The Light Of The Red Lantern

This afternoon I wandered aimlessly from my place through Hipster Hook and along various side-streets in Brooklyn when I chanced upon this:

I simply had to stop.  After all, how often does one see old bicycles and wheels posted above an entrance to an estaminet with a Pabst Blue Ribbon neon sign in the window?

For years, I’ve been hearing about the “bike cafes” and “bike bars” in Portland and a few other places.  A few have opened here in New York during the past two or three years.  I’ve been to a couple such places.  It was a bit difficult to see inside the windows of Red Lantern Bicycles on Myrtle Avenue, just a few blocks from the Brooklyn Academy of Music.  But once I stepped inside, I felt as if I could hang out there all day.

At the bar, a friendly young man named Bradford held court.  I ordered a French-press coffee, even though I normally don’t drink coffee these days.  I could have ordered a cappuccino (which I occasionally drink) as well as other kinds of coffee- and tea- based beverages or a variety of beers they had on tap and in bottles.  They also make their own almond milk and other kinds of non-dairy beverages which can be added to your coffee or tea.

I parked my bike and sauntered around the store, where I met Chombo.  I did a double-take:  For a moment, I thought I’d stepped back about 30 years and met a young Frank Chrinko, the proprietor of Highland Park Cyclery, where I worked.  While his appearance was similar, Chombo’s demeanor was very different: Outgoing and articulate, he patiently explained why one crankset was more expensive than another and what, exactly, would be involved in the fixed-gear conversion a customer was considering for his Fuji from the same era in which I worked at Highland Park Cyclery.

One enters the store in the bar/café area; the bike shop is in the back.  But they seem to work together very well; while one or two customers seemed to be there strictly for one or the other, most seemed to flow between the two, as I did.

While I was there, a young woman named Raven entered with two of her friends.  “I’m not really a cyclist,” she demurred, almost apologetically.   I tried to reassure her that there was no need to explain herself that way:  She is riding a bike; that is what matters.  And, to my mind, no one with her sense of style has to apologize for anything!

Somehow it made sense that I would meet her and her friends, Zack and Mary, at Red Lantern.

Without Fear Of Solitude

This week, between Christmas and New Year's Day, is strange in all sorts of way. At this time last year, I was in Florida, at my parents' house.  There, I experienced what I like to call ""high spring" weather: the kind that, in this part of the world, we usually find in the middle of the season.  At such a time, you know that the weather isn't going to revert to winter but also won't be interrupted by a blast of summer heat.

Yesterday was spring-like, but in a different sort of way:  an interlude within--or, if you are of another mindset, a respite from--the season's first cold weather.

Even more important to photosensitive types like me, the light was definitely not that of the spring, or any other season but winter.  In spite of the bright sun and relatively mild temperature ( though accompanied by a brisk, even bracing, wind), the light was as austere as the bare trees and land, and as stark as the contrast between the sun and the steely water.

Perhaps the most interesting part of riding on a day like this is, at least for me, the riders I encounter, or don't, and how they affect my perceptions.

When I rode in Florida last year, and during the two previous holiday seasons, most of the other cyclists I saw were--not surprisingly--other people who were, like me, visiting family members or simply vacationing.  Some of the riders I saw today no doubt fit into that category.  But others, I could tell, were either hard-core riders or people who appreciated this sort of day.  Although I was riding by myself, I did not feel alone because I had, it seemed, many moments of camaraderie, however fleeting. When I ride with other people on a day like this, I feel, of course, the kinship I would normally feel for them as friends and fellow riders.  But I also feel like I am part of some sort of club, if you will, of people who enjoy the unique qualities of the moment. 

And, of course, my bikes are always ready for such rides--sometimes even more so than I am!

Out Of The Net

No, I haven't abandoned this blog.  Nor will I.

Last week, I spent literally every waking moment I wasn't in class reading students' essays and exams and, finally, submitting grades and other paperwork last Thursday night.  Then there were all sorts of things related to the holidays, most of which were pleasant.  They included co-hosting a Christmas Eve reception in which I invented a "virgin" punch that proved wildly popular.  At least, I think I invented it:  I mixed equal parts of Ocean Spray Cranapple, Welch's white grape juice and Canada Dry ginger ale.

