The bikes come out in summer. There’s nothing new about that. Streets that see little or no two-wheel traffic in snowy January now bustle with cyclists going about their business in the sunshine. It’s been that way for years. But there has a been a sea-change of sorts recently. I’m seeing more and more bikes built with something other than recreation in mind. Call them utility bikes, if you must, though that’s a rather lumpish adjective to describe these elegant machines. Here’s one that caught my eye on a recent trip into town for groceries:

The owner was also shopping for his supper, having first hobbled his bike with a cable lock through the rear triangle and wheel. (Not exactly a high-security option, I know, but bike theft is still relatively uncommon in my neck of the woods.) In any event, the machine warrants a closer look:

It’s a Fuji Crosstown 2.0, with factory-fitted adjustable stem, grip shifters, and straight bars. The geometry favors a relatively upright riding stance, but the generously padded saddle and suspension seatpost should do much to take the sting out of the inevitable potholes, and the suspension fork will do its bit, too. The rest of the components are similarly utilitarian: linear brakes, platform pedals, sealed hubs, and 36-spoke wheels, not to mention a kickstand and “DingDong bell”—the last being a legal requirement in New York. The fenders and rack are aftermarket add-ons, suggesting that the owner is serious about using his bike to get around. That said, I’d have fitted a more robust rack, myself, and I’ve have mounted the rear reflector on the rack, rather than the seatpost. But these are niggling details. The only omission of note is a rearview mirror. All in all, it’s a well-set-up, businesslike bike.

And that’s not all. When I got back home and googled the Crosstown 2.0 I learned that the suggested retail price (sans fender and rack) is just USD499. That makes the Fuji a bargain, to boot. Function and economy brought together in one elegant package. Isn’t that what utility is all about?

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They rode down the quiet, gently undulating town road in the cool of the morning, the blistering heat and enervating humidity of the last week already forgotten. A gentle breeze made the leaves on the poplars dance, a catbird called out from the hedgerow, and all was right with the world.

We love our bikes, right? And we never tire of looking at them. At least I don’t, and if I’m to judge from what others tell me, I’m not alone. So each Monday I’ll publish a bike-related picture. Most of the time it will be a photo, but don’t be surprised if a few drawings and paintings get added to the mix from time to time. I might even include a sculpture or two. (OK. A photo of a sculpture.) Anything, in short, that evokes the world on two wheels. And don’t be shy. If you have a picture you’d like to share, just email it to me. I’ll do the rest.

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I don’t often see other cyclists on the road when I’m on my bike. And I almost never see a woman riding alone. Now and then someone who’s thinking about taking a solo trip will ask, “Is it safe?” Usually, that someone is female. I’d like to answer in the affirmative, of course. After all, I’ve been knocking about on my own, in and out of the backcountry, for more than half a century now. Mind you, I’ve taken my share of trips with Farwell—our column for Paddling.net is named In the Same Boat for a reason—but many of my jaunts are solo affairs.

Is this safe? Well, no, I don’t suppose it is. There’s no doubt that a buddy can be life-saver in a hard chance. But few of us are grafted at the hip to an always-obliging companion, whose interests and schedule exactly match our own. And even if we were, I’m betting there’d be times when we just wanted to be alone.

So we make do. Life entails unavoidable risks. Absolute safety is found nowhere this side of the grave. But it’s not a grim as it sounds. Intelligent preparation can do much to keep the risks we run within tolerable bounds. Cycling and cyclotouring afford many useful examples. Want a for-instance? OK. Keeping your bike in tip-top shape is important. Mechanical failures can do a lot more than inconvenience you. They can even send you flying over the bars, right into the path of an oncoming car. So it pays to learn how to maintain your bike. A good local bike shop is a pearl beyond price, to be sure, but no shop can replace the knowledge that comes from working on your own machine. And with that knowledge comes power.

Bike handling skills are important, too, of course. I’ve been watching highlights of this year’s Tour when I can, and I never cease to be amazed at the artistry and competence of the racers. Winning a stage race isn’t just a matter of speed and stamina. Neither will save you if you crash too hard or too frequently. Often, therefore, victory goes to the cyclist who simply stays out of trouble. He may not be the best climber or the fastest man in the bunch sprints, but he’s the one left at the head of the pack in the closing yards, while other—perhaps stronger, perhaps bolder—riders have literally fallen by the wayside. Woody Allen was right: In racing, as in real life, the most important thing is showing up.

And that means staying out of trouble. Which brings me to the number-one weapon in the solo traveler’s arsenal: “situational awareness,” mercifully abbreviated “SA.” It has the unmistakable whiff of milspeak about it, but its importance transcends the briefing room and flight deck. And just what is SA, exactly? Put simply, it means staying alert to what’s happening around you. All around you. All of the time. For a cyclist, this entails constantly scanning the road ahead for debris, broken pavement, frisky dogs, and free-ranging wildlife, not to mention the occasional zoned-out jogger or impatient motorist, determined to pass another oncoming car right now, even if this means veering across the lane onto shoulder where you’re riding. But it’s not enough just to look where you’re going. You need to know what’s behind you, too. Something might be gaining on you, after all, and you’ll want to know.

Which means you have to keep your head on a swivel. But there’s more to situational awareness than meets the eye. Your ears are important tools, too. So leave the earbuds in your bar bag. The highway has enough aural distractions. You can’t afford to add more. Memo to motorcyclists: Loud pipes might save your life (a debatable conjecture), but they deafen cyclists, robbing them of one of their most important safeguards. So ease up on the decibels when you pass us. We’d like to stay alive, too. Got that? Good.

Sight and hearing—they’re only two of your five senses, but they’re the cornerstones of SA. Together, they tell you most of what you need to know about the world around you, at least when you’re on the road. (Smell comes into its own when you’re walking. Thanks to the indefatigable efforts of generations of fragrance chemists, I often smell other hikers on the trail before I see or hear them. But that’s another story.)

So… “Is it safe?” No. It’s not. And solo travelers—whether cyclists or walkers or paddlers—have more to fear than folks who travel in company. But this fear isn’t something to be afraid of. Think of it as a goad, a reminder of the importance of staying alert. Of the importance of SA. Of course, situational awareness can’t guarantee that bad things won’t happen to you, but it certainly shifts the odds in your favor. For a solo traveler, that’s as safe as life’s going to get.

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