Do They Ride Bikes?

During the mid- and late ‘80’s, I could ride all day and not see another adult cyclist, especially in “transportation deserts “ and other areas where, by necessity or choice, people were car-dependent.  By “choice,” I mean that people drove even when they could have walked or cycled for local trips or commuted on a bus or train.

Those communities tended to be working- and lower middle class. I often thought they, like many of us, were inculcated with the notion that motor=maturity and that only kids rode bikes. Whatever receational or other “by choice” cycling took place in middle-class neighborhoods. 

When I started this blog in 2010, I noticed that if I was the only adult cyclist within sight, I was probably in a low-income immigrant community. Sometimes it had to do with the fact said immigrants came from places where there was little or no cycling, possibly because they were too poor to buy a bike. Or they aspired to having a car, and they saw riding a bicycle as a sign that they were not progressing toward the goals they had when they emigrated.

If I saw other cyclists, they were almost always male. I was often admonished to be careful or that I shouldn’t be riding at all because the dangers were too great—or because they came from cultures in which girls and women simply didn’t ride bicycles. 

These days, even in the neighborhoods or areas I’ve mentioned, I am rarely the only adult cyclist.  Some might be on beat-up wrecks they cobbled together from abandoned or discarded bikes; others might be spinning the pedals of a Trek or Cannondale.  

There is, however, one city that reminds me of the old days. Before I moved to my current home, two years ago, I had ridden through it maybe a couple of times. But now that I am living across from the New York Botanical Garden and just above Fordham University, that city is only 8 kilometers (5 miles) away, directly across the city/county line. It hasn’t been a destination—yet—but it is along some routes I now ride.

I am talking about Mount Vernon. It’s not what comes to mind when most people think about Westchester County. If anything, it’s a lot like the working-class neighborhoods I described: apartment buildings are interspersed with brick and stucco houses surrounded by small parches of lawn. I suspect that many residents, if they don’t work in the city’s shops or factories, take the Metro North commuter railroad to Manhattan. For them, commuting by bike isn’t feasible and I imagine they don’t have the time or energy at the end of the day for a ride.

Perhaps their busy schedules, or some of the attitudes I described earlier, are reasons why I have yet to see another adult on a bicycle in Mount Vernon. Or could it be that they see someone like me and don’t see themselves?

Along For The Ride

 I never have had children. If I had, I like to think I would have taken them on bike rides. Somehow, though, I don’t think it would have looked like this:

I Couldn’t Cash My Traveler’s Check. And I Celebrated.

 

Today, the 15th of August, is the Day of the Solemnity of the Assumption of the Blessed Virgin Mary. Say that three times fast—in Latin.  If you won’t, I don’t blame you—not many other people would. If they’re paying attention to it at all, they simply call this date the Assumption. 

You may be wondering why there’s a holiday for something people believe whether or not anybody can prove it’s true.  Well, the “Assumption,” in this case is that the Virgin Mary ascended, body and soul, into Heaven at the end of her life. Now, I know that some people, including a bunch of old guys who live in Rome, do not see the Assumption as, well, an assumption:  It has been a “dogmatic truth of faith” ever since Pope Pius XI declared it so in 1950.  But the faithful didn’t need that decree; many have been celebrating it ever since at least the fifth century C.E.

And why is all of this important, at least according to Catholic theology? Supposedly, Jesus ascended to heaven under his own power. (Hmm…Sometimes getting up hills is hard enough!) Mary, on the other hand, could ascend only by the power and grace of God.

I guess that is the reason why even some very lapsed Catholics celebrate this day:  If Mary, a human, could go to Heaven, body and soul, so can the rest of us.  (I always wondered about the “body,” though:  If you are old and ravaged, is that the version of you that makes the trip up, up and away? What if you’re an amputee?) And in some current—and former—bastions of Catholicism, this date is a national holiday on which banks, post offices and the like close.

France is one such country. I was reminded of that during one of my bike tours there when I needed to cash a traveler’s check (remember those?). Fortunately, I could’ve made it through the day on some fruit and half of a baguette I’d bought the day before in Troyés.

Notice that I used the past conditional tense.  I stopped beside a tree, just to get out of the sun for a few moments.  A group of people—a couple of families—invited me to join their picnic. I learned that in now-mostly-secular France, the day is, for many, one last chance to shop, take a short trip or simply relax before the rentreé (when kids go back to school) or returning to work.

Those experiences are, for most people, about as far from an “assumption “ as possible. That may be a reason why, even if they don’t believe what it represents, they celebrate the holiday. At least I didn’t need a miracle when, for one day, I couldn’t cash a traveler’s check!