The hexagonal shift of the cubodal wheel and the transverse expansion of its central plane, as well as the abstraction of the wheel in general and Geocentric Design Code as a whole owe much to a most real and down-to-earth artifact, thoroughly experienced.
My hunt for the perfect bicycle was not guided by the abstract, but rather by comfort, usefulness, and an assurance of some ill-defined capability, qualities which having owned road, mountain, and cruiser bicycles in the past, I had never found in one bike. I was just about ready to give up the search when I stumbled upon a small overlooked shop.
Amid the usual glitter, I was immediately drawn to one bike with a strong white triangular frame, concerning which a voice from the back proclaimed “made in Brazil.” A wide saddle promised comfort and with tip toed balancing in a cushioned 3 point stance, my feet found blessed relief from 7 months of walking out of a first bout of homelessness. The shop owner invited me to take the 1993 Caloi Pan Am for a spin.
Outside, I pedaled off effortlessly to an effortless sensation of low gliding flight whose breeze cooled the sultry Florida morning, and with the easy action of the intuitive coaster brake, I slowed with intention to buy the one speed cruiser. After a period adjusting to traffic, a daily routine of work and errands experienced a grateful easing.
On days’ off I rode the bike increasingly further, and eventually on an 80 mile ride up and down the coast. Upon recovering, I was ready for the next level, not touring but actual relocation with all my possessions sailing 400 miles down the peninsula and across the Everglades in a long hot century to a nightfall room refusal by a Ukranian innkeeper who subscribed to reverence for the automobile and atheism. Nonetheless the move was a success as I was soon lodged, employed and commuting on my amazing bicycle.
On one day I found myself in a store gazing at a square foot jewel from NASA portraying a full earth in space with focus on the western hemisphere - centered by Florida. Marveling how I could discern my recent trek from such perspective, I wondered just how far the bicycle could take me as my eyes roamed to where a mysterious glaciated land mass disappeared over the sphere’s upper left curvature. Alaska would be my ultimate goal.
Starts, struggles, and flops ensued over the next few years, but with them came vital experiences ranging from how to deal with constant in-your-face winds on the Texas coast; observing how hard Gulf dolphins humped and huffed for their food before releasing themselves to play; how to enjoy camping with minimal gear.
As my appreciation for the bike matured, I wondered why accommodation for bikes in general had never been made architecturally, and the desire to do so was an essential ingredient to the advent of (celestial) Cube-based Shelter. Although a specific solution was not yet seen then, I was confident that, owing to the cubes’ rotation, it was in scheme’s geometry, somewhere.
High from the insight, another move to Biloxi resulted in a situation that enabled me to fund gear, upgrades, and an attempt for the last frontier. Armed with a 7-speed coaster brake hub, I regarded the trek as a test ride of a prototypical everyday bicycle for the masses, and I approached the quest with Ghandian “be the future you wish to see.” I set out on the first day of spring with a goal encapsulated by the phrase one continent, one season. For a well-rounded transection, I would start over Atlantic waters a few degrees above the tropics and end below the Arctic circle aside Pacific waters – with 1 mega city (Chicago) in between.
Hoping to camp 2 of every 3 nights, I found many parks’ water shut off, but on the other hand I stayed ahead of the pack’s annual migration. Near the end of weeks galloping over expansive golden prairies, mechanical problems posed the darkest cloud, but with lucky guesswork and the right CDs, I was able to keep going and find a good rhythm.
The Rockies appeared in the distance which by tricks of the terrain concealed their mysteries for abrupt views much closer than the last. In top shape at last, I grew one with the bike humping over rises and gliding windshield-less through astounding beauty coming on directly in days that grew endless, and as the ubiquitous spruce streaming by grew smaller, I experienced a sensation of growing into the warm clear sky. The longest stretch of sublime beauty was in the Yukon, and then mist-shrouded Mt. McKinley opened up for a most spectacular encore. But when we rolled downhill to the end at Cook Inlet 12 hours before the end of Spring, the clouds did not part and drizzly solemnity signaled some undefined interlude.
Emerging from period subject to what goes up must come down, I found myself finally focusing on architectural accommodation for the bicycle by finding between it and the house a geometric common denominator. To do so, I built a paper model of the cuboda and turned it over and over until finally coming to imagine its centrally interwoven planes. and marveling at how the differing planes angling off one hexagon could only be matched via rotation. Thus was the cuboda’s attribute of intrinsic dynamism abstracted.
Later it occurred to me that the 2 halves on either side of the central plane could be naturally slid relative to each other and matched up permanently with a 60 degree rotation. Although the “wheel” thereby lost its dynamism, it dawned on me that this was precisely what was needed – along with transverse symmetry – for a template to guide design of components at rest relative to the forward motion provided by the dynamic wheel. Soon following was the hexagonal plane’s transverse expansion concept.
As these ideas crystallized, the bike leaned in its space against the wall, with its frame roughly attuned to the hexagonal pattern of triangles. The correspondence between the pattern’s innate circles and wheel separation was a bit eerier. The final match came with the handlebars. On a hunch, after determining angles of template lines shooting off from the center and comparing them to those of the handlebars, I found these also concurred!
It seems this bicycle had been guiding the code all along. Not only had it played a crucial role inspiring cube-based shelter, it had provided all the clues to the cubodal wheel’s abstraction essentials and a general template for all rolling transporters. If Geocentric Design Code was unlocked by a key, that key was this bicycle.
Before the 5,000 mile trek to Alaska, the bicycle had carried me 10,000 miles and post-trek another 10,000 to equal 25,000 miles, or one orbit before I returned it to the earth. That the bicycle had been designed as it was I find most interesting, perhaps evidence that the code has been followed in a groping quasi-intuitive way for some time now.