Through Her Eyes

 Could it be that even Marlee couldn't believe what she was seeing last Tuesday night?

Who Copes Better?

What did I see this morning, as I began my fourth week (!) in my new apartment?

Marlee has been cuddling with me even more than she had been in the old apartment--and that's saying something.  I wonder whether she's scared about being in a new and possibly strange place.  Or does she like my body more because I've gained weight? At least, I feel as if I have.

As you might imagine, I haven't done a lot of cycling, at least compared to what I normally do.   If I have gained weight, however, it may have as much to do with how I've been eating.  Last night, I realized that because I've been so busy, most days--including yesterday--I've been eating my biggest (or only) meal at the end of the day.  

Will Marlee still love me--or, at least, my body--as much when I get back to my normal cycling and eating habits?  And will she like this new place when it's all neat and arranged? 

Leading

 Have you ever heard your bike calling out to you?

Well, I can’t say I have—at least, not literally.  But when I pedaled La-Vande, my King of Mercia, to Greenwich, Connecticut on Saturday, she seemed to be leading me there—the way Marlee does when she rubs against my ankles and steers me toward the sofa.

Well, Saturday was a nearly perfect day for a ride of any kind, of any length on any bike.  But I think La-Vande had ulterior motives.

She wanted to pose against a backdrop she knew would flatter her.

Sunday was almost as nice a day for a ride. So to Point Lookout I went, this time with Vera, my Mercian mixte. She didn’t seem to be “leading “ me there, but I believe she enjoyed the breeze off the sea, and the sun.

Oh, and when I got home, Marlee “led” me to the couch, and curled in my lap.

Clouds And Cuddles

Cold and rain.  Then, cold and wind.  

That is how Fall has been turning into winter.  The clouds' whites and grays, and even the blue that occasionally breaks through them, take on the hardness and clarity of ice. 

Long Island Sound at Fort Totten seems to open itself for the purpose of ferrying away the memories, the flickerings, of autumnal hues and sunsets.

I'm not sure whether Marlee can appreciate such things.  She, however, wonders why I want to go for a ride when it's cold and windy and overcast. She can't understand why I'd want to leave, if only for a while, when she's dozing off in my lap.

I explain that I will return--and the sensory details of my ride make her cuddles all the more comforting.  And, I suspect, my riding makes me more cuddle-able, if only for the body heat a ride generates.

I'll Be Back, Really!

It's a human thing. You'll never understand.

Marlee may not know that today's weather is predicted to be even hotter than the past five, with a high temperature around 38C (100F). But, surely, she doesn't understand why I would go out--for a ride, or any other reason--when she cuddles up and falls asleep on me.  She knows that I'll be gone--for how long, she may not know.  I promised her that today's ride, like those I've taken on each of the past few days, won't be more than a couple of hours.  Still, she's doing everything she can to keep me from going.

I think that, deep down, she knows that her efforts might delay me for a few moments but won't stop me.  I belive that she also knows I'll be back.  Still, she insists on using her superpowers--her cuddliness and that she's ridiculously cute--to persuade me.

Cats may not have a sense of guilt. But I think they know that humans have it--especially if we come from certain religious or ethnic traditions, including the ones in which I was raised.

Don't go!

I'll be back! (No, I didn't say it in my Arnold Schwarznegger* accent!) 

*--Just as there isn't one "French" or "Italian" accent, there isn't just one "German" inflection on English.  The Governator, however, has an accent all his own!

Can They Be Bred For This?

 During the pandemic, many people adopted dogs. I joked with a neighbor that our street should be renamed "Westminster" because of all of the folks promenading with their pooches.

Along with the increased numbers came canines in configurations and colors I'd never seen before.  Some are previously-obscure breeds that found popularity; others, it turns out are new cross-breeds.

I wonder whether some cyclist is trying to create a dog that can accompany a rider without being bundled into a basket or box.  

For that matter, is someone trying to breed a cat that can be brought on a bike ride, period?  No offense, Marlee!

A Ride From Art To Marlee

 I've ridden to museums, galleries, plays, poetry readings, concerts and other cultural events.  It's one of my favorite ways to spend a day: I get to combine some of the things I love most.  

