Leaping Wheels

 This date comes once every four years.

If you were born on this date, Happy Birthday.

Three Leap Year Days ago, Seven Bicycles made a special-edition machine.

Whither Campagnolo?

Photo by Will Jones

I can still remember the day I finally attained a full-Campagnolo Record-equipped bicycle.

My Trek 930 racing bike, made from Columbus SL tubing, had one last non-Campy part:  Galli brakes.  They were essentially lighter-weight Italian versions of late-1970s Dura-Ace.  I'd bought them for another bike because the price was reasonable and they were gold anodized--which, I thought, looked really bad-ass on the bike which, like the Trek, was black.

One of the mail-order companies--Nashbar, I believe--ran a dead-of-winter sale on Campy and other stuff.  I bought the brakes, for even less than I could have had them with my employees' discount (i.e., wholesale price) at Highland Park Cyclery, where I'd been working the previous season.  Frank, the owner and head mechanic, said he didn't blame me for buying them at that price--$59.00, if I remember correctly.  (They typically sold for around $80-100 in the early 1980s.)  

Did the Campagnolo Record Brakes stop or modulate any more efficiently than the Gallis?  No.  But in those days, having a bike that was tutti Campagnolo was like having a book by your favorite writer inscribed and signed by that writer.  Just as having such a volume wouldn't make you a better writer,  having a set of components designed by Tullio himself, and made by little elves in Vicenza (all right, I know that's not true)--and, more to the point, ridden by nearly everyone in the professional peloton--didn't make you ride faster or break the wind for you.  But it sure felt as if Campy's stuff--even his gold-plated corkscrew--held some sort of mystique.

Oh, and better yet, I had an all-Italian bike.  Well, sort of.  The Trek frame was made in the US--by Tim Isaacson--but, as I mentioned, from Columbus SL tubing (the lightest available at the time) in a more-or-less Italian style.  Oh, and the French Mavic rims and Ideale 2002 saddle (my favorite racing saddle at the time), were "honorary Italian:"  members of the peloton and rich Sunday riders alike rode them on their Campy-equipped machines.  Ditto for the DT spokes.

Now, to be fair, Campagnolo Record components had a mostly-deserved reputation for performance and durability.  To this day, I don't think a better traditional ball-bearing hub or bottom bracket has been made.  While the brakes weren't the best at braking, and the cranks sometimes cracked under heavy use, they held up well for most riders and were beautiful.

But even if you never won--or entered--a race, having a Campagnolo Record-equipped bike gave you cred, to yourself and possibly to others who shared your obsession or were simply status seekers.

It's that last group of riders --or, in some cases, non-riders-- who, according to Will Jones, Davide Campagnolo (the grandson of founder Tullio) is courting.  The Cycling News tech writer, in sighing, "meh!" to the Campagnolo's latest offerings, wondered about the company's direction, if any.  He got his answer in Signor Davide's declaration that Campagnolo is becoming a "sports luxury" brand.

He's thus said the quiet part out loud. Although Campagnolo had a near-monopoly on the peloton for about two decades, many weekend cyclists bought their stuff as much for prestige as for performance.  So, in that sense, for those who weren't racing or racking up thousands of miles every year, Campagnolo has been indeed a luxury brand.

Jones inferred that the emphasis will be on "luxury."  That, to me, begs this question:  How would whatever Davide is planning be different from, say,  Armani or Versace offering bicycle clothing? Or Ferragamo cycling shoes or Gucci bike bags or other accessories?

Here is another indication that the emphasis will be on status and fashion:  Last year, among World Tour teams (the ones that compete in the Tour de France, Giro d'Italia and other prestigious races)  only AG2R-Citroen's bikes sported the Italian maker's components. This year, no World Tour team is riding them.

A Good Step—But Is It Enougih

 

The Federal Government defines them as “micromobility devices.” Soon, however, one state might, in essence, classify them as motorized vehicles.

