How Many?

 An unfortunate fact of our lives is that we don’t have to wait very long or look very far to hear or read about a cyclist injured or killed by a motorist.

An online article from the Tampa Bay Times, however, grabbed my attention because its headline began with these two words: “Impaired Driver.”  

Brian Thomas was driving a 2017 Mitsubishi Outlander southbound along Seminole Drive.  Around 11:3O pm on Saturday, Nole Karcher was walking his bicycle across the Drive. 

Shortly afterwards, Karcher was declared dead at the scene and Thomas was in custody. 

Though there was no evidence of alcohol, Thomas failed some sobriety exercises and refused to take others, according to the Pinellas County Sheriff’s Office.  That led to deputies searching and finding several pills including clonezpam, a tranquilizer used to treat anxiety and seizures.  

Clonezpam is a controlled substance and Thomas did not produce a prescription.  So, in addition to a charge of causing death while driving under the influence, he is facing charges of illegal possession.  Oh, and according to the Sheriff’s Office, speed was also “a factor” in the crash.

While reading the account, I started to wonder:  In how many incidents of motorists running down cyclists is driver impairments the, or a, major factor? I suspect the number, or at least the percentage, is high.  

They Extended The Road Ahead Of Him

If you've been reading this blog, you know that I take, on average, a trip to Florida every year.  Really, I go to visit my parents!  But you know that I enjoy the cycling and, if I'm lucky, good weather.

If you've read any of my posts about my time in Florida, or have spent any time in the Sunshine State, you also know that it's car-centric.  People travel greater distances to shop or do just about anything than we do in New York, mainly because development is more sprawled (at least in the parts of Florida I visit).  I don't even need to ride my bike to buy groceries when I'm home.  I know that no one in my parents' part of Florida enjoys that level of convenience; I doubt that very many people anywhere in the state have it.

Still, I see a fair number of people on bikes whenever I visit Florida, even when the weather is unusually cold, as it was last year.  (The temperature actually dropped to 23F one night!)  Some, like me, are visiting; others are "snowbirds" who spend part of the year in the state and the rest in some point north or west.  

There are, however, cyclists for whom their two wheels and pedals are their sole means of transportation.  These day-to-day riders include a whole range of people, from homeless veterans to latter-day hippies and those who can't drive because they're too poor or for other reasons.

Among those reasons is age.  While Florida's regulations on senior-citizen drivers are, not surprisingly, less restrictive than those of most other states, they still mandate shorter license renewals and vision tests for older drivers.  Moreover, the state's Department of Highway Safety and Motor Vehicles, which issues licenses, also conducts unsafe driver investigations upon requests from family members and others.  As a result of such investigations, as well as vision and driving tests, the state can also impose restrictions on elderly drivers, such as a ban on nighttime driving or a requirement that the driver has to wear a hearing aid or glasses.  In a few cases, senior citizens are banned from driving if they are believed to pose a safety hazard to themselves or others.

So, I suspect that at least a few of the seniors I've seen on bikes--and a fair number of those I've seen on three-wheelers--are pedaling because they can't drive anymore.  And, I suspect, at least a few are riding their bikes because they can't afford to drive anymore, or just enjoy cycling.




Whatever his reasons, Bob Wingate's bicycle was his only means of transportation.  The Cape Coral resident parked it at the Winn Dixie supermarket in his town.  A thief cut the cable he'd used to secure his bike.  Field Training Officer Ken Cody and Officer Trainee Guang Song of the Cape Coral Police Department were called to the scene.  

After taking the report, Cody and Song decided they couldn't let Wingate be without a bicycle.  So they went to a nearby Walmart and bought a new one, which they brought to Wingate's house.  Before they left, they even adjusted the seat and handlebars for him.

Those officers not only gave him back his means of transportation and his independence; they may have ensured that he'll live well beyond his current 80 years.  I suspect that other senior citizens I've seen on bikes in Florida, and elsewhere, realize that when they are on the road (or trail), there is more road ahead of them.

Home Again

By the time you read this, I'll be on my way home or already there.  Back to my "normal" life!

