Will Cyclists Be Locked Down?

The news can hit close to home. Sometimes, too close.

By now, you've heard that the whole country of Italy is basically on lockdown, due to the coronavirus.  The prime minister has told people to stay home and that they need permission for "non-essential" travel.

Now an area of New Rochelle, about 35 kilometers from my apartment, is a "containment zone," where National Guard troops have been posted.  

I frequently cycle to or through New Rochelle.  My rides to Connecticut or northern Westchester County usually take me through one part of the city or another.  

Seeing how many Italian cities (and Seattle) have become "ghost towns", I have to wonder whether the New Rochelle quarantine will be extended--and to what degree will people's movements be restricted.  Will they stop us from riding our bikes?

Looking Up: A Tourist!

You can usually tell when someone is a tourist:  He or she is looking at all of the stuff (and, sometimes, people) the natives take for granted.

In downtown and midtown Manhattan, they are usually looking up--at the Empire State Building, Liberty Tower and other skyscrapers.  I haven't stopped noticing such things, but I think I've developed some sort of peripheral vision that allows me to look at the spires and other architectural features that are expressions of somebody's reach.

I realize now that in Italy, I must have been as obviously a tourist as someone from North Dakota or Oklahoma is while ambling along Broadway.  Or someone speaking Italian on Mott Street:  Little Italy is all but gone, so that person is more than likely from Milan.

Of course, I could've been taken for a tourist on my appearance alone.  The Italians usually greeted me with a friendly if somewhat deferential "signora", but they could not have seen me as one of their women:  I am taller and lighter than most of them.  Also, my Italian--such as it is--doesn't sound anything like what anyone speaks in "The Boot."  If anything, I probably sound like pure Bay Parkway by way of Asbury Park.

There is one other thing, though, that surely gave me away as a visitor--aside from the fact that I was consulting maps.  You see, I was like all of those gawkers I see in my home town:  I spent a lot of time looking upward.

In an earlier post, I mentioned that the skylights in the catacombs' chapels must have turned those early Christians' attentions skyward, i.e., toward the heavens.  I couldn't help but to thin that so much cathedral architecture--internal as well as external--was at least somewhat influenced by a memory, historical as well as visceral, of that:  Worshipers were usually looking up, whether at the altar (which was raised) or the stained glass windows or statues above.

Even when I wasn't in a basilica or some other such place, it seemed that I couldn't look anywhere but up.  And, yes, my gaze was often turned above me even as I was navigating those Roman streets and traffic circles.

Was Eddy Mercx thinking about something like that when he told George Mount that if he really wanted to learn about bike racing, he had to go to Italy?

It's Great To Be Back So I Could Tell You How Much I Wish To Be Back In Italy

Now I'm back in La Grande Mela.  I'm still on Italian time and, really, want to stay on it for as long as I can.  I'm not talking, of course, about being six hours later than New York, but about living like an Italian.  

Of course, for my first meal back, I had two bagels.  I mean, after being in Italy, what was I going to eat in New York--pizza? Pasta?

I'm going to tell you more--and share those photos that would still be uploading had I tried to share them in Italy!--after I redecorate my apartment:

and take a nice Italian-style lunch break!

Side Trip

Yesterday I mentioned that I'm taking a side trip.  I had planned it before I arrived in Rome.  This morning I will be on a train to Florence and will return to Rome tomorrow night.  Since I don't want to carry my laptop with me, I am writing this post before I leaving.  Fear not: I'll be back soon!

I Am Not Her, But I Am Here

OK, I have to admit:  Yesterday's post wasn't quite fair.  I asked you to guess where I am, and the clue was the photo I included.  Its subject is an attractive, stylish woman on a bicycle.  You can find others like her in lots of places in this world--and there are more than a few blogs dedicated to them.  

Behind the woman in that photo are two girls dressed in a way that almost nobody would be at this time of year in this place.  Ever since I arrived yesterday, the weather has been very hot.  I am not surprised, as I had been here before in the summer and experienced similar weather.

No, I'm not in Florida with my parents.  From the background, I think you figured as much.  Also, I don't know of anyone in the Sunshine State who dresses like that woman.

If you figured that I'm in a European capital that's not Amsterdam, you're on the right track.


I was here this morning:

And this is where I spent most of my afternoon:

So now I have something in common with Audrey Hepburn and Gregory Peck.  Yes, I am in Rome.

So "Why Rome?," you ask. Funny that you should:  One of my history professors asked that same question. In fact, that query was his entire final exam, and we had three hours to answer it. 

