In A Fog

 London? San Francisco?

Would you believe Bedford Park, Bronx?

Is This Any Way To Teach A Lesson?

 “Caution” tape blocks off a section of a parking garage. Kids on bikes take it down.

It’s annoying, to be sure. But kids do things like that all the time. So how, if at all, should those kids be disciplined?

I don’t think even a parent who’s a martinet would approve of how Melvin Anthony Kennedy handled the situation last week.

The California mall security guard shouted at the youngsters. Then he pursued them in the mall’s security vehicle.

He struck one of the children—deliberately, according to San Rafael police—and drove away.

Later, he returned to the scene and turned himself in to police. He’s faces charges of assault with a deadly weapon and child abuse.

All because some kids saw that two-story parking garage as a slalom course and couldn’t see why the area was cordoned off.

The youth he struck was treated for non-life-threatening injuries.

How Would You Celebrate?

 Yesterday’s military parade in Washington DC was a birthday bash for the Fake Tan Fūhrer, I mean, celebration of the US Army’s 250th anniversary.

I’ve marched in a few parades but I am not a fan of them in general. If I were to have one, however, it might look something like this:

Oops!

 A bicycle company rolls out a prototype of a new bike. Someone wins a race on it. The Union Cycliste Internationale bans it.

All right, that’s not the exact sequence of events. But it’s close, and the reality is as absurd as I’ve made it seem.

Jake Stewart pedaled Factor’s prototype aerobike to victory in the Criterium du Dauphine, a multi-day stage road race in France. At or around that moment—no-one seems to agree on the timing—the UCI issued a new set of rules that includes regulations on frame dimensions, in particular rear stay and front fork width.

Image Credit:  Will Jones, Cycling News

While none of the journalists covering the race could get close enough to the bike to measure it, almost all agreed that it’s at or beyond the limits, which will bind road bikes starting the first of next year and track bikes one year later.

Focus, perhaps not surprisingly, does not want to release details about, or grant access to, the bike. I can just imagine the reaction of the company’s designers, engineers and marketing folks if the UCI bans the machines, as I don’t think enough everyday cyclists, no matter how wealthy, would be in the market for it for the company to continue producing it.

Image credit: SW Pix

But if the timing is anything I described at the beginning of this post, I can imagine the folks at UCI exclaiming, “Oh merde!” when Jake mounted the podium—and not only because Stewart is British.

Ride Into a Changing Season

 Yesterday I pedaled to Point Lookout via the Rockaways. This is an interesting time of year for such a ride: it’s almost or actually summer, depending on whom you ask, but the temperature difference between the “mainland” and beach areas still is, or at least feels, as pronounced as it is early in the Spring.  According to some reports, temperatures reached 85-88F (29-31C) around my apartment and in other central areas of New York City. But the lifeguard stations along the Rockaways Boardwalk indicated 72F (22C). It certainly felt that way, with wind blowing from 59F (14C) water.

I didn’t need to know the numbers, however, to explain something I saw: Many people walking or riding the Boardwalk but hardly anybody swimming. And those statistics couldn’t have explained the differences, however subtle, I noticed in the light and color of the sky and water.

The Power of Loving

 Today I am going to, once again, invoke my Howard Cosell Rule. That is to say, this post won’t directly relate to cycling.

Nearly a decade ago, the film Loving came out. I exhorted my students to see it; some did. When we discussed it, I mentioned that the story on which it was based happened during my lifetime, one student exclaimed, “And you’re not so old!”

I was, and am, in midlife. Mildred Jeter and Richard Loving married in Washington DC in 1958, the year I was born. So why were they wed in the nation’s capital? Well, immediately to the south, in their home state of Virginia (as in other Southern states) their union was illegal: She was Black and he was White.

A few months into their marriage, cops broke down their door while they were in bed and hauled them off to the station house. The one-year sentence imposed on then was suspended for 25 years on the condition they leave the state. Which they did, but they missed their country home, families and friends. Their homesickness, and other difficulties, motivated Mildred to write to Attorney General Robert F. Kennedy (What happened to his kid?) who referred them to the American Civil Liberties Union.

The ACLU litigated their case all the way to the Supreme Court. On this date in 1967, it issued the ruling that banned all laws against interracial marriage in the US.

The Lovings were not political people and never spoke of their experience—except for one occasion, when Mildred expressed hope that Loving vs Virginia would lead to all people—she specifically mentioned LGBT people—could marry whomever they love.

The Lovings stayed together till death did them apart: Richard, aged 41 in 1975, struck by a drunk driver; Mildred at 68 in 2008 from pneumonia. But their story is a testament to, if not the power of love, then of the lovings.

Up (The Hill) In Smoke

 I am helping “Sam” find a “starter” bike for his significant other. We’ve looked at some new low-end bikes that would appeal to her mainly for their colors. I understand how she feels: I want my bikes to be beautiful as well as functional. But, since I’ve built up a ‘90’s Trek road bike for him, he understands that a good old bike is better than a junky new one. Perhaps he can convince her of the same.

