I spit down the single trail and shout to the hikers from afar: "Move aside, I'm coming!" I don't do this with my mouth, however, but with the bell. Because that's what the sound of a bicycle bell essentially says: "Move aside, I'm coming!". The bicycle bell is the neutered horn of the cycling public, and honking is generally not an act of kindness.

And yet I never really wanted to be so cheeky. I once thought that I could do without this imperative bell and instead greet people on the road with a friendly greeting. Friendliness was worth more than that aggressive ringtone, I thought. I was wrong. My greeting was not returned by the hikers, instead they always asked me harshly if I didn't have a bell.

I realized that friendliness did not seem to be an accepted form of communication. So I screwed a trendy trail bell onto the handlebars. These are those shrunken goat bells, and that's how they sound. The tinkling makes hikers aware of me early on, which works brilliantly. What's more, everyone thinks I'm kind of cute with this little bell. About as cute as the hobbling mountain goat they were expecting to see. The only thing is: I don't want to be perceived as a cute goat, but as a friendly mountain biker.

One day, I could no longer stand this self-produced goat tinkling on the descents, so I went back to field one: the traditional bike bell. I now snot down the trail again and ring the bell to the hikers from afar: "Move aside, I'm coming!" They think this is considerate and stand to one side. I have a clear ride and the hikers are happy. All's well that ends well, but somehow this world is strange. Because I would have liked to have been friendly.

More blog posts by Thomas Giger

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