Imagine There's A White Bicycle

In a terrible irony, John Lennon was murdered the day after Pearl Harbor Day.

That was 41 years ago today.  I don't think it's hyperbolic to say that it shook some of us in the way that the "surprise" attack roused Americans and the world. 

In another terrible irony, the man responsible for "Imagine" and other songs calling for peace and unity was cut down by a lone gunman who claimed to be inspired by a fictional character who probably would have listened to Lennon's (and the Beatles') music and probably wouldn't have committed violence simply because he turned all of his anger inward.

(Of course, Lennon's murder points up to one of the ways in which the US gets things backwards.  In other countries, everyone has access to health care--which includes mental health services-- but very few people who aren't police officers or military personnel have access to firearms.)

Anyway, apart from his music and being married to the woman blamed for the breakup of the Beatles (I think she was a catalyst, not a cause), he and she were known for their "bed-ins" for peace.  At their second, in Amsterdam, they were given a white bike that was part of the Provo plan. 

 

Think of Provo as a kind of Dutch proto-Occupy Wall Street:  It began as a counter-culture movement during the mid-1960s.  It had a cultural wing,  which staged "happenings" and an activist wing that provoked (hence the name) the police through non-violent means. 

There was also a political faction that actually won a seat on Amsterdam's city council and had a number of goals to make their city and country more liveable and what we would now call "green." Those goals included the closing of central Amsterdam to motorized traffic.  That, of course, is probably Provo's most recognizable and lasting legacy:  One could say that the "White Bicycle" plan set the Dutch capital on its path to becoming the cycling haven it is today.

That, I believe, is something of which John Lennon would have approved.

It Wasn’t His Fault

 When I was a Manhattan bike messenger, I sluiced through taxis, delivery trucks, buses and pedestrians with craned necks. 

But I had nothing on this courier:

The photo is fabricated, but it symbolizes a real story:  A Japanese-American bicycle messenger pedaled through the attack on Pearl Harbor with a message for General Walter Short, who was in charge of defending it.

The message?  A warning of an attack.

Japan had intended to issue a declaration of war half an hour before the attack.  The US Army had already decrypted the message the evening before, and had dispatched alerts to all Pacific-area commands. But communication problems delayed receipt of the warning in Honolulu.

Meanwhile, bureaucrats in the Japanese embassy were slow in decoding, typing and delivering the formal message to Secretary of State Cordell Hull.

The result is, of course, the “surprise “ attack.  And the bike messenger, who was sent out some time after 7:30 local time, when the warning arrived, was caught in the rain of bombs and bullets at 7:55 am.  Two hours later, he arrived, with the message.

Richard Masoner wryly wonders whether that messenger received a tip for his troubles. He certainly deserved it:  I got tips for much less!

P.S. Today is the 80th anniversary of the Pearl Harbor attack. There are very few remaining survivors. This may well be their last opportunity to collectively commemorate the event.

(Photo from Richard Masoner’s blog, Cyclelicious.)

What's The Wright Thing To Do?

 Two months ago, I wrote about a Dayton, Ohio building that once housed a bicycle shop.  Over decades, after the bicycle boom that straddled the 19th and 20th Centuries faded, the building came to serve other purposes, including the headquarters of an ice cream company.  

Now that building is in severe disrepair and, according to one city official, "could fall down at any moment." Moreover, the city's Director of Planning says that if the owners of the bicycle shop come back, "they would not recognize the building," as a new façade was added when the ice cream company moved in and other changes were made.

 Others argue, though, that the city--which has owned the building since 1998--allowed it to deteriorate and therefore should be responsible for repairing it and making it the historic and cultural landmark they believe it should be.

Last Tuesday, the city's zoning appeals board voted to approve the city's request to demolish it. Part of the rationale for the vote is that it's all but impossible to return the building to what it was. Even if such a thing is possible, the pro-demolition people say, the city can't afford it:  De-industrialization and the 2008 financial crisis ravaged the city in ways from which it still has not recovered.

I have never been to Dayton, but from what I've read and heard, it suffered a similar fate to cities like Camden, New Jersey (where I have been) after jobs were lost and people moved to the suburbs.  But, interestingly, Dayton also played a role in two significant historical events.  One of them involved the owners of the bike shop; the other led to the creation of a nation.

In 1995, the parties in a conflict involving the former Yugoslavia negotiated a peace accord that resulted in the founding of Bosnia-Herzegovina. (Say that three times fast!)  The treaty was signed in an Air Force base just outside the city, but the agreement is known by the name of this city.  And the bike shop owners became two of the most famous people in the history of the world.

The settlement I've mentioned is known today as the Dayton Accord.  So, if you ever go to B-H, remember that it's there because of a city in Ohio.  And those bike shop owners...perhaps you've heard of the Wright Brothers.