If you don't hear from me for a day or two, it's probably because Marlee wouldn't let go of me.  I guess I can't blame her if she's upset:  After all, I spent a week away, a couple of days home, and more than a week away again.  So far, I've been home for only three days in 2019!

Will the rest of the year be a journey?  For the world, it might be an arduous one, to say the least. It might be for me, too, but I hope that it will be as interesting and fun as it's been so far!

Riding Out The Old Year And Into The New

This is the way the year ends
Not with a bang but a bike ride.

All right, so that's not how T.S. Eliot ended The Hollow Men. But, the other day I ended 2018 with one of the best rides I've taken in Florida.

The wind pushed against me for the entire 30 miles (50 kilometers) from my parents' house to the Daytona Beach boardwalk.   But I didn't mind, even though I was riding a rusty baloon-tire beach bomber:  It was a great excuse to bomb onto the beach and into the water.

This is something you definitely wouldn't do in New York on New Year's Eve (unless, perhaps, you are a member of the Polar Bear Club.)  I mean, the temperature doesn't reach 82F (28C) on Coney Island Beach on the last day of the year--though it could happen some year, given the effects of climate change.  On the other hand, my hometown probably won't have the sky or sunshine I experienced on my ride.  (I got sunburned even though I applied sunscreen twice.)  

I also wouldn't see anything like this

or this

 both of which I encountered on the way back, along Route A1A, between Ormond Beach and Gamble Rogers State Park.  Nor would I have seen this

which greeted me in Beverly Beach, near the aptly-named Painters Hill.

Because I took the route through Beverly Beach and Painters Hill, the ride back was longer.  But it was also easier, because the wind I pushed against was pushing at my back.  So, in all, I rode about 65 miles (105 kilometers) for my last trip of the year.

The following day (yesterday), I started 2019 by riding along A1A in the opposite direction, to St. Augustine. The temperature reached the previous day's levels, and the sun shone brightly, but only a breeze blew at my back on the way up, and into my face on the way back.  In all, I covered about the same distance--just over 100 kilometers--I did to end the previous day, and year.

The ride took me over a bridge that spans Matanzas Inlet.  Now, if you know more Spanish than I, you know "matanzas" means "slaughters". 

Indeed, people were slaughtered there:  specifically, French Huguenots who had the temerity to build a refuge for themselves at Fort Caroline, in what is now Jacksonville.  The problem was that they didn't fortify or defend their garrison very well.  So, when the Spanish attacked, it fell easily.  At the same time, a French flotilla sailed from Fort Caroline with the purpose of attacking St. Augustine.  It, however, was blown off course by a storm.  When some French survivors were found, Pedro Menendez de Aviles, the founder of St. Augustine, ordered their execution.

Of course, I'm sure nobody on the beach was thinking about that. I could hardly blame them:  The clear skies, warm air and calm sea wouldn't bring slaughter or execution to very many people's minds.  And, I admit, for me, the serene littoral vista made for a nearly perfect ride to start a new year.

The Migratory Patterns Of North American Cyclists?

When I was working at Highland Park Cyclery, a customer said he was going to start pedaling from New Jersey in October and arrive in Florida--where he had family--around Thanksgiving.   After that, he said, he would spend the winter there and start pedaling north in April.

I don't know whether he actually followed through with his plan.  And I hadn't thought of him in a long time, until I saw this:

Is the bear pedaling to the place where he or she will hibernate this winter?

8 Years Already!

So why am I posting a picture of an 8 year old girl?

From Thanks, Mail Carrier

Well, she looks really cute on that bike. But she is relevant to this blog.  Better yet, she has something in common with it.

What?, you ask.

Midlife Cycling turns 8 years old today.   I wrote my first post on 2 June 2010.  I'm still "at it," 2567 posts later.  And I'll keep it up as long as I enjoy it.  Since I've never stopped loving cycling or writing, I don't think I'll lose the pleasure I've found in this blog and you, my audience.

So what has changed?  Writers are the worst judges of their own work, but I'm guessing that this blog has developed a "voice", whatever it may be.  In the beginning, I was probably making some effort to imitate other bike blogs I'd read, especially ones written by women. (I'm thinking particularly of Lovely Bicycle.) But I am a very different sort of woman, and cyclist, so I realized that I could do no more or less than follow my own instincts and inclinations.  Sometimes I write about my own trips or bikes; other times I write about other people's rides and machines; still other times I veer into topics that don't have much of a relationship to cycling.  Others will judge the results, but I am happy to be writing this blog and that others are reading it.