That might seem like a mere matter of semantics—or the sort of thing that occupies lawyers and policy wonks with too much time on their hands.  But it could have real consequences for eBike owners and riders.

Last month, Bill S2292 was introduced in the New Jersey Senate. It’s said to be “gaining traction “ as it moves the required Senate committee reviews. A date for a vote, however, has not been set.

In essence, the bill, if passed, would require “low speed electric bicycles” and “‘motorized bicycles” to have the same liability insurance as motorcycles or cars.

For the purposes of the bill, a “low speed electric bicycle “ is defined as a two- or three-wheeled vehicle with operable pedals and an electric motor of less than 750 watts that provides assistance when the rider is pedaling or ceases to provide assistance when the rider reaches 20 mph. A “motorized bicycle “ is one with pedals and a motor whose maximum piston displacement is less than 50cc or whose motor is rated at no more than 1.5 brake horsepower. Or, the bike is powered by an electric drive motor and does not reach more than 25 MPH on a flat surface.

Under those terms, eBike owners would be required to have insurance against potential bodily injury, death or property damage caused by their vehicles. In addition, eBike owners would need to carry personal injury protection in case their eBike causes bodily injury or death to another person.

The bill seems to be a response to the recent spate of crashes—and fires caused by eBike batteries. In that sense, I think it’s a good idea and think we should have a similar regulation here in New York. On the other hand, critics say that it could make eBike ownership “prohibitively expensive.” I also wonder how it could be enforced, given that many eBike purchases are made “off the books,” if you will, by undocumented immigrants.

A Translation of “Hasta La Vista, Baby!”

 As cheesy as it sounds, I have envisioned a movie, video or play ending with the main character mounting a bicycle and intoning, “See you later, alligator!”

SaddleUp This Summer

 

When we think of “summer jobs,” images  of young people working as lifeguards, sandwich-makers, bike mechanics and camp counselors come to mind.

If you have been reading this blog for a while, you probably know that I’ve been a bike shop mechanic. I have  also worked as a counselor/instructor at a day and a sleep-away camp. At both, I worked with teenagers on their poems, stories and other writings, and helped to compile a magazine and yearbook.  Although I enjoyed the work, after my sleep-away camp experience I made a vow—which I’ve kept through the ensuing decades—that I would never again live on my job site.

Once I started college teaching (Hey, if I can do it, so can you!), “summer job” became “summer work” and meant teaching a class or two.

Now I have learned about a new kind of summer job:  one I might’ve wanted when I was young (which, as I like to tell young people, I once was, believe it or not). Some might say it’s an “only in Portland” position.

WashCl Bikes, a community bike shop in Hillsboro, Oregon is, in many ways like New York’s Recycle-a-Bicycle and other “community “ bike shops. It “recycles” bikes that might otherwise have ended up in landfills and sells them, alongside helmets, lights, locks and other necessities for transportation cycling.  Washco also does repairs and conducts repair classes.

The new summer position, however, isn’t as a mechanic, salesperson or workshop instructor. As it turns out, Washco runs SaddleUp. It’s not strictly a bike camp:  traditional summer camp activities like arts and crafts are included.  Campers reach those activities, held on different sites, by bicycle.  Those rides, along with rides in the community and on trails, are used to teach bike skills, safety and etiquette.

Full- and part-time positions are available at “competitive”pay.  WashCo is accepting applications now.

He Didn’t Leave Us In A Funk

 Some things are named after the people who discovered, invented or popularized them.  Hence Curium, Pasteurization, Petrarchean sonnets and Sheldon’s fender nuts.

Sometimes it’s a good thing when folks don’t name their creations, inventions or discoveries after themselves.For example, we should be as thankful for that the man scientist who discovered vitamins so named them.

On this date 140 years ago, Casimir Funk was born in Warsaw, Poland.  He earned a doctorate in chemistry at the University of Bern when he was 20.  His early career included work at the Pasteur institute in Paris and the Lister Institute in London. 