Yes, the building I mentioned was home to their business.  Almost everyone agrees that they learned the principles (including aerodynamics, via experimentation with riding positions) of creating a vehicle designed for flight from building, assembling and riding bicycles.

Photo by Ty Greenlees for the Dayton Daily News 

Now, I must say that as a cyclist and someone who cares about history, my heart is in the preservationists' camp, even though I understand the pro-demolitionists' arguments. As I am not a structural engineer and have never been to the building site, I am in no position to say whether the edifice can be saved.  I would aver, however,  that struggling cities have used their cultural and historic heritage as keys that opened the door to revitalization.  For two decades or so after World War II, even "the Hub"--Boston--was on the ropes.  Of course, it had many things going for it:  an attractive location, world-class universities, hospitals and museums and diversity in its population, in addition to an historic and cultural heritage few other American cities can rival.  The same can be said for Pittsburgh, which later underwent a renaissance similar to Boston's. 

I realize that Dayton is a smaller city in a different part of the nation, but I should think that embracing its historic and cultural heritage couldn't hurt. I mean, how many other places can claim to be "the birthplace of aviation?"  The Wright Brothers might not recognize the building that housed their bicycle shop, but I think the world recognizes their contribution--which was made possible by their work with bicycles.

What Would The Wright Brothers Have Done?

Photo by Cornelius Frolik

Two New York City boroughs, the Bronx and Queens, had similar histories and patterns of development, at least until the 1970s.  During that decade, fires ravaged parts of the Bronx, and others areas of the borough were gutted by de-industrialization and disinvestment, both by the city and private entities.  Still, the Bronx has more buildings and districts considered historically significant—some with landmark designation—than Queens has.  In fact, there are more Art Deco buildings in the Bronx than anywhere else in the United States except Miami.

One  reason why the Bronx has more historically significant buildings is, ironically, that the devastation of the 1970s discouraged developers from coming into the Bronx—and, as they are wont to do, tear buildings down.  On the other hand, during that time, Queens had a Borough President—Donald Manes—who never met a developer he didn’t like and had absolutely no interest in historic preservation.

I mention all of this because whenever a building is suggested for preservation, there is a debate about what, exactly, makes a structure historically significant and to what lengths should a city, county or other entity go to preserve it.

Specifically, both questions are being debated about 1005 West Third Street in Dayton, Ohio.  The city government wants to tear down the building because its internal structures have deteriorated after decades of disuse and neglect.  “It could collapse tonight, it could stand for another three years—nobody knows,” says Don Zimmer, Dayton’s nuisance abatement program supervisor.  

The Dayton Landmarks Commission has, however, denied the city’s request to tear it down.  They, along with Preservation Dayton, argue that at least  the building’s exterior could be preserved, which might entice a would-be investor.

So why are they debating about this particular building?  It’s not because the edifice was home to Gem City Ice Cream Co., as significant as that might be to some people in the area.  Rather, it has to do with GCICC’s predecessor:  a bike shop.

Specifically, it was home to the Wright Brothers’ first bicycle shop.  Yes, those Wright Brothers—who based much of their first successful aircraft’s design on their bicycles.

One wonders what they would do about the building.

A Memorial On The Labor Day Tour

Every year from 1940 until 1942 and 1947 until 2019, the Tour of Sommerville--"the Kentucky Derby of cycling"--was held on Memorial Day.  That day, on the fourth Monday of May, is called "the unofficial beginning of Summer in the United States.

For many, today--Labor Day--is the unofficial end of the season.  The following day, most people have returned to work. (Grim but interesting fact:  Mohammed Atta, the "mastermind" of 9/11, chose that date because it fell on the Tuesday following Labor Day, when he figured almost everybody would be on their jobs--and thus provide more potential victims.)  So, I suppose it's appropriate that the Tour of Somerville, after being cancelled altogether last year, was re-scheduled to this date.  

Near the race course stands a monument to Furman Kugler, who won the event's first two editions.  Encased in Plexiglas is a photo of him next to the bike he rode--a Shelby Classic.  Interestingly, it bears more semblance to a track than a criterium bike of its time, with its wooden rims and fixed gear.  According to Tom Avenia, it was de rigeur at the time.  I'd take his word on that:  He rode in several editions of the Tour--on a fixed gear, during the 1950s and early 1960s.

Perhaps more to the point, neither Kugler nor Carl Anderson, who won in 1942, would return when the Tour resumed:  Both lost their lives while fighting in World War II.

Perhaps the monument to Kugler would be more fitting on Memorial Day.  But at least it's there, and the Tour is running again this year.

The First—To Be Recognized

On this date 50 years ago, two baseball teams took to the field.  The game they would play would have little bearing on league standings:  One team held a comfortable lead in its division; the other was fighting to stay out of last place.