Aside from the blog itself, some other things in my life have changed since I started.  For one thing, I now have four bikes I didn't have back then:  Dee-Lilah, my new Mercian Vincitore Special; Vera, the twin-tube Miss Mercian mixte I bought about a year after I started this blog; Josephine, the Trek 412 estate-sale find and Martie, the Fuji Allegro that's become my commuter/errand bike.  And I no longer have Helene, the Miss Mercian I bought not long after I started this blog, and the two Schwinn LeTours I acquired and used as commuter/errand bikes.

Oh, and I now have one cat, Marlee, who wasn't even born when I wrote that first post.  Sadly, Charlie and Max, my feline buddies back then, are gone.  

On a happier note:  I have taken, in addition to hundreds of day rides, trips abroad which have included cycling: Prague, Paris (twice), Italy (Rome and Florence) and Montreal.  And I've been to Florida a number of times to visit my parents but also to enjoy some warm-weather riding in the middle of winter.  

I don't know what changes and adventures lie ahead.  All I know is that you'll read about them here!

He's Cycling With Recycled Organs

Kyle Bailey was born with Cystic Fibrosis.  At age 25, he underwent a double lung transplant.  Since then, he's endured a liver and kidney transplant. He likes to say that he's been "given four chances at life." So, perhaps not surprisingly, he's started a non-profit organization dedicated to spreading awareness about the importance of organ donation and helping to provide for the medical needs of children with disabilities and limited-income families.

What some people might find surprising, however, is that the native of Port Huron, Michigan starting a 1400 mile (2200 km) bicycle trip today.  He plans to pedal from Ann Arbor, Michigan to Orlando, Florida to raise awareness (and funds) for the work he and his organization are doing.

One goal of his, he says, is to change the organ donor system in his home state of Michigan. Currently, a would-be donor has to "opt in" at the Secretary of State's office.  Bailey would like to see it changed to an "opt out" policy, in which everyone is automatically an organ donor unless he or she says otherwise.  Currently, several European and Latin American countries have such a policy, and several US states have considered them.

Whatever happens with those policies, I think Kyle's ride just might convince a few people to become organ donors.  If nothing else, it might help people realize that there is indeed life after getting a new liver.

They're Gone!

A couple of friends are gone!

On Thursday,  I rode by the City Market Place near my parents' home in Palm Coast.  During my past few visits to PC, I've stopped by the Market Place to see an old friend:

but I found this:

an empty lot where they "rode"!

I am trying to find out what happened to Wes Cackler's "The Race".  I'm guessing--and sort of hoping--that it was knocked down in recent storms and will be reinstalled on that same site, or somewhere else.  

Sunshine, With Irony

So...where in the world is Justine Valinotti now?

OK, you know this isn't the Ponte Vecchio.  Or the Pont Neuf.  Or the Tower, Verrazano or Golden Gate Bridges.

For all I know, the local transportation authorities don't even classify it as a bridge.  It doesn't connect countries, states or even two sides of a neighborhood. The houses on each side of this bridge are even considered part of the same development.

The body of water spanned by that structure looks like this:

Seeing that birthday party baloon floating in the effluvium surprised me more than seeing a creature that could have caused me harm would have--or, for that matter, almost anything else I might have encountered.


It's a canal, and from what I've gathered, it was used for irrigation, as it doesn't look terribly navigable. (Now tell me, who else  uses phrases like "terribly navigable"?)  It runs behind the house where I'm staying.

You've probably figured, by now, that I'm visiting my parents 

in "The Sunshine State."

It sounds like a corollary of Murphy's Law:  You escape from the cold only to run into the rain.

We might get more rain tomorrow.  I might chance a ride, but if I don't, skies are supposed to clear--and the temperature drop--the day after.  I wouldn't mind that.

Nor do I mind today which, so far, has included a leisurely lunch with my mother and one of her friends.  It's fun, and part of my education!