Being the skilled observer he was, he couldn’t help but to notice that certain foods helped to prevent diseases.  In particular, he noted that people who ate brown rice were less vulnerable to beri-beri than those who ate the white stuff.

He set out to learn what, in foods, promotes health or prevents illness.  He isolated substances in them and saw that they contained amines—members of a group of compounds that include amino acids. 

Over three decades he discovered 13 such amines, which he called vita amines—the life amines.  That name became, of course, vitamins.

So why am I writing about ohim on a bike blog?  Well, most cyclists I know are at least somewhat nutrition-conscious.  And the way competitive cyclists eat has changed greatly, especially within the past three decades or so.

Training tables for cyclists and other athletes consisted of foods chosen by trainers who, as often as not, had no training in anatomy or physiology, let alone nutrition. So what athletes ate and drank was guided by long-held notions about particular foods. (Oh, and many racers smoked because it was believed to “open up the lungs.)

As cycling teams began to hire nutritionists and doctors who were knowledgeable about sports medicine, emphasis shifted from the foods themselves to what is in them. And racers started to take supplements. 

The way cyclists and other athletes think about nutrition, then, has been made possible, at least in part, by Casimir Funk’s work in isolating vitamins.

We should be glad he didn’t call them Funkies. 

Malcolm X

 On this date in 1965, Malcolm X was assassinated.

On this date in 2015, I wrote a post commemorating the 50th anniversary of that tragedy:

50 Years After Malcolm X

On this date fifty years ago, Malcolm X was assassinated in the Audubon Ballroom.  Today the site of the Audubon, in the Washington Heights neighborhood of Upper Manhattan, is a laboratory for Columbia-Presbyterian Medical Center.  I have ridden by it many times and, in fact, once went inside the Ballroom.  Every time I passed or visited the site I thought, however briefly, about his importance, not only to the history of the US and the world, but in my own life.

I first read Malcolm’s autobiography when I was about twenty.  It was around the same time I discovered African-American writers like Ralph Ellison, James Baldwin, Richard Wright and Zora Neale Hurston—and when I first heard Bob Marley.  In one way or another, they all not only expressed the burning desire to be free, but also made oppression—which is to say, the things that turn people into slaves of all kinds—clear and vivid.

I identified with their wishes and feelings for, as it turned out, reasons very different from theirs.  How could mine not be different?  After all, as difficult as my grandparents’ lives were, nobody brought them here in chains.  Even more to the point, I knew who my grandparents and their grandparents were, even though I had never met the latter.  So, even though I knew that so much of what I learned in school was a whitewashed (Yes, I am conscious of that word choice!) version of the truth, I wasn’t—couldn’t be—conscious of it in the profound way that Malcolm and all of those black writers and artists were. 

So, in my own clumsy way, I reacted to the injustices that persisted long after Malcolm’s murder and the deaths of the others I’ve mentioned though their polemics, rhetoric, rhythms, intuition and sense of irony.  What I did not understand was that they could use those tools or gifts or whatever you want to call them because they mastered them in ways that exact terrible, terrible costs.  (Baldwin has written that any people who has a language of their own has paid dearly for it.) What I could not understand was that I was paying my own dues, as it were, but I did not yet understand what I was paying for.  So I borrowed anger, grief, pain and a very dark kind of humor in my own feeble attempts to come to terms with why I could not live the kind of life for which I was being trained—or why anyone should want that kind of life.

So why am I mentioning such things on this blog?  Well, for one thing, being a cyclist has freed me from a lot of things.  I think of all of the time and money I didn’t have to spend on buying, fueling, maintaining and parking cars.  That is part of the reason why I have been able to live in New York and spend time with things I love:  I didn’t have to work in some job or in some business that would have destroyed my psyche or other people’s lives.  Being a cyclist when it wasn’t fashionable also, I think, has made me less vulnerable to propaganda and groupthink, if it hasn’t made me a better critical thinker or more creative person (though I think it’s done the latter for me). 

