My electric bike whispers, a gentle hum emanating from its compact motor. It’s a sound I adore—a melody of tranquility and wonder. Has any amount of money ever delivered such pure joy as an electric bike? I seriously doubt it.
My first encounter with an electric bike was almost ten years ago in Kyoto. The rental e-bike was bulky, yet the subtle push from its motor was unforgettable. Conquering hills felt effortless, like a friendly giant was nudging me forward. That goofy grin hasn’t left my face since.
Fast forward two years, another electric bike rental, this time smaller, lighter, and more powerful. I was sold. This was the future of biking for me. Eighteen months later, amidst the pandemic, I took the plunge and bought my own electric bike, and I haven’t glanced back.
Picture this: a perfect summer afternoon, cruising down the coast road, the vast ocean on one side, and a fragrant pine forest on the other. The sun is warm, yet a refreshing coolness prevails. There’s something inexplicably moving, almost emotional, about the sheer efficiency of this simple machine beneath me. The motor, a small black cylinder at the wheel’s center, seems insignificant. Yet, it propels me forward. It sings its quiet song. A beautiful, subtle hum. It compels me to ride further, to explore ridiculous distances, purely for the joy of it. I don’t want the ride to end; I want to prolong this sensation of smooth, effortless motion, gliding through the world in near silence, just the whisper of tires on asphalt, the wind in my ears, the rhythm of waves, the salty air, and the scent of pine. This is the magic of electric bikes: they ignite a profound appreciation for the simple poetry of our surroundings.
So Many Bikes, So Little Time: My Cycling History
Throughout my life, bikes have been a constant companion. As a child, I wore out a basic Huffy before upgrading to a Haro Group 1. As an adult, bicycles have become a cherished indulgence. In the last two decades alone, I’ve owned around fifteen bikes. From sleek aluminum and carbon Bianchi road bikes to elegant steel Kalavinka keirin bikes with stunning head badges. I’ve enjoyed the practicality of folding Dahon and Birdy BD-1s. I’ve even developed a soft spot for unassuming mamachari bikes—Japanese utility bikes—each with its own unique charm and eventual demise. I sought out a custom Arrow cruiser, handcrafted by a builder in Ogikubo. Currently, I ride a custom orange Moulton, modified into a swift single-speed city bike that effortlessly glides on its unique suspension.
And the list goes on. Bikes, bikes, and more bikes. Why this obsession? Any true cycling enthusiast will tell you, once you’re captivated by bikes, you crave just one thing: more bikes. Each new bike offers a fresh perspective, a new way to experience the ride. Exploring a city on a mamachari is a different adventure than on a BD-1 or a Moulton. Each is thrilling in its own way. Bikes evolve, and so does your connection to the road. My love for bikes is all-encompassing; if it has two wheels and pedals, I’m interested. I want to ride them all.
Electric Bikes: A Summer Game Changer
Summers in Japan, particularly in Tokyo, have always been intensely challenging. The heat and humidity are oppressive. It’s a three-shower-a-day kind of climate. If you’ve seen an Ozu film, you’ll notice the languid demeanor of people in summer scenes – it’s not just acting; it’s a survival strategy. In the peak of August in Japan, walking even a short distance can leave you drenched.
Bikes have always offered a respite. A bicycle creates a personal microclimate with minimal effort. While you might be sweltering standing still, the breeze generated while cycling keeps you noticeably cooler and drier. An electric bike amplifies this effect dramatically.
As a child, I dreamed of owning a personal helicopter, powered by my own pedaling and a touch of magic (certainly not gasoline, strangely enough, looking back). I imagined silently soaring over the city in this tiny aircraft, zipping from home to the video store, then to a diner, and a friend’s house. An electric bike brings me remarkably close to that childhood fantasy.
In the past year and a half, I’ve logged thousands of kilometers on my electric bikes. It feels like cheating, but in the best possible way. I live in a coastal town near Tokyo where traffic can be congested, the roads designed for horse-drawn carriages, not modern cars. The electric bike effortlessly navigates through the gridlock of heat and exhaust fumes. Riding past a gas-powered scooter or moped now feels like observing an outdated, inefficient machine—noisy, cumbersome, polluting, and often no faster or more practical than an electric bike.
Diving Deeper into Electric Bikes: My Personal Fleet
I currently own two electric bikes. My first purchase was the uniquely named BESV PSA1—a small-wheeled (20″), rear-wheel drive model with readily available components, making customization easy. Enchanted by the BESV and its subtle yet powerful motor, and eager to explore more electric bike experiences, I soon added a front-wheel drive Vanmoof X3 to my collection—the smaller sibling (24″) to the larger Vanmoof S3.
I have a soft spot for both, even with their quirks. Both bikes have their frustrating flaws.
