In the middle of the journey of my life, I am--as always--a woman on a bike. Although I do not know where this road will lead, the way is not lost, for I have arrived here. And I am on my bicycle, again.
I have had six cats, including Marlee, in my life. I love Marlee and miss the other five. Each was beautiful and sweet in his/her own way.
I must admit, however, that I've never had a black cat. It's not a matter of fear or superstition: All of my feline friends, except for the first Charlie, were rescues. And he was part of a litter of kittens born to the cat of someone with whom I was taking a class. So, in a sense, he, like the others, found his way into my life.
One of my few regrets is that I've never figured out how to ride with a cat. Oh, when the first Charlie and Marlee were kittens, I could have carried them in a knapsack or something, but I'm not sure they would have liked it. In a way, that might have been a good thing: Having Caterina, Charlie I, Candice, Charlie II, Max or Marlee home while I was out--whether for a spin around the neighborhood, a day trip or a longer trek--gave me something to look forward to at the end of a ride.
Still, I wonder, what would it have been like to have one of them--or a black cat--on a ride with me?
Saturday brought near-record warmth: When I reached Greenwich, Connecticut—the destination or turnaround point, depending on your point of view—early in the afternoon, the temperature had risen to 81F (27C). That is more or less normal for a day in June, or perhaps just after Labor Day.
Even if I hadn’t known it was near the end of October, the day’s warmth would have seemed incongruous with parents chaperoning their costumed kids to tables representing everything from the fire department to the local Democratic Party where volunteers gave them miniature candy bars. Tomorrow is Halloween, so the past weekend became the setting for Trick or Treaters, parades and parties.
Even stranger was seeing mid-to-late Fall foliage simmering in such heat. On my way back, a tree in New Rochelle blazed, it seemed, as much from the summer-like air as the season itself.
How red can a tree be?
Now I wonder what it looks like today. Some time around midnight, a storm pushed its way in. The temperature plummeted and the rain and wind that soaked and strafed Sunday’s sky—and denuded the golden tree that greeted me early Thursday morning.
The other morning, I couldn't get back to sleep. So I went for an early before-work ride.
That's when I learned it's really Fall:
In other parts of my neighborhood, burgundy and orange leaves blaze against a crisply blue autumn sky. But in the hour before dawn, nothing could have been more dramatic than those yellow leaves.
Of course, those aren't the only colors I've seen on recent rides. Last week, I encountered this mural on 40th Avenue by the tracks, in a corner of Long Island City I don't often see:
And there was this, just after the seemingly-endless rains we had last weekend:
Wherever I ride in the Fall, I see colors, everywhere!
Tell me if I am the only cyclist who's seen a hundred articles or blog posts announcing The Death Of The Rim Brake.
I don't call myself a "retrogrouch": At least one other blogger has laid claim to that title. I also do not, however, use the newest and latest stuff just because it's the newest and latest stuff. My bikes have steel frames (Reynolds), downtube shifters (except for my fixie), pedals with toe clips and straps, Brooks saddles, hand-spoked wheels and, yes, rim brakes: dual-pivot side pulls on three of my bikes, single-pivot sidepulls (!) on two others and cantilevers on still another.
The reason I'm not making the switch is that the none of the cycling crashes or other accidents I've experienced had anything to do with braking power, or lack thereof. Then again, I learned a long time ago to keep things in adjustment, replace cables and pads before they seem to need replacing (every year or two, depending on the conditions in which I've been riding) and to clean my rims and brakes after wet or muddy rides. I use high-quality pads (Mathauser Kool Stop) and cables employ good braking technique: I usually anticipate my stops and apply the brakes accordingly.
Now, if I were riding carbon-fiber rims, I might understand the "rim wear" argument. But even on a relatively light rim like the Mavic Open Pro, I manage to ride many, many miles (or kilometers) without significant wear. And there might be other extreme conditions which I have yet to ride, and probably won't at this stage of my life, that could warrant disc brakes.
