What Do You See?

 What do you see in these pictures?

You've probably had some teacher, professor or, uh, official of the law ask you that question.

Of course, in any photo, some things are incontestably true.  On the other hand, other things are, if you'll indulge me a cliche, "in the eyes of the beholder."

In the polarized, hyper-politicized atmosphere that is today's America (It now seems weird to call this country the United States!), people will infer, correctly or not, your sympathies when you describe what you see.

Juxtaposing a photo of Joe Biden on his bike with that of Donald Trump disembarking from his plane is meant to show how far removed the current President is from the legal proceedings in which his predecessor finds himself.  To some, however, it shows a leader who's out of touch in contrast to one who's being "persecuted" by an unjust system.  

All right...I'm going to reveal my leanings --as if you haven't already figured them out!  Nobody can do any job 24/7.  Everyone needs physical and mental relaxation.  So, I don't begrudge Joe Biden, any more than I'd begrudge anybody else, for going on a bike ride. And, as much as I hate to engage in "whataboutism," I'll say that we didn't hear a peep from same people who criticize Joe for mounting a saddle and pedaling when Trump was cheating, I mean, playing golf.

He’s 78 And Rides A Bike—But Doesn’t Have “Stamina”

 The folks at Fox News want to have it both ways.

On one hand, Faux News contributor Rachel Campos Duffy accused President Joe Biden of being “too old” and not having the “physical or mental stamina” for his job.  The evidence?  He went for a bike ride in his home state of Delaware while “crises” raged in his country and the world.

What’s even more ludicrous is that she compared Biden’s actions to those of his predecessor, Donald Trump, claiming he “worked those long, long hours” and had “impromptu hour-long pressers with the media.”

Ok, so Joe went for a bike ride.  Donnie spent lots of time golfing—or simply hanging out on his golf courses.  Now tell me:  Which activity requires more stamina?

Also, look at all of the time T-rump spent on Twitter. How much stamina does that require ?

Oh, and Biden works out five days a week and his medical records show no major health problems. El Cheeto Grande, on the other hand, is said to have nudged his doctor into falsifying his health reports.

As for being “too old:” Biden is keeping up his bike rides and workouts at age 79.  When he took office, he was six years older than the Orange One was when he entered the White House.

I think Ms. Campos-Duffy’s real beef—and that of others in the right-wing media—is that Biden hasn’t held a “presser” since taking office. Trump’s press conferences, on the other hand, were mainly opportunities for self- promotion, or for bullying and belittling anyone who didn’t further his agenda, which begins and ends with himself.

That Biden can be the most powerful and famous person in the world not make it all about him shows me that he has some kind of stamina:  the kind one needs to have self-discipline.  Maybe the bike riding has something to do with it .

Bilenky Diplomacy

Boris Johnson has been called the "British Trump."

The moniker is accurate in some ways:  As Prime Minister, he has encouraged and implemented a kind of right-wing nationalism that appeals to English people who feel they've been left behind, and condescended to, by globalists, even if his ideologies and policies have pushed them further behind and favors the wealthy.

There are differences, though, between him and El Cheeto Grande.  While Johnson is an outsized media presence, he never could match Trump's narcisisstic ubiquity (or is it ubiquitous narcissism?).  And Johnson has not only encouraged, but participates in, something Trump discourages and has mocked others for.

I am talking, of course, about cycling.  When he was Mayor of London, he was often seen pedaling along that city's streets.  And, in January, he was criticized for traveling a few miles from 10 Downing Street for a bike ride while the rest of his country was under lockdown.

As it turns out, his cycling gives him common ground with the current US President, Joe Biden.  (I also suspect that they have more in common than they, or most people, realize.)  So, when Biden went to the G7 Summit meeting in Cornwall, England, he wanted to present the Prime Minister with a gift of--you guessed it--a bicycle.

So the State Department sent an urgent message to Stephen Bilenky in Philadelphia. He builds about 75 bikes a year, and most customers wait anywhere from six to eighteeen months for their orders.  The message exhorted him to build a bike in two weeks.

Oh, and State stipulated that the bike should have as many US-made components as possible--and cost less than $1500.  A typical Bilenky costs around $4500.

