The End Of A Year In The Middle Of My Life

 Today I took what, probably, will be my last ride of 2024. It more or less followed an unplanned route my neighbor Sam and I rode earlier this year, through four of New York City’s five boroughs.

Having moved to the Bronx earlier this year, I’ve been exploring some new routes. I think I’ve found a couple that will be part of my regular routines and, more important, won’t simply be adaptations of rides I took while living in Astoria.

I guess looking for, and doing, those new rides has been emblematic of what 2024 has been for me:  not only adapting to, but creating from, change.  

Nine months ago I left Astoria, where I lived 21 years, for a senior citizens’ apartment by the New York Botanical Garden and Fordham University. I cried every night, and many days, for a few weeks. The change wasn’t just one of geography or living space:  Many of my new neighbors indeed fit, for better and worse, American society’s notions of “old” people. Some use walkers or wheelchairs; others are infirm in less visible ways. But they also have lived lives, some of which I can scarcely imagine but others that are familiar in ways I hadn’t expected.

Seen during my ride today—in the Bronx.

While I am not the only person in my building who rides a bicycle, I’ve developed an identity as “the bike rider” or “la ciclista” among other residents.  Perhaps it’s because they see me more frequently on or with one of my bikes than they see other residents with theirs. 

Whatever anyone’s perception might be, as long as I am cycling, I am in the middle of my life—and the change from one year to another is but another part of my journey.

So here’s to the end of 2024 and the beginning of 2025–in the middle of my life.

She’s In The Middle Of Her Life

 Perhaps you have come to the sudden end of a trail or street and had to make a U-turn. Or you had to dodge some obstacle you couldn’t have seen—or a driver made a turn they didn’t signal and you couldn’t have anticipated.

Most times, you’ll make the stop or turn without incident, if with a few “choice words.” But there comes a time for most cyclists when such a split-second reaction leaves them off-balance, or even causes a tumble, no matter the cyclist’s skill level or age.

The last word of the previous sentence might have prompted the reaction of Sue Scheibel’s doctor after falling from a U-turn she admits she took “too fast” on her bike.

Said doctor suggested that if she wanted to continue cycling, she should do it indoors. “I’ve seen some really terrible injuries from bike accidents,” he admonished her.

She concedes that her doctor might’ve been trying to “protect” her but couldn’t help but wonder whether his advice was motivated by age-ism. (She is 80.) Although she doesn’t say as much, I couldn’t help but think that a dollop of sexism was ladled onto his prognosis: Another doctor, female, said it would be healthier to continue riding as long as she understood her limitations.

For some people, her question would beg—or answer—the question of whether someone is “too old” to ride a bike or engage in other physical activity.  She posed that question online, and most respondents, who included medical professionals, said that she could continue as long as she’s capable and takes necessary safety precautions.

Were I part of that conversation thread, I’d’ve seconded that opinion and added that as long as she’s in the middle of her life, she should enjoy cycling and any other activity she likes.

Oh, and I’d remind her of the premise behind this blog’s title:  As long as you don’t know when your life will end, you’re in the middle of it.

If It Fits…

When I first became a dedicated cyclist, the only “helmets” available were “leather hairnets.”

Has any helmet manufacturer offered a model called “The Hairnet?”

She Doesn’t Think We’re “The Enemy”

We believe love is love, science is real…but keep your government paws off my vehicular patterns.

You’ve seen the two phrases preceding the ellipsis on signs outside houses in “blue” neighborhoods and on bumper stickers affixed to Priuses. (Is the plural of Prius “Prii?”) But the seemingly-contradictory exhortation that follows is, according to Maggie Cassidy, an expression of how otherwise sane people think, and what they sometimes voice, when a bike lane is propsed.

Ms. Cassidy admits that she loves driving and is “too weak and clumsy” to ride a bicycle. But she adds that she has felt safer during one of her daily drives since bicycle lanes have been installed and given cyclists “a prudent amount of space” along a busy stretch of road.