Of course, for me, freedom has meant living as the person I am.  Anyone who cannot live with integrity and with dignity is a slave or a prisoner or worse.  One way I identify with Malcolm is that it took him as long as he did to truly come into his own, even if he accomplished a lot else before doing so.  His descent into slavery, as it were, came when, in spite of his academic success and oratorical skills, his eighth-grade teacher mocked his dream of being a lawyer. When he, as an inmate in the Charlestown (MA) Penitentiary, became a disciple of Elijah Muhammad, he found a voice.  However, it took him much longer, I think, to find his voice.

Our voice, if you will, is how we express our authentic selves in the world.  For some, it is in their careers or vocations.  For others, it is in creative work or performing:  I think of Jimi Hendrix’s guitar as his voice.  Others express it through a passion or relationship.  Actually, I think that for most of us, our “voice” is a combination of the things we do and are.  Whatever it is, if it isn’t authentic, we’re still slaves or prisoners.  For me, that is the real importance of Malcolm X’s life and work. 

https://midlifecycling.blogspot.com/2015/02/50-years-after-malcolm-x.html?m=1

A Ride Through Snowscapes

 On Saturday more snow fell than we’ve seen in a long time.  Three inches (7.5 cm) stuck to the ground here in Astoria and in Manhattan; not far away, on Staten Island and in North Jersey, some places had three or even four times as much.

Although the temperature hovered near the freezing mark, the snow was pretty fluffy—enough so that, a block from me, I thought I was looking at a cotton tree.

I don’t imagine, though, that the snow did much to protect these bikes:

The streets and, yes, even the bike lanes were plowed rather promptly—enough so that yesterday, on a Presidents’ Day ride to Point Lookout, I had to steer clear of a snow pile only once. On my return trip, I walked up the ramp to the Veterans Memorial Bridge out of precaution: I saw ice on it on the ride out.

The remaining snow made for an interesting view

that seemed like an inversion of what I saw on a previous Point Lookout ride.

Did those white caps spill their foam on the sand and grass?

Presidents And Bicycles

 One week ago, I noted the birthdays of Abraham Lincoln—and Charles Darwin.  

When I was a child, Lincoln’s and George  Washington’s birthdays were commemorated with their own holidays on the 12th and 22nd of February, respectively.  Some time in my early puberty—when the deluge began!—that tradition ended in favor of the generic Presidents’ Day, on the third Monday of February:  today.

OK, now I’m going to get political on you, dear reader.  On one hand, I’m offended that this holiday, in essence, elevates Donald Trump to the same plane as Washington, Lincoln and Franklin D. Roosevelt. On the other hand, it’s part of the reason why February is Black History Month, which I wholeheartedly support.  Originally, there was a Black History Week that included Lincoln’s Birthday.  When Abe lost his own billing, the commemoration of a long-deleted part of this country’s heritage was expanded into the month.

Anyway, in an earlier post, I mentioned that during the late 19th Century Bike Boom, Washington’s Birthday was Bicycle Day. Dealers and manufacturers debuted new models and offered special deals, often accompanied by a lavish party.  Bicycle Day morphed into Auto Day, which became part of the current Presidents’ Day.

When Washington’s Birthday was Bicycle Day, electoral campaign images often included bicycles, sometimes with the candidates riding them.

The “bad” government on the left (!) was that of Democrat (!) Grover Cleveland; the “good” on the right was the prospective administration of William McKinley.

So, since I broke a promise I never made to never discuss politics, I will mention one of my beefs with McKinley:  His administration included the lynching of, I mean war against, Spain, which was predicted on a lie. (Sound familiar?) The spoils, if you will, for the US included Puerto Rico, Cuba, Guam and the Philippines (which, ironically, gained its “independence” from the US on the 4th of July, in 1946). Some historians argue that the war also made the invasion, I mean annexation, of Hawai’i possible.