The electronic system on the BESV is surprisingly basic. The settings reset every time you power it on. The acceleration can feel jerky and unrefined. Its app is arguably the worst on my phone—poorly designed, nearly useless, and clearly lacking user-centered design. And yet, despite these shortcomings, I rode it hundreds of kilometers in the first month. The front and rear suspension smooth out every road surface, even rough trails. I found myself seeking out unexplored paths in parks. Suddenly, every hill became an invitation to explore. Up, up, up, the little motor seemed to urge, and I happily obliged.
Guests at my studio often borrow the BESV. We ride it along the coast, and it never fails to impress. One friend was so charmed, they patted it affectionately after a ride, saying, “Good job, buddy,” expressing a deep and immediate fondness for the bike.
The Vanmoof is significantly smarter—its electronics and software are polished, the app is well-designed, and the acceleration is smooth. However, it uses proprietary components, which aren’t always of the highest quality. The automatic shifting failed twice in the first two months, requiring trips to the Vanmoof service center. A seat post bolt snapped inside the post. The original plastic pedals felt cheap (though pedals are easily replaceable). The aluminum frame, while sleek, is too rigid for the speeds the bike achieves, leading to a jarring ride on rough roads. (Lowering tire pressure to improve comfort seems to increase the risk of punctures.) But the most critical design flaw is the dangerously low bottom bracket.
Despite owning numerous bikes over the years, I’ve never experienced pedal strike—until the Vanmoof X3. It happens frequently, even dozens of times. Most dangerously, during a turn at speed, the pedal hit the pavement, causing the bike to lurch sideways, throwing me off. It was my only serious bike crash in decades. I’ve adapted my riding style—avoiding pedaling through turns, being acutely aware of road camber—because, despite all its faults, I can’t stop riding this thing. It sings its song, that hum. It brings pure joy. I reach for it daily, and it carries me around the peninsula, filling me with happiness.
Electric Bikes: Silent Night Adventures and a Vision for the Future
I’ve written about electric bike journeys for Papersky Magazine in Misaki, Oiso, and Yokosuka. And here’s a confession: often, at midnight, I can’t resist the urge to take an electric bike out. I wheel it into the quiet streets and we hum our way around town, visiting temples in complete silence. The streets are deserted, often without another soul in sight. It feels almost forbidden—this silent glide through the town, slipping into temple grounds under the cloak of night, admiring the ancient architecture, feeling like a child again, grateful for the moment.
I’ve long believed that world peace could be closer if everyone had a bike, but now I envision electric bikes for all. I want everyone to experience this delightful silliness, this intoxicating sense of joy, this feeling of bending the rules, of pure, unadulterated fun. At our worst, humans consume mindlessly, damage the planet and each other, and pollute our bodies. At our best, we invent electric bikes. Battery technology has become more efficient, motors smaller and more powerful. The last decade has seen remarkable progress in electric bike technology, and the next decade promises even greater advancements. Electric bike sales are soaring year after year. Those who know, evangelize. We can’t help but share the enthusiasm. The charm is irresistible. The benefits are undeniable. The more people who discover electric bikes, the better the world will be. It’s a radical idea, this potential for good, so easily accessible. Goodness without a downside. Like solar panels and wind turbines, electric bikes are machines that uplift both the spirit and the planet.
If you’re considering an electric bike, buy the best one you can afford. If possible, stretch your budget. Generally, higher-priced models are lighter, have more powerful motors, and longer-lasting batteries. Top speeds vary by country. In Japan, e-bikes are capped at 24km/h, in the US at 32km/h. Some regions only allow pedal-assist, where the motor engages only when pedaling. Others permit throttles, blurring the lines between bikes and scooters. Regulations will evolve as electric bike adoption grows and cities adapt. This is just the beginning. A decade ago, electric bikes were rare in Tokyo. Today, it seems every parent transporting children is doing so on an e-bike.
A good 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 motor type offers a slightly different riding experience. Front-motor bikes might slip on steep hills if you pull back on the handlebars, but on flat terrain, they feel like they’re pulling you effortlessly.
Electric bikes aren’t cheap, but they are a worthwhile investment. Despite their occasional flaws, imperfect software, or questionable design choices, they open up the world. They bring the world closer, making exploration more accessible and enjoyable. This is a value that’s hard to quantify. These bikes hum their little songs, and the goofy smile they bring to your face might make you look like a village idiot—but what a wonderfully happy idiot to be.
One summer night, biking home along the river, the air thick with humidity, cicadas buzzing in the distance, and the moon shining brightly. My choices: straight home along the moonlit river or a detour into the dark mountains, doubling the distance. Almost every time, I choose the mountains. More! That inner child dreaming of helicopters shouts. More of this feeling, whatever it is. More, more, more. And I indulge that impulse, an impulse fueled by the electric bike. Into the shadowy mountains we climb, pushed onward by that invisible giant hand, always there, always ready to assist. It’s a wonderfully absurd thing. A machine of peace and pure magic. An owl calls in the distance. And the smile? It hasn’t faded.
Note: This essay was originally published in September 2022.
Craig Mod is a writer and photographer based in Japan. He is the author of “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 numerous other publications.
He also writes newsletters: Roden & Ridgeline.
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