What Kind Of Man Is He?

Most of us, at one point or another, have broken up with a boyfriend, girlfriend or spouse--or simply ended a friendship.

There are, as often as not, sadness and hurt feelings. Fortunately, in most breakups, both parties have at least some sense that the end of their relationship coming and they go their separate ways.

On the other hand, there are those splits that don't end so quietly, especially if one or both parties are particularly angry, resentful or vindictive.  I know:  I've been involved in a couple of them.  In some of the worst cases (including one of mine), the one who's at the receiving end of the breakup says or does something in an attempt to damage the person who broke up the relationship.  Facebook can be a particularly nasty but effective weapon to achieve that.

So, why am I writing about such things on a bike blog?  Well, in Boca Raton, Florida, 65-year-old George Morreale was riding his bicycle near Yamato Road and Interstate 95 in April 2014.  It would be his last bike ride:  A pickup truck struck him, fatally.

Paul Maida, a 33-year-old West Boca Raton resident, claimed that he was in the passenger's seat while his girlfriend, 27-year-old Bianca Fichtel, was at the wheel.

She was initially charged but turned over e-mails that pointed to Maida driving at the time of the crash.  Those e-mails, according to prosecutors, showed that he asked her to switch seats before they returned to the scene of the crash.

So now you know one of the crimes for which Maida was found guilty in July:  leaving the scene of a fatal crash.  He was also found guilty of driving with a suspended license and filing a false report to the police.  He was, however, acquitted of DUI manslaughter.

Yesterday he was sentenced:  12 years in prison.

I know I shouldn't make light of something like this, but this thought popped into my head:  If I were Ms. Fichtel, I wouldn't visit him.

What's A Cyclist Worth? In Florida, Not Even A Fine

I don't think of myself as a vengeful person.  At the same time, there are people I want to see punished, or at least castigated, for their misdeeds.

Moreover, I have come to realize that you can tell what a person's status is, or was, in his or her community or society by the sort of penalty meted out to someone who commits a crime against, or otherwise causes harm to, that person.

Now, I'm not going to say "Don't get me started about drivers who get off scot-free when they run down cyclists!" because, well, I am going to rant about that, whether or not anybody gets me started.

Specifically, I am going to rant and rave about one particular cyclist who was so victimized.  He has survived the ordeal, albeit with a fractured spine and deep bruises.  He hopes to get back on his bike sooner rather than later, but he still faces a long recovery from the injuries he incurred a month ago today.

A 65-year-old motorist named Dennis Brophy, of Fort Pierce, Florida, was in the process of inhaling a "breathing treatment" when he drove his 2016 Chevy Cruze straight into the back of a cyclist who, like him, was traveling south on Old Dixie Highway.  Brophy admitted he suffers from sleep apnea and said, according to the incident report, that he was "blinded by the light" and "never saw" the cyclist he struck.

That was at 8:03 am.   The cyclist would spend the next two days in the Lawnwood Medical Center's ICU.  Meantime, Brophy went home without even a citation for plowing into the cyclist, whom he could have just as easily killed.

Alan Snel, after a motorist struck him from behind

That cyclist is Alan Snel.  Perhaps you know him from reading his "Bicycle Stories" blog.  You may also know, or know of, him from his extensive cycling advocacy, or from his work as a journalist in Nevada and Florida.  It seems, though, that to Florida law enforcement officials, he was--as he says--"collateral damage", or simply someone who got in the way of a motorist who couldn't be bothered to swerve a couple of feet out of his way.

Alan's bicycle

Although I have had some very pleasant experiences of cycling in Florida, I also realized that it is a very auto-centric place.  From what I have seen, I would guess that the vast majority of cyclists are adults, many of--as we say--"a certain age".  Yet, too often, people entrusted to uphold the law and support public safety seem to see cyclists as people who won't grow up and drive and who therefore "bring it on themselves" when they are endangered or, worse, injured or killed by motorists.

Alan's helmet

I was not surprised to learn that more cyclists are killed by motorists, in proportion to the population, in Florida than in any other state.  Furthermore, in every year since 2010, Florida's rate has been around 50 percent higher than the second-deadliest state in each of those years: Louisiana.  And in most of those cases, like Snel's, the driver faced minor or no charges.