While I have spoken and written against bike lanes, I am not against lanes in principle. Rather, I criticize particular green ribbons of asphalt or concrete because they’re poorly-conceived, designed, constructed or maintained. Though not a cyclist, Ms. Cassidy seems to understand as much.

The most perceptive comments in her Valley News (Vermont) editorial, however, refute the objections of drivers. She mentions one who complains that he’ll have to drive with his “head on a swivel.” As Ms. Cassidy points out, that’s what drivers have to do anyway:  Drivers, and people in general, need to be aware of their surroundings, not only what’s immediately in front of them.

She doesn’t only blame drivers’ misconceptions, which she attributes to “anecdotal” evidence and flat-out misconceptions. She gets at something that causes motorists to see not only cyclists, but planners who conceive and engineers who plan and design bike lanes and other infrastructure. As she says, they are, too often, poor communicators: They too often lapse into professional and technical jargon or show other misunderstandings of their audiences.

I must say that Maggie Cassidy’s editorial is notable because she writes from a perspective I rarely, if ever, see: A motorist who isn’t a cyclist but doesn’t see us as “the enemy.”

No Buzz On Boxing Day

 

Did he get coal in his stocking?

Or was he sent home with nothing on Boxing Day?

Perhaps he’s not over his breakup.

Or maybe, just maybe, this photo is proof that riding an eBike isn’t as much fun as pedaling a real bike.

Merry Christmas!

 Merry Christmas!

Do Clothes Make The Ride?

 You may have heard of the Rapha Festive 500. It begins today and runs through New Year’s Eve. The “500” refers to the number of kilometers (310 miles) participants challenge themselves to ride—outdoors (no, rides on trainers and rollers don’t count). 

Call me a cynic (or a grinch, since it’s Christmas), but I find it, shall we say, interesting that this challenge should be issued by Rapha, the overpriced lifestyle brand in bike-gear drag. (You didn’t think I’d pass up the opportunity for such a metaphor, did you?) At least, to my knowledge, there’s no rule that you have to wear one of their jerseys, tights or other vetements.

Nikki Giovanni’s Ride

How many books of poetry have been called “Bicycles?”

How many poems have you read with the title “Bicycle?”

Nikki Giovanni wrote the poem and the others in the collection. In both, the bicycle is not merely a metaphor for life. Rather, it’s an expression of how she lived her life:  in love, not only with her wife Virginia Fowler or with everything that’s beautiful, but with being. She was who she was and, like love itself, nobody could take it away from her.

Therein lies the power of so many of her poems, essays and children’s books. She was not just another writer with a facility for language and a sense of imagery.  Rather, her works exude her authenticity and warmth. Having met her once, I can attest to the latter.

When I say she was in love, I do not mean that she was content with everything as it is or was: Much of her early writing was inspired by her involvement with the Civil Rights movement. Rather, she knew that it would take more than anger to change anything. If anything, she understood that real change would involve embracing the élan vital, even if she never used that term.

So why am I talking about Nikki Giovanni in the past tense? Well, two weeks ago, her ride, if you will, of 81 years ended two weeks ago. I read about her passing the following day, but I waited to write about her in the hope that in the right moment, I could do something resembling justice for her. I don’t believe I have with this post. So, I’ll do what I believe to be the next-best thing, at least in the context of this blog, and share the poem that’s the subject of my second question.

Bicycles

Midnight poems are bicycles
Taking us on safer journeys
Than 
  jets
Quicker journeys
Than walking
But never as beautiful
A 
  journey
As my back
Touching you under the quilt

Midnight 
  poems
Sing a sweet song
Saying everything
Is all 
  right

Everything
Is
Here for us
I reach out
To catch the 
  laughter

The dog thinks
I need a kiss

Bicycles move
With 
the  flow
Of the earth
Like a cloud
So quiet
In the October 
sky
Like  licking ice cream
From a cone
Like knowing you
Will 
always
Be  there

All day long I wait
For the sunset

The 
first star
The  moon rise

I move
To a 
  midnight
Poem
Called
You
Propping
Against
The 
  dangers

Dressed Up For The Holidays

 Three more days until Christmas.

