Abstract
This article explores the idea that technologies may be considered shapeshifting as they move between and are domesticated in different social worlds. We employ a material-semiotic approach with a domestication and social worlds framework to study the case of Trampe, a bicycle lift built in Trondheim, Norway, in 1993. The study is based on interviews, observation, documents, and news media analysis. We show how the lift shifted shape: although originally intended as bicycling infrastructure, it became domesticated as a tourist attraction in the social world of tourists, and a symbol of the city's efforts to stimulate cycling in the social world of the local government. Trampe has remained the only bike lift in the world and would have been closed long ago due to maintenance costs, but its shapeshifting qualities have prolonged its sociotechnical life after its functional abilities were no longer sufficient. Our study suggests that more attention should be paid to these shapeshifting dynamics when analyzing technologies and their sociotechnical lives. Combining domestication theory with a social worlds perspective helps identify these shapeshifting features.
Keywords
The concept of “social shaping of technology” is a basic idea in STS along with “social construction” or just “construction” of technology (Bijker 1997; Latour 2005; MacKenzie and Wajcman 1985; Pinch and Bijker 1987). The classic case studies that applied and demonstrated this approach focused on the development of single artifacts, usually studying design controversies and their outcomes. The shaping or construction processes were social and concerned with the artifact's design or material appearance. The authors of these case studies argued that artifacts attained their final shape when design controversies ended by reaching closure (Pinch and Bijker 1987) or moving from a “hot” to a “cold” situation (Latour 1987).
In the decades since this foundational work was published, this view of technologies has been modified by a greater concern with users’ agency and their enculturation of technologies through sensemaking and the development of use practices, thus extending the understanding of technology as well as the involved shaping processes (Bijker 2010; Oudshoorn and Pinch 2003; Sørensen and Williams 2002). For example, domestication theory (Berker et al. 2006; Hartmann 2023) and social learning theory (Sørensen 1996; Williams, Stewart, and Slack 2005) highlight how the meaning of and the engagement with a given technology may change substantially, making the idea of closure challenging. The interpretation and practices afforded by a specific artifact may be diverse and dynamic. For example, in the social world of drivers, cars are a convenient mode of transport, although with increasing environmental concerns. In the world of policymakers, cars have changed from vehicles of modernity to a challenge concerning land use and accidents. Such differences and changes make it interesting and important to study the biography of technologies (Hyysalo, Pollock, and Williams 2019) or their sociotechnical life. We prefer the latter concept to emphasize our concern for their survival. This article analyzes the sociotechnical life of one technology—a bike lift—by investigating changes regarding this technology and its meaning and use when it moves in time and across social worlds.
Many, if not most, technologies inhabit several social worlds, such as homes, factories, policymaking, and so on. Social worlds are universes of discourses. This definition emphasizes collective sensemaking and practices (Clarke and Star 2008; Strauss 1978). Some implications of movements between localiti-es that constitute social worlds are shown by De Laet and Mol's (2000) analysis of a hand water pump, the Zimbabwe Bush Pump, which they observe in several places and describe as “fluid;” it shifts identities when deployed at novel sites. In a different mode, Pinch and Trocco's (2002, 30) study of the Moog synthesizer emphasizes the shifting features of this artifact: “The synthesizer is something that can pass between different worlds, that can take on different meanings in these worlds and in the process transforms these worlds.” Inspired by such scholarly work, we want to explore the potential shapeshifting features of technology that are related to changing interpretations and practices.
The consequences of technologies’ combined temporal and spatial movements have not been studied much in STS. Analysis of temporal developments, mainly concerning physical design, has dominated. We propose the concept of shapeshifting technologies to amend this situation. For us, shapeshifting qualities are not inherent in a given technology, unlike the claimed shape-morphing properties of some new materials (Chaudhary et al. 2021). In principle, any technology may be shapeshifting. We must observe such qualities through empirical analysis, which this article demonstrates by exploring the dynamics of one technology—a bike lift—that inhabits several social worlds. We focus on changing sensemaking and user practices and the effects of such alterations on its sociotechnical life. How is the shapeshifting enacted? Have the shapeshifting qualities of the bike lift affected its popularity and length of life? Do they contribute to transforming the social worlds the lift has come to inhabit? Such analysis adds to the STS understanding of what happens to technologies and their social worlds after they are incorporated into society.
