So, as my first month in San Francisco draws to a close, I just have to ask: Why tandem bicycles?

I’d never given it too much thought, but the insanity of renting a tandem bicycle becomes obvious when you pass the following, coming one after another in rapid succession:

1. A dangerously overheated eighty-year-old grandfather (sweater vest, orthopedic shoes) and chubby nine-year-old grandson (think UP! Merit Badge) who’s not pedaling and looking in the other direction
2. Two French girls in Capri pants and Pumas screaming while rolling backwards into oncoming traffic
3. A seven-foot husband of the Eric Northman-esque Scandivanian gigantism variety and nervous-looking five-foot-two Asian wife whose feet don’t reach the pedals, which are moving too fast to be seen

You’ll notice that fear, mortal danger and a perilous relationship with gravity are common themes; I think this reasonably qualifies tandem biking as at-risk behavior.

THIS ISN'T EVEN THE STEEPEST HILL IN THE CITY

Not to mention that many of the riders are middle-aged office workers here on vacation with their families who haven’t ridden a bike, tandem or Original flavor, in the last ten years and, into the bargain, are under the worst kind of pressure to have fun. Oh, sweating, paunchy dad with the grim-faced eleven-year-old daughter, don’t you know that tandem bikes are never a good idea, but especially somewhere  the average vertical climb requires you to walk at an angle that would, in any other circumstance, make you look like an extra in a Michael Jackson video?

You might think that if you lay down on the sidewalk, you wouldn't roll halfway down this hill... but you'd be wrong about that.

Frankly, it’s a recipe for disaster. Walking down along Fisherman’s Wharf, I’ve watched marriages dissolve, children be written out of wills, and lifelong friendships implode in a fit of pique after six hours “biking” the San Francisco hills and an errant glance by the front rider over his shoulder. This is because invariably Seat 2 is drinking an ice cream soda from Ghirardelli and taking a picture of Alcatraz while Seat 1 develops rapid-onset osteoarthritis and saddle rash, the poor chump.

I guess, given the right circumstances, it wouldn’t be impossible to be seduced by the apparent charm of a bike tour with your family. After all, the sun coming up over the Bay and the fact that San Francisco is at least an hour behind anywhere you’ve arrived from within the continental United States do have the combined effect of imparting a certain early-morning bounce to your step. A light sea spray bestows a cool but refreshing dewiness upon your eager visage and you, intrepid traveler, find yourself humming “Daisy, Daisy” as you make your way down the Embarcadero. As your round the corner, a gentleman in acid-wash cut-offs and rental company T-shirt beckons. “Tandem bikes! Fun for the whole family!”

If you ever find yourself in this position, take a moment and privately ask yourself: “Am I prepared to stop at the bottom of a 35% grade incline and make my wife walk the two six-foot bikes back a mile so I can sling my two semi-conscious pre-teens over my shoulders because they are physically unable to go any further?” If your response is not “Yes,” but instead an evasive “How do you know what a 35% grade is, English Major?”, the answer is that this is a city in which one knows that kind of thing, and that alone should dissuade you.

In conclusion, if you count yourself as a member of one of these pairs:

1. Ron White and the guy from Survivorman
   
2. A hippo and a unicorn, if the unicorn is riding second banana
3. ANYONE + ANYONE IN SAN FRANCISCO (Again, see: Michael Jackson video)

…just smile and say ‘no’ to the nice man and go get yourself and each of your family members an ice cream cone to celebrate the fact that you’re on vacation and have just dodged a bullet.