‘Tis the season for—what else?—tacky sweaters.

Not Good Times For GT

 Hetchins frames have curly stays.  Mercian Vincitore and other custom frames have curly lugs. On the other side of the coin, early Cannondales had oversized tubes that somehow seemed even bigger and some of the ugliest joints and paint jobs ever seen on a bike shop-quality frame.

Those are a few of the bikes that, if you don’t know enough to tell them apart from others from a mile away, you can see are different from others.

GT bicycles also fit into that category. Even if the decals were removed, “in the know” cyclists would know they were looking at a GT because of its “triple triangle” frame design—and everyone else could see that the bike is different. Not all GTs had that feature, but if you were to see a frame that has it, you could be all but certain it’s a GT.

When I was an active mountain biker during the 1990s, GT was one of the most respected names. It’s also one of the first names associated with BMX, one of the few cycling disciplines I haven’t tried and where Gary Turner, the brand’s founder, got his start. Their road bikes have also been well-received.

I have never owned a GT but have had opportunities to try them and can say that I understand why it had more “brand loyalty” than most other names: As I recall, the ones I tried were responsive and offered good traction even with slick tires in dirt. I might’ve bought one had a too-good-to-pass up deal on a Bontrager Race Lite in my size hadn’t presented itself.

In spite of their bikes’ virtues, GT, like other iconic bike names, hasn’t been immune to the “crash” that followed the bike industry’s “sugar high” during the first year or two of the COVID-19 pandemic.  This week, Jason Schiers, the company’s managing director, announced that there will be layoffs by the end of this year. The company also said it’s not releasing new products and plans to sell off its existing inventory through 2025.

Not being an industry analyst, I can only guess at what, specifically, benighted GT. So here goes: I think they are most closely associated with two disciplines—mountain biking and BMX—whose popularity has fallen off in recent years, as participants in the latter have aged out and the kids are opting for video games. In the meantime, the sorts of riders who might’ve gotten involved with mountain biking 30 years ago are opting for gravel riding or are riding eBikes.

Anyway, even though I’ve never owned a GT, I would be sorry to see the brand’s extinction.

Faster Than A (Not) Speeding OJ

 It’s ironic that California, where American car culture was born, was the location of the world’s most famous slow-speed chase—which, some argue, was also the birth of another unfortunate phenomenon: “reality” TV.

Now, I know that two instances of something doesn’t make a trend, especially if those instances are nearly three decades apart. Oh, and the pursuit of O.J. Simpson involved automobiles in the L.A. (no American calls it “Los Angeles”) area, and the chase in this video took place in the northern community of  Brentwood. 

The police were in their car when they followed their suspect, who was riding a bicycle—not much slower, I believe, than OJ drove his Ford Bronco.

A New Way To—And Off—The Island

 Here in New York City, we’ve gone from two months of unusually warm Fall temperatures and almost no rain to nearly two weeks of cold and almost daily rain.

The other day, I “played chicken” with the rain, all but daring it to fall on me as I rode, with no particular destination in mind.  More than anything, I wanted to ride for its own sake and to declare (at least to myself) an end to the flu or whatever turned my respiratory system into an EPA Superfund Site for a week.

Well, the rain chickened out (What else can I anthromorphosize in this post?)—perhaps out of spite, as I was riding one of my fendered bikes. So I had a dry, if chilly, ride with one pleasant surprise.

