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!

The Hardest Part Of The Trip

Some people still can't fathom that I--or anyone else, for that matter--pedal from our homes to the next county or state.  They express wonderment or disbelief when I tell them I've essentially lived on my bike in Europe or that I pedaled up and down mountains in Vermont, upstate New York, California, Nevada, France, Switzerland, Italy and Spain.

I have to chuckle.  After all, my exploits pale in comparison to those of folks like John Rakowski, who spent three years cycling around the world in the 1970s--or Greg and June Sipel who, around the same time, rode their laden bikes from Anchorage, Alaska to Tierra del Fuego, at the tip of South America. 

Now Chris and Sophie Haag plan to take a similar journey.  Come late June, they will take a ferry from Bellingham, Washington to Homer, Alaska.  Then, on 2 July, they plan to pedal north and cross the Canadian border.  From there, they will bike south, through western Canada and the United States to Central America.  From there, they expect to follow the Pan-American Highway into South America.

They anticipate spending two years on the road--about the same amount of time the Sippels took. 

Even if they have studied what the Sippels did, the Haags probably don't know what the most difficult part of their journey will be.  But they know what has been the most difficult part of their planning:  finding someone to take care of their pets. Fortunately for them, some friends in their hometown of St. George, Utah, have agreed to take on the task.

If Marlee were to ask me, "Where have you been for the past two years?", what would I tell her?

Into The Fall And The Sunset

You really know you're on a Fall ride when you see this:

That, along stretch of the East Coast Greenway that winds its way from Pelham Bay, near City Island, to Pelham Manor in Westchester County.  I was maybe half a kilometer from Pelham Manor--astride Arielle, my Mercian Audax.

I didn't get on the road until well after noon.  I didn't regret it, though:  The early morning was the coldest we had since, probably, April.   And I still rode to Connecticut and back, just beating darkness home.

So...I pedaled into blazing shades of orange, red and yellow scattered on the ground on my way up to the Nutmeg State.  And, by the time I reached Randall's Island--with only the RFK Memorial Bridge between me and home--I was riding into those same--or, at least, similar--hues spread against the sky, as the sun set behind me.

Marlee was not impressed. But she was happy to see me.

Two Different Views Of A Good Day

You know it's summer--or close to it--in this part of the world by the fulsome, verdant foliage:

Those trees stand next to the Veterans' Memorial in Greenwich, Connecticut.  Yes, I took a ride there.  Once the rain stopped, around ten o'clock yesterday morning, the sun appeared as if it were in the next frame of a film.  And, while it brightened the day, it also turned the air soupy in short order.

Still, it was a good day for a ride.  Arielle, my Mercian Audax, was ready for anything:

On the other hand, Marlee and Max were ready for only one thing:

I had a great time.  I'm sure they did, too!

What Makes Primates Primary?

I was brought up--or, at least, inculcated with the notion-- that we are the Primary Primates.

So from what, exactly, does our primacy derive?  Well, for one thing, humans are the only beings capable of speech and language.  Esteemed scientists said as much.  For another thing, they also declared that only homo sapiens can think and reason.  And equally esteemed philosophers and theologians insisted that non-humans could not feel empathy or love, or have any sense of the possibility an after- life.  Thus, they concluded, non-human animals did not have souls.

Early on, I realized that all of the arguments for the superiority of humans were premised on some thing or another that humans could do but other living beings couldn't.  

That got me to thinking:  What if we constructed a hierarchy of living things based on whether or not they could ride a bicycle?  

Why would we do such a thing?  I don't know.  One thing I know, however, is that Max and Marlee wouldn't be too happy if I did--especially if they were to see this:

Of course, the fact that my favorite felines can't ride a bike (not yet, anyway! ;-)) doesn't make them less than any other living being, in my eyes!

What Do I Miss? Mes Chats et Mes Velos

In 1992, I did a bike tour from Paris to Chartres, and from there to the Loire Valley and Burgundy to Dijon, before heading back to Paris--and, from there, taking a train, boat and train to England to visit my aunt.  

As I was about to head to Blighty, I was away from home for nearly a month.  I spent time with one of my friends, who lived near Paris at that time.  She asked what I missed most about home.