We pursue these issues by analyzing the design of and ensuing engagements with the bike lift Trampe by multiple publics. It was built in the Norwegian city of Trondheim in 1993 to facilitate bicycling in a city with hilly terrain. Trondheim is the third largest city in Norway, with 215,000 inhabitants, and hosts Norway's largest university. Trampe remains the only such lift globally and is thus an exotic case. There are bicycle elevators in other places (Suboticki and Sørensen 2021a), but as a bicycle technology, Trampe is unique (Matias and Virtudes 2019). It consists of an underground wire that drives a pedal, pushing bicyclists up the hill. Thus, technologically, it is different from regular (and more common) bicycle elevators (Fistola et al. 2018; Tralhao et al. 2015). As we show here, this uniqueness makes Trampe well-suited for studying shapeshifting processes and their implications.
Trampe was intended as a bicycle infrastructure to facilitate cycling. Bicycle studies usually focus on understanding how cycling can be facilitated as a sustainable form of mobility and the share of cyclists increased (Cox 2010) or how cycling infrastructures may shape cycling practices and behaviors (Tschoerner-Budde 2020; Tennøy, Tønnesen, and Gundersen 2019). Some studies do, however, show how cyclists can transform the built infrastructures through their practices (Barnfield and Plyushteva 2016; Latham and Wood 2015; Jungnickel and Aldred 2013) and how bicycling is mutually shaped by materiality and social relations (Ingeborgrud et al. 2024; Larsen and Christensen 2015; Vivanco 2013). How cycling infrastructures are developed, used, and understood is thus always rooted in complex social, cultural, political, and material contexts (Cox and Koglin 2020). In the case of Trampe, this includes the lift becoming a tourist attraction. In 2014, The Guardian mentioned Trampe as one of the ten weirdest forms of urban transport (Blason 2014), and CNN proclaimed it among the seven coolest ways to commute (Hinson 2015).
The following section further presents the article's theoretical approach. Then, we present a brief biography of Trampe, including the controversies involved, as a backdrop for the subsequent outline of the methods applied in the study. We then analyze how the lift has been domesticated in the social worlds identified in the biography, ending with a brief discussion of why Trampe has remained unique and a reflection on the implications of our study.
Theoretical Issues in the Analysis of Shapeshifting Technologies
A technology's sociotechnical life begins in its designers’ social world, where it is made by assembling human and nonhuman actors (Latour 2005). To understand how this sociotechnical life unfolds, we must analyze the controversies involved, such as whether to design the technology and how to fund it, operate and maintain it, and use it. Such analysis may involve actors in additional social worlds beyond those of the designers and users, such as local planners and politicians in the case of Trampe. How did these groups of actors engage with and interpret Trampe, and how did the engagement change over time and with movements between social worlds? Clearly, Trampe is a heterogeneous assemblage of cables, wheels, machines, electricity, news media, and people in various roles. Yet we analyze it as a technology because that is how it appears to its diverse publics. Moreover, we consider the shape of Trampe to include its overall meaning in addition to its physical shape. Thus, shape is a sociotechnical feature.
According to Callon (1987), the actor(s) taking the lead in constructing a technology must develop a scenario that describes an imagined, attractive future practice with the technology, to mobilize interests in and support for a given technological design such as Trampe. Thus, scenarios propose heterogeneous associations between technology, relevant social phenomena, and other actors’ roles (Law and Callon 1988). The articulation of scenarios is also an effort to socialize the technology to provide meaning and suggestions for future practices (Sørensen 2023), thus bringing the technology out of its liminal design space to become incorporated into society (Suboticki and Sørensen 2021b). It is crucial to analyze the content of scenarios and to be concerned with their effectiveness in mobilizing support through attractive features, and their descriptions of how such scenarios may later change, which may in turn alter degrees of support for the technology in question. For example, in Norway, early investment in nuclear power development came because of a highly promissory discourse. By the 1970s, the original scenario was no longer considered appealing, and nuclear power was discarded as a future source of energy. At present a new scenario has been introduced. Now nuclear power is presented as more nature-friendly than wind power, and this promise may bring it out of liminality in Norway.
Furthermore, designers construct artifacts from a “script” for intended use. As Akrich (1992, 208) argues: Designers thus define actors with specific tastes, competencies, motives, aspirations, political prejudices, and the rest, and they assume that morality, technology, science, and economy will evolve in particular ways. A large part of the work of innovators is that of “inscribing” this vision of (or prediction about) the world in the technical content of the new object. I will call the product of this work a “script.”
We employ domestication theory to analyze the sensemaking and practices related to Trampe. This theory emphasizes the agency of users as participants in shaping the meaning and use of artifacts (Ask and Sørensen 2019; Sørensen 2006). When technologies are domesticated, they are shaped in the context of use. Thus, domestication may potentially provide technologies with shapeshifting features. However, domestication theory does not question the importance of analyzing scripts—we will study the scripts expressed in the design of Trampe—but considers it vital not to assume that users must realize scripts and enact the designers’ intentions. Instead, “the active user” is at the core of our approach, focusing on context, sensemaking, social learning, and practice as essential elements in the analysis. Thus, like design, domestication involves reassembling human and nonhuman elements, making heterogeneous assemblages of, for example, links to other artifacts, other practices, and other people (Ask and Sørensen 2019). Accordingly, we expect the domestication of technology to result in diverse interpretations and practices because users may have different interests, perspectives, and competencies. Such diversity may be enhanced when the technology is domesticated in several social worlds.
