Have you seen the tall bikes around West Bend? Like the elusive Big Foot some people have spotted them. Tall bikes, which raise the rider nearly five feet off the ground and are made of two conventional bicycle frames welded one atop the other.
"It's ridiculous," said 12-year-old Joe Kreitzer who thinks it's awesome being up high on a bike but, he said he is growing weary of questions from classmates.
"The famous question is how do you get up there? How do you get down," said Kreitzer with an overly dramatic oh-my-gosh-you-might-fall inflection.
Four teens, a 20-something and the 12-year-old mount their tall bikes in a clumsy, cocky fashion. Some need a ledge or railing to get to the second tier; others take a running start and deftly scale the frame like Spiderman up the side of a building.
Dressed in black hoodies, dreadlocks, bandanas and piercings the group is like a 21st century version of Our Gang morphed with the Wallendas.
As the group makes its way down the street, it feels like afternoon recess at the circus. But the cheap hobby belies a constructive mix of engineering skills combined with an unintentional green campaign.
"We get the frames from scrap, old bikes, friends' bikes," said 15-year-old Henry Isabelle who named his bike "Huffy the Vampire Slayer" because of the brand name on the top frame.
Mike Holihan is the leader of the pack armed with a workshop, tools and know-how.
"The most difficult part of building the bikes is lining up the frames. It has to be straight and you don't want any torque when you turn," he said pointing to welds at the lower seat post, which connects to the bottom bracket of the top bike. An additional bar extends from the lower fork through the top handlebars stabilizing the steering; an elongated chain is stretched from the rear wheel to the upper cog and a quick hand break is applied.
"I just like biking in the road and looking down at cars," said Isabelle, who is growing accustomed to the mixed reaction of catcalls and obscene gestures. 16-year-old Tom Segrin feels his pain, saying when he fell off the tall bike a passerby yelled and told him he deserved it.
"I laughed," said Segrin, who along with the rest of the crew, carries a thick skin and I-don't-care-what-you-think attitude.
Jon Kreitzer rides a bike, dubbed "Black Pearl," into the shop. He ducks to clear the doorway. Kreitzer sports a homemade hoodie with a white silhouette of an old 10-speed and the caption: Put the fun between your legs. Kreitzer takes his bike to school and sometimes locks it up. He said he's not overly concerned about theft. "It would be tough for someone to steal unless they have practice at getting on. And if they steal it, it's not like we're not going to notice someone riding our bike."
Kreitzer has a couple of bikes, one is named "Burt Reynolds" because of lower level handlebars he refers to as the bike's "mustache." His second tall bike has an unspoken name. Kreitzer holds his hand up in the air mimicking ape hangers or high-rise handlebars.
"We make them because it's cool and you don't see them too often," he said. "The first time you're up there you're like -- I'm riding a bike and I'm really high."
One added note, the fellas allowed me to test ride their tall bikes. "Have you ever ridden a bike," asked Isabelle with a parental I-don't-want-you-getting-hurt concern."
The experience is a rush, once you finally slip into the second story saddle. There was a lot of groaning as I made my way up the frame as the teens did their best to hold the bike steady. Pushing off and pedaling was exhilarating. I thought of myself tooling high above the traffic down Washington Street, pulling over at a stoplight and perching my foot against the window of a semi for support. Winking at the driver and flirtatiously asking him if he wanted to ride on the handlebars.
Hitting a slushy patch of snow brought me back to reality as I made my way down the alley. I felt a bit Humpty Dumpty as the boys ran along side of me, offering encouragement and simple direction. I was comforted, knowing if I crashed their wiry bodies and concave chests would somewhat cushion my fall. Thanks fellas.
P.S. I hope Santa brings me a tall bike for Christmas.
Judy is a Milwaukee native who is ever exploring the country. Her favorite mode of travel is her 21-speed, blue Centurion bicycle, which she bought after high school. Judy has worked in the local media for the past 20 years. "I need to do something to support my biking habit."
Judy has an extensive history in radio news, having worked at WISN, WUWM, WTMJ, WKTY in La Crosse and WBKV in West Bend. A strong interest in sports also had Judy reporting for ESPN Radio covering the Packers, Buck, Brewers and Badgers. "One of my first Brewer games at County Stadium the security guy yelled as I walked into the locker room LADY IN THE LOCKER ROOM. Now its so commonplace. But that story makes me sound really old."
Judy is currently working at WISN-TV in Milwaukee. She is a freelance writer and her pieces have been seen in The Small Business Times and The Business Journal. Her travel journal has appeared in Minnesota Trails Magazine, The Statesman and the West Bend Daily News, to name a few.
Aside from biking, running and being active in her community, Judy is known as someone who is "very, very thrifty." "I get candles for Christmas. My friends call them my space heaters because I normally keep the heat in my house at 40 degrees during the winter. Its not that I cant afford to turn up the thermostat, I just hate paying for heat."
Judy said her "conservative attitude" plays a part in her bike tours ... not needing to pay for gas and frequently spending nights camping inside churches. "First of all, it makes me feel safe since Im traveling alone and second all youre doing is sleeping, so why pay for that. Its no wonder I cant ever get someone to travel with me."
Judy grew up in Whitefish Bay and graduated from Dominican High School and the University of Wisconsin-Milwaukee. Judy is the second oldest among seven siblings and spends a lot of her time working as a "park tester" along with her eight nieces and nephews.
