Would Agnès Varda Approve?

 Yesterday I rode LaVande, my King of Mercia, against 20-35 KPH (12.5- 22.5 MPH) headwinds,, to Point Lookout. My reward: I coasted along the coast to Coney Island and its culinary delights .

Cycling Through Their Midlives

 In spite of what I’m told by my neighbors in the senior apartment complex where I live—and, at times, my body—I am in, ahem, midlife.

I don’t believe I’m in denial. (Does anybody ever believe they are?) I do, however, fear that one day I may not be able to continue cycling —at least, not in the way I always have. I’ve been reminded, by a few peoples, of octogenarian (I’m not there yet!) Joe Biden falling off his bike. Did those people secretly vote for the Fake Tan Fūhrer?

If the day ever comes when I can’t balance my trusty Mercians, I hope I still can keep on pedaling in some fashion. Matthew Stepeniak of Hudson, Wisconsin gives me hope. He got a side-by-side tandem so his 92-year-old mother Nancy, for whom he is the caregiver, could ride with him.

Nancy Stepaniak on the side-by-side tandem she rides with her son Matthew, who provided this photo to Wisconsin Public Radio.

He recalls that the first time they rode together, they didn’t get very far because they were stopped so many times by curious people. He then knew that he was onto something special, which led him to co-found Limitless Cycling, a nonprofit that provides adaptive bicycles and equipment for people of all abilities to enjoy the outdoors. It’s now a Wisconsin chapter of Cycling Without Age.

“I am just a boy who wanted to give his mother a bicycle,” he recalls. “And things just got out of control in the most beautiful way.”

Cycling Without Age began in 2012, when Ole Kassow of Denmark acquired a three-wheeled pedal-powered “trishaw” and began giving rides to local senior citizens. From a one-man operation, CWA became an international organization; the first US chapter opened four years later in Wisconsin—in Oshkosh, to be exact.

The organization is still young. And folks like Kassow and Stepaniak are keeping people cycling—and in midlife.

It Hasn't Been Easy

 It’s been nearly a week since I last posted.  I haven't felt well, physically or emotionally.  The latter is, at least in part, an effect of not riding much; the former is one reason why I haven't.

Even when the sky is bright and sunny, clouds seem to envelop everything.  The political and social climate contributes to the gloom:  Even though most of the people I encounter regularly treat me well, there just doesn't seem to be any escape from the hate and manufactured anger that fills the air.  Perhaps I'm noticing it more because of the time I spent in Japan, where it never seemed that bumping into a stranger might result in violence. 

Charlie Kirk's murder certainly didn't help to bring down the metaphorical temperature.  I know I'm running the risk of threats, whether on this blog or anywhere, simply for mentioning his name.  And as a transgender woman, I worry that I, because of my identity, will be seen as part of some problem or another that led to his assassination, simply because one--just one, mind you--of the hundreds of mass shootings this country has borne during the past few years was committed by someone born male who identifies as female. (Thank Faux News' Jesse Watters for claiming there was a "pattern" of trans people committing violence.)  I think now of Sam, my neighbor and sometime riding buddy, and his partner:  Because they are Black, people blame, shun and gossip about them because of something or another done by another Black person.

And then there is the hate, or simply disdain, shown to cyclists.  I can't recall another time when bike lanes, or even the line between parked cars and traffic, or between traffic lanes, was so often deliberately obstructed by debris, abandoned Lime eBikes or scooters, or by folks who saw me or other cyclists coming and decided to step into the lane and chat, embrace or, worse, lead their young children.  

Other cyclists, especially the young, aren't immune to not being mindful of other cyclists.  While crossing the Queens span of the RFK Bridge on Friday, an eBiker who was taking a selfie as he rode almost knocked me over; a couple of minutes later, I came as close as I have in ages to a fight when I almost became part of the guardrail when a cyclist coming from the opposite direction zoomed into a narrow turn.  When I yelled at him, the young punk claimed, "I'm a professional.  You don't know how to ride."

In other words, he--like the guy taking a selfie--thought that it was his bikeway and I happened to be on it.  When the pandemic struck, it seemed that people were becoming more mindful because, well, you and they survived. There was that same sense in the days after 9/11, the anniversary of which came last week.  But over time, that sense of community died:  It turned into icy disdain a couple of years after 9/11, and now pandemic empathy has turned into rage at everybody and everything.

My mood wasn't helped on Friday when, during the ride, I paid a "for old time's sake" visit to Tony's Bicycle Shop in Astoria.  Its founder died a few years ago; his son is raising his kids, so the head mechanic is now running the place.  He pointed to a wall:

"Look at this.  It's not what it used to be:"

Gianna Aguilar took the above photo about three years ago.   "We're not filling that wall again," Jose said.   "We can't get stuff or it costs twice as much as it used to," he explained.  "And there's no business--look!"

As if he were reading my mind, he continued, "Lots of stores are going out of business.  We might, too."