By Cheo Tyehimba

Black men ride bicycles. Not exactly breaking news, right? But if you lived in my West Oakland neighborhood or in any community across the country where residents are mostly black or brown, have little or no access to jobs, a quality education, health care, and decent housing, this particular observation would not be lost on you. So what's up with brothas on bikes? Besides the fact that it's a very cheap means of transportation (gas has topped $3.00 a gallon in Cali... damn), for some of the Black men I see riding, the act is also a means of survival, a source of income. And I ain't talking about a paper route.

I call these brothers "ride or die" cats. Its a play on the phrase popularized by the late MC Tupac Shakur from his song "Hail Mary." As Tupac growled the lyrics: "What do we have here now?" he called the question and proffed an ultimatum: "Do you wanna ride or die?" In other words, if you are down with us, you'd better be ready to do whatever it takes, even if it means doing something dangerous or illegal.

A moving target is hard to hit. This simple law of physics never crossed my mind as the reason for the current love affair between brothers and bicycles. But after seeing a probable drug transaction performed on two wheels and talking to a young brother from the neighborhood, I realized what was really going on.

The brothers I see ride past my house are young and old. Last week a brother who had to be at least 70 pedaled past my house. He was wearing an old-school, red pinstriped suit, black socks, and white Stacy Adams. The cat was cool as 20 below but I don't think he was slangin' anything. Just riding and drinking his Crown Royal from a paper bag.

Some may see these guys and only see criminal behavior. But I see is desparate innovation. I see Black men making bad choices in order to make due during worse-than-imaginable situations. Do I condone their activities? Of course not. But I understand the mentality of feeling you have to do whatever it takes to "get your hustle on."

Despite the recent spiraling homicide counts in Oakland , where Black men not only ride bikes but kill one another unmercifully, I know that vices like the drug trade have not completely condemned the brothers who are caught up in the life. Yes, selling drugs can be a gateway to life of larger crime but it also can be a turnstile back to the straight and narrow. I know that everyday for the countless Black men around the country who scrape below the ragged seams of life, possibly similar to a character in HBO's The Wire, there are just as many who are taking their former lives and turning them inside out.

There are organizations all across the nation that are pulling at the roots of the earth to transform Black men. Organizations like New York's Twenty-First Century Foundation, The Brotherhood-Sister Sol, Kevin Powell's Black and Male in America movement and June 2007 National Conference, No Child is Somebody Else's Child, Inc., The Omega Boys Club, The Ella Baker Center, The Mentoring Center, and the work we're doing here at the Forwardever Media Center to prepare Black males to become media literate writers, independent media producers, and thought leaders.

SO when I take a closer look at the African American males riding bikes in my neighborhood, I see something else. I see the makings of a neighborhood delivery service for fresh fruits and vegetables, something that is badly needed around here. It would be an easy enough operation to swing. With fresh produce available every weekend at the neighborhood Black Farmer's Market, brothers could make a commission and help empower the community at the same time. Of course, they probably wouldn't make as much scratch as they could on a busy ride or die route but that's as it should be. Life is supposed to be hard. If it wasn't, joy would be vastly overrated and it isn't. And the experience of pure joy, even if its only a breathless moment, can open the door to self. From there, you're only baby steps away from the road toward personal transformation.