"Ma chat":  my cat.

Charlie I:  The cat who brought me back home.

Now, it  wasn't as if I didn't have friends in New York or anywhere else in the US.  Ditto for family: An aunt, uncle and cousin were still in Brooklyn, and my parents and one of my brothers were still living on the (New) Jersey Shore.  But the previous year had been a very difficult--though, in many ways, fruitful--time for me.  I wrote a lot.  How could I not?:  I was in graduate school, studying poetry.  My marriage had officially ended that year (though, in reality, it was dead long before that), and from Memorial Day until Christmas of 1991, I lost five friends to AIDS-related illnesses and the brother of someone I dated was murdered in the hallway of the building in which I was living.

Max

I was tempted not to go back, even though I had only to take a couple more courses, complete my dissertation (a book of poems) and take my comprehensive exam (which wasn't as difficult as I expected) to complete my degree.  After experiencing the losses I've mentioned, I had a kind of crisis from that happened much earlier in my life.  In retrospect, I realize that dealing with it--in part, by taking the trip I've mentioned--led me, if as indirectly as the route that took me from and to Paris, to the transition I would start a decade later.  

Marlee

Anyway, aside from the pain of past experience, I wanted to leave the United States behind, or so I believed.  Oh--I should mention that an acquaintance of mine was killed during our first invasion of Iraq.  I really believed that the country in which I'd spent most of my life was not, and could not be, a force for good in this world (I still feel that way, often) and it looked like Daddy Bush would be re-elected.  Him!--after eight years of Reagan!  I simply did not want to be associated with such things.  

(Would that I could have seen the future!)

Anyway, it seemed as if the only answer to my friend's question was, indeed, "ma chat".  (I had one at the time.)  She was convinced there had to be something else waiting for me:  she pointed out the family, friends, studies and writing I've mentioned.  And, of course, there were my bikes, although the one I was riding during that trip was quite nice.

The funny thing is I felt almost exactly the same way a couple of days ago, as I was leaving Paris.  In so many ways, my home country, and even my home town, are less tenable than they were nearly a quarter-century ago.  We have had non-stop war for the past fifteen years, and Donald Trump makes Bush The Elder seem like Nelson Mandela.  The idea of leaving is even more tempting than it was then, though I know it will be more difficult than I realized it could be in those days.

Arielle

I am back, for now.  And what did I miss, aside from some people?  Well, Max and Marlee--yes, I have one more cat than I did in those days.  And, today, I realized, I missed my bikes.  After spending more than a week riding a rental--which, as rentals go, was actually pretty good--taking Arielle, my Mercian Audax, for a ride today, with its perfect weather, seemed heavenly.  

So I missed my cats, my bikes and....

The Ice Man Cometh--On A Bike!

Yesterday I managed to slip out for a ride before meeting a friend for dinner and to watch the fireworks.

So what, exactly, did I have to escape from in order to get on my bike?  Well, none other than Max and Marlee.  Who says humans are the only creatures who don't know how to let go?

Anyway, I had no particular destination in mind.  Perhaps the only real intention I had was to avoid beach areas, because I knew that they were crowded.  That turned out to be a good choice:  I had most of the Queens and Brooklyn streets to myself!

I did find myself just up the street (Rockaway Parkway) from the Canarsie Pier. But I didn't go to the pier because it was packed with families and other groups cooking burgers, 'dogs and chicken wings on little grills.  Everything smelled good, even mixed with the aromas of beer and other kinds of alcohol.  

So, I made a U-turn and pedaled through a soundscape of liliting Caribbean music and accents along Canarsie side streets, and along Rockaway Avenue (almost traffic-free) to Brownsville, Ocean Hill and Bedford-Styvesant--areas of Brooklyn hipsters and gentrification still haven't found (though that could change very, very soon!).  Soon, I found myself in the tatoo capital of the Western world--Wilson Avenue in Bushwick.  There, I stopped at a shaved-ice cart, where I asked the man to make me a cone (paper) of ice con citron y cereza--with lemon and cherry syrups.  

I actually wante that cone.  But buying it was also a pretext for talking to the man about his cart.  