What's In A Name?

 If you live in the English-speaking world, you almost certainly call someone you know "Mike."  Chances are, he's a boy or man named Michael.

So, if "Mike" is short for "Michael:"

Hey, Joe!

 Sometimes a seemingly-inconsequential decision can lead to encounter that is, if not life-changing, then at least interesting.

My rides to Point Lookout usually take me through a part of the Gateway National Recreation Area.  Straddling an isthmus on Jamaica Bay, that stretch of GNRA is smack-dab in the path of many migratory bird species. There is at least one species, however, that doesn't spend its winters in warmer climes--or stray very far from its urban habitats.

Most people have, at its closest, an arm's-length relationship with pigeons.  I have always assumed that the avoidance was mutual:  The birds no more want contact with us than we want with them.  That, for the most part, is true.  

However, as Maria--who rescued Joe--pointed out, the birds' reputation as "rats with feathers" is unfair.  Although they frequently land in dirty places, they frequently clean and groom themselves in much the same way as cats and dogs.  And what is commonly forgotten is the role pigeons have  played in relaying messages--and saving lives--during wars and natural disasters.

Joe did something I never imagined:  He craned his neck and touched the tip of his beak to my nose! 

If I didn't already feel good about being on my bike, Joe--and Maria--made a ride I've done, probably, hundreds of times all the more rewarding.

Making Their Bicycle Commutes Pay

How does a city struggling to meet its climate goals--and with some of the worst air quality in the US--get people to commute by bicycle rather than by car?

Pay them.  At least, two organizations in Denver are trying it out.

The Denver Streets Partnership and Denver's Office of Climate Action, Sustainability and Resiliency are teaming up to offer a "Bicycle Rewards Program."

Applications for the program are open until the end of this month, and it will run from March through June.  Included in BPR are three options: 

Mileage Reimbursement--Up to 85 participants will receive $1 per mile traveled by bicycle for transportation (not recreation).  Participants can earn up to $200 per month.

Wrap-Around Support--Up to 15 participants will receive commuter training, four hours of personalized coaching and up to $500 for bike-related costs.  In addition, participants can receive up to $200 upon completion of the program.  Participants must use a bicycle for transportation at least once a week during during the pilot period.

Mileage Reimbursement+Wrap Around Support--Both options will be offered to 15 participants.

Participants must be 18 years or older and currently commuting mainly by car.  The program will especially target "historically disinvested communities at risk of gentrification."

Some People Just Can’t Stop

 When I wrote for a newspaper, a cop told me that he and other officers catch many criminals because they trip themselves up. One common way, he told me, is that the perps try to commit the same crime again.  This is particularly true, he said, of thieves.

Such was the fate of a would-be two-time bike thief in University Circle, Ohio.  A man caught him in the act of trying to steal his girlfriend’s bike.

The crook was on a bike: the one he stole from the man a month earlier.  He was arrested and oh, by the way, had a warrant for his arrest—for yet another theft case.

The Birth Of Evolution

 The 12th of February.  When I was in elementary school, this day was a holiday, in honor of Abraham Lincoln’s birthday.

Less commonly known, at least in the US, is that he shares a birthdate—in 1809–with someone who changed the course of history, if in a different way.

I am talking about Charles Darwin.

Now that I think of it, they have more in common than having been born on the same day. Darwin’s theory explains how life forms adapt and change in response to their conditions.  Lincoln’s work was both a cause and effect of the ways in which his country was changing and in which human minds and spirits were changing, and still must change.

So, perhaps, we could say that while Darwin gave us the theory of physical evolution, Lincoln understood and worked for mental and spiritual evolution.

I would love for this date to be celebrated as Lincoln’s birthday.  And I dare Texas, Florida or any other state—or this country—to commemorate Darwin on this day!