Mr. Bilenky rose to the challenge.  "It was a crazy 10 days," he said, but they got it done.  The frame, made from Columbus steel, is painted blue with red and white decorations to evoke the Union Jack--which adorns the frame, along with the Stars and Stripes and signatures of both men.

As for the components, the hubs, cranks and headset come from White Industries of California.  Also from the Golden State is the Selle Anatomica saddle.  Other parts, while not made stateside, came from US-based companies.  They include the SRAM derailleurs and levers, and Velocity  rims.

However Biden's and Johnson's relationship develops, it looks like our President is at least setting the wheels in motion (sorry, couldn't resist) toward something saner than we saw from Mango Mussolini.

(Photos by Daniel Kilkelly, from Painted Dog Media)

70 With 46

 Yesterday was World Bicycle Day.

The day after, a woman turned 70 and celebrated with a bike ride.

No, I am not that woman.  First of all, I haven't reached that milestone yet. (I might tell you when I do.) Second, she rode with her husband.

So who is the mystery woman?

She is none other than Jill Biden, wife of the current President.  They returned to Delaware, their home state, and pedaled down the 5.2 mile Cape Henlopen State Park trail, near their beach house.

Of course, it's pretty difficult for a President and First Lady to go unnoticed on a bike ride.  Other cyclists shouted good wishes and sang "Happy Birthday."  A reporter asked Jill whether she was enjoying her birthday.  She responded with an enthusiastic "Yes."

If this image of Joe (a.k.a. #46) and Jill cycling doesn't show just how different they are from their most recent predecessors, I don't know what does!

Release

Have you ever cried at the end of an arduous climb--or any other difficult, or simply long, ride?

I have.  I can't tell how I'll react at the end of any ride:  I might giggle with giddiness or fall asleep.  Or my tears might spill out:  sometimes from joy, or as a catharsis.

Yesterday I shed tears of release.  They felt, somewhat, like the ones that have rolled down my cheeks after a ride: salty as a tide, but cleansing like the rain.  

But I hadn't taken a long, hard, ride--or any ride at all.  I had planned to get out on one of my bikes, but I listened to the speeches and performances of yesterday's inauguration.  I wasn't expecting much:  Even before Trump campaigned for the presidency, I was pretty cynical when it came to political candidates' or office holders' words.  Even their most absurd claims or outrageous lies didn't enrage me:  They all seemed part of their stock in trade.  Never was I moved--as some claimed to be by "Ask not what your country" (I was about two years old when JFK made that speech!)--or by anything else an office-seeker or -holder said on the stump.

Yesterday, though, I couldn't help but to weep while listening to Joe Biden's inaugural speech.  He doesn't have the oratorical skills of JFK or Obama, and his words, while important and wise, weren't as stirring as those of Amanda Gorman, the young poet who followed him.  In hearing him, though,  I knew this:  I'd survived.  Those tears, the tension leaving my body, were the same as what I'd felt after the most traumatic events of my life--or, more precisely, the moment when I'd processed them, whether through finally talking or writing about them, or going on a ride.  

Speaking of which:  I am going to ride later today.  I haven't decided where, or which bike I'll ride.  All I know is that whatever and wherever I ride, whatever came before it is past, like the storm that's moved out to sea--or the tormentor who is gone.  At least, I hope they're gone, and all I have is the road ahead.

(For my next post, I'll try not to stray too far away anything related to cycling!)

Going Back Is Not An Option

I am writing, now, during the final hours of Donald Trump's presidency. I have no wish to analyze, interpret or even comment on it; really, there is much about it I'd prefer not to remember, at least now. 

To tell you the truth, I can't analyze or interpret or comment because I'm not thinking at this moment.  I'm not even sure that I can:  My mind's eye is projecting a stream of images, a riot of feelings, some related to personal experience, others coming from seemingly unrelated works of art.

About the latter:  One is a story I first read many years ago, and assigned in a few of my classes:  Eudora Welty's "A Worn Path."  The protagonist, an elderly black woman named Phoenix Jackson, trudges along the "worn path" through all manner of obstacles--as winter is bearing down--to get to town, ostensibly to procure medicine for her grandson who, as she tells the nurse who supplies it, never fully recovered from the damage to his throat caused by swallowing lye.  