Johannessen, Nordtug, and Haldar (2023) analyze technological domestication across multiple institutional settings, showing the need for coordination. When we study the domestication of an artifact in several social worlds, we may find instances of coordination, but above all, diversity and interaction. Sensemaking, practices, and social learning in one social world may influence but not necessarily shape these activities in another social world. Social worlds may not have distinct boundaries but interact (Clarke and Star 2008). Such interaction may make the artifact's sociotechnical life more complex and robust. We analyze Trampe to learn about such processes, aiming to enrich domestication theory.
A Short Biography of Trampe
The idea of building a bicycle lift in the medium-sized city of Trondheim was first articulated in 1992 by Jarle Wanvik, an engineer, inventor, and cycling enthusiast. His friend Erik Jølsgard, another cycling enthusiast and an employee of Norway's National Public Roads Administration (NPRA), agreed that a scenario where bicyclists were pushed up steep hills was attractive. After some time searching for financial support to develop a prototype, Jølsgard received an inventor scholarship from the NPRA (Statens vegvesen Sør-Trøndelag 1993, 11) with a total cost estimated at USD10,000. In January 1993, the NPRA signed a Research and Development contract with Wanvik's company, Design Management AS, to develop a bike lift. The lift was named Trampe, a Norwegian translation of “Thumper” from the film Bambi (Wanvik named all his inventions after Disney characters). Wanvik became CEO of the project, which the NPRA and Jølsgard would lead. Together with an electrical engineer, Magnar Wahl, and Svein Vodahl, the contact person for the Trondheim municipality, they constituted the so-called Trampe team. In addition, Stein Løvold, a mechanical engineer, assisted Wanvik on a freelance basis with construction drawings.
Inspired by surface-level ski lifts, they experimented with several design options. To ensure a safe and user-friendly start, they tried more than twenty versions of the carrier (Design Management 1993, 1). Ultimately, they chose a pedal that pushed cyclists’ right foot uphill at a speed of 2 meters per second, with the pushing mechanism underground. Cyclists were required to buy a key card to use the lift.
In 1993, the construction of Trampe was officially approved (Fylkesmannen 1993; Taubanetilsynet 1993). It was to be built at Brubakken, a 130-meter-long hill with a 25-meter altitude (20 percent incline). The ski lift company Proteknikk AS delivered and installed the machinery and mechanical construction. Heating cables were placed under the pavement next to the lift to protect the machinery during winter, thus keeping the sidewalk ice-free.
While the Trampe scenario was attractive to the NPRA, it proved controversial to actors in other social worlds. Some politicians, citizens, and neighbors initially opposed the project, the latter because of the disturbance it might create. The local press responded negatively (Granviken 1993; Kjølsvik 1993a). It questioned the lift's usefulness. Could such public spending be justified?
On September 18, 1993, Trampe officially opened to the public in the presence of hundreds of people. However, many technical problems required constant care by the Trampe team. Heavy rainfall created trouble, leading to gravel in the tracks and cables that required frequent adjustment. Initially, the lift was supposed to be open throughout the year. Ultimately, it was decided to have it operational only from April to October because low temperatures impacted the pedal track, making use difficult and possibly unsafe.
Trampe was evaluated after two years, in line with the agreement between Trondheim municipality and the NPRA signed in 1993. The report described the lift favorably, stating that it was easy to use, that users wanted more such lifts in Trondheim, and that it had helped increase cycling in its neighborhood (Asplan Viak 1996). A survey in 1995 showed that most users rated the lift favorably, with an average score of 4 to 5 on a 6-point scale (National Association of Cyclists 1996). The operation of the lift continued on the basis of these evaluations. By 2004, daily use varied between 100 and 450 cyclists (Design Management 2005, 2). The lift was considered thoroughly tested and ready to be copied, and the transport plan for Trondheim for 2006–2015 (Trondheim City Council 2007) suggested building more lifts.
In 2011, new EU safety rules required changes. Since getting safety clearance was an extensive bureaucratic procedure, the French Poma group, the second-largest ski-lift manufacturer in the world, was hired to undertake the required modifications with a total cost of approximately USD700,000 (Greener Trondheim 2013). The overall design remained the same. The most notable change for cyclists was the new footplate design, intended to prevent cars from driving across the pedal, and the pedal from hitting pedestrians. Trampe was renamed “CycloCable” in the process, but this name did not stick. The NPRA remained the owner, and Trampe re-opened for regular use in June 2013.