Life Lessons

 No matter how strong your legs,

No matter how quick your reflexes,

No matter how wide your peripheral vision,

No matter how proficient a cyclist you are,

In, ahem, midlife you realize that you will never again do some of the rides you did when you were young!

Stolen In San Francisco, Fenced In Mexico

 

A San Jose automotive shop owner’s appearance in court has confirmed something many of us have long suspected.

From April 2020 until April 2021, a series of residential burglaries in SanFrancisco targeted bicycles costing between $3000 and $9000. Those machines were brought to Victorio Romero’s shop, where they were photographed and disassembled before they were sent to a co-conspirator in Jalisco, Mexico.

That co-conspirator re-assembled the bikes and used a virtual private network (VPN) to ensure that only people in Mexico could see his Facebook advertisements.

According to accounts the co-conspirator kept —from which Romero took a share of the profits—the bikes sold, on average, for $1000.

Romero has been charged with one count of conspiracy to transport goods in foreign commerce, which carries a maximum sentence of five years in prison. In addition, he been charged with two counts of transportation of stolen goods in foreign commerce. Each of those charges carries a maximum sentence of ten years. 

So, Romero faces up to 25 years in prison. The court may also order him to pay a fine and restitution. Once he is released, the court could also order an additional term of supervised release.

He has been released on bond to reappear in court on 10 April.

Putting His Spin On It

 We’ve all seen sprockets and other small bike parts turned into pendants and charms that dangle from necklaces and bracelets made from bike cables and chains.

Some components, however, better lend themselves to what people in India call “jugaad:” creating a unique solution to a day-to-day problem. You probably have have used blown-out inner tubes to tie things down—in essence, turned them into hookless bungee cords. And Pedro’s turned trashed tubes into “Blowout” tool bags and other bike accessories and tools.

Now a video of a man using a major bicycle component as a piece of furniture is making the rounds. I’m not talking about the Brooks saddles turned into bar stools that had a moment about 15 years ago.  Rather, the man—considerably less bourgie, it seems, than anyone who would’ve bought one of those bar stools—is using a major part of a bicycle as a major home furnishing.

I have to say that man certainly has ingenuity.  Not only did he turn (pun intended) a bicycle wheel into a rotating table.  He is exploiting its qualities In service of the particular qualities of an Indian meal. Small bowls and plates containing dal, sabzi, curry, chilies and other foods and spices are balanced on the spokes. 

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Because the wheel is balanced on an axle, he can rotate the table and not have to leave his seat or stretch across the table to reach any of those plates or bowls. I would guess that he left the tire on the wheel because it’s easier to grip and turn than the metal rim.

I would love to see something like that the next time I go to an Indian restaurant. I wonder whether the man realizes there is a market for his innovations. Who knows: Maybe he’ll make enough money to buy his next table at Sotheby’s!

When They Arrived

 Once again, I will invoke my Howard Cosell rule to write about something that doesn't directly relate to bicycles or bicycling.

At least this time, I am invoking that rule to commemorate a joyous occasion.  

On this date in 1964, four young "lads from Liverpool" stepped off a Pan Am flight in a recently-renamed airport.  In a scene that couldn't be replicated today, millions of young people thronged the terminal and spilled onto the tarmac. (Post-9/11 security measures would not allow such a thing.) According to witnesses, those youngsters--mainly girls--squealed and cheered so loudly that one couldn't hear planes taking off.

Some argue that "fangirls" and, to a lesser extent, "fanboys" were born that day.  Whether or not that was true, it's hard to imagine such a raucous reception for any other group or performer.

I am talking, of course, about the Beatles.  The airport where they first set foot on American soil was formerly known as Idlewild but had recently been re-christened as John F. Kennedy International Airport.