The RFK Memorial (formerly Triborough) Bridge is really a complex of three different spans that converge on Randall’s Island. One span, the Art Deco-inspired (and prettiest), connects Astoria, Queens with the Island and has a pretty good walkway/pedestrian lane.  I often crossed it when I lived in Astoria. Another, shorter, span links the Bronx to the Island. Its walkway, which zig-zagged up to East 132nd Street from the Island, closed nearly a decade ago, after the much better Randall’s Island Connector opened.

The third span, to Manhattan, includes a walkway that was accessible only by a sharply-winding ramp like the one on the Bronx span. But the entrance to the Manhattan ramp was easy to miss because it was tucked into a spot under the span itself, obscured by fences lining an NYPD maintenance facility. Also, it was very poorly lit: I am not the only one who wouldn’t use it at night.

Well, the pleasant surprise I encountered is a new, much safer, way to access the Manhattan span for cyclists, pedestrians and people with mobility aids.

I hadn’t planned to ride across the Manhattan span, but I did, just to check out the new entrance. It helps, I believe, to make the Island more accessible. I don’t think it will entice me to ride on or through the Island—I already do so more than most people—but I believe it might encourage others.

Liberation

 I live a block from the New York Botanical Garden and have visited several times during the eight months I’ve lived here.

About a mile (1.6 km) away is the Bronx Zoo. I went a couple of times as a kid but have no inclination to go there now:  I don’t think I can bear (no pun intended) to see animals in cages.

I do, however, wonder how they might escape.

Jason Lohr R.I.P.

 When a crash results in the death of a cyclist, the tragedy doesn’t end there. 

Such is the case of Jason Lohr. The 49-year-old bartender was riding northbound on Frankford Avenue, one of Philadelphia’s major thoroughfares, around 11:30 pm on 20 November. A driver traveling southbound made a left turn on East Hagert Street and collided with Jason, who died from his injuries last weekend.

The driver remained at the scene and is cooperating with the investigation

Jason was, apparently, extremely popular not only with patrons where he worked, but also in the local music and arts scenes.  Certainly, many people will miss him, but perhaps none more than his brother Dan. He is pleading with the city for more bike lanes—there is none on Frankford—and for cyclists to be “proactive.”

The Bicycle Coalition of Philadelphia is urging anyone who knows, or has lost, someone who was involved in a crash to reach out to Families For Safe Streets Greater Philadelphia by emailing nicole@bicyclecoalition.org.

And Standard Tap has a GoFundMe page for Jason Lohr and his family.

Learning Their ABCDEs

 Those of us who attended school in countries that use the Roman alphabet (or variations of it) began our education by “learning our ABC’s.”

Well, some young people in central Kansas are continuing their education by learning the ABCDE’s.

Oh, and their lessons will come on Sunday. But they won’t be part of “Sunday School” because, for one thing, they have nothing to do with religion and, for another, they’re being conducted at the Barton County Fairgrounds.

The bike repair workshops will run from 1 to 3 pm and are open to anyone in grades 4 to 12.

Hosting this event are the Golden Belt Badgers. If that sounds like a really cool name for a school mountain bike team, well, that’s exactly what it is.  The Badgers are sanctioned by the National Interscholastic Cycling Association.

Even if none of the kids go on to become professional mechanics or racers—or employed in any way by the cycling industry—I can’t help but to think that learning the ABCDEs will make them more confident riders. I know it had that effect on me.

By the way, the ABCDEs are:

Air (tires & pressure)

Brakes

Chain

Derailleur 

Everything else.

Tell Us More

 When I wrote for a newspaper, I occasionally covered what my editor called “cops and robbers” stories.

One such tale involved someone who thought he could avail himself to some, shall we say, after-hours discounts.  As in “take one, get one free.”

Absent a store security video (not so unusual in those days), the investigating officers had to rely on eyewitnesses accounts—which, as any criminologist will tell you today, aren’t very reliable.  One such account described the suspect as a “White, possibly light-skinned Black or Hispanic” of “about average” height and build, wearing “jeans, a T-shirt and sneakers.

