Has money ever truly bought happiness? Perhaps, but few purchases deliver the sheer, unadulterated delight of an electric bike. My own journey with these machines began nearly a decade ago in Kyoto, Japan. Renting a bulky, somewhat cumbersome electric bicycle, I was immediately captivated by the gentle yet powerful tug of its motor. Ascending a hill felt effortless, as if an unseen force was kindly propelling me forward. That initial ride etched a permanent, goofy smile on my face, a smile that returns every time I hop on an e-bike.
Years later, another rental, this time a lighter, more potent model, solidified my conviction: this was the future of personal transportation. Eighteen months ago, amidst the global pandemic, I finally took the plunge and bought my first electric bike. Looking back, it was one of the best decisions I’ve ever made.
Imagine a perfect summer afternoon: cruising along the coast, the vast ocean stretching out on one side, a fragrant pine forest on the other. The sun blazes, yet a cool breeze kisses your skin. There’s something profoundly stirring, almost emotional, about the effortless efficiency of this humble machine beneath you. The motor, a small black cylinder at the wheel’s hub, seems deceptively insignificant. Yet, it propels you forward. It sings its quiet song – a subtle, beautiful hum that encourages you to ride further, to explore ridiculous, wonderful distances. The destination becomes secondary to the journey itself, a desire to linger in this state of smooth, silent motion, gliding through the world with only the whisper of tires on asphalt, the wind in your ears, the crashing waves, the salty air, and the scent of pine. This is the magic of electric bikes: they amplify the poetry of the world, inviting you to immerse yourself fully in its beauty.
So Many Bikes, So Little Time (Until Electric Bikes!)
My life has been intertwined with bicycles for as long as I can remember. Childhood rides on a K-Mart Huffy, teenage adventures on a Haro Group 1 – bikes have always been more than just transportation; they’ve been a source of freedom and joy. As an adult, this passion evolved into a collection, an almost unintentional indulgence. Over the past two decades, I’ve owned around fifteen bikes: sleek Bianchi road bikes crafted from aluminum and carbon fiber, elegant steel Kalavinka keirin bikes with their distinctive head badges, versatile folding Dahon and Birdy BD-1s, and a collection of beloved, unassuming mamachari shopping bikes – each with its own charm and unique demise. I even sought out a handmade Arrow cruiser from a builder in Ogikubo. My custom orange Moulton, modified into a single-speed city bike with surprisingly swift suspension, remains a prized possession.
Why so many bikes? Any cycling enthusiast will tell you: the allure of the bicycle is insatiable. Each new bike offers a fresh perspective, a new way to experience the ride. Exploring a city on a mamachari is vastly different from navigating it on a BD-1 or a Moulton. The bikes change, and so does your relationship with the road. My love for bikes is all-encompassing; if it has two wheels and pedals, I’m intrigued. I want to ride them all.
Summers in Japan, particularly in Tokyo, are notoriously challenging. The oppressive heat and humidity are legendary. Witnessing characters in classic Ozu films languidly moving through summer scenes isn’t just acting; it’s a depiction of survival. In the peak of August, simply walking a few blocks can leave you drenched.
Bicycles have always offered a reprieve. Even with minimal effort, a bicycle creates a personal microclimate. While standing still might leave you sweltering, the wind generated while cycling offers a refreshing coolness. An electric bike elevates this effect exponentially. The added power means less exertion and even more breeze, making even the stickiest summer days enjoyable for a ride.
As a child, I dreamt of a personal helicopter, foot-powered and fueled by imagination rather than gasoline. I envisioned silently gliding over the city, visiting friends, shops, and diners with effortless ease. An electric bike, in many ways, fulfills that childhood fantasy.
In the last eighteen months, I’ve logged thousands of kilometers on my electric bikes. It feels like cheating, but in the best possible way. Living in a seaside town south of Tokyo, traffic congestion is a constant issue, the ancient roads ill-suited for modern car volumes. My electric bike effortlessly weaves through these stagnant streams of heat and fumes. Encountering a gas-powered scooter or moped now feels like observing an antiquated, inefficient contraption – loud, clumsy, burdensome, and polluting. And often, no faster or more practical than an electric bike.
The Electric Allure: BESV PSA1 and Vanmoof X3
Currently, I own two electric bikes. My first purchase was the oddly named BESV PSA1, a compact 20-inch wheel, rear-wheel drive model with readily available components, allowing for easy customization. 1 Enchanted by the BESV and its subtle yet potent motor, craving further electric bike experiences, I soon added a front-wheel drive Vanmoof X3 to my collection. The X3 is the smaller 24-inch wheeled sibling to Vanmoof’s larger S3.
I have a soft spot for both, despite their quirks. Both bikes, in their own ways, are wonderfully flawed.
The BESV’s electronic system is, to put it mildly, basic. 2 Settings reset every time you power it on. The acceleration can be jerky and unrefined. Its accompanying app is arguably the worst on my phone – poorly designed, functionally limited, and seemingly devoid of user-centric design. And yet, despite these shortcomings, I rode it hundreds of kilometers in the first month alone. The front and rear suspension smooth out even rough roads, making dirt trails surprisingly accessible. Suddenly, every incline becomes an invitation to explore. Up, up, up, the little machine seems to urge, and you eagerly comply.
Guests at my studio often borrow the BESV. Coastal rides on it invariably elicit amazement. One friend, upon dismounting, instinctively patted it, murmuring, “Good job, buddy,” such was the instant affection it inspired.