The timing of John, Paul, George and Ringo could hardly have been more fortuitous.  Just two months and two weeks earlier, JFK was gunned down in Dallas. I was a very young child during that time and didn't understand the events, but I could feel the grief that filled the air after the President's death and the joy--a catharsis (a word I wouldn't learn until much later) that the "Fab Four" released.

Now, as a lifelong Beatles fan, I will say this:  Those early tunes were sappy love songs.  So were many hits from the pioneers of rock'n'roll--who by that time were nearing, or had recently passed, 30 years of age.  They wouldn't have looked or sounded right doing songs like them but Elvis, Chuck and others from the "doo-wop" generation hadn't yet found their new directions.  The "lads," on the other hand, were still young enough for such things.  And, I believe--with the benefit of hindsight--that people wanted those songs and, more important, the youthful, upbeat energy the Beatles exuded at that point.

Of course, their music would become very different.  But I think their energy was exactly what was needed to move rock'n'roll music forward so that it could absorb such diverse elements and influences as the sitar, Bach and Scottish folk ballads.  Oh, and they even would do a song with lyrics in French--a language none of them spoke.  (Jan Vaughan, a French teacher and the wife of an old friend of Paul's, wrote them.) So, it might be said that the Beatles made, or at least helped to make, rock'n'roll into an international musical genre.

Also, the Beatles helped to change fashions in hair and clothing--and, more importantly, to influence the ways we see gender and sexuality.  Even though they were undeniably straight cisgender men, they were criticized and mocked because their hair and clothing didn't comport with the expectations of men at that time.  

Now that I think of it, they may have had a role, however small, in sparking or stoking the '70's Bike Boom in North America.  The Beatles themselves, especially John, seemed to enjoy cycling.  That was not unusual for adult men--in England, their home country.  But not so in the US:  the bicycle was seen as a toy or, if an adolescent used it for transportation, he or she passed it on to a younger sibling or neighbor, or a parent discarded it, once the kid was old enough to drive.  And at that point in their lives, young people were expected to act and dress "like grown-ups":  coats and ties for men, skirts or dresses and high heels for women.

That the Beatles would, in time, appear on stage and for recording sessions in jeans and T-shirts or dashikis no doubt showed millions of other people, mostly young, they could do the same.  And, let's face it, even if your bike has full fenders and an all-enclosing chainguard, you'd rather ride in comfortable clothing that can be easily washed. Oh, and who wouldn't want to ride with "Here Comes The Sun" as an earworm?

I must end this post, however, by noting that I formulated the Howard Cosell Rule because of one Beatle in particular--or, more precisely, how he met his demise.  Cosell interrupted his play-by-play commentary of an NFL game to announce that John Lennon had been murdered on the night of 8 December 1980.  Cosell and Lennon were friends and, I am sure, influences on each other. 

The New Normal?

 

When I first heard of a town called “Normal” in Illinois, I wondered whether it was, well, normal. That might’ve been before I asked what “normal” means.

I’ve never been to the town, so I couldn’t tell you whether it fits an O.E.D. or D.S.M. definition of “normal.” Actually, the D.S.M. doesn’t so much define “normal” as it dictates what isn’t. In one edition, I wasn’t; in the next—current—edition, I am.

But I digress. The town was named, apparently, for a “normal” school located there. “Normal schools”—which are still so-named in Mexico and other countries—are now known as “teacher training colleges “ in the US.

So why were they called “normal” schools? Well, they were designed mainly to train elementary school teachers and their curricula concentrated on enforcing societal norms of behavior, for the teachers-in-training (almost all of whom were young women) as well as their prospective pupils. 

I don’t know what norms, if any, are being reinforced in today’s Normal.  It has, however, been recognized for practices that will, I hope, become normal. The League of American Bicyclists has acknowledged the town for its efforts to be a more bicycle-friendly city.

Could it be that one day, when a community makes efforts to be bicycle-friendly, it’s becoming Normal—or normal?  I hope so.

A Mirror?