Two players,  however, noticed that something was different.  Pittsburgh Pirates’ catcher Manny Sanguillen recalls that his teammate Dave Cash alerted him that something unprecedented was happening.  “We have nine brown players on the field,” Sanguillen, a native of Panama, said to himself.

A quarter-century after Jackie Robinson became the first known* Black player in Major League Baseball, the Pittsburgh Pirates—who would win the World Series that year—fielded an entirely nonwhite lineup against their cross-state rivals, the Philadelphia Phillies.

I am mentioning that milestone on this blog because some have accused cycling of having a “color problem.”  I don’t disagree, though I believe the “problem” is different from what is commonly perceived.

If you look at images of cyclists in advertising and other media, you might come to the conclusion that cycling is “a white thing” or that “Blacks don’t ride.”

Just as African Americans have been playing baseball for as long as the game has existed (and Latin Americans for nearly as long), black and brown (and yellow and red) people have been riding almost since the first bicycles were made.  

Anyone familiar with the history of cycling knows about Major Taylor, the first Black cycling World Champion.  There have been other Black and Brown elite riders in the century since Taylor‘s victory, but they haven’t received the recognition, let alone the money, of white champions—including some who won by, ahem, questionable methods. Their lower visibility causes bike makers and related companies to conclude that people darker than themselves don’t mount.

If you live in any large US city, the kids riding BMX in the park are more than likely not to be White.  So are the folks who deliver portfolios or pizzas—or go to work in stores, warehouses or other places—by bicycle.

Oh, and I’ve seen more than a few groups, formally organized or not, of Black or Hispanic people, riding to train or just for fun. In fact, when I was a regular off-rode rider, I pedaled singletrack and local trails with a “posse” in which I was the only White rider.

The thing is, such riding usually goes unnoticed by those who form the public images of cyclists,  just as great Black and Latin American hitters and pitchers—who were at least the equal of their White counterparts—remained as invisible as most Little Leaguers when they played in the Negro Leagues rather than the self-appointed Major Leagues.

*—I have enormous respect for Jackie Robinson. But it’s entirely possible that he wasn’t the first Black Major League Baseball player: Others, including Babe Ruth himself, were rumored to be Negroes who passed as white.

Bikes And Murals For The Community

Although murals have painted for about 30,000 years (if you count such works as the Lascaux cave paintings), they really weren't a major art form in the United States until the early 20th Century, when the Progressive Era engendered protest against big business and imperialist wars.  They really became a part of American life during the 1930s, when President Franklin D. Roosevelt, as part of his New Deal,  commissioned artists including Diego Rivera who, along with some fellow Mexicans, were sponsored by their president, Albero Obergon as part of a nationalist cultural program during the previous decade.  

It was as if Depression-era America and murals found each other:  the medium was ideal for expressing the hardships of the time as well as elevating workers and other everday people.  (How hard do I work if I'm writing sentences like that?)  In other words, murals are a "people's" art form, which is exactly what the nation and society needed as it was confronting the failures of an economy and culture in which a focus on individualism had run riot.

I admit that I am not an art historian, so what I've presented is a comic-book version, at best, of the history and importance of murals.  But I think it will help to make sense of what I'm about to say next:  Bicycle Recycleries and murals go together like, well, cycling and people.

If murals are the most democratic visual art form, then bicycle recycleries (like my local Recycle-a-Bicycle) are the people's bike spaces.  Not only is it possible to find reasonably-priced reconditioned and rebuilt bikes in them, but most offer bike repair classes and volunteer programs.  Some also offer internships as well as other community services and programs.

For years, Recycle Bicycle operated out of a warehouse on Atlas Street in Harrisburg which, in spite of being Pennsylvania's capital, is one of the state's poorest communities. (It tried to declare bankruptcy ten years ago but a judge blocked it from doing so.)  Its people suffer from the same lack of opportunities and health problems that afflict people in other poverty-stricken areas.  So the need for affordable transportation and recreation is as great as it is in other impoverished urban enclaves.

The mural on that building became part of the organization's identity. So, when the building was sold and Recycle Bicycle was forced to move two years ago, some feared the work of public art would be gone forever.

That is, until longtime volunteer and board member Jennifer Donnelly climbed a ladder into the loft of the warehouse.  There, among tools, she found something familiar:  the stencils used to create a whimsical scene of children and swirling purples and blues.  

Other volunteers pulled panels from the mural and Ralphie Seguinot, the self-taught artist who painted it, recreated it, with some modifications, on the new location.

From The Burg

Donnelly explained that Recycle Bicycle raised half of the funds for the project from community donations.  That is fitting because, she says, having the mural--which became closely identified with Recycle Bicycle--on the new building is important to the organization and its mission of creating a community space.  

That's what bicycle recycleries are, and what murals help to define:  community space.

What If He’d Seen This?