(Advertising or payments from those companies will not be refused!;-))

And I spent Christmas Day with Deborah and Suzanne, the couple who sent me the image of Alfred Letourner I included in an earlier post.

And, I managed to do something I haven't done in about fifteen years:  I spent a whole week away from my--and every other--computer!  I didn't check e-mails, post anything or look at eBay.  As much as L love writing this blog, I must say that my respite from the net was probably good for me.

Finally, today I managed to sneak in a ride on Tosca to the Rockaways.  There I was welcomed by a procession:

Being the public figures they are, they knew a photo op when they saw one. Especially these winsome creatures:

Happy holidays to them, and you!

Riding Through "All Of The Above"

I bailed.

I didn't end that sentence with "out", so I cannot be accused of being an enabler to those who drove the economy off a cliff.

I bailed.

Yes, I admit it.  I've commuted through rain, snow and ice within the past week. Yesterday, after administering a final exam, I thought I could get home before the sky oozed its contents like a Slurpee machine all over the streets.  Except, of course, there wouldn't be any cherry or pina colada flavors.

Well, the darkening clouds started to dump slush on us almost as soon as I started pedaling.  After thee blocks, needles of horizontal sleet wove the icy foam through sleeves of concrete--and directly into my eyes.

Photo by Andrew Burton.  Published on Hungree

Some like the cold.  Some of those people like the snow; others don't mind the rain, or even sleet. But I have yet to meet anyone who likes to experience--let alone ride a bike through--all of them at the same time. That, of course, is a way of saying I encountered my limit and took the N train the rest of the way home.

What is (are) your meteorological limits for cycling?  Or do you not have any at all?

Over The Hills (of San Francisco)

A few days ago, I was bragging about some of the things I've carried on my bicycle.  In one of my earliest posts on this blog, I talked about other kinds of cargo--and baggage--I've hauled while pedaling two wheels.

I must admit, though, that I've never tried to schlep what a San Francisco residents Matt and Dorie Apollonio carted a few days ago:  two kids and a Christmas tree.  I have never had kids and the times I bought Christmas trees, I didn't have to lug them more than a few blocks.  Frankly, it probably would have taken me more time and effort to attach the tree to my bike, cart or shoulder than it took for me to walk with it.

From Hum of The City

 And, of course, I didn't have to negotiate San Francisco's topography or even that of the hilliest parts of the Bronx or Staten Island.  I didn't even have to go up the slope of Park Slope on occasions when I bought Christmas trees while I was living there.


 

On Ice

Remove the "b" from "bicycle" and you have...Well, OK, it's a misspelling.  But you're not far from "icicle".

I thought about that during the last couple of days.  We had a dusting of snow on Monday, and a bit more on Tuesday.  In between, we had some rain and sleet, and the temperature dropped.

That meant ice patches en route to and from work. Encountering an ice puddle is not so bad:  The best way to ride across one is to keep moving ahead in a straight line and don't brake unless you absolutely must.  

The real hazard, in urban cycling, is those patches of jagged ice:  You know, where it looks like the Ho Chi Minh trail glazed over.  That, I think, is where you are in the most danger of slipping and falling, especially if your tire brushes against one of the "ridges".  Then, it's like riding parallel to the railroad track in order to cross it.  

At least I didn't have to ride after dark. Even on a well-lit street and with a good headlight, it's harder to see those ice patches.

Spinning Out

The first time I rode downhill on a fixed-gear bike, I made the same mistake many other first-timers make:  I let allowed the force of gravity, rather than my feet, to determine the speed.  So, I soon found myself "spinning out":  My feet and pedals were turning so quickly that I lost control of them.  Even the brakes--the Mafac Racers that came with the old Peugeot UO8 I turned into a "fixie"--weren't enough to stop the bike when a Ford station wagon (remember those?) steered into my path.  Fortunately for me, my reflexes were much better than my fixed-gear riding skills!