But my dual pivots (Shimano BR- R650 and R451 and Dia Compe BRS 100), single pivots (Campagnolo Record) and cantilevers (Tektro 720) have all given me more than adequate stopping power. Best of all, I can make adjustments or replace parts easily, whether I'm at home or on some backroad in Cambrai or Cambodia, without having to "bleed out" lines or deal with the other complications of disc brakes.
And, as much as I care about my bikes' aesthetics, they're not the reason I'm not using discs. Actually, some of the discs themselves are rather pretty, and I suppose that in carbon or other modern configurations, the cabling and other necessary parts integrate well. But I still like, in addition to their pretty paint jobs, my bikes' clean lines which, in a sort of Bauhausian way, reflect the simplicity and elegance of their function.
Eben Weiss discusses the virtues I've outlined in his most recent Outside article--and how bike companies are squeezing rim brakes, for no good reason, out of the market.
In the 1960s, anarchists painted bicycles white (Witte Fietsen) and left them on Amsterdam streets for anyone to ride. Some see it as the first public bike-share system. Others argue that the French city of La Rochelle, during the following decade, started the bike-share movement when it made 350 yellow bicycles available for anyone who wanted to use them. The contention that the La Rochelle's program was "first" is based on the fact that it was offered by the city government and thus the first to be sanctioned by any organized official body.
Anyway, the movement to make bicycles available to everyone at a nominal fee really took hold from about 2005 to 2015, when cities like Paris, Barcelona, Mexico City and New York started their schemes. Since then, it has come to be associated mainly with such large metropoli. Lately, however, smaller municipalities have seen the benefits of making bicycles (and scooters) available and have begun, or are exploring, share programs of their own.
As an example, the Westchester County city of New Rochelle (which is named for the La Rochelle natives who settled there after fleeing the French religious wars) has had such a program for several years. Although much smaller in size and population, it shares some of the problems of New York City, about 18 miles to the south: Its narrow streets and compact (some would say claustrophobic) downtown simply can't accommodate any more cars or trucks than already use it.
I am very familiar with this landscape, if you will, because I cycle through New Rochelle whenever I ride to Connecticut or any point north of NYC on the east side of the Hudson River. I am also somewhat familiar with Passaic, a New Jersey city I have ridden a few times. Located about 20 miles (32 kilometers) west of New York and about the same distance north of Newark, it has roughly the same population as La or New Rochelle and an old (for the US, anyway) downtown district and infrastructure first developed before automobiles.
So, perhaps, it's not surprising that the city is also exploring a bike share program* which, they say, will be modeled at least in part on New York's Citibike (which has expanded into Jersey City and Hoboken). Passaic, named after the river that forms part of its valley, has been mainly a working-class industrial city: It saw what was, at the time, one of the largest labor strikes in history when textile workers walked off their jobs in 1926. The city--whose name means "valley"--also was the corporate headquarters and main manufacturing facility for Okonite, which made the some of the first telegraph cables and the wiring for Thomas Edison's first power generating plant (on Pearl Street in NYC). And it has been called "the birthplace of television" as the experimental station W2XCD transmitted its first signal, in 1931, from the DeForest Radio Station in the city. Its chief engineer, Allen DuMont, left the station a few years later to start the pioneering television manufacturer and the first commercial television network: DuMont Laboratories and the DuMont Television Network.
So, one might say that bike share programs are like the tech industry: they're not just in the city (e.g., San Francisco); they're also in the valley.
*--I have tried to link an article about this, but it's behind a paywall:
For this post, I am going to invoke my Howard Cosell Rule. That means this post won’t be about bicycles or bicycling, at least not directly.
As you’ve probably heard by now, Mike Johnson has been elected as Speaker of the US House of Representatives. That means he is, after Joe Biden and Kamala Harris, next in line to become the President.
Kevin McCarthy, the ousted House Speaker embodied a particular kind of venality that happens when mediocrity and ambition comes within reach of power. He wanted to be Speaker because he wanted to be President, but he had to know, deep down, the Speakership was as close as he’d come to it.