Yet its future appeared uncertain due to the increased use of electric bikes that seemingly made the lift superfluous. Recurring debates over ownership, funding, and the need for further upgrades were also challenging. Nevertheless, in 2021 the Trondheim City Council decided to assume ownership from the NPRA and to continue the lift due Trampe's importance as a tourist attraction (Bråten 2021). The chief municipal officer recommended closing the lift only a year later, but the City Council decided it should be continued (Wallum 2021).
Trampe has received considerable international attention, and several interested parties have visited Trondheim to consider building similar lifts in their hometowns (Skjesol 1995). In 2009, Jølsgard of the NPRA wrote in a letter to an interested party (the Centre for the Advancement of Sustainability Living) that the Trampe team, the NPRA, and Trondheim municipality had received inquiries about the bike lift from about 80–90 cities in 40–50 different countries. 1 Despite this interest, Trampe remains the only one of its kind. As we shall see, this may have been vital to its survival.
Method
Actor-network theory emphasizes the role of both human and nonhuman actors. We have analyzed Trampe as a technology that is potentially a shapeshifting assemblage of material, semiotic, and practice properties. As indicated in the biography, the lift design has been modified somewhat during its existence, but we expected the shapeshifting features to be semiotic and practice-related. Thus, we focus on the human actors of the social worlds we explore.
The brief biography above indicates the lift's presence in several social worlds. We explored the four that appeared most prominent: the designers (the Trampe team), the cyclists, the tourists, and the local government. The social world of the neighbors became vague after Trampe was built and is therefore not analyzed. Inspired by Law (2004), we tried to capture the messiness of the development and domestication of Trampe in these four social worlds by using a combination of methods that we adapted to the different sites. We conducted 10 in-depth, semi-structured interviews to analyze the social worlds of the designers and the local government. 2 Historical information was checked against and supplemented by analysis of archival material. 3 We used newspapers to identify key controversies surrounding Trampe and, above all, as a source of information about the social world of the local government. 4
We explored the social worlds of the cyclists and the tourists through short on-site interviews and participant observation around the bike lift. We observed Trampe 23 times between May and July 2017 and conducted brief interviews with lift users, non-users, onlookers, those who tried but failed, neighbors, and nearby café-owners. Each visit lasted about 2–3 hours. We took detailed notes from both the observations and the short interviews. When we decided to make a short educational movie about the bike lift (Ingeborgrud et al. 2018), we did additional interviews and observations that were video recorded.
In the following, we analyze the domestication of Trampe, emphasizing the sensemaking and the practices in the four above-mentioned social worlds. We begin with the designers’—the Trampe team's world—where we describe the lift's design, construction, and subsequent domestication. We then discuss why Trampe has remained unique since no similar lifts have been built. Ultimately, we discuss the effect of Trampe's shapeshifting features on the lift's sociotechnical life.
The Trampe Team
For its designers, Trampe was initially simply a machine to transport cyclists uphill. The main design goal was to develop a user-friendly technology to facilitate biking up some of the steepest roads in Trondheim. Thus, the first scenario and script were quite simple. As Wanvik explained to us: I was looking for a way to solve that [topographical problem]. You must make something that is not dangerous, that's not in the way of traffic, that can be crossed over, and not the least, that's easy to use. And it shouldn’t cost too much. Then, I came up with the idea that we could be pushed uphill while still seated on our bikes without being fastened or attached to the lift. [In Norway], the dominant motive for cycling is exercise. Everything should have a training effect. But if you ask Danes, Germans, French, Dutch, and so on, “Why do you bike?” they will say that it's because it's a simple, individual, and affordable means of transport….So, there is something about throwing the old myths away: that people need to sweat and exercise while biking.
The decision to build Trampe at a steep hill called Brubakken, close to the city center, was made because the NPRA and planners in Trondheim municipality believed that this location in a popular part of the city would provide good PR, with many people observing the technology. Initially, they were criticized for picking this site because few people cycled there. Jølsgard said they wanted to see if the lift would be used. Wanvik confirmed that the location choice was not coincidental as they thought Trampe would become an attraction to the citizens and inspire them to cycle. Thus, already at an early stage, some of the lift's shapeshifting qualities were recognized, its move between being an instrumental and an affective object.