I thought about that when I came across this:

From Funny Cycling Pictures

Those old high-wheelers were, of course, fixed gear:  When the wheels turned, so did the pedals--and vice-versa.  I can only imagine how much more precarious it must have been to "spin out" while perched five feet above the ground!

Concrete Sunset

On my way home from work, I took a detour through the Bronx.  As I've mentioned in previous posts, the borough offers some surprisingly interesting vistas--and short rides--not far from where I live.

And, as I've also mentioned in another post, one of my favorite quick getaways has become the Concrete Plant Park.  

 
All through the fall, and with the approach of winter, the park--and the stretch of the Bronx River that winds through it--remind me more and more of a New England mill town. 

Vera really seems to enjoy this sort of thing.

It could be that for a moment, she can imagine--as I do--that we are beside some old European canal or stream.

Even if we don't, there are still the colors of the sunset, which descends upon us early at this time of year.   

I hope that the city and state parks departments follow through on their announced plan to extend the riverside bike/pedestrian path up the length of the Bronx into Westchester County.

I'd Rather Be In The Slipstream

I have carried all sorts of things on my bicycles. Of course, I hauled panniers and handlebar bags full of clothes and other items on various trips, and I've carried books and manuscripts.  I've hoisted chairs, folded tables and, yes, even bicycles on my shoulder after mounting my bike.

On the other hand, I have never pulled a trailer or anything else behind me.  And nothing I've ported on my velocipedes can compare with what French bicycle racing legend Alfred Letourner towed behind him:

I guess that's one way to use a recreational vehicle if the price of gasoline becomes too prohibitive.  Plus, how can you beat a Frenchman pulling an Airstream for style?

It doesn't seem to have slowed him any:  He set several speed records and was one of the dominant cyclists of the six-day races.  

Much as I admire his feats, I'd rather be riding in the slipstream than pulling an Airstream. 

(My new friends Suzanne and Deborah sent me the photo from Vancouver, where they found it on a restaurant table.)

The Original Powder Coat

Some love snow. Others hate it.  Me, I like a good snow coating every now and again.  Of course, I liked the white stuff even better when I was a regular off-road rider and owned a mountain bike.

But I like the snow best of all when it's a light dusting. Of course, it doesn't make for the best of riding conditions, especially on city streets:  It and rain or light drizzle make for more slippery streets than any other kind of weather.  Still, I think much in this city--and in nature--is at its prettiest when they're dusted with light snowflakes.  They almost seem like confections.

Perhaps it's not quite as visible in these photos as it was to me when I rode past Isham Park, at the very northern end of Manhattan.  I had only my cell phone to capture those images.  Oh, well.

And, like any other kind of confection, that light dusting of snow didn't last long.


 

 

Indian Bicycle Troops

Although I'm not a military or war buff, I find it interesting to see how various armed forces throughout the world have used the bicycle. If pedaled two-wheeled vehicles can be used under the conditions in which the military deploys them, it is, if nothing else a testament to their versatility. While I don't endorse colonialism, I couldn't resist publishing this photo of Indian bicycle troops on the Fricourt-Mametz road in Somme, France. 

From the Imperial War Museum

They were, of course, fighting for the British and their French allies in one of the bloodiest battles in all of human history. I hope those Indian troops continued to ride after the fighting stopped. After all, as much as I abhor war and imperialism, I've got to admit that it probably left them with bike-handling skills I'll never have!

Another View From Vera

As cyclists, we can't help but to notice skyscapes and other vistas.  Whether they're views of the sea, hills, trees, cornfields, Victorian houses or glaciers (Yes, I pedaled alongside one in the Alps!), we are aware of the way in which natural and architectural structures interplay--or don't play nice--with the sky

Here's an interesting one I saw yesterday, while running errands on Vera:

Now, you might think it's just another view of a New York skyscraper against the sky. At least, that's what you might think if the grid lines didn't cris-cross the almost preternaturally sky-blue glass.