 Recently, I heard someone refer to cyclists as "narcissists."

Of course, my reaction was to think, "It takes one to know one."  I think that person was saying that we are entitled or a privileged class because we now have bike lanes--never mind that riding on some of them, at least here in New York, is more dangerous than cycling on the streets.

That person might have been right, in a way.  Narcissus saw his own reflection.   

Of course, we won't fall onto the pavement while kissing an image of ourselves.  At least not intentionally.

Bicycle Freeways Are Nothing New

A few years ago, a bicycle freeway opened in Beijing.  Similar elevated bike lanes have been built, or have been proposed or planned, for other cities in Europe and Asia.

Turns out, bicycle highways and freeways aren't a new idea.  Nor is one of the motivations for them.  And they weren't exclusive to bike-friendly countries like the Netherlands and Denmark. 

In fact, a bike highway once linked a sleepy town with the city that, some would argue, is the birthplace of car culture. (Is "car culture" an oxymoron?)

All right...At the time the lane was built, that city--Los Angeles--hadn't become synonymous with "freeway."  And the town the lane linked to it--Pasadena--hadn't even begun to host the Rose Bowl.

In fact, automobiles were still a novelty item and the Model T was more than two decades in the future. For that matter, asphalt wasn't in use as a paving material.  

In that environment, a fellow named Horace Dobbins (who would become Pasadena's mayor) saw the need to get to downtown L.A. quickly.  Interestingly, getting to and from various destinations in China's capital was a design feature of the bike freeway built in that city a few years ago.

Dobbins envisioned an elevated bicycle highway stretching nine miles (about 14 kilometers) between his home town and the bustling metropolis.  His proposal was embraced and the first section of the bike highway--complete with a tollboth!--opened in 1900. A mile long, stood twenty feet (seven meters) in the air, had wooden railings on its sides and linked Pasadena's Green Hotel with the base of Raymond Hill, near the city's Glenarm Street.

The view north on the Dobbins Veloway

That year is often seen as a "tipping point," not only because it was the turn of the century.  Many then-current and developing events, ideas and inventions would shape the rest of the century and this one.  One of those inventions was, of course, the automobile.

And cars are, not surprisingly, why the Dobbins Veloway, as it was called, was never completed. Within a few years, the lane--the two miles of it that had been built--was torn down.  Ironically, the land rights that had been secured to construct it were used to build the Arroyo Seco/Pasadena Freeway, commonly recognized as the oldest freeway in the United States.

 

What Did He Say?

Punxsutawney Phil, the world's most famous weather forecaster, has made his prediction:  He didn't see his shadow so, according to folklore, an early Spring awaits us.

While I don't mind winter--and this one hasn't been especially cold--I would welcome an early Spring.  Whether the temperatures remain low or rise well above normal, the days are growing longer.  But Spring-like weather makes the skies seem brighter and blooms more vibrant.  Plus, I would be happy to ride with fewer layers of clothing.

Neither Marlee nor any other cat who's been in my life has been able (or willing?) to ride with me.  I've seen people ride with their dogs. I wonder what it would be like to cycle with a ground hog--if such a thing is possible.

From Bike Walk Wichita

We Know What We Like

I have always loved winter rides along the coast.  Even on a day that’s mild for the season, few people are strolling the boardwalks, and even fewer are on the beach, if it hasn’t been closed.  The people you see, whether they’re walking with dogs, families or friends, or cycling, might be called anything from “hardy” to “crazy” by those who prefer the warmth of their living rooms to brisk winter air or the glare of screens to the subdued light and subtle colors of the littoral horizon.

If nothing else, we are independent spirits who are introverts at heart, even if we return to the company of the sedentary.

Speaking of independent spirits:

This one knows what they (I can’t be cisgenderist, can I?) want.  And their ability to eat oysters and other fresh shellfish—and leave a deposit on a shiny new vehicle—has nothing to do with their personal assets.