 Yesterday morning, I pedaled along the North Shore.  On my way back, I stopped in Fort Totten.  Like many military bases-turned-recreational areas, it sits on some “mighty fine” real estate.  The site makes sense when you get a glimpse of the panoramic views:  Continental troops could have seen Royal Navy ships approaching from a good distance away.

Were they stationed there yesterday, they would have seen mist.  Would enemy warships have veiled themselves in it—and drawn closer than they might have otherwise?

Yesterday the mist portended something odious, if less sinister:  humid heat.  Very humid and hot, in fact—if less so than much of the West Coast last week.

Of course, being a writer and English teacher, I have to ask: What if Jay Gatsby had gazed across the cove and seen mist instead of a green light lover Daisy’s dock?

Now, I could get all pseudo-intellectual on you and blather about how hopers (Is that a word?) and dreamers, and the desperate, see that faint veridescence on the horizon and not the fog that shrouds it.  Too late! Oh well..

At least I had a nice ride—and picked up some fresh Greek yogurt from Kesso  on my way home.

A Juneteenth Freedom Ride In Bronzeville

Lately, there's been much talk about things returning to "normal" or becoming a "new normal" as pandemic-induced restrictions are eased or lifted.

Some aspects of the "new normal" will be welcome.  One, I hope, will be a ride Jason Easterly and Mike Allan took last year and are repeating this year.

Jason Easterly. Photo by Ariel Uribe, from the Chicago Tribune

Easterly is, among other things, a spin class instructor.  Allan was one of his students.  Last spring, when gyms were ordered to close, Easterly took his classes online.  Allan continued his participation.

In the days after a Minneapolis police officer murdered George Floyd, in the words of Easterly, "we were living in a powder keg." People were "sitting in lockdown, not able to get out" as "our loved ones" were dying.

Allan suggested a bike ride--in person, through Bronzeville, the Chicago neighborhood where he and Easterly live.  They would invite a friends.  A 15-mile route was planned, as was the date:  19 June a.k.a Juneteenth.

They decided to call it the "Freedom Ride," in commemoration on the date in 1865 when Union General Gordon Granger arrived in Galveston to inform enslaved Americans that they were free.  At that time, Texas was the frontier:  There were really no major cities between St. Louis and San Francisco.  The Lone Star State was the last bastion of slavery, as it was the Confederate state farthest from Washington DC.

So the slaves of Texas, the last to be liberated, learned of their freedom some two months after the Civil War ended and two years after Lincoln declared the Emancipation Proclamation.

Apparently, a lot of people in Chicago (and other places) wanted to be liberated from lockdown.  About  200 showed up for that ride.

It will be reprised this Saturday, the 19th.  Riders will meet at noon Wintrust Arena, 200 East Cermak Road, and pedal to Bronzeville and then into downtown.  

Perhaps the “Juneteenth Freedom Ride” will become an annual event—and part of “the new normal.” 

Their Sales Came On Two Wheels

Five years ago, I wrote about "Bicycle Day."

During the first "bicycle boom," bicycle makers debuted their new models on what was then called Presidents' Day. At that time--the last two decades of the 19th Century and the first of the 20th-- the holiday was observed on George Washington's Birthday, 22 February.  Later, Lincoln's Birthday (12 February) would be observed and, finally, during the 1970s, the two fetes would be merged into Presidents' Day, observed on the third Monday in February.

"Bicycle Day" was a big deal in the days before motorcycles and automobiles because it was the first mode of transportation that was potentially faster--and lower-maintenance--than horses or horse-drawn carriages.  The bicycle also remains, to this day, the only amplifier of human energy, meaning that it's the only known device that can take the energy a person would expend to walk or run and turn it into a faster form of forward motion without any other input.

Bill Clinton, riding indoors

Just as the bicycle has been called, with good reason, as the "parent of the automobile and grandparent of the airplane," Bicycle Day can be seen as the forerunner of other retail traditions.  As motorcycles and, later, automobiles became the "main event" of American capitalism, companies debuted their new motorcycle and car models on Washington's Birthday and, later, Presidents' Day--and dealerships held sales and other events to mark these events.  

Some car and motorcycle dealerships continue the custom to this day. More common, however, are the myriad of Presidents' Sales, on everything from lingerie to Legos, in brick-and-mortar stores as well as online retailers.  In some circles, Presidents' Day has come to be known as the "second Black Friday" or "second Cyber Monday," as store owners and website managers stoke their "bottom lines" after the lull that follows the Christmas-season rush.

Ronald Reagan with first wife Jane Wyman, presumably during their Hollywood years.  When was the last time you saw someone smoking a pipe while riding a bike?

Whether or not they are aware of it, those businesspeople are carrying on a tradition brought to them on two wheels, via Bicycle Day.

(Photos are from The Bicycle Story.)

Right At The Cemetery, Nature Takes Over

In some parts of New England, upstate New York and the upper Midwest, nature is slowly reclaiming formerly industrial areas.  That makes sense when you realize that the Industrial Revolution first reached--and left-- the United States in those regions.