Alan, in better times

As Snel recovers, he still needs money to cover living and other expenses.  So, friends and other supporters have started a YouCaring fundraiser for him.

Leaving Perfection Behind

I hold an advanced degree.  My professional life brings me into contact with some very intelligent people.  And according to the standardized tests, I am of above-average intelligence.

Now I will give you an opportunity to question the validity of standardized tests.

If you've been reading for the past week, you know that I've been in Florida and, for most of that time, have had nearly perfect cycling weather.

Well, I'm leaving it all behind me.  Yes, I'm going back to New York in January.  Flying into JFK, no less.

A Painterly Ride

I am going to write something that might cause envy or resentment in some, especially those of you who are reading behind sleet-streaked windows.

Yes, today's weather was once again glorious.  Actually, it was a bit warmer than the past few days:  During the return part of my ride, the temperature rose to 82F (28C), according to the sign on the Buddy Taylor Middle School.  And the sun shone through puffy cumulus clouds that drifted across the sky.

So I rode up to Bings Landing, the site of the Mala Compra ("bad bargain" or "bad buy") plantation, and back down Route A1A, including one of my favorite stretches.

I wish my photos could do justice to the light that flickered with the dance of the waves and reeds.  At the observation stand from which I took those pictures, I chatted with a retired couple from North Carolina who commented on the light, and the view.  "Now you know why it's called Painters Hill," I explained.

As the saying goes, a lovely time was had by all--especially the ones who came dressed for the occasion:

With their fashion sense, how could I not share my nuts, seeds and granola bars with them?  And, even in such finery, they were not too haughty to refuse!

I was not surprised to see people walking through the sand or fishing. A few even tried to ride the waves, such as they were.  But I didn't see anyone swimming.  Yesterday, I was tempted to dip myself in the water, but after taking off my sneakers and socks, and letting a few waves lap up to my calves, I realized that the water was a bit on the cool side.

Normally, on such a day, people would line the pier at Flagler Beach, whether to fish, watch birds (or wait in the hope of sighting a dolphin, whale or shark) or simply pass enjoy the view and pass the time.  But I noticed that the pier was empty, as it was yesterday and the other day.  

I also couldn't help but to think that the pier looked smaller than it was last year.  Sure enough, it is:  Hurricane Matthew washed away part of it and, according to the gate keeper, it might be closed for another year because the insurance company doesn't want people there until repairs are made and the pier passes inspection.

Still, it was a wonderful day and ride. With the kind of light I had, how could anything have been otherwise?

After Speed And Flight: A Free Lunch (Or Dinner)?

I don't remember the last time I've had such luck with weather!

Once again, the day began sunny, with a temperature of 60F (15C) on my parents' porch, and quickly climbed over 70F (21C).  By late afternoon, after thick cumulus clouds passed over, it was 77F (25C).  Although the clouds muted the sun and had dark undersides, there was never any real threat of rain.  Such clouds are not unusual on warm days in coastal areas.

Yes, I rode along the ocean again--along Route A1A, to be exact.  Today I would follow it from the Flagler Beach Pier, along dunes and beaches of hard-packed sand to the beach that bills itself as the World's Most Famous.

Although I have been there a number of times before, I am always a little surprised at what I find in Daytona Beach.  It's not like any other beach town or resort--at least, not like any other I've ever seen.  Driving is actually permitted on some parts of the beach, as it is in other nearby beach communities like Ormond Beach.  But that beach--which is often called "the birthplace of speed", where several land speed records were set--today has a speed limit of 10MPH.

  And, it also has an important place in early aviation history, where several speed and altitude records were set.  Not surprisingly, the nation's premiere aviation college, Embry-Riddle, is located nearby.

It has its share of beach-town cliches, including the taffy stands and tacky souvenir shops.  But it also manages to combine, in a few blocks near Main Street, everyone's idea of Haight-Ashbury in 1967, Woodstock in 1969, the East Village of those years and a current NASCAR rally all in one.  Oh, and there are religious folks and some genderqueers that would make most drag queens seem like suburban housewives.