That glass forms the exterior of the new 4 World Trade Center, just down the block from One World Trade Center, a.k.a. the Freedom Tower.  The original WTC buildings were destroyed on 11 September 2011; the new 4 WTC opened on the 13th of November this year.

Take A Close Look

Ok, boys and girls. I want you to take a look at Tosca.

Do you notice anything different about her?

I'll tell you more about it soon.

WWDD (What Would Dante Do?)

Warning:  I'm going to start this post with a completely useless, and possibly even frivolous, literary and philosophical question.

Here goes: How would la Commedia Divina have been different if Dante could not see the entrance to the underworld as he entered it?

Of course, we'll never know the answer.  Or, for that matter, we'll never know what Dante might have written if he'd been with me instead of Virgil and he was at Hell Gate instead of the gate of Hell.

One of the thickest fogs I've seen in New York cocooned the area.  While crossing the Queens span of the Triboro bridge, I could not even see the cables just a few feet to my right, let alone the railroad trestle that spans the Hell Gate channel just a few hundred meters upstream.

I sure was glad not to be driving.  

 

Bike Calendars

By now, calendars for the coming year have appeared in your local bookstores, stationery shops, department stores, pharmacies and other retailers.  

I must confess that I am one of those people who doesn't pay for calendars.  Or, at least, I don't pay regular price:  If I buy any, I wait until the year has begun and they can be bought for next to nothing.

I've had a bicycle-themed calendar or two in my time.  I might get one somewhere this year.  With that in mind, I typed "bicycle calendars" in Google and found some that look very interesting:

 
This one from BIke EXIF-Cycle EXIF features a bike I'd like to see.  Does that banded paint job continue throughout the rest of the frame?  If so, does it continue in a blue-green theme, or does it transition to other hues?

(Seeing it made me think of a bike I rode for years and will write about in a future post.  Stay tuned!)

Don't try this at home!:

I'll confess that I did:  A couple of my old off-road riding buddies and I rode onto the trackbed less than a kilometer from last week's derailment in Spuyten Duivyl.  And we missed an incoming Amtrak train by less than that!

Now here's one I'd really like:

From Cycle Passion

I like anything that shows women in various modes of cycling, whether they're racing or commuting in skirts and heels--or doing something more whimsical.  I'm not interested in the "bikes and babes" calendars I often saw int he shops in which I worked.



Then, of course, there's the Classic Bicycles calendar published by bicycle Quarterly:

I might get myself one--or a Mercian calendar. 







 

How Many Bikes In One Parking Space?

Here in New York--and, I suspect, in other places--people are whining that bike racks and bike share ports are "taking away our parking spaces."

To hear them, you'd think there's a kind of "Invasion of the Body Snatchers" scenario, in which every bike takes away a parking space.

They should see this:

From Bike Delaware

 

It's All In The Name

How often, when we're on our bikes, do we see some place and tell ourselves, "I must come back!"?

It can be an interesting historic site or natural feature, or some beautiful (or simply odd) street- or land-scape, or piece of architecture.  

Or it might be a restaurant or coffee shop.

I don't often see businesses with my name on them. I certainly wasn't expecting to see one in the middle of the Bronx, just a few blocks (and one stop on the #4 train) north of Yankee Stadium.

Notice that it's called "Justine", not "Justine's".  I wonder if its proprietor read Lawrence Durell's novel by that name, or the George Cukor film based on it.  (Anouk Aimee plays the lead role.)  Or, perhaps, the owner read another novel by the same name--written by none other than the Marquis de Sade.

One of these days, I'll go back there.  I wonder if restaurant reviewers ever consider a restaurant's name in writing their critiques.  

Looking Out For Stonehenge

I went to Stonehenge once, a long time ago.  I don't know whether I'll ever make it there again.  If I don't, this might be the nearest thing--at least visually--I'll see for a while:

I didn't have to leave the country--or, for that matter, New York State--for it.  In fact, I didn't have to go very far from Queens.  To be exact, I found it at Point Lookout.  What it's doing there, I'll never know.

More to the point, I don't know who put it there or why.  I'd love to know.