We have therefore been looking at websites where used bikes are posted—including, of course, Craigslist. Where else would we find something like this?

You’ve probably seen that famous photo of Tour de France riders sharing a smoke about 100 years ago. These days I rarely, if ever, see a rider lighting up (tobacco, anyway). But when I first became a dedicated cyclist, about half a century ago (!) cyclists who stopped for the “pause that refreshes” were, while far from the majority, were not so unusual. Some—especially older riders (What am I saying? They were about the same age as I am now!) still believed that puffing on cigarettes “opens your lungs.” 

Then there was a fellow I met not long after I moved back to New York in 1983. He worked part-time in the store American Youth Hostels  operated on Spring Street and looked like nobody’s idea of a cyclist. But he had surprisingly good technique and pretty good endurance. He also was a decent hill-climber, which he attributed to stopping for one of his Pall Malls before beginning his ascent. Ironically, he wasn’t one of the “old” guys though he was about a decade older than me. (I was in my mid-20s. Do the math if you like—I am still in midlife!) So I don’t know why, about two decades after the original Surgeon General’s Warning, still believed that filling his lungs with nicotine was beneficial, or at least not harmful.

I am sure he would appreciate what Sam and I found on Craigslist—if he is indeed still cycling and smoking—or still alive. (I’ve tried looking him up but about 200,000 American men around his age have the same name!) Perhaps his significant other would give it to him for his birthday or something.

Fleeing And Avoiding

 If you’ve written for a newspaper, magazine or any other publication—whether in print or online—you have had this experience: You covered an event or researched a topic. You verified your sources and took care to be fair and balanced. Oh, and you took care not to do violence to the Englsh language (or whatsoever language you write).

Then someone tacks on a headline that is silly, confusing or clumsy—or has little or no discernible relation to your article. 

At nearly all publications, articles and their headlines are written by different people—who may never meet each other. I suspect that as often as not, the headline writers are working with a one- or two-sentence summary of your 750-word article.

I thought about the frustration I felt upon seeing incongruous, incompetent or simply inane headlines on the world-changing (mmm hmm) exposés I penned when I saw this:

Drug dealer avoids jail despite fleeing on bicycle from pursuing police.

So what was the wayward wordsmith trying to say?  To me, “flee” implies a successful escape: For example, my ex’s family fled the Castro regime. I would therefore think that if Bradley Axford managed to flee police in Warrington (Northwich, UK), he wouldn’t have been concerned with jail time.  Or, conversely, he would be in jail if he hadn’t fled. 

Or would his situation have been different had he fled, or tried to flee, by any means other than the black bicycle he rode through a red light. (I have to admit I liked seeing that detail in the article, even if it was meant to sway readers’ opinions against him.)

Oh well. I guess I shouldn’t be too hard on whoever crafted that headline.  After all, that person probably was underinformed or underpaid, or both.

Her Way?

 Is she trying to coast on a fixed-gear bike?

A Tragedy Leads To Action, But More Needs To Be Done

 Nine years ago today, the Kalamazoo, Michigan area bore one of the most horrific incidents of a motorist running down cyclists I’ve ever heard about.

Nine members of a local riding group who called themselves “The Chain Gang”—all experienced cyclists over the age of 40–were out for a late-day ride on Westnedge Avenue in nearby Cooper Township. Police received a call about a blue Chevy pickup truck being driven erratically. About five minutes later, that truck plowed into the cyclists. Four would survive, albeit with significant or serious injuries. Debbie Bradley, Melissa Fevig Hughes, Tony Nelson, Larry Paulik and Suzanne Sippel did not.

The driver, Charles Pickett Jr., was—perhaps not surprisingly—intoxicated. In 2018, he was found guilty of 14 felony charges, including second degree murder. He, at the age of 50, was sentenced to 40 to 75 years in prison and won’t be eligible for parole until he’s 90.

Since then, Kalamazoo has taken steps to become more “bike friendly” and safer. While I laud their efforts, I think more needs to be done, there and elsewhere, to educate drivers and create deterrents against, and stiffer penalties for, endangering or killing cyclists and pedestrians.

Donuts and D-Day

 Today is National Donut Day here in the US.

I wonder whether it was someone’s idea of a marketing gimmick or sick joke—which are more or less the same thing—to merge a day devoted to sugar consumption with one the anniversary of a pivotal campaign in a war that consumed so many lives.

I’ll admit that I am not so ideologically or dietetically pure that I didn’t partake of a promotion:  I bought a cup of coffee—enough to entitle me to a freebie—and picked one of the most decadent-looking sugarbombs in the display case at the Fordham Plaza Dunkin’ Donuts: a chocolate cake ring with chocolate icing and pink stripes.