An afternoon ride I took on Friday reminded me of that.  I took a right at a cemetery on the Brooklyn-Queens border and followed a new link in the Brooklyn-Queens Greenway to a landscape that wouldn't have looked out of place in an Andrew Wyeth painting.

The Ridgewood Reservoir was built in the middle of the 19th Century, when Brooklyn was still an independent city.  Civic and business leaders believed economic growth had stalled because the Croton Reservoir, which supplied New York City, wasn't adequate, the Bronx River was too difficult to access and there weren't enough natural lakes and ponds on Long Island.  So water was diverted from nearby streams to the reservoir's location, on a butte that served as a lookout during the American Revolution and today offers fine views of cemeteries, the ocean (along the Rockaways) and the Manhattan skyline.  You might think of it as our version of Montmartre, without the cathedral or artists' studios.

The reservoir would see less and less use as a water source and would be decommissioned and drained during the 1980s.  Since then, various stages of forest have grown around the reservoir, and the area around it--Highland Park--has become a spot for in-the-know bird-watchers, hikers, runners and cyclists.  I say "in the know" because it's in an area not visited by tourists (or the sort of people who leave Manhattan only to go to Europe, or the hipsters who leave Williamsburg only to go to their parents' houses on Long Island). 

One day, it might become a full-grown woodland--and, if the Reservoir retains its water, you'll get a glimpse of the old Times Square.  I don't mean TS before Disney turned it into a mall:  I mean what it, and most of New York City, looked like before Europeans took it from the Lenape natives.  As long as the path is still there, I'm sure it will offer a relaxing ride, as it does now.

Riding With The People

Today Martin Luther King Jr. Day is observed in the United States.  If I had Napoleon's prerogative of re-inventing the calendar, there are some holidays I'd do away with. But I'd keep this one.  Perhaps I'd restore it to his actual birthday, 15 January.  But I understand why it was moved to the third Monday in January:  It's easier to keep government offices, schools, banks and the like closed for three consecutive days than it is to close for a day in the middle of the week.  Also, who doesn't like a three-day weekend?

Seriously, though, there aren't many other people more deserving of their own holidays.  He truly was a martyr for a just cause.  But for all of his seriousness of purpose, he seemed to really enjoy himself sometimes.  At least, he looks that way in the photos I've seen of him on a bicycle--and there are more such photos than I ever expected to find.

Martin Luther King Jr rides bicycle with William Wachtel (the son of King's lawyer, Harry Wachtel) on Fire Island, NY, 3 September 1967,  Photo from Hofstra University collection.

I get the sense that riding a bike was, for him, a release from the rigors of touring, speaking and preaching--and the tension from FBI spies and CIA snipers lurking allies who became rivals when, among other things, he announced his opposition to the Vietnam War.

Also, from the photo, and others I've seen, riding a bicycle was a way for King to show that he was one of the common people.  When he was assassinated, in 1968, the dawn of the North American Bike Boom was just starting to flicker.  American adults  were, for the first time in half a century, mounting bikes and taking early-morning or after-work rides--or, in a few cases, riding to work or school.  Bicycles were still ridden mainly by those who were too young--or poor--to drive.  

I can't help but to think that those bike rides were at least one reason why he gave speeches that instructors (including yours truly) have used as models of good writing and effective communication for their students.  As lofty as his rhetoric could be, it reached all kinds of people:  Anyone could understand it.  In the above photo, he's on level with a young boy; when he rode a bicycle, he experienced the places where people lived in a way he wouldn't have if he were in a limousine.  And people saw him eye-to-eye--as, I suspected, he wanted to see them. 

Which, I believe, is a reason why he would call the the devastation wrought by the COVID-19 pandemic--or, more precisely, the President's inept or callous (depending on what you believe) response--as the racial, economic and social injustice that it is. He had an acute moral compass honed by, among other things, his bike rides.

What Day Is This?

Today is the holiday commonly celebrated as "Columbus Day."  Recently, it's also come to be known as "Indigenous Peoples' Day."

As someone of mostly Italian-American heritage, I am conflicted.  I mean, for years I like many others of my background, thought of this day as "our" day, when we celebrated our pride in our heritage. There are parades, parties and lots of eating and drinking.  

I enjoyed those things, even though I knew Columbus didn't "discover" America (people were already living here) and doubted that he was the first person to arrive here after crossing the Atlantic.  Plus, he didn't even get here on purpose.  

Our culture has turned out Michelangelo, Galileo, Leonardo da Vinci, Dante, Verdi, Sophia Loren and Tullio Campagnolo--and we celebrate a guy who got lost?  That never made any sense to me.

Now, calling this "Indigenous Peoples' Day," I can understand. Of course, I have no business being any part of a celebration, as I have no Native American blood in me.  I do, however, have respect and empathy for the way they've endured, so maybe that's something to celebrate.

