The Buscycle comes to Davis
We’ve all seen tandems on our roads, and even the occasional triplet. Those interested in historical cycling machines have seen bicycles that even seat up to six or eight people in a line. Now a human powered vehicle that seats fifteen has been plying the streets of Davis on occasion. The Busycle has come our fair town.
Constructed on the chassis of a 1989 Dodge fifteen passenger van or small bus, the Busycle is no lightweight. It was brought to fruition by a consortium of MIT engineers, students, fabricators, and artists. Using recycled, donated and scavenged parts they created a vehicle to move by human power alone, despite a weight of just over 1,500 pounds. The good news is that the Mack Truck transmission is unlikely to fail, though difficult to operate. There is also no fear of rolling over.
Technically, only fourteen people can actually pedal. The fifteenth steers, brakes and shifts after a fashion. Considering the nature of the transmission, this is not necessarily the plumb job aboard the Busycle. All those aboard the Busycle face outward, making a very naturally friendly mode of transport. The low speeds at which it travels allows for people to engage in conversation, and frequently wonderment.
How it came to Davis is also a matter of wonderment. It was one of those bizarre cycling related stories that can only happen in a tight, bizarre community of both like-minded and apparently lack-minded aficionados of human powered vehicles. The plan was to return it to Boston after its five year stint in the Bay Area. Yours truly had ridden it several times in Palo Alto to various gatherings, celebrations, and music venues. It had served a valuable purpose, and was a hit for young and old alike. Now it was time for it to return to the place it was created. A bus to tow the Busycle was procured, along with a trailer to transport the Busycle upon. Goodbyes were said, preparations completed, and commercial driver for the bus recruited. The Busycle was off across the country once again.
A desperate call came late one fall week. On day one of the Transamerica journey the bus had overheated severely. The hitch had failed. The trailer had disappeared. The Busycle was left at the side of the road in the East Bay. A journey of nearly 3,000 miles had ended in disaster approximately 43 miles from the start. At least a rental yard pulled the Buscyle into its fenced in area to keep it from being vandalized. The organizer of the whole affair was headed to the airport to fly back to Ireland. The one remaining involved originator of the Busycle was in India. Was there anything the Davis cycling community do to help?
There is nothing quite like a disaster in the making to attract the weak of mind. Calls were made, a rental trailer obtained, and yours truly was off to the East Bay in an attempt to rescue the Busycle. Helping hands were promised and all equipment needed would be waiting. Arriving at the yard, it turned out the proprietor now demanded compensation for storing the Busycle, or he would sell it. The bill, not surprisingly, was outrageous. All those high hopes were to end with the Busycle held hostage and threatened to be sent to the scrap heap.
Many calls ensued, a variety of cycling enthusiasts, human powered artists, and other assorted ne’er-do-wells lent their voices. Soon a local television station became interested. Busycle held hostage, film at eleven. The corporate district office for the franchisee holding the Busycle did not welcome this prospect. They would provide a trailer, but the Busycle had to be gone that afternoon.
Alone in the pouring rain this reporter rushed to the storage yard, equipped with an underpowered truck, a come-along, and a complete lack of judgment, Hooking up the auto transport trailer in the rain was enjoyable enough, crawling underneath to attach wiring and ensuring all the chains were in place. Then it was off to load the Busycle, alone.
It was analogous to watching your crazy Uncle at the family picnic starting the barbecue. First he piles on a huge mountain of charcoal, until it is spilling off the sides of the barbecue. Then he grabs a five gallon can of gasoline and begins emptying it as a starter.
He puts the can down, pulls out a paper matchbook, and starts reaching into the coals. No matter how hard you try, you cannot stop yourself from watching. You also do not get anywhere close to the impending conflagration.
That’s what it was in the yard. In a thunderstorm, alone, armed with a come along and a wooden block, raising a 1,500 bound human powered behemoth onto a flatbed trainer behind a small truck. Everyone watched and no one came forward. Luckily, intimate knowledge of a few magical phrases that cannot be repeated in a family oriented publication such as this provided
just the edge needed to get the job done. After some time the Busycle was on I80 headed toward Davis. The uncontrollable fishtailing didn’t begin in earnest until 45 mph, so it wasn’t really a problem until the downhill runs. Climbing a hill, school buses would roar past, young faces pressed to the windows in awe. Descending, large semi’s would put on their emergency flashers and remain hundreds of yards behind as we gracefully remained within two lanes or so, mostly.
Shaken, stirred, and pulverized we finally reached Davis and with the help of friends offloaded the Busycle. There is no telling how long it will remain in our community, but when it leaves it will be pulled by another.
