La Chiquitita takes Cuba

For weeks before I went biking in Cuba, I lay awake at night, fretting. It wasn't the 50-mile days over the Sierra del Rosano that had me worried. Nor was it that line in the Moon guide about keeping your toes covered at night on account of vampire bats. It was something much scarier: It's next to impossible to rent a touring bike in Cuba.

That meant I would have to pack my own bike in a cardboard box, drag it through three airports, reassemble it when I reached Havana--and do it all in reverse two weeks later. And pay $50 each way for the privilege.

When I confessed my lily-liveredness to a friend who had written a guide-book on bike travel, she said, "Get a Bike Friday. It's a high-performance folding bike that fits in a suitcase and checks on for free." I tried not to smirk at the unlikely proximity of the words "high performance" and "folding."

The brainchild of Eugene, Oregon-based Green Gear Cycling, Bike Friday incorporates quick-release hardware, 20-inch wheels, and a three-speed internal hub with a gear ratio that compensates for the wheel size. While other folding bikes are one-size-fits-all with an emphasis on portability, Bike Fridays are custom-built, and designed for performance and long-distance travel. The bikes come in nine models, including the New World Tourist and a recumbent.

It sounded good to me. The suitcase, with a demo New World Tourist inside it, turned up the afternoon before I left. It looked like an oversize lunch box from Ikea. I pictured myself strolling through the airport, pulling it gracefully behind me, my fellow bikers looking on with envy.

When I unfolded the bike in Havana, however; no one exactly swooned. "¡Mira la chiquitita! [Look at the little tiny one!]" our hosts called. I began to worry. To avoid a schlepp, I had condemned myself to pedaling 300 miles on some flimsy, Chaplinesque device. I consoled myself with the knowledge that it had taken me only ten minutes to make my bike road-ready--versus 45 minutes for my compatriots and their brontosauruses.

Pedaling away from the decaying villa that had served as base camp, I found la chiquirita's steering a little twitchy--a product of the small wheel and long stem--but the bike proved adept at dodging potholes and skirting the turquoise 1950s Chevys beached on every block. I soon stopped feeling like an organ grinder's monkey and forgot all about the folding bike.

Then, "How did you do coming up the hill?" one of the men asked solicitously Sheesh, I thought, rattled. Do I look that feeble? And so I discovered one of the givens about Bike Friday. While the rider quickly forgets he or she is riding anything but an ordinary high-performance bike, nobody else does.

Americans on their spiffy hybrids, campesinos driving Rubenesque oxen to the fields--all asked the same question: "So how do you manage on those little tiny wheels, anyway?"

How did I manage? Beautifully. La chiquirita has a climbing gear Granny could get up Denali in. And I could downshift while storming up the steepest hills. Keeping up was no problem.

The truth is, Bike Friday is a great bike. Does it have a downside? Yes. If you want to look studly, it ain't for you. The photographer on our trip backed away in horror every time I suggested she try it. On the other hand, if you don't need to look cool, and if you can afford the $1,695 price tag (or $999 for Green Gear's new no-frills model), this bike could be as indispensable to your wardrobe as your running shoes.

Back at the airport, I was too busy scratching my flea bites to say a proper good-bye as I wrestled la chiquitita back into the lunch box. But now that I'm home, I'm putting together a consortium of travelers with 32-inch inseams. Anyone want to go in on a Bike Friday?