But his lust for power isn’t the reason why his fellow Republicans, who make up the majority of the House ousted him. They weren’t happy that he was willing to make a deal with Democrats in order to pass a budget and prevent a government shutdown. And some felt that he wasn’t sufficiently loyal to Trump/MAGA supporters who are no longer a “wing” of the Republican Party: They, along with white Evangelical Christians and conservative Catholics, are the Republican Party.
Which is why they chose Mike Johnson. He—who played an important role in the attempt to overturn the 2020 Presidential election—is an Evangelical Christian Nationalist who wants to turn this country into Gilead. He wants to not only outlaw abortions but also to arrest, prosecute and imprison women who have them. And, not surprisingly, he wants to rescind any laws that enshrine LGBT equality.
Johnson and his ilk have developed a symbiotic relationship with the Trump/MAGA folks: Their support of Israel will hasten the coming of the Kingdom of God they want—or so they believe.
One thing both groups have in common is their support of the fossil fuels industries—which, not surprisingly, donate generously to their campaigns—and antipathy to anything “green” or “sustainable.” That is why their attitudes toward cycling range from indifferent to hostile.
Even if their anti-cycling, anti-LGBT, anti-woman policies weren’t bad enough, the fact that Johnson is, as the saying goes, only two heartbeats away from the Presidency is almost as terrifying as the prospect of a convicted felon returning to the Presidency.
We love to patronize our favorite local bike shop. But I—and I am sure many of you—have bought stuff from an online retailer (or their predecessors—mail-order catalogues—remember those?) oh, once or twice.
One of the local dealers I patronized (until it wasn’t so local for me anymore) said he couldn’t blame people for buying parts from Performance or Bike Nashbar. “Their prices are better than what I can get from my distributor,” he lamented.
Performance and Nashbar are in the tire tracks of history. Now,’it seems, two more recent giants the online bike business may join them.
In 2016, Chain Reaction Cycles, based in Belfast, Northern Ireland and Wiggle, in Portsmouth in England’s south coast, merged. At the time, to join two companies that were already offering good deals on in-demand bikes, parts and related items into one that would have even greater buying power and would therefore offer even better deals to customers.
But another event that same year would contribute to the company’s current situation: the vote to secede from the European Union, a.k.a. Brexit. (Scotland voted to stay.) The “divorce” was finalized, if you will, at 23:00 GMT on 31 January 2020.
One effect has been higher tariffs, not only on imports to, but also exports from, the UK. The latter included, in the years before the “breakup,” many orders from outside the country. They included customers from EU countries—and, on a few occasions, yours truly. American customers didn’t have to pay the Value Added Tax. So, when the exchange rate was favorable to the dollar, I purchases not only Brooks saddles, but also French Mavic rims and Velox rim taped, Swiss DT spokes, German Continental tires and even Japanese Shimano cassettes for considerably less than I could have bought them Stateside.
The UK-EU split came early in the COVID pandemic. So, some of the losses Wiggle-CRC incurred from prices increasing for European customers were offset by the COVID bike boom. That “boom,” however, seems to be going bust. At least, people aren’t buying as many bikes and parts as they were three years ago.
According to industry insiders, Wiggle/CRC’s parents company, Sigma Sports United is “re-structuring” —which includes, among other things, ending its relationships with “underperforming assets” like Wiggle/CRC—and therefore de-listing from the New York Stock Exchange. Those same insiders are saying that Wiggle-CRC has stopped paying its suppliers and intends to file for insolvency.
From what I’ve been reading and hearing, they’re not the only ones who have “buyer’s remorse” over Brexit.
Even if I’ve grown more cynical about the human race—which is an occupational hazard of being in, ahem, midlife—I have continued to believe that bicycles and bicycling can bring people together. After all, I have seen people from almost every set of circumstances imaginable on bikes.
And, although I have neither had nor wanted children, I believe that people and societies are no better than how they treat children (and old people)—and those who try to help them.
So, one bit of news out of Taibe, an Arab Israeli town, shocked and saddened me.