Moreover, Trampe became an object of care for the designers because it required a lot of maintenance. After the initial design, they domesticated the lift through a practice of repair. Wanvik recalled that in the beginning, he could be called during his vacation when something went wrong. Thus, he and his closest collaborators could not be away simultaneously since they had to be prepared for frequent breakdowns. Wahl, the electrical engineer on the Trampe team, reminisced. Yes, oh my God, yes. We almost lived at the lift because something was constantly wrong with it. I and Jarle [Wanvik] were responsible for the service, and every time something happened, we called each other to see who would check it out. We had some friendly disagreements regarding which part of the system was to blame for the frequent stops: the mechanics (Jarle) or the electronics (me).
He summarized the situation as problematic: We saw the mistakes. We saw all the weaknesses. They had to be dealt with, but it was always bits and pieces, and after a few years, we should have rebuilt the lift and done a complete renovation, starting from nothing. After a while, there was too much patchwork. We have solved the problems gradually, and I think we have come as close as possible to making the lift user-friendly without compromising security. An essential part of the development was the aesthetics and the adaption to the surroundings. We think we have succeeded in making it almost invisible in traffic.
The Cyclists
Membership in the social world of cyclists included those who could use the lift, not only those who used it. Thus, we also needed to study the domestication by non-users. At first, users had to be over 15 years old for safety reasons. Trampe should not be a toy but a technology for adults. However, they soon reduced the age limit, and it became evident that those who best mastered the technology were 10–15-year-olds. Cyclist users became a diverse group, including five-year-old children and people over 80 mastering the technology.
Not all users were cyclists. Some people even used Trampe with strollers and skateboards. In 1998, one woman with a stroller was photographed and interviewed in the main newspaper in Trondheim, saying she could not understand how she managed before without the lift. She found the lift perfect and called it an ingenious idea: “It is part of our everyday life in the family, and we love it. Trampe is a special thing, I have not seen anything alike anywhere in the world” (Hegvold 1998). She added that it was fun when tourists watched her using the lift, even though she probably was part of a hundred Japanese home videos, as she put it.
Still, the primary group of users was cyclists. When in operation, hundreds of cyclists use Trampe daily (Design Management 2005; Greener Trondheim 2013). Our observations confirmed this. In most cases, these were cyclists for whom Trampe was on their way to work or home. The practice of being lifted was mundane and followed the designers’ script. These users recognized the lift as an integral and beneficial part of cycling infrastructure and thus supported this aspect of the Trampe team's scenario. However, some cyclists claimed they used it reluctantly, apologizing for not being sportier and biking up the hill.
All the interviewed cyclists were aware of the attention they might get. Whenever they approached the lift, often between a few and a couple of dozens of onlookers huddled up to watch and film. While some expressed being tired of being part of the spectacle, others found it fun and saw it as part of a performance. They were okay with demonstrating how the lift worked and being filmed and shared on social media. This experience was also a part of their domestication. One cyclist described enthusiastically: “It [Trampe] is the Little Mermaid of Trondheim, a part of the Trondheim package. It is like being on the red carpet in Cannes when using it.” A man in his thirties said this was the fun part of using Trampe and that he felt like “a tourist magnet” when riding up the hill. Another man in his sixties had even learned when the cruise boat tourists would come to see the lift, to be ready to show it to them. He had also let some tourists try Trampe with his bicycle. A man in his fifties found the tourists beneficial, believing they probably shared pictures of the lift, thus making Trondheim a more popular traveling destination.
The biggest challenge for cyclists with the lift was learning how to use it. During our observations, we often saw people falling off, showing that it was hard for the legs and challenging to keep the balance. Cyclists had to learn to keep their right foot steady while being pushed uphill. This task became more challenging with the 2013 version, which only offered a thin piece of metal to balance on, in contrast to the broader plate of the earlier version. Learning to use Trampe was described as scary but also something to master. Most cyclists had to try several times before getting all the way uphill. However, the cyclists we interviewed agreed that use became simpler once one acquired the necessary skills. They described it as learning to bike: “Once you’ve mastered it, you don’t have to use a lot of effort anymore.” Another cyclist remarked that: This is definitely not a technology that tourists can easily use. You must live in the area and have used it several times. It is like learning to swim—suddenly, you know how to, but you must try many times.
Thus, many non-users found Trampe too challenging or unnecessary, meaning sensemaking was ambiguous in the social world of cyclists. Few perceived Trampe enthusiastically as significant to their biking practice or their outlook on cycling; instead, it was a technology that some used to be pushed uphill and found that could offer some fun. Moreover, many enjoyed being part of Trampe as a public theatre that attracted tourists. In this social world, the lift was a useful or not-so-helpful cycling instrument, an object of getting attention, and a tourist attraction, but not a technology that stimulated cycling. In this manner, the building of the bike lift had transformed the social world of the cyclists. To what extent did the tourists’ domestication of Trampe mirror that of the cyclists, and how was their social world impacted?