But as to why I am here now:  I kinda sorta thought I should come to Italy again.  Until yesterday, I hadn't been anywhere in this country since 2001, and I last set foot in this city five years before that.  The later visit was part of a bike tour that started in Lyon, France and took me through parts of the French, Italian and Swiss Alps.  Some would argue that it's not "really" Italy, but it is in its own way.  

Now, as for that 1996 trip, I'm going to tell you something I don't often talk about.  I had an Italian girlfriend whom I'd met in the US, when she was living and working here.  Then she had to go back and, practically from the moment she stepped off the plane in Fiumicino, was urging me to come over.  So I went the first chance I got--which, since I was teaching, meant summer.

Anyway, our relationship ended during that trip.  I am long past that:  I know that even if I hadn't undergone my life transitions, our relationship had a limited shelf life.  Still, having crossed the ocean to experience it is not a pleasant memory, to say the least.

I guess it's ironic, in a way, that a relationship should end that way (or in any way at all) in the "Eternal City"--one with the Forum and Colosseum, where I spent my morning and afternoon.  

Of course I loved seeing them again, and learning some things I never before knew (or, perhaps, had forgotten) about them.  Hey, I even saw a guy give the ring to the young lady with whom he wants to spend the rest of his days.  Still, I have felt sad:  I should love this city and this country but I don't.  Sometimes I feel as if I'm the only person in this world who doesn't.  Maybe I just don't identify with my heritage enough.  

Tomorrow I'm going to go on a bike tour of the city.  I would have gone today, but the English-speaking guide wasn't in.  And, after that, I'll rent a bike.  Maybe I'll feel better about this place then.

Bersaglieri: Italian Light Infantry, On Bicycles

I have written several posts on how armed forces throughout the world have used bicycles and deployed troops on bicycles.  I trust--or at least hope--that no one has inferred from them that I, in any way, wish to endorse--let alone glorify--war.  Rather, I hope that showing how bicycles have been used, both in and out of combat, can highlight their versatility.

Also, as paradoxical as this may seem, the more I oppose war, the more interesting the history of armed conflicts becomes.  But I am not concerned with the "drum and bugle" aspects of military history, or in a mere recounting of battles.  Instead, I am interested in the ways war--as well as preparation for it, whether or not it's actually fought--affects technology, societies, cultures and history.

Ironically, I came to think about the things I've mentioned--actually, I learned of their existence--when I was a cadet in my college's Army ROTC program. (So you thought my life as a guy named Nick was the biggest, dimmest and darkest secret I've shared?  Ha!)  At the same time I was enrolled in  the "leadership seminar", I took a class called "Literature and the Great War", taught by one Paul Fussell.

Now, when I signed up for that course, I knew that Professor Fussell had won the National Book Award a few years earlier for The Great War And Modern Memory.  It's the sort of book that seems not to be written anymore because graduate literature programs don't turn out scholars like Dr. Fussell anymore.  The man was every bit as erudite as I'd hoped he would be, and was an engaging lecturer.  Actually, he didn't lecture so much as he talked about the works we'd read, as well as his own reflections--at least some of which were based, no doubt, on his experiences as a soldier in World War II. (He was wounded in France and won a Purple Heart.)  Best of all, he spoke--and wrote--in plain language, without any jargon.  That would not fly in any graduate school today.

Anyway, I mention him and that class because, from them, I also came to realize that I could appreciate the beauty of poems, stories and images borne of combat, whether experienced or observed.  Moreover, that appreciation was heightened by my realization of the horror and futility of war:  things Paul, as a combat veteran, understood as well as anybody could.  

I don't know whether he ever saw this photo of Bersaglieri (Italian light infantry) on Montozzo Pass in 1915:

From The Great War Blog

Their bikes are probably state-of-the-art, or close to it.  So, no doubt, are their weapons.  But something is totally incongruous:  their headgear.  Military uniforms, with their drab colors and lack of ornamentation (save for medals), were developed during World War I.  But these troops are wearing feathered hats.  

What makes those hats seem even more out-of-place (and their time) is their broad brims.  Trench warfare and the emphasis on greater mobility served to streamline military uniforms.  This brigade may well have been one of the last to wear such wide hats.

What was the purpose of those wide brims?  To ward off cavalry swords.  Yes, you read that right. I imagine they were about as good for that purpose as the old "leather hairnets" were at protecting the heads of cyclists who crashed.

I think that riding fast--which, I'm sure, they could do--probably did more to protect them from cavalry swords, or any other weapons the Austrians could use against them!

Paying People To Ride To Work: Will It Work?

Some people will ride their bikes to work because they enjoy riding.  Others do it for the exercise.  Still others pedal to their jobs because it's more convenient or less expensive than taking the bus or train, or driving.

Then there are those who won't ride to work--or even get on a bike--unless they're paid.