Now, did those (mostly) young American, Australian,  British, Canadian, Czech, Dutch, French, Greek, Norwegian, Polish, South African, Southern Rhodesian and New Zealand fighters risk—and in some cases lose—their lives so we can enjoy sweet baked goods? Of course not. But I did think about them because I think about them, and other like them, whenever war is commemorated. 

And I think about them precisely because I am (mostly) a pacifist. I believe, as Kurt Vonnegut (himself a WW II veteran) said, that Hitler was “pure evil” and had to be stopped.  But the conditions that fueled his rise to power—the devestation wrought by “the war to end wars” could have been avoided had the “haves” not wanted more from the “have nots.”

Am I the only one who thinks about stuff like this while riding? Or was it the sugar rush I got from that free donut which may have been responsible for the sprint I pedaled along the Bronx River Greenway.

How Mucb Good Will It Do?

New York City Mayor Eric Adams has just announced that he plans to implement a 15 MPH (25 KPH) speed limit for eBikes.

According to Citibike General Manager Patrick Knoth, the Adams administration hadn’t contacted the bike share program about the proposal. While eBikes comprise 37.5 percent of Citibike’s fleet, they constitute 65 percent of the trips taken.

Call me cynical, but I have to wonder how much a speed limit will affect Citibike rentals. For one thing, the shared eBikes have a top speed of 18 MPH (30 KPH), two MPH slower than the current speed limit. For another, if my own observations are indicative of conditions on the the street, most of the scofflaw eBikers aren’t on Citibikes.

Photo by Seth Wenig for AP

Perhaps more to the point, enforcement of the existing speed limit—or the prohibition of eBikes on most city bike lanes is non-existent. I, and other cyclists, have been “buzzed “ by riders—many of them delivery workers—on eBikes. And I have seen riders, mostly young, riding two-wheeled machines with no pedal assist—as one commenter calls them, “electric motorcycles.” I don’t think a speed limit—at least one without enforcement—will change the behavior of those at whom the proposed law is aimed.

Another Winner Rides The Victory Loop

Yesterday was World Bicycle Day.  I had some business to take care of but I wheeled out Tosca, my Mercian fixed gear bike, for a glorious afternoon ride.

People in my building see me as if I’m an Olympic racer because, as a few have remarked, “You’re always on your bike!” I do ride more than any of them, and most people they know, but I am (and was) hardly a world-class athlete.

But yesterday a world-class athlete took a break from “business” for a bike ride. And he did it in the setting for some of cycling’s most iconic moments.

Novak Djokovic is in Paris for the French Open. Less than 24 hours before he was scheduled for a second-round match, he was pedaling around l’Arc de Triomphe, clearly enjoying himself. Someone called out, “I love you!”  “I love you, too,” he responded.

He was on a joyride, taking in the sights. But, in a way, it made perfect sense that he took his turn around l’Arc:  Just as he has achieved some of his greatest victories in Paris (at Roland Garros stadium, specifically), so did Bernard Hinault, Greg Le Mond and other legends of cycling who culminated their Tour de France wins in one of the City of Light’s most iconic locations.

Quinceañera

 So why, you may be wondering, is this post titled “Quinceañera?”

If you are familiar with Latin American cultures, you have heard of “Quinceañera”—or, perhaps, been part of one. Basically, it’s a “coming of age” party for a girl who’s turned fifteen years old.  I guess you could say it’s a Hispanic version of “Sweet Sixteen,” one year earlier.

Of course, I am not writing this post because I’ve turned fifteen. When I was that age, it never would have occurred to me that I was in midlife, or any other particular stage of life.  I probably was as self-absorbed as (or possibly even more self-absorbed than) other kids of that same age.  Now I realize that it, like much about adolescence that is denigrated (“oh, that’s so adolescent!”) is actually normal: Kids are trying to figure out a lot of things as their bodies are changing in ways for which they’re unprepared. In my case, my solipsism had to do with those things and, ironically, something I was trying to avoid—and wouldn’t make any attempt to resolve until decades later, when I realized that I was in midlife but would soon be at the end if I didn’t resolve it.

The resolution of that conflict became part of the basis of a blog I started two years before this one:  Transwoman Times. Writing it led me to start Midlife Cycling: Someone who read  TT noticed that some of my posts were about cycling and suggested that I start a blog specifically about cycling.

So, on this date in 2010–fifteen years ago—I wrote the first of 4754 posts I’ve  written on this blog. Back then, I had no idea of how long I would keep up this blog: Would I run out of things to say? Do I have undiagnosed ADHD that would distract me from this and cause me to start another blog, or some other project? Or would I stop “fooling myself,” as some might say, with the notion that I’m in the middle of my life as long as I don’t know when I’m going to die and finally admit that I’m old?

The answer to that last question is an emphatic “NO!” As long as I can ride, I am not “too old” for, well, anything—including a Quinceañera, if only for this blog.

So, I thank all of you who have been reading—and following me as I cycle through my midlife and this blog’s Quinceañera!

Alternative Energy Source?

 Is this what they mean by “wind power?”