The Tourists
Not long after its installation, Trampe started to gain attention from interested onlookers (Beverfjord 1998), and its popularity has continued to grow since (Åldstedt 2008; Rolfsen 2004). In 2017, the tourist information office “Visit Trondheim” described it as the second most prominent tourist attraction in Trondheim, only preceded by the medieval Nidaros Cathedral. They expected it to attract over 100,000 visitors per year, included Trampe in Trondheim's promotional material, and advised tourists to visit the lift. It had also become part of regular sightseeing routes.
Thus, the social world of tourists in Trondheim changed following the construction of the bike lift, which added an attraction to the list of entertaining sites. This change was reinforced by tourism professionals who have socialized Trampe as a unique and fun tourist attraction. Accordingly, the tourist office has been regularly contacted by journalists or TV producers from outside Norway who were interested in reporting about the lift. We interviewed a press manager who had worked at the office for fourteen years, and she said that she did not know how Trampe became so famous [she just laughed a bit at the question]. Then, she mentioned that Innovation Norway, the government's agency for supporting innovation and industrial development, had promoted the lift internationally. For example, Jeremy Head, a journalist for Times Travel, had contacted the tourist office in Trondheim via Innovation Norway. He authored an article that reached a large audience (Head 2016).
According to an internal evaluation, the lift already attracted substantial international attention in its first ten years of operation, for example, from Lonely Planet and Discovery Channel (Design Management 2005, 2). Jølsgard of the NPRA said he often had met people who knew about Trampe at conferences and urban planning events. Nevertheless, this attention had come as a surprise: “No, none of us had any idea about that. We were idealists, in the sense that we intended [the bike lift] to make it attractive to bike….It's really great though.” Trampe has continued to attract a steady group of travelers. How did the tourists domesticate the lift?
During our observation period, we interviewed several tourists. Many said that they “just wanted to see it.” Some had watched videos of the lift and wanted to observe it in person. A man in his fifties said he had never seen such a thing before and described Trampe as “an adventure” when trying to use it (and falling off). Many visitors who did not wish to try using the lift found it fun to watch others. Most tourists described the lift as an exciting and entertaining oddity. If the lift was not working (which happened frequently) or did not have users, they just read the instructions and studied the lift's appearance. When cyclists used it, onlookers usually approached to see how it worked and took photos and videos of cyclists going uphill. They sometimes also asked cyclists questions or made comments and uttered encouraging sounds. In this way, they engaged with the lift.
The tourists primarily domesticated Trampe as an entertaining attraction. The ensuing practice was viewing, maybe taking pictures or videos, and in a few cases, trying to use it. Their sensemaking emphasized the uniqueness of the lift, not least the fun of watching cyclists using it (or trying to). Thus, the domestication of Trampe in the social worlds of tourists and cyclists interacted in an amplifying manner. As we learned above, many cyclists appreciated tourists’ attention, which added to their experience with the lift. At the same time, the cyclists made Trampe more entertaining for the tourists. What about domestication in the local government's social world?
The Local Government
Initially, the designers hoped they could get funding from a local program for sustainable transport. The City Council decided against this. Some of the politicians called the bike lift idea silly and a luxury. Local planning professionals joined in. Instead, they wanted to expand the city's cycling network. To some of the public, investing in a lift for cyclists was controversial. For example, the project was criticized for being prioritized over making safe school roads for children outside the city (Kjølsvik 1993b). Another newspaper article quoted a survey that found that 60 percent of Trondheim citizens did not favor the lift, but young men with higher education were supportive (Granviken 1993).
Some local politicians said they wanted to stop the project, claiming not to have been adequately informed. However, the NPRA sent information about the Trampe project to all households in Trondheim in May 1992. An editorial in the largest local newspaper (Amdahl and Flikke 1993) characterized the political game of Trampe as a comedy, with the engaged local politicians being far too late when trying to stop the project just a month before the opening. The other local newspaper claimed considerable political enthusiasm for Trampe (Rasmussen 1993). Probably, the fact that the National Public Road Administration (NPRA) funded the project made local politicians more positive.
When Trampe was opened, the Mayor of Trondheim participated, which signaled political support. As mentioned earlier, to influence the local government's domestication, the Trampe team argued that cycling was essential to a sustainable transport program and that a bike lift could stimulate people to shift from cars to bicycles. Despite some initial skepticism, this effort proved successful. For example, early on, some local planners began to see Trampe as having symbolic value to the city. Vodahl, the contact person between the municipality and the Trampe team, claimed that he had been positively inclined toward the lift from the start because he considered it a promotional project for Trondheim as a city for cyclists. “It's a signal that we invest in cycling. Here we do different things; we build cycling fields, cycling roads, pedestrian and cycling roads, and we promote cycling even with a bike lift.” In the interview, Vodahl concluded that Trampe worked well as a signal project and mentioned a cycling conference they organized in 1998, Velo Borealis, as an occasion where Trampe played a part. In 2008, the idea of bike lifts made its way into the transport plan of the local government, which stated an intention to build more such lifts (Trondheim City Council 2011).