A week ago, Alaa Amara was asleep, with his phone silenced. One could understand if he wondered whether the news he received after walking was a bad dream. Of course it wasn’t—but he wasn’t surprised.
A few days earlier, Amara, an Arab Israeli who owns a bicycle shop, decided to help evacuees from Gaza-adjacent communities. He told the Times of Israel that his friends “gave them items, food, they had what they needed.” The children, however, “didn’t have anything to do, no school,” he noticed.
So he brought a donation of 50 children’s bicycles. “I did it to benefit the children. They don’t know about war,” he explained.
Images of him delivering the bikes appeared on social media. They won Amara a champion in Yosef Haddad, an Arab Israel commentator who is pro-Israel and therefore controversial, to say the least.
Oh, and the children are Jewish. That, and Haddad’s endorsement, put a target on Amara and his business.
Which is why the news he got last Saturday didn’t surprise him: While he slept, his shop was torched.
A friend has set up a Pay Pal account and a crowdfunding effort has raised, so far, 550,000 Israeli New Shekels (about USD 137,000). Amara estimates damage at NIS 800,000 and he had no fire insurance. So, while donations could increase, he doesn’t know what he’s going to do next. If he opens another bike shop, it will be elsewhere, he said. “I am afraid to be in Taibe now,” he said.
(N.B. Please do not take anything I’ve written as an endorsement of one “side” or another in the conflict. As Alaa Amara and his situation show, the background of the conflict is too complicated to be reduced to “sides” and has as much to do with colonialism, from outside as well as within the region, as any current grievances.)
The Villages is, as the name suggests, a complex of communities in north-central Florida, about an hours' drive from Orlando.
It's been described, both affectionately and derisively, as "Disney World for Boomers." In reality, it's a planned community for retirees that seems, like others in the Sunshine State, to be built around golf courses.
According to a story that circulated in the media about a decade ago, The Villages had the highest rate of STDs in the USA. While public health policy experts and health care professionals who have worked there and in other places have debunked that narrative, another stereotype about The Villages seems to hold true: In both the 2016 and 2020 Presidential elections, Probably no other place voted as overwhelmingly for Donald Trump.
And, from a couple of accounts that have crossed my desk, I would infer that The Villages are like too many other jurisdictions, especially in so car-friendly Florida: the safety of cyclists doesn't seem to be a priority.
The area's auto-centricity has something to do with that. So, I suspect do The Villages Operating Company and Sumter Landing Community Development District which, respectively, operate the complex and Collier, one of the Villages.
They are challenging a suit filed by James Heizer. Two years ago, he says, he flipped over his handlebars when his bicycle tire was lodged in a sewer grate.
It's exactly the sort of accident I fear whenever I see sewer grates with slats that run parallel to the curb--or ones that have large gaps between them and the pavement. I don't know whether the Villages uses either sort of grate, but they are the only ones in which I can imagine a bicycle tire becoming "lodged."
If that is the case, one can only hope that, in addition to reimbursing Heizer for his medical bills and other losses, that the sewer grates are replaced.
Question of the day: Which is rarer: an annular solar eclipse or a weekend day without rain?
Well, the celestial event wouldn’t have been visible in my part of the US, even if meteorological ones would’ve permitted it.
So the eclipse keeps that title—for now. Moreover, we yesterday we had—wait for it—a beautiful Fall day that kept the “Sun” in “Sunday.”
(I’ve heard that someone pointed to the glowing orb in the sky, nudged the man next to her and asked, “What’s that, Mulder?”)
So, I did what any right-thinking cyclist would do. Yes, I went for a ride; specifically to Greenwich, Connecticut on La-Vande, my King of Mercia.
Not only was the weather delightful in the way only the day after a rainstorm can be; everything—from the early fall hues to roads that seemed hewn for riding—seemed to conspire for a great ride.
Even the path through Pelham Bay Park seemed to be made for an October ride.