I looked at one of the officers. He started to laugh. So did I. “How many dudes fit that description?” I wondered.

“Exactly!” he replied.

I though about that when I saw this announcement in the Skagit Valley (WA) Herald:

A Schwinn bicycle with a rear rack? I’ve had a couple of those. But other than bearing the same brand and a rear rack, they had almost nothing else in common. 

Bicycles have been made and sold with the Schwinn name for 130 years, and have included everything from Krates to Heavi Dutis and Phantoms to Paramounts. Oh, and they’ve been made in a vast range of sizes and a wide spectrum of colors.

So, tell us more about that bike you found!

A Record—For Whom?

 According to the latest statistics from New York City’s Development of Transportation, the number of cyclists in my hometown set a record for the fourth straight year.

Some may criticize their methodology:  They counted only the cyclists using the East River crossings, which connect Manhattan with Brooklyn and Queens.  While I wonder what, exactly, can be extrapolated from it, I also understand that those crossings are among the few places where à accurate counts can be made consistently.

Photo by Frank Franklin for the NY Daily News

From my observations, however, such a methodology skews the findings and conclusions drawn.  Cyclists using those East River crossings tend to be commuters—usually, going to Manhattan—and younger than other cyclists.  I think the DOT’s way of counting also misses riders who commute within their own borough or, say, from Queens to Brooklyn, and misses the Bronx entirely.

One interesting finding that squares with my observations is that even after the new bike lane opened on the Brooklyn Bridge, the Williamsburg Bridge is still the preferred East River crossing. It’s easy to see why.  For one thing, many of the young commuting cyclists I’ve mentioned live and/or work in the neighborhoods on either side of the bridge.  Also, at least in my experience, it offers easier access than the other bridges, and the Manhattan entrance is at the end of a protected bike lane along Delancey Street. 

Oh, and if you’re a tourist (or simply not a commuter or regular NYC cyclist), I’ll let you in on a secret:  the Williamsburg offers the best views—including those of the Brooklyn Bridge!

My Future?

 Is this my future?

Four Days: Am I Slipping?

Ernest Hemingway, never one to doubt his talent, nonetheless peeved—sarcastically, of course—that he “must be slipping” because four whole days had gone by without someone anthologizing his short story, “The Snows of Kilimanjaro.”

Like many of you, I first encountered his writing when I was in high school. Since then, I’ve read, I believe, everything he wrote—what was published, anyway. I have gone through “phases” of him:  He’s been my favorite writer, I’ve utterly detested him and everything in between. These days, I appreciate some of his work—including “Kilimanjaro” and “The Sun Also Rises”—and feel “meh” about other stuff, such as “Old Man and the Sea” and most of his posthumously-published writings. Somehow I think that’s a healthy attitude to have about almost any “major” or “important” writer.

(I am convinced that more people lie about having read “Moby Dick” than any other novel and bluff their way through dinner-party discussions by paraphrasing “Old Man.”)

Anyway, I mention that possibly-apocryphal comment from Hemingway because of the “four days.” That’s how long it’s been since I’ve been on one of my bicycles. I haven’t even commuted or run errands, let alone ridden for fun or fitness.

No, I haven’t crashed. (Keeps fingers crossed.) Wednesday evening, I felt unusually tired after pedaling home from work. “Maybe I’m getting old after all,” I thought.

That was one time denial about aging might have done me some good. After entering my apartment, the next thing I remember is waking up Thursday, my head pulsing with pain as I coughed.  Since then, I’ve been ejecting gunk that makes me wonder whether the Environmental Protection Agency will declare my respiratory system a toxic site.

A couple of my neighbors claim that riding my bike is “all” I do. I can understand their perception: They probably haven’t seen me enter or leave the building without my bike. So, after four days without riding, will my reputation as a perpetual cyclist “slip?@

The Real Battle

 Last week I wrote about the passage of Bill 212 in Ontario, Canada.  Among other things, it authorizes that province’s government the authority to order Toronto—its largest city and capital—to remove bike lanes and to block the metropolis from installing a new bike lane if it results in the loss of a traffic or parking lane.