Those of us who have Italian heritage just need to get another holiday!

So...What will I do today?  Well, after doing some work and taking a ride (if the downpours we're experiencing taper off), I'm going to make--spaghetti or spaghetti squash?  I guess I could make both! 

On Two Wheels To The 19th

The United States became an independent nation in 1776.  I would argue, however, that it took nearly two centuries for it to become anything like democracy, and that this evolution came in stages.

The last of those stages came with the Voting Rights Act in 1965.  Before that, the most important event in this evolution came one hundred years ago yesterday, when the 19th Amendment became part of the US Constitution.  It was written to guarantee women the right to vote.

(Interestingly, a few states, mainly in the western part of the nation, gave women the franchise while they were still territories.)

I mention the 19th because, well, it matters to me and because bicycles figure into it.  Although Susan B. Anthony didn't live to exercise the right she fought for, she did see changes, however gradual, in what was considered proper and sometimes even legal for women.  

As I've mentioned on other posts, she acknowledged the role of two wheels and two pedals in emancipating us:  

Let me tell you what I think of bicycling.  I think it has done more to emancipate women than anything else in the world.  It gives women a feeling of freedom and self-reliance.  I stand and rejoice every time I see a woman ride by on a wheel...the picture of free, untrammeled womanhood.

She beautifully described what kept me cycling during and since my gender transition.  I feel free and happy on my bicycle. Perhaps most important of all, I feel complete autonomy over my body and person.  If that is not a definition of becoming a woman, a full human being--or of feminism--I don't know what is.

It Wasn't Hiroshima, But....

Seventy-five years ago today, American soldiers dropped the world's first nuclear bomb on Hiroshima, Japan.

I will not try to debate whether the bombing, or the one in Nagaski three days later, was necessary or ethical.  The effect of those blasts was, I believe, best summed up two millenia earlier in a Calgacus speech, as recalled by Tacitus:  Ubi solitudenum facient, pacem appelant (They make a wasteland and call it peace.)

I have seen the aftermath of the 9/11 attacks, and of various natural disaster.  I cannot, however, pretend to have ever seen devastation resembling anything wrought by those weapons. 

Even what I saw yesterday pales in comparison.

On the day after a not-quite-hurricane struck this area, I went for a ride in the direction of Connecticut.  Along the Pelham Bay Park trail, I had to detour around downed limbs and other parts of trees.  Still, my ride was going relatively smoothly until I crossed into Westchester County:

Less than a mile north of the city/county line, this tree toppled onto Mount Tom Road in Pelham.  So I backed up a bit and took a right, figuring that the road would take me, if in a more roundabout way, the direction of my ride.

Didn't get very far.

On that road, a couple of guys were sitting in their car.  "Be careful out there," the driver yelled.  He explained that his friend had just been out cycling and encountered broken power lines as well as downed trees.

At his suggestion, I cut through the golf course into a residential area of Pelham Manor.  I knew that I would end up at or near Boston Post Road, a.k.a. US 1, where I could re-orient myself.  At worst, I figured, I could ride US 1 for a bit, as it has a decent shoulder--and, I thought, was less likely to contain obstacles and hazards like the ones I'd encountered and been warned about:

So much for that idea, right?  I turned down another road blocked by a tree.  For a moment, I thought perhaps the storm was some cosmic conspiracy that threw down those trees as a "wall" to keep riff-raff like me out of the upper reaches of Westchester County and Connecticut.

Of course, that thought was no more rational than any comparison between what I was seeing and what the survivors of Hiroshima and Nagasaki carried with them. 

Cycling In A Time Of George Floyd, Breonna Taylor And Others

I suppose that most of us can say we are privileged in some ways but not in others.

If you are reading this blog, you have the privilege of my unparalleled adventures, timeless insights and deathless prose.  All right, I'm kidding.  The privilege you have, though, is the time for, and choice of spending time with me.  You could be doing other things, after all.

On the other hand, even if you love my blog more than anything else in the world, you probably have other things tugging at your sleeve, so to speak.  In short, you don't have all day to read this.  

Also, I suspect that most of you who are reading this are cyclists by choice.  That is a privilege, certainly.  If you are cycling because you have no other choice but your unaided feet, I feel extremely honored by your presence.

I have long had awareness of who has privilege and choice, and to what degree.  But I may not have ever been so cognizant of my own privilege as I was the day took a bike trip into the Cambodian countryside with You Sert, who lives in that milieu.  During that ride, I spent some time with a farmer who is a traditional healer and played with her children, who didn't speak any language I speak but who understood, perhaps better than I ever will, the ways we communicate through motion, through touch and toward the heart.  Also, I went with You Sert to a market, where we picked up the ingredients for a lunch we shared with a family.  And, before the end of that ride, a woman showed me how she weaves her grass roof and led me through weaving a row of it.  (I hope she stayed dry through the rainy season!)

