To someone not in the know, my bicycle might not look like the manliest out there. It has a basket on the front, and a little bell to alert poor drivers. It is a one-speed, and the frame is a little too small for me. It has two locks, one of which requires that the key be in it in order to stay open, meaning I drive around with a key sticking out of the side of the back wheel. Some may say this is impractical, but I do not.

My bike is not that manly, to those who do not know. I had forgotten this, not having been around bikers in the States, with their 21 speeds and suspension systems. To me it looks great. It is a Phoenix, which means strong and powerful to me, not weak and ill-equipped to tackle any sort of hill. It looks silver and majestic from where I stand, not gray and dull, like it would to anyone who had just arrived in China.

My friend visited me a few weeks back and pointed out that men in their late twenties should not have a basket on the front of their bicycles. They rarely even call them ‘bicycles.’ Men tend not to ring their bells as they head through intersections, or give old women 2 cents to watch their mode of transportation for the day.

But this is China, where the bicycle is manly. And to prove it my friend had to use my girlfriend’s during the duration of his stay. It also has a bell. And a basket. It is smaller than mine, even though my friend is taller. And it is pink, because he insulted all Chinese people and foreigners who ride bicycles (and because even old Chinese men use pink bicycles sometimes).

Sam stayed for a week, and we used the bicycles nearly every day. His rear was sore, and his ego bruised, but he biked on. For this is China. Where men ride their bicycles, and women sit on the racks attached to the back, feeling every bump as the metal digs into their behinds. Except when women ride bicycles and put their men on the back. So men can feel the pain themselves.

Sam was a good sport, although he did not like that his bicycle was pink. He thought that bells were not manly, until he realized that his did not work—when he was in the middle of traffic. Old women use baskets on their bicycles, he insisted. But they were useful when he wanted to bring home beer. Most of all he was grateful that he got his own pink bicycle, and did not need to ride on the back of mine.

My bicycle is manly. It has one speed, which I call “cruising.” To me it looks great, what with its rugged gray coloring. It is a Phoenix, which means I have to work hard up the hills, and occasionally get dirty fixing the problems that arise. On its front sits a bell, which alerts people of my presence, much like a trucker’s horn, and a basket for carrying manly things like beer, or sweaty clothes. Just behind me is a metal rack, where lady admirers can hop on, and we can race around the city.

Too many people see a Chinese bicycle and think that it is not manly. I’m glad that I know differently.