Interestingly, Philadelphia has gone in an almost-opposite direction.  Yesterday Mayor Cherelle Parker signed a bill that prohibits drivers from stopping, standing or parking in bike lanes—and increases fines for those who break the law.

Reactions to both events has been predictable and echoes the ways in which cyclists (and pedestrians) have been pitted against drivers. The debate, fueled at least in part by misconceptions, can also be seen on the editorial pages of the Washington Post.  The first salvo of the latest fight came from Mark Fisher’s article, “The truth about bike lanes:  They’re not about the bikes.” Yesterday the newspaper published reactions from anti-bike lane (and, in some cases, anti-cyclist) motorists. It has announced its intention to devote a page to pro-bike lane arguments.

Among the misconceptions expressed in the editorials, perhaps the most egregious is this:  We are getting our lanes for free.

Some years ago, I found myself arguing about that with a driver whom I cursed out after he cut me off.  I became his emotional punching bag because, at that moment, I was the embodiment of all cyclists, just as any given Black person can become a proxy for an entire race.

I didn’t raise my voice or lose my temper. Instead, when he shouted the “free ride” canard, I pointed out that I paid for that street and its parking spaces just as he had:  Here in New York, as in most places, street and road construction and maintenance is paid from the general pool of taxes. He was not, as he believed, paying for something I wasn’t. In fact, I said, the only tax he pays that I don’t is on gasoline.

He actually calmed down. I probably could’ve mentioned other ways his and other ways his and other motorists’ driving is subsidized—including our foreign policy—but I left him while we were at least civil toward each other.

Some would call it a “win.” In today’s political climate, it would be a step forward. On the other hand, to amend Mr. Fisher’s thesis, the debate about bike lanes isn’t really about the lanes.  I believe it is, rather, a proxy for the culture wars, which in turn are about economics: Will they serve the interests of those who have brought the planet (whether through their financial, political, cultural or ostensibly-religious activities) to its current crisis—and their often-unwitting pawns? Or will we leave those coming after us a world in which they can live, let alone thrive?

A Reward

 Yesterday, I took a bit of a detour during my ride home from work.  I was rewarded with this spectacle from the top of Claremont Park, about five kilometers from my apartment:

It definitely made my day!

What If He Took Your Bike?

 How would you feel if a police officer took your bicycle?

Now, imagine that happening to you as a small child.

A kid in Lone Tree, Colorado had such an experience over the weekend. 

So why did Officer Jacob Tarr take a young one’s wheels?

According to the Department, a felony suspect was trying to flee. He hopped a couple of fences before stealing a motor scooter. Officer Tarr wasn’t anywhere near his squad car and knew he couldn’t catch the suspect on foot. 

So he commandeered a small bike—complete with neon-green high-rise handlebars—and pedaled away. A few minutes later, the suspect was caught. “The suspect might’ve had a scooter, but Officer Tarr had determination, (sic) and a kid’s bike,” according to the Department’s Facebook post.

I have two questions: Did the kid get their (no gender identity was mentioned) bike back? And how did Officer Tarr, or someone else, explain why the bike was taken.  How do you define a “worthy cause” for a child?

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=

Not Of The Same Species

 On Tuesday, I expressed the first iota of sympathy I’ve felt in a long time for Lance Armstrong.  After all, I can empathize with anyone who’s had bikes stolen.

But it might be the last time I, or very many other people, express compassion for him. He is not the first, and probably won’t be the last, cheater to ride a bike. However, few, if any have done more to disgrace cycling.

On the other hand, a cheetah on a bike? That would be a first. And it certainly wouldn’t  soil the reputation of the sport as the one whose seven Tour de France victories were vacated.