Laudator Temporis Acti

Henri Troyat, Tolstoy, tr. Nancy Amphoux (Garden City: Doubleday, 1967), p. 536:

The prudish Chertkov soberly noted, "Tolstoy has learned to ride a bicycle. Is this not inconsistent with his Christian ideals?"

Alexander Langlands, Cræft: An Inquiry Into the Origins and True Meaning of Traditional Crafts (2017; rpt. New York: W.W. Norton & Company, 2019), p. 37:

Bikes require a certain condition of surface to operate effectively on, such as tarmac. They also have to be manufactured and maintained at a cost (tyres, brake pads and oil for moving parts). While the bicycle might be considered an example of a machine that has improved our quality of life immeasurably, it also removes us from a natural state. The greater velocity allowed by the mechanical advantage places us in a more exposed and vulnerable position. If for whatever reason the rider were to part company with the bike in motion, the body is not designed to impact on hard surfaces at these increased speeds, and the consequences can be severe, if not fatal.

It might seem specious to criticise the bicycle. After all, unlike the motor car, it uses human power to propel it. Without a bike I could never have done my paper round as a kid. In which case, I wouldn't have earned pocket money, the paper shop and newspaper magnate would have sold fewer papers, and our customers would have been less abreast of current affairs. In short, everybody would have lost out. The point I'm trying to make here is that in the act of cycling there is a level of disengagement with the physical reality of getting from A to B. We may save time, and, in my case, earn some precious needed cash as a teenager. But will it always equate to the cost of increasing physical jeopardy, the capital cost of bicycle manufacture and maintenance, and the manner in which we are disengaging with the material world around us? In this context, to walk might be seen as being more cræfty.