Lately, I haven’t seen many people wearing masks. I have to admit that I stopped wearing them a while back—until a week ago, when I donned one while awaiting the results of a COVID test. (Negative.) I’d been in proximity to someone who was infected and I was playing it safe.
I found myself thinking back to the early days of the pandemic, when you hardly ever saw anyone’s face. Even some cyclists covered their noses and mouths. (I carried a mask when I rode and pulled it on when I stepped into a coffee shop or some other place.)
I don’t believe, however, that many cyclists concealed themselves in this way:
The other day, I took Negrosa, my vintage Mercian Olympic on an after-work ride in Jersey City, Bayonne and Staten Island.
I just missed a Staten Island Ferry to Manhattan. The day was Classic Fall—clear, cool and crisp and I’d brought a book I’ve been reading (yes, a real book—nothing digital!) so I didn’t mind the wait—12 minutes, as it turned out—for the next boat.
That delay was rewarding—in an aesthetic sense, anyway. What I witnessed from the deck of that ferry boat made me wish that my camera were as old-school (i.e. with film) as my book. Or, better yet, that I had an easel and palette.
There hardly could have been a better ending to a Classic Fall day—and ride. Some people say autumn sunsets are the most beautiful of all. I wouldn’t argue with them.
After I disembarked in Battery Park, twilight flickered to my left as I pedaled by the South Street Seaport, across the Williamsburg Bridge and up through the neighborhood for which the bridge is named to my place in Astoria.
For about three years, a bike lane has lined Crescent Street, about 10 meters from my apartment. In previous posts, I have expressed mixed-to-negative feelings about the lane: It’s not well thought-out or constructed and is now overrun with motor scooters.
Crescent Street
And, lately, there’s been building destruction and construction along Crescent. The lane is therefore blocked or is crossed by workers bearing girders. That means cyclist pedaling north on the lane has to detour onto the sidewalk—unless, of course, that’s also blocked—or squeeze between the contractors’ trucks and the southbound traffic. (Crescent is a one-way street.)
23rd Street
So, lately, I’ve been doing what I did before the lane was constructed: To reach the RFK Bridge or any other point north of my apartment, I’ve been riding 23rd Street, a one-way northbound thoroughfares that parallels Crescent.
There are moments that change history. Everyone knows some of them; others, we think we know. Then there are the ones that, while documented, are forgotten even though their significance is both deep and broad.
We've all heard the story of how Martin Luther nailed his 95 theses to the Castle Church door in Wittenberg, Germany five centuries ago. While almost no one doubts he actually wrote the theses--and he sent copies of them to church and political officials--the story about him hanging them on a church door is in doubt.
On the other hand, there is a video of an unknown taxi driver who, perhaps unwittingly, launched the movements for sustainable transportation and economies--and the backlash against them that has launched a culture war between drivers and cyclists, among other people.
In 1972, the unnamed livery driver was incensed that his "right" to drive wherever he wanted was "taken" from him by city officials who had the temerity to close off a street. Why would such overbearing functionaries arrogate unto themselves the authority to keep someone like him from driving down a thoroughfare paid for with his taxes?
Well, if the answer is that the driver in this story paid a larger share of his income in taxes than his counterparts in other places, it would be almost understandable. Somehow, though, I don't think that he was preoccupied with that fact. Like many drivers, he simply wanted to take the shortest, most direct and convenient, route to wherever he was going. If he were being paid per-trip rather than per-hour, his frustration would have been a bit more understandable, if not justifiable.
But I think he simply was impatient in the ways drivers often are: I guess it can be frustrating to have something that can get you somewhere quickly and with minimal effort, only to be stalled by something, animate or not, that doesn't "belong" in the roadway.
That something, in the driver's way was a set of barricades. Their purpose? To designate a "children's only" street.
Perhaps it had something to do with having children--perhaps the ones who would have been on that street--that led citizens of that city to denounce the driver and push for safer streets for pedestrians, cyclists and other non-motorized travelers.
That city was Amsterdam which, in 1972, was as choked with auto traffic as many other European capitals. Now, of course, it's known as one of the world's most bike- and pedestrian-friendly cities, and has led the way--along with cities like Copenhagen--in developing walkable, cycleable city centers.