He says he made the cart, and attached the bicycle, himself.  It's easier and faster to move that way than it is to push the cart around while on foot.  Also, he doesn't have to worry about parking, as he would if he were driving the cart.

And, yes, that ice hit the spot.

Family Portrait Day

Today is Family Day.  So you’re gonna see lots and lotsa pikshas.

In the previous sentence, my roots were showing.  I’m going to my hairdresser on Thursday.

Anyway…Now I’m going to show you some portraits of family members.  It’s a particular but close branch:  The Mercians.

Yes, I’m going to show you my bikes, after their winter makeovers and some riding.

First I’ll start with Arielle, the first Mercian to come into my life:

You’ve seen some photos of her already. But I wanted to show her after 500 miles, post-facelift (and overhaul):

I’m liking it more and more with the honey leather.  I think the bags have something to do with it:  The color of the canvas (“Nantucket Red”, which is really more like salmon pink) works with both the green and purple of the “flip flop” finish and the honey saddle, bar wrap and toe straps. What do you think?

As you know from a few previous posts, Tosca, my fixie (and the second Mercian I acquired) got a similar treatment.

I’m happy with the way the colors play off each other.  However, I wasn’t able to find a double track toe strap to go with the other leather accessories.  Then again, I guess the mismatch isn’t as noticeable as if, say, I wrapped the bar in a darker color.

The third Mercian to come my way is, I realize, one I haven’t written as much about lately.  Helene is a 2010 Miss Mercian with similar geometry (but with slightly more tire and fender clearance) to Arielle, which is a custom Mercian Audax.  

The rear bag is a bit larger than the one I use on Arielle and Tosca.  As you can probably tell, it was also made by Ely Rodriguez of Ruth Works SF. So is the handlebar bag, doubles as a clutch or shoulder bag when removed from the bike.

Finally, here is the last Mercian I bought. Ironically, it’s the oldest:  Vera, my “other” Miss Mercian.  It was made in 1994 and I purchased it in 2011:

Somehow the boxy randonneur front bag and larger saddle bag make the most sense—and look best—on this bike, although I could use them on my other bike.  Perhaps it’s because Vera has a longer wheelbase and is therefore the most stable with a load on it.  I wonder what it would be like on a longer tour.

She seems really happy to have those bags, and the Brooks B17 special.  So am I.  In fact, I’m happy with all of these bikes:  As similar as they might seem to someone who doesn’t know bikes or Mercians, each has its own character and personality.  Still, they all make me happy when I ride

Now, here’s the rest of my family:

 
La-Z-Boy, a.k.a. Max

 and La-Z-Girl, a.k.a. Marlee!

I Can Get Absolutely Anybody Onto A Bike. Really!

As I've mentioned in earlier posts, sometimes my biggest obstacles to riding my bike are Max and Marlee.  There are times when either or both of them will jump into my lap or circle around my ankles when I'm about to go on a ride. Or they pose on the table, in front of my bikes. They just know what I'm about to do.

So I got this idea that maybe if I got them to ride with me, they wouldn't try to stop me.  Let's see...I tried that with an ex or two...and how did that work?  But, at least neither Max nor Marlee has--as far as I can tell--any of the issues my exes (or, for that matter, I) had.  And they're certainly playful cats.  So maybe I can channel some of their energy into pedal power.

How is it working.  I think this note says it all:

From The Journey

Hey! Don't Forget About Me!

A few days ago, I “blamed” Max when I didn’t get out of the house earlier than I did for a ride. 

Of course, I wasn’t upset with him.  How could I be?  When he’s not impeding progress I probably wouldn’t have made anyway, he climbs on me and purrs.  

Marlee does that, too.  However, she’s a bit more possessive of everything—including my lap and the spotlight—than Max is.  So she wasn’t content to see Max get all of the attention.

So she’s been posing in front of me whenever I sit, stand, take down one of my bikes, read, eat, talk on the telephone, write—or do just about anything else.  She wants me to take her picture because she knows, just knows, that she’s so photogenic and every picture I take of her is going to be better than the last.  Of course, neither the camera nor the photographer has anything to do with that!

Max can make orange the new black or whatever just because…well, because he’s orange and he’s Max.  But Marlee knows how to work her stripes:

Who, me?  Yeah, you!