Michigan Avenue - Niche Media - Michigan Avenue magazine is a luxury lifestyle magazine centered around Chicago’s finest people, events, fashion, health & beauty, fine dining & more!
Issue link: http://digital.greengale.com/i/67043
"I won't see you until Sunday," Leah says to her husband, as she is pulling away. (Earlier in the week, she presented World Bicycle Relief to stu- dents at The British School of Chicago, and now she's catching a plane to the East Coast for an annual women's conference and dinner with President Obama. She'll cover about 1,500 miles over the weekend.) "Well, wait!" F.K. calls after them and wriggles his torso into the open passenger window of their Subaru, leaning across the console for a quick kiss. I n 2004, the Days were spending Christmas in the north woods of Michigan. News began spreading that the earth had split apart beneath the Indian Ocean, causing a wave roughly three times the height of the Great Wall of China to rise up and kill a quarter of a million people across about a dozen countries. As infor- mation flowed in and the scope of the disaster crystallized, F.K. put his head in his hands and knew he needed to do something. them," he says. "You think about it after- ward." His first thought: Hop on a flight to Sri Lanka and figure out the best way to help rebuild. F.K. is the executive vice president of SRAM, the largest manufacturer of bicycle components in the United States and second in the world. (He and his brother Stan cofounded the company in 1987 and roared on to the cycling scene a year later, when SRAM invented the grip-shift and made it a thing of the past to shift gears by reach- ing down to the frame.) The company has a marathon every day just to get to school and back. It takes her three hours to walk the 12.5 miles to meet her classmates; if she runs, she might make it in one. And hurrying would be wise: It's an area where young women are counseled to "dress prop- erly" lest they invite men to sexually harass them. Many days, the journey is too daunting a pros- pect, so she stays home and works on her family's farm. As she walks ahead of the oxen and carries seeds in the folds of her bright tribal dress, her The first distribution of 150 bicycles in Chongwe, Zambia, to kick off the Healthcare Worker initiative of 24,000 bicycles in 2007 Skip to 2008. The family is amongst the huts in Zambia's Mumbwa District. A 14-year-old girl named Maureen Moyo is exhausted. She's strug- gling to attend classes because she has to complete locations all over Asia. When the Days landed, they saw chaos—Humvees, helicopters, crumbled buildings, and makeshift shacks with corrugated- metal roofs, and everywhere, stranded people. For weeks, relief workers met the basic survival needs of food, shelter, and clothing. But one thing was overlooked: basic transportation. Just like that, the Days had a mission. "We happen to know a little something about bikes," F.K. says, smiling. "Americans have forgot- ten the importance of basic transportation based on all the options we have. But when a bike enters a person's life, there is a revolution of possibilities." So the Days founded World Bicycle Relief to bring the revolution to other hurting countries. future becomes as clear as the furrows stretching across the plowed field in front of her. She'll drop out of school when the family perceives that the work of her arms could be more valuable to them than the work of her brain. Perhaps the family will marry her off at a young age in exchange for a dowry. A bike could change everything. A better bike B ack in Chicago, the Days are hard at work. Through the window, the city's tallest buildings are scraping the sky. Pacing by a row of bikes lin- ing the walls, F.K. is on the phone sorting out a personnel issue. He's a man with eyes that are constantly twinkling, even when days like today call for stern management. Nearby is a prototype of a new bike they'll be assembling in Africa. A note is stuck to it that says: ride me. you are compelled to jump in after a revolution of possibilities." "When you see a drowning person, "When a bike enters a person's life, there is "Do you mind?" Leah asks and hops on, glid- ing around the indoor bike lane past workstations and offices. "Smooth," she says when she completes loop. Over the the past seven years, many such rides have taken place in an attempt to build the best bike for Africa's rutty roads. (The two-wheel- ers available in local markets are often castoffs from the last century and are notorious for break- ing down within months.) The Days made the seat out of solid rubber, because the hot sun and rain would make the leather peel back and cause the springs to pop out. They put a cage around the reflector in case the bumps jar it loose. They modified the top tube so women can ride in traditional dresses without exposing themselves. They installed a rear rack that can support up to 220 pounds. The machine also needed to be bare bones— simple enough that it could be easily fixed without the need for special parts. After countless tweaks, they designed the single-speed "Buffalo" bicycle, a model that could navigate a craggy goat path with the grace of an ice skater. F.K. hangs up the phone and chimes in: "You have to go into the field. Sitting in Chicago, we can't solve anyone's problems in Africa." He visits up to six times a year, and even Lincoln has col- lected several stamps in his passport. Among the 11 sub-Saharan countries in which World Bicycle Relief now provides bicycles, there's a lot of ground to cover. The organization also puts together "Africa Rides" trips. Over nine days, visi- tors learn about World Bicycle Relief's programs. The supporters build their own bikes from scratch and pedal dealing with HIV, AIDS, them alongside healthcare workers tuberculosis, and malaria. The next trip is July 21–29 and costs $3,250 per person plus airfare. photographs by Leah Missbach Day