Apparently, the council members of a town in Italy were thinking of that last group of people. 

Nestled in the hills of Lucca, in the Tuscany region, Massarossa is about 35 kilometres north of Pisa.   The town has set aside 30,000 Euros (about 21,000 USD) for a pilot scheme that would pay workers to ride their bikes to their jobs.  Cyclists would be paid 0.25Euros for every kilometer cycled, up to 50 Euros per month.  Conceivably,  a bicycle commuter could pocket up to 600 Euros per year.

Now, as I said, some people could be enticed to ride if they're paid.  That begs the question of what kind of person could be so persuaded?

The answer might come from the experience of a similar program that ran for six months last year in France.  The country's transport minister enlisted corporations and other employers to pay their employees to ride their bikes to work. 

While the number of bicycle commuters increased, it could be argued that the program didn't achieve another of its stated goals:  reducing auto traffic.  You see, most of the people who took advantage of the program had been using public transport before they started pedaling to their workplaces. Relatively few made the switch from driving their cars to their jobs.  Of those who did, most were already carpooling.

I don't know how the folks in Massarossa plan to get people away from four wheels and onto two.  But some of the plan's logistics are interesting:  Cyclists will use a phone app to record how much they've ridden. And the plan will be funded from traffic ticket fines.  By law, those funds have to be invested in road safety.

Whether or not the plan works, it's worth trying, especially if someone can come up with a way to get folks out of their cars.
 

On Time Changes And Food

Landed at JFK on one side of midnight. Got back to my place on the other.  A day change, on top of a time change.  My body is in a kind of temporal spasmosis, drifting off and waking up between Eastern Daylight Time and Greenwich +1, which is six hours later.  So, even though there's been nary a cloud in the sky, I haven't ridden today. 

In the past, it's taken a day for my body to acclimate to time shifts.  I'm hoping the same holds true this time.  The trip that just ended was the first I took across multiple time zones in four years.  Does age diminish one's ability to acclimate to time changes?

I'm sipping an iced tea and thinking about some of the food I ate in Paris.  As I was there for only ten days, I decided to stick to more or less traditional French food and not to try, for example, the Korean barbecue  near the hotel or any of the other "exotic" restaurants one can find in the City of Light. 

On previous trips, when I spent more time in Paris and in France, I tried and enjoyed local versions of Chinese, Vietnamese, Middle Eastern and other cuisines.  I also have eaten French regional specialties on their home turf:  bouillabaisse on the Cote d'Azur, cassoulet in the Toulouse region and quenelles in Lyon, for example. 

I have eaten enough meals in France (I once lived there and have returned several times before the trip I just took) that I can say that not every single one of them was wonderful. However, some were and I can say that, on average, one has as good a chance of enjoying a savory meal in France as in any other country.  

Of course, good food is always a result of good ingredients and preparation. But part of the sensual pleasure of eating has to do with its presentation:  something the French seem to understand better than just about anyone else.  Nearly all foods have at least some inherent appeal; it seems that the only people in this world who rival the French in their ability to enhance that appeal are the Italians.

One sees such skills on display equally in four-star restaurants as in local cafes, in the homes of French people (the ones into which I've been invited, anyway) and in hotel kitchens.  It can even be seen in a local fruit shop, like this one just up the block from the hotel in which I stayed:

 

There are definitely worse things to see on one's way out of a country.

She's Not Wearing A Helmet, But...

We all know that bicycles and cycling have been used to advertised all sorts of products, even those that seem utterly antithetical to the reasons why people ride bikes.

Given that some of the world's most imaginative advertising  comes from Italy (That is a completely unbiased statement! ;-)), perhaps it's no surprise to see that this ad aired there some years back:



I love the "halo" around one girl's head.  Is it supposed to substitute for a helmets?  You have to admit, though, that those girls look great, and that the shot of them descending that hill is really cool.

Now, to a confession:  During the time I was riding off-road, I drank more Coca-Cola than I had at perhaps any other time in my adult life.  In fact, almost all of the off-road riders--especially those in the then-nascent cult of downhill riding--I knew in those days drank it.  Some even carried it in their water bottles (or, later, Camel Backs).  As "Crazy Ray", one of the guys I used to ride with, said, "It's rocket fuel!"  He was right:  Humans can't ingest very many other things that will give as much of a rush of sugar and caffeine as the "Pause That Refreshes" can.  Remember that back in those days, Starbucks' stores were just starting to open in this part of the US, and they hadn't yet introduced many of the hyper-caffeinated sugar bombs that teenagers and hipsters line up, and pay good money, for.

Of course, given that the ad is Italian, it's easy to read a lot into the "si, si, si" refrain of that ad!