What she encounters sees along the way is so real that it seems hallucinatory, or so hallucinatory that it seems real, depending on your point of view.  The nurse treats her with condescension and casts doubt on, not only Phoenix's story about her grandson swallowing lye, but even on the existence of the grandson himself.  But, perhaps, it doesn't matter whether Phoenix's story is actually true or the grandson is alive or ever existed in the first place.  One senses (or at least I sensed) that Phoenix had to make that journey, for whatever reason.  Or, more precisely, she couldn't not make it--perhaps she simply couldn't stay wherever she was.

A favorite film of mine, Cafe Transit  (released in the Anglophone world as Border Cafe), is full of characters like Phoenix. The film opens with Reyhan just having lost her husband and deciding to support herself and two young daughters by taking over his cafe, located on a mountainous Iranian road near the Turkish border.  

Because of its location, the cafe serves as a meeting and stopping-off point for people on their way to or from one place to another.  Some, like a Russian girl who lost most of her family members and who survived a sexual assault by a truck driver, have a definite destination:  She wants to be reunited with her sister, her sole surviving family member, in Italy.  Reyhan gives her an almost maternal welcome.  Others, like a Greek truck driver who takes a liking to Reyhan, simply can't or won't return home, whether because of some trauma (like the driver's wife leaving him) or because that home is gone.  

I mention all of this because while most viewers and reviewers focused (as I did, the first time I saw the film) on Reyhan's independence, I think she shared this with those other characters:  She was moving forward--on the road ahead, as it were--because, really, she couldn't do anything else.  For her, supporting herself and her kids wasn't about making a statement or defying the norms of her society:  Taking over that cafe, and making those meals (which you can practically taste while watching the film!) is her path.  

In other words, hers was not an act of defiance; she simply knew that following the norms of her culture by assenting to her brother-in-law's desire to become her second husband wasn't for her.  He wasn't a monster or villain--if anything, he's rather sympathetic, at least until the end of the film; she simply knew that her way forward didn't include him.  And the way forward was all she had.

So it was when I took  two of the most important bike rides I've ever taken.  One I described in "The Mountain We Climbed" and "Up the Col du Galibier." The other, shorter and less arduous, I took about a year later:  the last one from the apartment I shared with my former partner to my current life.  I had moved almost all of my stuff to my new place; I went back to pick up a few small things I'd left--intentionally, so I would have to take that ride?

I feel as if the coming Biden presidency will be like those journeys:  None of us knows what lies ahead; we just know that we must move ahead.  Going back is not an option.    

"I Won't Ride. I Promise!"

OK, I'll confess:  I'm listening to the Republican convention.

My rationale could be something like the one I offered for practically memorizing Das Kapital when I fancied myself an acolyte of Ayn Rand and St. Paul:  I was learning how and what "the other side" thinks.  Oh, I offered a similar explanation, if only to myself, when I used to go shopping with girlfriends and female friends when I was in my boy-drag.

Everyone from Kimberly Guilfoyle to Nikki Haley, when they're not accusing Trump's predecessor of leading us into an abyss to which his opponent will return us, are touting all of the wonderful things the The Orange One has supposedly done.  

I want to hear what he'll  promise next.  One of his most recent pledges, made last week, is to never, ever ride a bicycle again.  Actually, he promised not to get hurt on a bike:  a jab at John Kerry, who crashed in the French Alps, where he was negotiating with Iran's foreign minister.

He plans to avoid Kerry's mishap in the easiest way possible:  He won't ride a bike.  Ever.

Kerry took his tumble five years ago.  Trump picked on him because he couldn't throw shade on Joe Biden who, on a ride near Valley Forge, zipped past a Fox News reporter.



Trump's anti-cycling rant is ironic considering that, for two years, he sponsored what was arguably the most important bicycle race in the United States. It's fitting, I think, that one of the participating teams, Sauna Diana, was sponsored by a Dutch brothel.

Somehow I get the feeling Joe Biden, even at his age, might be too fast for them.