Thus, when Trampe was relaunched in 2013, there was little political opposition. Its domestication had been modified, above all the sensemaking. According to a local urban planner we interviewed, the most significant change was the recognition of the lift's tourist market value. It had become a significant attraction and no longer just a machine that pushed cyclists up a hill.
According to the same planner, the lift had also contributed to Trondheim's international reputation. The online newspaper The Active Times ranked Trondheim as the sixth-best bicycle city in the world (Sandberg 2013). Moreover, he argued that the relative importance of such sensemaking was increasing as the growing use of e-bikes diminished the functional value of the lift: The symbolic value is increasingly important because it tells people that we’re staking on cycling. It is a way to tell the city's inhabitants that we can do many things—also a bike lift. After all, it contributes to making Trondheim's commitment to cycling visible. Although, in many ways, it is a curiosity. Obviously, it is helpful, but it's the only one in the world, so it gets much attention. In that sense…it shows that Trondheim is a city that invests in cycling. And I also think it creates a sense of pride within the city. And it's essential to get people to join in, supporting the transition to more environmentally friendly transport, and creating positivity and enthusiasm for it.
He also argued that Trampe had generated support for cycling: Our goal is to get more people to cycle. It's not more complicated than that. Of course, the more attention cycling gets, the greater the chance it’ll influence people to cycle. Trampe in itself…people don’t start to cycle because of Trampe. But I think it creates a positive feeling.
In 2019, the NPRA asked Trondheim municipality to assume ownership of Trampe for free. They could no longer justify covering the substantial costs of maintaining the lift. The local administration hesitated, finding no room for the expenses in the budget. However, many City Council politicians expressed considerable enthusiasm for the lift as a cycling symbol and a tourist attraction (Skjesol 2021). Failing to find private economic support, in the end, the local government decided to grant the amount required for its technical division to maintain Trampe (Bråten 2021). Thus, its domestication changed to include a practice of maintenance. Yet it was the positive sensemaking that was decisive to the survival of the lift. None of the politicians argued that Trampe was a silly luxury or a mistaken priority.
Still, a year later, the chief executive of the local administration proposed to close the lift due to the high maintenance costs. Nevertheless, the City Council decided to continue the operation and upgrade Trampe. One of the politicians argued that: “Trampe is a tourist magnet….It would be sad to close such a tourist magnet. Sometimes one must look beyond the expenditure” (Wallum 2022). Thus, the tourists’ domestication of the lift influenced its domestication by the local government, securing its survival at least for a few more years.
Why Trampe Survived But Did Not Spread
We have learned that the sociotechnical life of Trampe has been uncertain. On several occasions during the last 10–15 years, actors in the local administration have proposed to terminate the lift. It has survived mainly because of its domestication as a significant tourist attraction. Thus, its exotic position as the only one of its kind seems essential. This position is also paradoxical, given that many city planners and politicians worldwide have expressed considerable interest in Trampe and even visited Trondheim to see it, stating they were considering similar constructions. Why have no similar lifts been built in Trondheim or elsewhere?
We interviewed a planner from the city of Lillehammer, south of Trondheim and home of the 1994 Winter Olympics, who elaborated. In 2012, the local government of Lillehammer received economic support to explore the possibility of building its own bike lift. Its arguments emphasized the city's hilly topography, the political support for cycling, and the expectation of more tourism. After a visit to Trondheim and contact with the French builder of the 2013 version of Trampe, the Poma group, the local government received an offer of NOK5 million (approximately USD450,000) to build a bike lift. However, they declined the offer in the end. The high maintenance costs were the main reason, in addition to the growing popularity of e-bikes. In addition, the lift was criticized as not universally accessible, and the local resistance to the project was substantial.
The actors in the Trampe team said they were not surprised that such bike lifts were not built in other cities. They concurred with the interviewed planner from Lillehammer and emphasized the size of the investments, the maintenance costs, the operational instability, and the growing popularity of e-bikes. Outside Trondheim, the sensemaking of building bike lifts like Trampe was negative. The shape of the lift changed into something that was not considered sufficiently attractive, given the cost. This shaping of the bike lift as expensive and unreliable has contributed to Trampe remaining unique and thus its continued survival as a significant tourist attraction in Trondheim.