That taxi driver may never be as famous for pulling down barricades as Martin Luther was for (allegedly) hanging up what might have been the world's first viral message. He did, however, ignite a culture war that has been largely won by those he fought against. Such a story gives me hope because in more car-centric places, the reactionaries (who abound in, but are not limited to, conservative political factions) are riling up their constituents against an imagined "war on cars" from the borough of Queens, NYC (where I live) to Queenborough, UK and Queensland, Australia.
We are a nation of drivers.
Most of us use a car every day and, for many, life would be difficult without their car.
But too often, drivers feel under attack.
That changes today with a long-term plan to improve drivers' experience on the road.
Those would-be defenders of the diesel tend to be older, while those who don't want to spend three hours of their day driving to work and parking tend to be younger, in chronology and, like yours truly, in spirit---even if I am in, ahem, midlife!
Today I am asserting my right as an Italian American to celebrate Indigenous People’s Day.
I take that back: I am executing my duty to so observe this day.
You see, I come from a group of people that gave the world Michelangelo, Leonardo, Dante, Bocaccio and Galileo. And Armani. And Versace. And Sophia Loren. And Paola Pezzo. And Fausto Coppi. Oh, and Campagnolo.
So how did a guy who got lost become a symbol of Italian pride? I mean, I get lost all the time and no one has ever celebrated Justine Valinotti Day.
So, in keeping with the spirit of this day, and blog, I will leave you with this image of Alexis Vazquez and their partner Nanette Bayale. Two years ago, after participating in Pedalpalooza, they organized an Indigenous/Native Peoples Ride:
It probably didn’t hurt that two cyclists who won, between them, eight Tours de France and a bunch of other races, wore it.
Nor did its design: With its echoes of Mondrian, it still looks good nearly four decades later. A company that pioneered the kinds of pedals and helped to popularize the kinds of frames nearly all racers—and many wannabes—ride today used a similar design in its logo.
That company is Look. The jersey in question is that of the La Vie Claire team. I rode the jersey—and the pedals—in my youth.
I’m not surprised that the jersey is reproduced to this day. Nor does it provoke consternation in me that an illustrator would be inspired by it:
Last week, I wondered whether the folks at the World Meteorological Association were joking when they named a storm that dumped eight inches (20cm) in a day after a Shakespeare character who drowns.
Today I am going to question another naming choice. Specifically, I have to ask why someone would name a folding bike after a structure whose walls came tumbling down.
No, I am not talking about Jericho. And its designer isn’t named Joshua. Nor is he named Donatien-Alphonse-François.
That last name, however, leads to a clue about the designer’s identity. D-T-F was the Comte de Sade, better known as the Marquis. One of the world’s longest-running urban legends has it that he was in the confines of those walls when an angry mob stormed them.This myth has persisted even though he was transferred to another facility ten days before the revolt, probably because his most (in)famous work was later found in the rubble.
That facility is, of course, the Bastille prison. The bike in question is one that I might want to try: It folds but, unlike Dahon, Brompton and other portables, the Bastille velo has full-size (27.5 inches, a.k.a 29ers). It would thus avoid one of the problems with smaller-wheeled bikes that caused me to sell my Dahon a year after I bought it: getting caught in potholes.
Jalopnik is ostensibly about cars and “transportation.” Quite a few of its articles, however, seem to be anti-bike rants in the guise of “reporting” about cyclists’ actual and perceived transgressions against motorists.
Then there is Owen Bellwood’s article, published yesterday. The title—“0f Course People Don’t Want to Bike to Work”—is a clue to the tone, if not the content, of his article.
For a few paragraphs, Bellwood seems to be on the right track. He cites poor infrastructure—including bike parking (or lack thereof), showers or other facilities for cleaning and changing clothes at workplaces (again, or lack thereof) and bike lanes—as a major reason why people in New York and other American cities won’t bike to work. He also mentions drivers who use bike lanes for passing, parking or picking up or discharging passengers or packages.