The problem, though is parking. I know, I sound like a motorist when I say that.  But only in a few venues can one bring in a bicycle. The Metropolitan Museum has bike racks in its parking garage and valet bicycle parking during certain hours.  But at most other events and venues, you take your chances with parking on the street.

A couple of days ago, during a late-day ride, I came across a solution to the problem:

The 5-50 Gallery is located, as the name indicates, at 5-50 51st Avenue in Long Island City.  More specifically, it occupies a garage--from what I can tell, a commercial one.  Converting industrial and retail spaces to use for art and performance is not new, but this gallery's space is uniquely accessible. 

No, that isn't a portait of Marlee on mushrooms.  It's one work by Kyle Gallagher, the artist featured when I stopped by. 

The paintings have a grab-you-by-the-collar quality, full of  colors that flash with, at once, the energy of street festivals and the urgency of flashing ambulance lights.  And the way cats and other living beings are rendered makes comics seem like a kind of mythology of the subconscious,  spun from threads of graffiti, street portraiture and abstraction.

All right, I know, you didn't come to this blog for two-bit art commentary. But there was something oddly appropriate, almost synchronistic, about encountering those paintings on a bike ride through an industrial-turned-trendy neighborhood.

When I got home, Marlee didn't care. She just wanted to know, "what's for dinner?"  

"Like Herding Cats"

 You've heard the expression that something is "like herding cats."

Well, have you ever tried to teach a cat to ride a bike?

You'd think that with all of my experience as a cyclist, teacher and professor, I could teach anyone anything when it comes to cycling.  Well, some things tax even my wealth of experience!

I'm going to try visualization.  Maybe if she sees enough images like this one, she'll accompany me on a ride:

There's still time!

There's No College There, But There's An Education

This weekend included a change of seasons and cultures--and rides.

While, officially, we're deep into Fall, from Thursday through the middle of Saturday, it felt more like early summer.  I took Friday's ride, to Connecticut, in what I might wear around Memorial Day or Labor Day--a pair of shorts and a fluorescent green T-shirt.  The breeze took some of the edge off the humidity.

Saturday morning, I pedaled out to Kesso's for some fresh Greek yogurt.  Alas, they were closed.  I hope everything is OK there: Perhaps they, like so many other shops--and people--couldn't get some thing or another they needed because of the interrupted supply chains that have emptied store shelves.  Later in the day, wind drove hard rain against leaves, windows and faces.

Yesterday, the wind let up--for a little while--and temperatures were more fall-like.  I took a spin along the North Shore of Queens and western Nassau County, which took me into a neighborhood frequented by almost nobody who doesn't live there--in spite of its proximity to a mecca for in-the-know food enthusiasts.

On a map, College Point is next to Flushing.  But the two neighborhoods could just as well be on diffeent planets.  The latter neighborhood, one of the city's most crowded, has been known as the "Queens Chinatown" for the past three decades or so.  There are dozens of places where one can sample a variety of regional cuisines, and have everything from a formal dining experience to chow on the run.  Those places are centered around Roosevelt Avenue and Main Street, at the end of the 7 line of the New York subway system--and one stop away from Citi Field, the home of the New York Mets, and the US Tennis Center, site of the US Open and other events.

College Point is "off the grid," if you will--away from the city's transit systems and accessible only by winding, narrow streets that dead-end in inconvenient places or truck-trodden throughfares that, at times, resemble a moonscape, that weave through industrial parks, insular blue-collar communities and views of LaGuardia Airport and the Manhattan skyline one doesn't see in guidebooks.

Until recently, College Point--which, pervesely, includes no college--was populated mostly by the children and  Irish, German and Italian construction workers and city employees who were the children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren of Irish, German and Italian construction workers and city employees.  Their houses were smaller versions of the nearby factories and warehouses: squat brick structures framed by latticeworks of steel or wooden trellises, cornices  and fences.

In that sense, this place fits right in:

The New York Hua Lian Tsu Hui Temple is--you guessed it--a square brick building framed with wooden cornices and a steel fence.  The cornices,  though, are different:  They signal the purpose of the building, and signify other things.  Apparently, Chinese and Korean people who needed more space to raise their kids--or simply wanted to escape the crowding of Flushing--have "discovered" the neighborhood.  