My Only 'Cross: Voodoo Wazoo

In much of Europe, cyclo-cross season is in progress, or getting underway.  Until fairly recently, this form of bicycle racing was all but unknown in the US.  Part of the reason for that may have been that around the same time that Greg LeMond was winning the Tour de France, bicycle racing was enjoying its first spurt of popularity in the US since the days of the six-day races, but mountain biking was also becoming popular.  Americans who were just starting to pay attention to cycling subscribed to the “road racing/mountain biking” polarity.  Some seemed to think that mountain biking and cyclo cross were the same thing. 

Here is the difference between the two:  In mountain (or, more accurately, off-road) biking, you ride—and sometimes jump or hop—over whatever comes your way, but in cyclo-cross, you might actually hop off your bike and sling it over your shoulder to ford a stream, wade through mud, climb rocks (or a fence!) or goose-step your way through un-strategically placed 2x4s, rocks or debris.  Having done both, I think that mountain or off-road riding is about riding over whatever terrain you encounter, while cyclo-cross is more about getting you and your bike over any and all kinds of obstacles.  To use a ski analogy, cross-country and downhill mountain biking can be compared to their skiing counterparts, while cyclo-cross is like the biathlon with bikes and without the rifles.

In the past, racers often fitted old frames with cantilever bosses and wheels with wider tires and treads suited to mud and other conditions for cyclo-cross.  Bikes built specifically for that kind of racing are a fairly recent development.  I’ve owned one in my life: a Voodoo Wazoo.

As you can see, the frame was made of oversized TIG-welded Reynolds tubing and stays, which made it stiff for a bike with its geometry.  One result is that, even though it was somewhat heavier than my road bikes, it climbed well.  It also remained stable even with a rack and full panniers.  As you might expect, I rode the Wazoo on three loaded tours: from France into Spain through the Pyrenees, along the vineyards and chateaux of the Loire, and through the Alps from Lyon into Italy and Switzerland and back.

The only real complaint I had about the bike was that it had an odd chainstay configuration, which made it difficult to install a triple crankset and get a good chainline.  I had one smaller quibble:  When I bought the bike (complete), it came with V-brakes and Shimano “brifters”.  V-brakes aren’t made to work with road levers, at least not the ones available at that time. Voodoo included a “travel agent”, which was supposed to compensate for the fact that road levers have less range of motion (or “pull”) than V-brakes are designed for.  Alas, the setup never worked to my satisfaction; before I embarked upon my tours, I switched to cantilever brakes. 

I bought the bike, as it turned out, during a transition from one model year to the next (1997-98).  I expected to get the 1997 model, which had the same frame in a shade of green rather like chartreuse.  As you can see, I ended up with the 1998 model, which was only available in a screaming bright orange.  The color wasn’t my cup of tea;   however, the components were actually, I thought, slightly better than the ones on the 1997 model.  And I paid the same price for the new model that I would have paid for the older one.

The Wazoo is the sort of bike you’d want to have if you lived in the country and could have only one bike, but you wanted that bike to give you a lively ride while holding up to varied conditions. I might, one day, have Mercian build something like it for me—with lugs and in finish #57, of course.  

Edvard Munch Comes Along For The Ride

Poor Edvard Munch.  People like me take a couple of Art History classes in college, and all we remember of him is one painting.

And that is the work I recalled when I came across this during my ride today:

Now, I don’t know much about his life.  So what I’m about to say is pure conjecture.  Somehow, because he painted “The Scream,” I don’t think he would have been averse to seeing something like this:

It’s a photo I took by the World’s Fair Marina, which is near Citi Field and LaGuardia Airport.  I saw that scene on my way home from Manhasset, in Nassau County, where my ride took me today. 

Why do I say he could enjoy that scene because he painted the scream?  Well, when I think of Munch, I can’t help but to think of another famous Norwegian who lived during his time:  Henrik Ibsen.  I think that Ibsen, because he was the sort of person who could so vividly portray hypocrisy and despair so well in his art, craved something better.  Literally and figuratively, the bleakness of the northern winter he portrayed made him crave the sun, if you will.  So it’s no surprise that after he wrote A Doll’s House, he spent most of the rest of his life in Italy.

I think Ibsen and Munch would have appreciated this, too:

However, I’m not so sure they would have wanted to accompany me on my ride.  In their day, cyclists rode “high-wheelers,” which could make even the slightest crack in the ground seem as if it had its own ZIP code and telephone exchange.  The streets in eastern Queens, near the Nassau county line, were more like washboards in some spots.

Anyway, it was still a nice ride at the end of a nice day.  Who could ask for more?

(The “scream” photo was taken at International Meat Market on 30^th Avenue in Astoria.)