And there are residents who are, or seem, completely oblivious to--or just don't care--about it all:  

They probably follow this bit of advice:

and don't even pay for it!  Of course, they might not get the best seats in the house.  But, hey, if you were eating stuff that people pay real money for, and it didn't cost you anything, you wouldn't complain, right?

Then again, there are some folks who, one hopes, won't follow that advice:

Actually, I'd worry about them eating Joe himself--except, of course, that alligators don't go into the ocean.  (Then again, there is the occasional shark!)  But I love the warning, "When fed, the alligator loses its fear of humans and becomes accustomed to handouts."  Hmm...Is there a political philosophy expressed in that?

Interesting that it should be posted at the entrance to the Lehigh Greenway Rail Trail,near the end of my ride.  Is there some kind of cosmology here:  Humans spend their Hamiltons and Jacksons (soon to be Tubmans) on stuff sea birds eat, and said humans can become an alligator's free meal by feeding them what those birds eat?

How does it all end?

I tried to find out whether that was Flagler Beach's version of Stonehenge.  But nobody seemed to know what it was.  I did see a sign nearby that exclaimed "No seawall!"  

For me, it's hard not to agree.  Then again, I just visit once or twice a year.  I don't know how I'd feel if I lived there and my house was inundated by a storm.

Thankfully, I don't have to answer that question.  I didn't have to do anything; I just rode.  

And what a lovely ride I had.  At the end of it, I didn't eat at Joe's:  I ate at Mom's.  And I didn't have to pay for it.

Who's Going To Make What Great Again?

Today I took two short rides: before and after having lunch with my mother and a friend of hers, of whom I am fond.

My rides took me through alongside creeks, swamps and woods, as well as through small-town streets lined with shabby houses and suburban subdivisions full of houses that are imitations or parodies, depending on your point of view, of structures built by Spanish, French and English settlers to this area.

Once again, the weather was delightful.  At one point, I even saw two frolicking fawns just yards away from me, and white herons that ambled even closer.  People seemed relaxed, even if they were doing home repairs or yardwork.  The kids were happy, of course:  They had the day off from school.

The reason is that today is the holiday to commemorate Martin Luther King Jr., who would have turned 88 yesterday.  He didn't live to see his 40th birthday, and many of the people for whom he fought had even shorter lives that ended as tragically as his.  A few years ago, a student of mine who is about a decade older than I am, and grew up in Jacksonville--about 105 kilometers (65 miles) from where I am now--told me about one of those victims: a relative whose flaming body dangled from a tree in Mississippi.  As a little girl, she saw that.

It probably wouldn't surprise you to learn that from 1882 until 1968, more black people were lynched in Mississippi than in any other state in the Union.  I don't think it would cause much consternation to say that the next states on the list were Georgia, Texas, Alabama and Arkansas.

Florida is right behind them.  The "Sunshine State", however, had the highest per-capita rate of lynchings among the states from 1880 through 1940.  In fact, Florida's lynch rate, in proportion to the population, was more than double that of Alabama and nearly four times that of Texas!

Today, as I rode through the subdivisions, and the ramshackle houses, I saw many "Trump:  Make America Great Again" campaign signs.  In fact, I even saw a couple in a trailer park.  I don't recall seeing so many campaign signs for any candidate still standing on lawns, or tied to signposts or windows, so long after an election as I saw today.  

Now, I am sure that some of those who voted for Trump--and, perhaps, a few who didn't--are resentful that King gets "his own" holiday: something no other individual  in the US has.  Or, to be precise, no other white individual has.

I can understand, even if I don't condone, what they feel:  that they are losing "their" place in society to "privileged" minorities (which, of course, can include LGBT people as well as any number of racial and ethnic identities--as well as "the 51 percent minority"). One thing my own experience has taught me is that privilege is something you don't know you have until you lose it, and the process of losing it is painful and can cause intense anger and resentment.

What are students learning these days?

What I can't understand, though, is something I saw on a news program this morning: People who claim that if King were alive today, he would have supported Donald Trump's election to the Presidency.  I tried to understand their arguments, but those of the Flat Earth Society  actually make more sense to me.

Of course, cycling and writing have made more sense to me than all of those things ever could.  So did those fawns and herons I saw.