Some have families and pets:

Marlee, though, was not impressed!  All she knows is that when I'm on my bike (or doing anything outside the apartment), I'm not there for her to curl up on.

Afternoon Nourishment

Over the past week or two, clouds have blanketed, and rain has fallen on, this part of the world more often than the sun has shone.  But the days have grown noticeably longer:  Every day, it seems, the sun sets a few minutes later.

That means I can start early in the afternoon and still get a decent ride in.  On Monday, I rambled along local streets and roads to the North Shore and central Queens to Flushing Meadows-Corona Park.  

The cherry blossoms were, well, not quite blossoms, not yet.  But the buds were visibly more open than they were over the weekend: open enough that I could envision the pink canopy the grove will soon provide.

I deliberately used the word "provide" because such sensual spectacles are sustenance for me:  They sustain me on my journey and the journey.

The following day, I didn't see cherry blossoms after I pedaled a few miles from my apartment.  I pedaled north and east, across the RFK Bridge into the Bronx and Westchester--into Connecticut.  I realize now that the difference in latitude, however slight, may have been enough to make a difference in the blooms:  Festivals in Washington, DC and much of Japan happen early in April (or even late March) because their trees, at a more southerly latitude, are exposed to the necessary sunlight, and therefore bloom, earlier.

I did, however, enjoy a snack or late light lunch*, depending on how you look at it, by a bed of tulips:

The soldiers, sailors and flyers commemorated at the Greenwich Memorial aren't buried there. Throughout my life, as I've become increasingly anti-war, I have become more pro-veteran.  Maybe I still have the hope that one day, whether or not it happens during my lifetime, no one else will have to do what they did--and that beauty can flourish in the ruins.

All right, enough faux-profound commentary.  It was great to start after noon and finish a 145 kilometer ride well before dark--and to chow down on some Italian American soul food--baked ziti and salad--after feeding my apartment mate.**

*--A quarter of a whole wheat baguette with Brad's peanut butter and Bonne Maman preserves--cherry on half, wild blueberry on the other half.

**--I always feed Marlee before I feed myself.  I got into the habit of feeding my cat(s) first years ago, with my first feline companion.

  

I Tried. Really, I Tried!

Including Marlee, I have had six cats during my life.  Each of them has delighted me in his or her own way, and I have loved them all.

You can "adopt" this cat here.

Unfortunately, I never could get any of them to do this:

Really, I tried! ;-)

Exploiting Animals And Bicycles

I don't have a lot of money.  And my apartment, while clean, well-maintained and safe, is hardly what starry-eyed young people in the steppes imagine when they dream of living in New York.

Still, I know I'm privileged.  For one thing, I've been able to travel overseas in each of the past five years.  (I don't think I will this year because of the COVID-19 epidemic.)  I can do that mainly because I don't have to support anyone besides myself and Marlee, and I really don't have expensive hobbies. (For all of the bikes and bike-related equipment and schwag I have, I really haven't spent a lot on them, compared to some with a two-wheeled obsession.)  Also, besides working, there really isn't much I have to do.  So, I can spend my time riding, writing, reading or doing other things I like, simply because I want to do them.

Who, me?

Another reason I know I'm privileged is that Marlee doesn't have to do a damned thing to "earn her keep" or justify her existence.  In most of the world, the animals people keep serve some purpose or another.  In fact, some beasts work all day for the privelege of becoming dinner that night.  Marlee doesn't have to worry about anything like that.  She sleeps 15-17 hours a day, and I wouldn't be upset if she slept a few more.  Of course, I benefit because sometimes she dozes off in my lap, or by my side, and I drift off into dreamland, if only for a brief spell.

Now, I can understand keeping animals as beasts of burden.  I might have a more difficult time caring for and feeding an animal--and developing a bond with him or her (as I inevitably will:  that's how I am)--only to find him or her on my lunch or dinner plate.  Still, having been in rural southeast Asia, the Middle East and even parts of this country, I can understand how people can raise animals they know they're going to eat--or that will be eaten by someone else.  I understand that I, as a city dweller, have the option--all right, let's call it what it is: privilege--of not having to look at or touch an animal before eating it.