Bellwood also correctly identifies the poor design and pure-and-simple muddled thinking behind too many bike lanes. As he wryly notes, “It’s not good enough to have a bike painted in the road to warn cars that a cyclist might come through.” And he echoes an observation I’ve made in previous posts: “[W]e can definitely do better than a few floppy plastic bollards separating a cyclist from a 4000 pound pickup truck.”
He sums up by saying that “space” is “all that cyclists are asking for.” We need “space on the road and space to park up,” he says. I agree with him on those points. But he also falls into a common misperception that I once shared: Educating drivers will help to improve cycling safety. I know that many unfortunate encounters between drivers and cyclists result from motorists’ lack of awareness of what safe cycling actually entails, which doesn’t always align with motorists’ perceptions. On the other hand, many more cyclists are maimed or killed by road rage or drivers who simply don’t care about anyone but themselves.
That latter category of drivers won’t be changed through “education.” Though not uniquely American, such drivers are more common in the US because of our car-centered and individualistic culture. Bellwood can be forgiven, I believe, for not understanding as much—and that such motorists won’t be “cured” through “education”- because he is an Englishman. But I also believe that at least his cultural background—and his familiarity with cycling culture in his home nation as well as countries like Denmark—gives him an awareness of how things could be better in my hometown and home country of New York and the USA.
People curse and depend on them. I'm talking about those food delivery workers on e-bikes who weave, at breakneck speeds, through traffic and buzz pedestrians and cyclists. People complain when they're nearly struck, or simply scared, by those couriers whom they expect to bring pizza, tacos, General Tso's chicken, sushi or pad thai to their doors within 15 minutes after placing their orders. And, since most of those delivery workers are paid by the number of deliveries they make, and depend on tips, they will continue to rush within a hair's breath of anyone who's walking or pedaling in "their" bike lane. As much as that annoys, exasperates and freaks me out, I try not to be too angry with them: After all, many of them are supporting families here and in their native countries (nearly all are immigrants, many of them undocumented) and have limited job opportunities because they speak English poorly or not at all and may have educational or professional credentials that aren't recognized here.
Still, as much as I respect their work ethic, I have to admit that no delivery worker I've seen has anything on this one in Cairo, Egypt:
“Ghost” bikes originated in Amsterdam during the 1960s. Anarchists painted bicycles white and left them on the streets for people to use.
Around the turn of this century, artists began to make “ghost” bikes from abandoned bikes, some of which were stripped of their parts. They were purely artistic expressions until October 2003, when Patrick Van Der Tuin placed a white-painted bike and a sign reading “Cyclist Struck Here” on a St. Louis street.
Within a couple of years, “ghost” bike monuments began to appear on streets in New York and other American cities. Soon afterwards, they started to show up in other parts of the world.
Nearly all of those monuments have been placed on or near the sites where cyclists were struck by motorized vehicles. Members of the Norwich Cycling Campaign decided that members of their English city’s council need a daily reminder of the six cyclists who have been killed on city streets this year. So, Campaign placed six “ghost” bikes outside the Council’s offices.
“Each of the white bikes symbolizes a failure to keep people safe on our roads,” declared Campaign chair Peter Silburn. He added, “These deaths are not accidents, they are the result of policies that prioritize the convenience of car drivers over people’s safety.”
The Campaign wants the city to install more cycle lanes, lower speeds on urban roads and fewer cars. I hope the “ghost” bike installation helps to deliver the message—and results.
Yesterday I took La-Vande, my King of Mercia, for a spin to Point Lookout. The day was delightful—the first full day of sunshine after Hurricane Ophelia. I recently installed fenders on La-Vande, but I didn’t need them as much as I’d anticipated: the roads and paths weren’t rivers and streams. The storm’s wake, however, denied me, and everyone else access to Point Lookout Park. Well, almost everyone:
They climbed the fence And the storm’s wake didn’t stop some intrepid beings from lining up on the nearby soccer field:
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