I mention that day because, as rewarding as it was (I've stayed in touch with You Sert as well as other people I met there), at the end of it, I returned to my room in the inn which, although it wasn't the Ritz, was nonetheless palatial--with its air conditioning and cable channels beamed in from France, England and Australia--compared to the conditions I only glimpsed.

That day, as it turned out, was emblematic of my understanding of  being black, or anyone not white, in America.  While riding my bike, I have been stopped and frisked for no discernible reason--other than, perhaps, my gender identity or the fact that I am cycling in a car-centric culture.  One incident in particular was scary:  One of the officers who stopped me was clearly afflicted with "'roid rage."  Still, even then--on a hot day early in my gender transition, when I was riding home from work in the skirt and blouse I wore on the job--I felt at least somewhat certain that I would soon be home and riding my bike the next day.  

I didn't think, then, that I would meet the same fate as George Floyd.  Or Breonna Taylor.  Or Sandra Bland.  Or Tamir Rice.  Or Eric Garner.  Or Freddie Gray.  Or Amadou Diallo.  I didn't even expect that I would be stopped, again, by some other police officer for "riding while trans" or whatever they call it in legal lexicon or cop argot.  And, so far, I haven't.

Unfortunately, though, I have met a few riders who were stopped for no apparent reason other than "cycling while Black" or Hispanic or fill-in-the-blank.  And even if they managed not to get summonsed, or worse, I could understand if they felt even more anxiety than I did about having to deal with the police.  After all, the only people who have a greater chance of being murdered, by police officers or anyone else, than transgenders are African-Americans, particularly the young.

And, let's face it, as a white woman, I can be seen, at least by some, as an educated creative person and educator who likes to ride her bike.  It seems that my professional pursuits and passions--or even being an honest, law-abiding person trying to make a living and help others--are enough to for folks like Ms. Bland to escape whatever biases accrue to them on account of the color of their skin.

In short, even as a member of one "minority", going for a bike ride or a walk is something I can do, on most days, without thinking.  That is a privilege Ms. Bland, George Floyd and others did not have.  I try not to forget that.  

Earth Day X 50

Today is Earth Day.

Fifty years ago today, this "holiday" was first observed. (I wonder whether some company or organization gives its employees a paid day off.)  Interestingly, the then-nascent environmental movement coincided with the origins of modern campaigns for gender equality and LGBT rights--and what was, arguably, the peak of the Civil Rights and anti-Vietnam War movements.

It also was about the time the North American Bike Boom was gaining momentum.  At that time, cycling was seen as integral to "helping the planet."  That connection became more tenuous during the 1980s and 1990s, as environmental concerns receded from public consciousness and too many cyclists acted like wannabe racers.  (I admit, I was one of them!)

From Bike and Roll DC

Today, while the mass gatherings normally associated with Earth Day are not possible, given the COVID-19 epidemic, we can (at least in most places) still ride to wherever we need to go--or simply to get out of our rooms, apartments or houses!

The Real Way To Promote Peace

Although his actual birthday was the 15th, Martin Luther King Jr. day is being observed today in the US.  Like most other holidays, it's been observed on Monday for the past few decades.  I guess it makes more sense for offices, banks and such to close for three consecutive days than on a day in the middle of the week.  And, tell me, who doesn't like three-day weekends?

But I think this is one holiday that shouldn't be only for watching basketball games or taking advantage of sales.  I always try to pay homage to Dr. King, whom I regard as one of the few true American heroes.

I mean, for this alone, I'd give him a holiday--and even the Nobel Peace Prize:

Who could hate after seeing someone so enjoying himself?

The Votes Are Here

Today I cycled into Manhattan for an appointment for an otolaryngologist.  It wasn't far--about 7 or 8 kilometers--and I rode even with the threat of snow squalls because I knew I could pedal there faster than the trains or buses (or a cab--or Uber, even!) could take me.

The office was located  Rutherford Place, just across from Mount Sinai Hospital.  The neighborhood, nestled between Irving Place and the East Village, is a real oddity in today's Manhattan:  Most of the Victorian, Greek Revival and Beaux Arts tenements and townhouses are still standing and the environs aren't really gentrifying because, well, they never fell into decrepitude.  

Some of those buildings, like others throughout the city, have names that are rarely, if ever, used, today.  Some of the names make sense, like those of people who are famous or simply have a connection to the building or neighborhood.  But there are some names are just confounding:

The US Senate? On Second Avenue between 14th and 15th Streets?

I thought of the tourists and newly-arrived expats from one place and another who walked by.  Did any of them wonder whether they'd gotten off at the wrong city?   