The Vanmoof, in contrast, is significantly more sophisticated. Its integrated electronics and software are polished, the app is well-designed, and the acceleration is smooth. However, being comprised entirely of custom components, the overall quality is less impressive. The automatic shifting mechanism on my X3 failed twice within the first two months, requiring trips to the Vanmoof service center. 3 The seat post bolt snapped inside the post. The original plastic pedals felt flimsy and cheap (though thankfully, pedals are easily replaceable). The stiff aluminum frame, while efficient, transmits road vibrations intensely, leading to a bone-jarring ride on uneven surfaces. Lowering tire pressure to mitigate stiffness only increases the risk of punctures. But the most critical flaw is the bike’s design: the bottom bracket is positioned too low.
In all my years of cycling, across countless bikes, I’ve never experienced pedal strikes. Yet, on the Vanmoof X3, it happens frequently, sometimes dangerously so. Most alarmingly, during a turn at speed, a pedal strike threw me sideways, resulting in my first serious crash in decades. Consequently, I’ve had to adapt my riding style – avoiding pedaling through turns, maintaining heightened awareness of road camber. Despite these significant flaws, I can’t stop riding this silly thing. It sings its hum, it brings joy. It’s my daily escape, whisking me around the peninsula, reminding me of the simple pleasure of being alive.
I’ve written about three electric bike journeys for Papersky Magazine: Misaki, Oiso, and Yokosuka. And here’s a slightly embarrassing confession: more often than not, around midnight, the urge becomes irresistible – I must take a bike out. Out it comes, and together we silently glide through the deserted streets of my town, visiting temples in the stillness of the night. No cars, often no people. It feels almost forbidden, this nocturnal exploration, slipping into temple parking lots under the cloak of darkness, admiring the ancient architecture, feeling a childlike sense of wonder and gratitude for the ability to experience this moment.
I’ve long believed that world peace could be achieved if everyone had a bicycle. Now, I want those bicycles to be electric. I want everyone to experience this lighthearted joy, this almost absurd happiness, this feeling of playfully bending the rules, of constant delight. At our worst, humans are mindlessly destructive. At our best, we invent electric bikes. Battery technology has become more efficient, motors smaller and more powerful. The last decade has witnessed remarkable advancements in these machines, and the next ten years promise even greater progress. Electric bike adoption is surging year after year. Those who know, enthusiastically share the gospel. The charm is undeniable. The benefits are universal. The more people who discover electric bikes, the better the world will be. It’s a compelling notion: readily accessible goodness with virtually no downside. Like solar panels and wind turbines, electric bikes are machines that uplift both the spirit and the planet.
Invest in the best electric bike you can afford. Stretch your budget if possible. Generally, higher-priced models offer lighter frames, more powerful motors, and longer-lasting batteries. Top speeds vary by region. In Japan, electric bikes are capped at 24km/h, while in America, it’s 32km/h. Some areas only permit pedal-assist, where the motor engages only when pedaling, while others allow throttles, blurring the lines between electric bikes and scooters. Regulations will continue to evolve as electric bike popularity grows and cities adapt. This is just the beginning. A decade ago, electric bikes were a rarity in Tokyo. Today, they seem ubiquitous, especially among parents transporting children.
A smart approach is to visit a local bike shop that offers test rides on various electric bikes. Some feature front-hub motors, others rear-hub motors, and some have mid-drive motors positioned between the cranks. Each configuration offers a subtly different riding experience. Front-motor bikes might exhibit wheel slippage on steep inclines when pulling back on the handlebars, but on level ground, they feel like being gently pulled forward.
Admittedly, electric bikes aren’t inexpensive. However, they represent a rare purchase that truly justifies the cost. This holds true despite their occasional flaws, imperfect software, and questionable geometries. Because they unlock the world around you. Whatever world exists in your vicinity, an electric bike brings it closer, more vividly, more joyfully. This enhanced accessibility is invaluable. These machines sing their quiet songs, and the goofy grin they bring to your face might make you look like a blissful fool – and what a wonderful fool to be.
A summer night, biking home alongside a river. The air hangs heavy with humidity, cicadas buzz intensely in the distance, and the moon illuminates the path. The choice: a direct route home along the shimmering river or a detour into the dark mountains, doubling the distance. Invariably, I choose the mountains. More! The inner child, awakened by the electric bike, demands. More of this feeling, whatever it is. More, more, more. And so, I indulge that impulse, an impulse ignited and nurtured by the electric bike. Into the shadowy mountains we climb, propelled forward by that ever-present, gentle giant’s hand. It’s a wonderfully absurd thing, a thing of peace and magic. An owl hoots in the distance. And the smile remains, unwavering.
Noted:
This essay, published September 2022. Thoughts? Email [email protected].
Craig Mod is a writer and photographer based in Japan. He’s the author of the books Things Become Other Things and Kissa by Kissa and is a MacDowell, Ragdale, and VCCA writing fellow. His essays and articles have appeared in The New York Times, Eater, The Atlantic, California Sunday Magazine, Wired, Aeon, New Scientist, Virginia Quarterly Review, The New Yorker, The Morning News, Codex: Journal of Typography, and elsewhere.
He writes newsletters, oh yes, newsletters: Roden & Ridgeline.
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Footnotes
[1] ^ Further details on BESV PSA1 specifications and customization options can be found on the manufacturer’s website or through independent reviews.
[2] ^ User reviews and online forums often corroborate the described limitations of the BESV PSA1’s electronic interface and app functionality.
[3] ^ Vanmoof’s customer service experiences and repair processes are topics frequently discussed in online communities and tech reviews, often with mixed feedback.