(That said, I don't eat nearly as much animal flesh as I once did.  I don't think I'll ever be entirely vegan, though, because I like dairy products--though I don't consume as much of those, either, as I once did. )

On the other hand, there really is no reason for what some people train or force their animals to do.  I have long believed that dolphins are the most intelligent animals of all--or, at least, they are more intelligent than we are--because while naval forces around the world have used them to detect mines and protect ships, there are some things those beautiful creatures simply would not do.

As much as I love cycling, and I have sometimes wished Marlee, Max, Charlie and my other kitties could accompany me on rides, there aren't many reasons to make an animal ride a bicycle.  It's usually done for yuks, or other kinds of exploitation.

I'm thinking now of the zoo in Thailand that made one of its chimps ride a bike in human clothes, with a mask over its face.  Now, if I had to wear those clothes, I might want to wear a mask, too.  But it gets worse:  the poor primate had to ride with disinfectant tanks strapped to its back--and spray that disinfectant around the zoo.

Oh, as if that weren't humiliating enough, before beginning his "shift", the chimp is chained to a wooden block while pulling on a diaper, shorts and the tacky shirt.

This video is disturbing. But I must say that it achieves something:  How often have you seen something in which both an animal and a bicycle are abused?

Happy Mother's Day

Happy Mother's Day!

This day is not only a time to honor the woman who gave birth to, raised--and did so much else for--me, but also the other women who have been our inspirations, guides, role models, friends, mentors and companions.

In other words, this is for the women who rock.  And roll!

I've never had children.  But Marlee seems to think I'm her mama.

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!

Away, Again!

Marlee just would not let go of me.  

She knew I wasn't going to be home for long.  She thought she could keep me from leaving, yet again by lying on me and refusing to get up when I got up.  To tell you the truth, I didn't want her to go, any more than she wanted me to go.

But I went anyway. What does that say about me?

By the time you read this, I will have landed and will probably be resting--after spending a few hours seated.

Tomorrow, I'll tell you where I am.  I promised to bring something back for Marlee. (I've made that promise to every cat I've had whenever I've taken a trip. I haven't broken it!)

If you don't hear from me for a couple of days, it means I don't have a reliable internet connection--unless you hear otherwise!

I'm Back And She Won't Let Me Explain

Someone wants me to explain why I left her in cold, rainy New York while I was bike riding in 80 degree (27C) Florida sunshine.



Marlee was well cared-for.  Mildred, my cat-sitter, even spent time with her on New Year's Eve.  But Marlee still wants to know why I get to have all the fun.  She's not buying my explanation that I was visiting my parents.

Really, I was...

Why I Ride Brooks Saddles

If you know how much a person rides and has ridden, and what sort of conditions he or she likes, it's fairly easy to make equipment recommendations.  Now, some cyclists might prefer one brand over another--say, Continental or Michelin or Panaracer tires--but it's not hard to tell someone what type of tires or gearing, or even bike, would be best for his or her riding.

Saddles, though, are another story.   Lots of internet bandwidth is wasted in arguments about which saddle is "best" or even "right."  For every cyclist who loves a particular saddle, there is at least one other who despises it.  Now, I can tell you that accounts of how long it takes to break in a Brooks saddle are, for the most part, exaggerated.  But even if you and your riding partners agree that tensioned-leather saddles are the best, you won't all agree on which model is the best. (The B17?  The Pro?  An Ideale?)

I believe, though, that I may have just found a way to test saddles.

More precisely, when a task is difficult...outsource it!  What else are pets for?

(My apologies to Marlee.)

Not Going Anywhere--Well, Not Really!

Marleee won't let me go!

As soon as I walked into my apartment, she was at my feet.  As soon as I sat down, she sat on me and would not get up for anything--not even the promise of a can of tuna.

I was away for two weeks. She probably thinks that if I get up and out the door, I'll be gone for a long time, again.  I have a dentists' appointment. Really, I do.  I'll be back in a couple of hours.

I actually do have a dentists' appointment.  But I just might sneak out for a bike ride.  Dear readers, please don't tell her!