As I was about to write this, I looked for some information about the building.  Turns out, that building was built along with another named for W.M. Evarts, a well-respected Senator who lived in the neighborhood.  Before he became a Senator, he served as Rutherford B. Hayes' Secretary of State and Andrew Johnson's Attorney General.  That meant he had the privilege of representing Johnson during his impeachment trial in 1868.  That must have been interesting, to say the least!

So I guess the name makes sense.  Even if I didn't learn about the history of the building, I suppose the name could have been justified in one other way:  Early in the nation's history, New York City was its capital, if only for a year.

Given the demographics of the neighborhood and city,  residents of the building are more likely than members of the legislative body to vote for impeaching the current president. 

A 400-Year Debt

My birthday is 4 July:  US Independence Day.  So, what I am about to say may seem treasonous, or even sacrilegious, to some.

The most important, if not the singular defining, event of US history did not happen on 4 July 1776.  Rather, it occurred 400 years ago on this date.

On 20 August 1619, the White Lion (you can't make this stuff up!) landed in Point Comfort, near present-day Hampton, Virginia.  Of the White Lion's commander, one Captain John Jope, colonist John Rolfe wrote, "He brought not any thing but 20.  And odd Negroes, which the Governor and Cape Merchant bought for victuals."

The details that would have fleshed out Rolfe's clinical description are lost to history.  Did he mean that  twenty-some-odd black people disembarked from the vessel?  What sort of "victuals" were exchanged for the captive human beings?  Peanuts?  Corn?  Barley?

What is not in doubt is that the dark-skinned arrivals from Africa were the first documented black slaves in America.  This does not mean, of course, that they were the first black slaves in the so-called New World:   Columbus reportedly brought slaves on his second voyage, and some historians argue that there were Africans--who may or may not have been slaves--on this side of the Atlantic even before Columbus' arrival.  But the arrival of black slaves on the White Lion is the first documented importation of African slaves to the soil of what would become the United States.  Moreover, it is the first documented sale of slaves.

The White Lion was not the first ship in which those slaves would be imprisoned on their way from the West Coast of Africa to the East Coast of North America. They started their terrible journey on the San Juan Bautista (really), bound for the Spanish colony of Vera Cruz on the coast of what would become Mexico.

But just a couple of days before the San Juan Bautista would have reached port (Transatlantic journeys in those days typically took about two months), it was attacked by pirates looking for Spanish gold.  Some of those pirates were on the White Lion; the others sailed on the Treasurer, which would arrive in Virginia a few days later.

As James Baldwin has pointed out, African-Americans are the only race of people (save for Native Americans) to be conceived in America.  And, at the time he was writing his seminal essays, the United States was the only nation besides South Africa that had a legal definition for black people--and used it to subjugate them.

I believe, as some black historians and writers believe, that the arrival of slaves (even if they weren't the first) on this date 400 years ago marks the real beginning of American (or at least US) history.  For one thing, it marked the beginning of European subjugation of a land and its people, which would not have been possible (at least under the conditions that prevailed) without the forced labor of black people.  The wealth of this country was built, literally, on the backs of Africans, even in those parts of the country where there weren't plantations and slavery ended before the Emancipation Proclamation.

What is commonly forgotten is that during our Civil War, there were large pro-Confederate contagions in some northern cities.  In fact, New York, which then consisted only of the island of Manhattan, was a bastion of Dixie sentiment, as many of the city's bankers and merchants had ties to the cotton- and tobacco-growing industries of the South.  (In contrast, Brooklyn, which was then an independent city and didn't have the same ties to plantation owners--and where freed and runaway slaves settled in Weeksville and other communities--was staunchly pro-Union.) 

So, no matter where one was at the time of the Civil War--or long afterward--its economy was, in some way or another, a product of slavery.  Everyone in this country is a beneficiary, in some way or another.  I include myself:  My grandparents, as poor as they were, still had more rights in this country than any African (or Native American) had the day they arrived in a port built, at least in part, by the labor of those people who had no freedom--and the profits of those who traded them, or traded with plantation owners, merchants and others whose prosperity built by them.

Of course, it wasn't just our economy that "benefited" from slavery.  The terrible experiences endured by slaves--and their children who were "freed"--were the raw material of some of the greatest art this country has produced.  I am talking, of course, about works by writers like Baldwin and Toni Morrison, but also jazz--the only truly American musical genre besides country and western--which has influenced all of the music, everywhere in the world, that's come along since.

And, finally, it's hard not to think that the "generational trauma" and prejudice experienced by the descendants of slaves motivated some of the greatest athletes this country has turned out.  Forget about "some of":  I am willing to say that the four greatest athletes to come from the United States are Muhammad Ali, Serena Williams, Jackie Robinson and, of course, "Major" Taylor, the incomparable cyclist who became the first African-American champion in any sport.  

The country in which I was born and have spent most of my life owes, I believe,  much more to what took place on this date 400 years ago than most people realize--or I was taught in school.

(In my next post, I'll return to matters more directly about cycling--my own and in general!)