03 June 2015

Do You Ride To Fish Or Fish For Riders?



In the space of a week, the calendar has changed from late May to early June.  On the other hand, the weather seems to have changed from mid-August to early April.  Last week it was hot and humid.  This week,  it’s been chilly, windy and wet:  In fact, we had the sort of flooding rains one normally associates with the beginning of Spring in many parts of this country.



Today, though, was sunny and dry—and windy and cool.  It was all fine with me as I took an afternoon ride down to the Canarsie Pier and along the coast to Coney Island, under the Verrazano-Narrows Bridge and up “Hipster Hook” back to my place.




I saw a pretty fair number of cyclists, especially for a weekday.  I guess they all felt as I did about the weather.  Even more interestingly, I saw a lot of fishermen.  It seemed that everywhere along the shore—in Canarsie and Marine Park, on the Coney Island Pier and the Verrazano Narrows promenade—poles were propped against railings and lines cast into the water. 



I have seen similar days on which no one was fishing, and other more inclement days when, it seemed, every male over the age of ten who didn’t have to be somewhere else (and a few who did, I’m sure) was casting, trolling or reeling. 



Now, I’ve fished only a few times in my life.  Every time, I’ve gone with others—relatives, usually—who were far more dedicated to it than I have ever been.  They decided when and where we fished.  I’m guessing it had to do with their work schedules and other things in their lives.  But now I also wonder whether they knew about some condition or another that made for good fishing.  Were they watching the weather or current patterns?  Or did they know, somehow, that bluefish or whatever kind of fish were out and about?





You may have noticed that I used male pronouns to talk about those who fish.  Fact is, nearly everyone I’ve seen with a rod and reel—and every one of the relatives I mentioned-- has been a man or boy.  I think I’ve seen two or three women fishing during my entire life, and no girl who wasn’t old enough to vote.

And all of my (admittedly limited) angling experience came when I was still living as male.  Now, I don’t think it had anything to do with my maleness or femaleness.  Rather, I think it was a matter of circumstance:  When I was younger, my uncles used to fish—sometimes on-shore, other times on party boats.  They invited me and my brothers, and I went along.

None of my uncles were cyclists.  Two of my brothers ride occasionally—and they fish, usually with male friends and in-laws.

02 June 2015

El Cinco De Bloggo

All right...Those of you who speak Spanish might hate the title of this post.  But what else was I going to call it?  A Fifth of Bloghoven?

Anyway, I am not going to deal with any weighty, serious issues (as if I ever did on this blog!).  Instead, I'm going to celebrate, and hope you join me.

You see, it was five years ago today that I wrote my very first post on this blog.  At that time, I had been writing my other blog, Transowman Time, for nearly two years.  I had just started riding again after a layoff of several months following my surgery. 

A reader of TT suggested that I start a cycling blog.  Midlife Cycling labored in the shadows of Transwoman Times before taking on a life of its own.  Actually, I very quickly found that I enjoyed writing a blog about my Journey and journeys as a cyclist and found myself putting more and more of my energy into it. 

Anyway, here I am, and here you are, dear reader, 1456 posts later.  I hope that you are enjoying this ride with me, and that we continue it for a long time.

Somehow this image--which represents the freedom cycling offers us--seems apt for my celebration of cycling and what it's given me:

Image by Julia Van Vuuren on Behance

 

01 June 2015

It's A Great Ride, But It's Even Better If You Don't Crash



By now, you’ve probably heard about John Kerry’s bike crash near Geneva.

U.S. Secretary of State John Kerry rides his bike in Lausanne, Switzerland, in March.
Monsieur Kerry




Without getting into politics (All right:  I’m with him on most issues!), I just want to wish him a thorough recovery.



I have long known about, in addition to his politics, his love of French culture.  However, I didn’t know that he brings his bicycle with him on his many trips as Secretary of State.  So now I like him even more.



Although I winced when I heard that he might have broken his leg, I found myself riding, vicariously, on the roads he might have been riding.  I was reliving a ride I took in that area.



If you’ve been there (or even if you’ve looked at a good map), you realize that Geneva is about as close as you can get to France without being in it.  OK, that might be a slight exaggeration.  But only a slight one.  It’s the pendant, if you will, in a necklace of towns that rings Lac Leman, the “official” name of what’s more commonly called Lac de Geneve, or Lake Geneva.



The lake washes up on French as well as Swiss shores to its south and west.  It’s really an inland freshwater sea: Imagine one of the Great Lakes set in the Alps.  I pedaled along a beautiful road within sight of the lake—and, of course, the mountains—from Lausanne to Geneva as part of a ride I took from Paris to Switzerland and back in 1997.  It seemed ironic to me that I was rolling along a flatter road in Switzerland than I was a day earlier, when I rode from Besancon into Pontarlier and crossed the border at Yverdon.   On the other hand, I didn’t have to pedal very far from the lake to do some pretty serious climbing.



That ride from Besancon (one of my favorite cities in France) to Geneva is one of the most beautiful, and most satisfying, I ever took.  It offered just about anything one could want:  arduous climbs and thrilling descents, straightaways on which you feel lighter than air even if you’re riding with full panniers and handlebar bag, beautiful natural scenery, picturesque towns, history and culture, friendly and helpful people (They understand cyclists!) and, of course, great food.



One day I will devote a post, maybe more, to that ride.  I still have to sort through my pictures and have them scanned. (Remember:  We were still using film back then!)  I will also need to look at the journal I kept and cull some of the more interesting, or at least relevant, passages.  That tour gave me so much material!



In a way, I feel bad for John Kerry that he got hurt in such a place:  I wouldn’t want anything to spoil the pleasures of it, even for my worst enemy.  On the other hand, I am sure he is being well cared-for and will be back on his bike sooner than he (or anyone) can say allez!