Somewhere today, a person stuck at a red light watched a rider in ordinary clothes roll past with a baguette in a basket, and a small heretical thought lit up: I could do that. No pamphlet was exchanged. No meeting was attended. But that was advocacy, arguably the most effective kind ever devised, and the rider doesn’t even know they did it.
If you ride at all, you’re already in this job. Might as well read the description.
Duty one: be visibly ordinary
The strongest message a rider can send is that riding requires no transformation. Regular clothes, an unhurried pace, a destination everyone recognizes — the pharmacy, the school, the taco place. Riders in full kit going fast are having a great time, and good for them, but they read as athletes; the watcher at the red light files them under “not me.” The rider with groceries files under “wait, me?” You are most persuasive precisely when you’re least impressive: sitting up, gliding, obviously unbothered. (If that pace sounds unfamiliar, ride at your own pace is the house sermon, the only one this job allows.)
There’s a bonus duty hiding here, too: every rider a driver passes calmly is a tiny rehearsal that makes the road easier for the next rider. Predictable, relaxed, courteous riding is the diplomacy. You’re not just the press release; you’re the treaty.
Duty two: greet the others
Riders wave at each other in most of the world, and the wave is load-bearing. It says: you’re seen, you belong, there’s a club and you’re already in it. New riders often report the first time a stranger waved at them like it was a small ceremony, because it was. The bell counts too, as a greeting and a gentle heads-up, never a rebuke: ring early, pass wide, say thanks. The “on your left” delivered like you’re happy to be sharing a path, which you are.
Lifted fingers, a full hand, the downlow flick — dialect varies, meaning doesn't: hello, fellow member.
Thirty seconds at the bike rack (nice basket, how's that route) is how strangers become "the people I know from riding."
A finger at the hazard for whoever's behind you. Invisible to drivers, universal among riders, a little heroic.
Waiting out the red like it's the most natural thing in the world — with a nod for whoever pulls up. Diplomacy at 0 mph.
Duty three: stop for the stranded
The oldest tradition in cycling: a rider on the roadside with an upside-down bike gets asked, by every passing rider, “got what you need?” Nine times out of ten they do, and the asking still matters — it’s the mutual-aid handshake that makes solo riders feel accompanied everywhere they go. The tenth time, you hand over a pump or a spare tube and make a friend for life. (Carrying the little kit that makes you useful is covered in fixing a flat. Being rescuable and being the rescuer use the same three items.)
The compensation package
No salary, obviously. But the perks are real: your streets get friendlier at the exact rate you’re friendly on them, the wave starts coming back with your name attached, and the person at the red light (the one you’ll never meet) eventually buys a basket. Somewhere down the line a council member notices that riders in this town seem to be everywhere, and pleasant, and votes accordingly. You did that, in regular pants, without attending anything.
This week’s assignment is one button-press away, above. Wear the invisible sash lightly — and whenever you can, ride, visibly and gladly. The campaign is the ride.