Still, the present bicycle plan for Trondheim municipality suggests that three more bike lifts may be built, but in 2023 there were no concrete plans to construct them. Also, in Trondheim, cost concerns prevent any new initiatives, but the municipality is trying to find ways to make Trampe more robust so it requires less maintenance. If new lifts were to be built, that would probably mean a return to the original shape, in which bike lifts are primarily part of the cycling infrastructure to encourage more people to bike rather than tourist attractions. Thus, the robustness of bike lifts’ sociotechnical lives would hinge on their functional abilities and cost-effective maintenance.
In the end, we may see that the main opposition to building more bike lifts like Trampe comes from nonhuman actors. We have already observed the disruptive effects of e-bikes, which facilitate hill climbing. In addition, we could say that Trampe itself has constrained further diffusion due to the mechanical weaknesses that make the bike lift unreliable and expensive to maintain.
Conclusion: Shapeshifting Makes the Sociotechnical Life of Technologies More Robust
This article contributes to STS by introducing and exploring the concept of shapeshifting technologies, i.e., technologies that change meaning and practice when moving between social worlds. To this end, we have explored the sociotechnical life of Trampe by analyzing how it has been domesticated from when the bike lift was first built in 1993 until 2023, in the four main social worlds it inhabits: those of its designers, the cyclists, the tourists, and the local government. We have also investigated why no other cities have built a similar lift despite having expressed considerable interest, finding that investment and maintenance expenses alongside the growing popularity of e-bikes were significant.
As we have seen, Trampe is arguably an endangered technology; there have been several initiatives to close it down. Its main weaknesses are operational irregularities, costly maintenance, and the widespread use of e-bikes, making the lift less relevant as a biking infrastructure. Still, its sociotechnical life has proven robust due to its shapeshifting qualities; above all, its combined features as a bike lift, a signifier of Trondheim's bicycling policy, and a prominent tourist attraction. Its unique quality as the only technology of its kind has been vital to its survival.
When Trampe moved between these four social worlds, it was shaped by them but also changed them in ways that demonstrate how the introduction and domestication of technology in social worlds intersect and interact. Its sociotechnical life began with the designers and the cyclists as a bike lift, scripted to require the ability to balance a bike uphill using a pedal, then moving into the local government as an instrument to promote cycling, and into the social world of tourists as an attraction to watch and photograph. When Trampe became an object of tourism, so did the cyclists using the lift: cyclists were no longer just people who biked, they also became entertainers. Similarly, in the social world of the local government, Trampe changed the understanding of what could make Trondheim attractive to tourists and demonstrated a commitment to improving cycling conditions. The four analyzed social worlds are distinct but overlapping discursive universes. They interacted to provide awareness of the domestication efforts within them. Moreover, the multiple shapes were not exclusive and enacted in response to different contexts. Thus, they did not render Trampe unclear in meaning, but allowed for diverse interpretations.
An important implication for STS is that analyzing the domestication of technology drawing on a social worlds perspective may offer new insights as a strategy to observe shapeshifting qualities. This differs from arguments put forward by Pinch and Trocco's (2002) and Johannessen, Nordtug, and Haldar (2023). The study of Trampe suggests that shapeshifting qualities may be essential for some technologies to remain in use, thus prolonging their sociotechnical life. Benefits to a single or maybe even two social worlds may be insufficient for implementation and subsequent survival. STS research could benefit from focusing more on the sociotechnical life of technologies to analyze their potential demise and what actors may do to extend their lives. When a shapeshifting technology provides diverse benefits to several discursive universes by affording multiple positive interpretations and practices, this situation may help its social embedding. Concerning existing technologies, shapeshifting qualities may provide for a continued sociotechnical life despite critical sensemaking in some social worlds. If shapeshifting qualities are reduced or disappear, the impact may be disruptive.
The framework of sociotechnical life and shapeshifting developed in this article is applicable to analyses of technologies other than Trampe. We invite such applications.
Footnotes
Acknowledgements
The late Trevor J. Pinch was involved in the project's early planning but unfortunately passed away before we could start the data analysis and writing of the article. We dedicate the article to his memory. We are grateful for the valuable input from two anonymous reviewers and the ST&HV editors.
Declaration of Conflicting Interest
The authors declared no potential conflicts of interest with respect to the research, authorship, and/or publication of this article.
Ethics and Consent
The authors are grateful to all interviewees for their time and willingness to be interviewed, and to Norway's National Public Roads Administration for access to archival material. The research has been conducted according to the Guidelines for Research Ethics in the Social Sciences and the Humanities given by Norway's National Committee for Research Ethics in the Social Sciences and the Humanities, including informed consent.
Funding
The authors disclosed receipt of the following financial support for the research, authorship and/or publication of this article: A grant from the Faculty of Humanities, Norwegian University of Science and Technology, has supported the research.
