cycling are smoking and talking on your mobile phone. What happens when it rains? You put on some waterproofs, right? Wrong! You put up your umbrella, and if you are still getting wet you could try attaching a large piece of cardboard or plastic to the front portion of your bike, like a windshield.
Modena is a flat city, so one rarely needs to work up a sweat. But just in case there's a danger of this, the elderly gents of the city, with years of experience, have perfected the art of slow cycling, just enough to keep one upright. The secret of this method is to have the saddle quite low and to pedal with the heel of the foot. Another way to avoid the slightest exertion is to hang on to one's pal on a moped, which also provides the opportunity for a congenial chat.
	It is difficult to describe the position cyclists holds in the order of things here. Because they are not in a car they don't really exist. On the other hand, being Italian, they are supremely self confident and bolshie in the face of regulations. Want to nip down a stretch of one way street?
No need to slink along the side with your head bowed pretending you hadn't realised. Much better to proceed magisterially down the centre, completely seeing through anyone who dares to claim their right of way in the opposite direction. About to emerge from a side street? Fix your stare in the direction away from any oncoming traffic and continue pedalling without hesitation. If you don't flinch, the traffic has just got to let you live. The old gents of Modena are past masters of this, and given their age, it must work. I haven't yet decided whether it's idiocy, plain cheek, or panache.
	The city council is left and progressive and appears to do a lot to promote cycling. But cycling survives here in Modena despite the patchy network of cycle paths and other odd initiatives, rather then because of them. Recently the council was involved in a year long study of electrically assisted bikes and trikes for use as commuter vehicles, to cut down on pollution in the city. But in a city as small and flat as this, why do able bodied adults need assistance?
The one concrete measure they have succeeded in is making the Via Emilia (the high street) more convivial by excluding most motor vehicles. On Saturday evenings even buses are excluded during the ritual "passeggiata" (evening promenade) and the street is claimed by people. I don't know - the authorities are so worthy, yet the cyclists of Modena don't care a fig!
	ADDENDUM In complete contrast to what I have been describing, there is another bike culture, which is only in evidence on Saturday and Sunday mornings outside the city. It consists overwhelmingly of men, dressed in cycle racing kit and riding quality racing bikes, out for a 100km spin in the hills before going home for a traditional Sunday lunch. Grey hair and paunches can belie an unnerving ability to zoom up mountains with barely a slackening of pace.
We once chatted to a group of such guys while we were both sheltering from heavy rain about 10km away from the city. After admiring their state-of-the art bikes and gizmos, our group were preparing to set off again as the rain had abated, when we were amazed to hear the others ringing their wives to come and pick them up with their cars - so they wouldn't get wet!