Was He A Sustainable Transportation Advocate?

What if Socrates were the protagonist of The Odyssey? 

Well, for one thing, it wouldn't be called The Odyssey because its central character is Odysseus.  So what would The Socratessy (or whatever it would be called) be like?

And what if, in such a story, Socrates had a bicycle?

I have to admit that I never pondered such a scenario.  Perhaps it means that I'm not as creative or deep a thinker as I've fancied myself to be.   Or it may simply mean that I'm not Samuel Beckett.  

Although I've read his poetry and most of his drama (of which I've seen performances), I am guilty of ignoring his fiction. Why? I don't know.  But after coming across an article by transportation policy analyst Gideon Forman, I plan to read Molloy.

Like his best-known works, Waiting for Godot (En attendant Godot) and Endgame (Fin de partie),  Beckett wrote Molloy in French.  (He was born and raised in Ireland but spent most of his adult life in France.)  The title character is, like Socrates, a kind of brilliant philosopher who is homeless. He is on a quest to reunite with his elderly mother; Odysseus is trying to get home to his wife.  And, in another sort-of-parallel to the ancient Greek tale, Molloy is not certain that he will arrive--or that he is even on his way to his destination.

Molloy, who has leg problems, nonetheless undertakes his journey on a bicycle.  "Crippled though I was, I was no mean cyclist," he says.  As Forman points out, however, the bicycle signals poverty:  Molloy can't afford bus or train fare, much less an automobile.  

But, as Forman points out, Beckett--whether or not it was his intention--shows what a democratizing force the bicycle is:  Even in his poverty, with his handicaps, Molloy still can ride it.  

Perhaps most interestingly of all, the bicycle becomes a sort of companion like the eponymous donkey of Juan Ramon Jiminez's Platero y yo  (Platero and I). "Thus we cleared these difficult straits, my bicycle and I, together," Molloy says of his mount.  I imagine that Molloy--and perhaps Beckett himself--would understand the grief I feel over crashing Arielle, my Mercian Audax, or the bikes I've lost to theft.

Could it be that Monsieur Beckett embedded advocacy for cycling (and other sustainable transportation) in a story about uncertainty?

This Isn't An Experiment

Some people simply cannot abide any toe-clip overlap.  Me, I can stand a little, depending on the bike and how I'm riding it.  But this is, shall we say, a bit out of my range.

What's worse is the way it was achieved, if you will:

I'm thinking now of Rigi bikes from about 40 years ago. Its creators made the wheelbase shorter by splitting the seat tube in two--rather like the top tube on a mixte frame--and running the wheel between the smaller tubes:



I've heard of a bike that does the same thing with the down tube:  The front wheel runs through it.  I don't know how one steer such a machine.  The only possible use I can see for it is a motor-paced time trial.

Now I'll dispense with the levity:  As you probably have surmised, I didn't try to alter Arielle's geometry. Rather, it happened--in front of a nondescript tenement on Bonnefoy Avenue in New Rochelle.

I was pedaling, at a pretty good pace, home from Connecticut.  Well, I thought I was going home:  I hit something and, the next thing I knew, I was getting stitched up.   Then someone in the New Rochelle hospital decided I should be observed in a trauma unit, to which I was sent. 

Poor Arielle.  As for me, I still feel pain on the sides of my neck down to my shoulders.  Oh, and I have a headache and have been tired.  A trip to the drugstore felt like a century or a marathon.

When I got home, my face looked as if someone had superimposed a railroad map over a satellite image of the Martian surface.  It's a little better now, but I don't think I'll be modeling for Raphia any time soon.

I hate asking for money, but I think the real pain will begin when I see what my insurance doesn't cover.  So, I've set up a GoFundMe page.

I hope, more than anything, to be back in the saddle soon.  Until then, I'm going to catch up on some reading, writing and a project.  And Marlee is going to catch up with, well, the cuddles she misses when I'm out of the house!

Thank you!

Standing Still

Late yesterday afternoon I rode along the North Shore of Queens and Nassau County.  The streets of Malba, Whitestone, Bayside, Little Neck and Great Neck were all but deserted.  So were the parks and other public spaces.

On the beach at Francis Lewis Park, I felt as if I were the only one who was moving.

And, judging from the lack of traffic on the Whitestone Bridge, I may have been the only one going anywhere.

Of course, it takes a lot to stop Arielle, my Mercian Audax, or any of my other bikes!

RIding Solo--In More Ways Than One

When I wrote my previous post, I was worried--about a lockdown, and other things. I'd heard that in Puerto Rico, people aren't allowed to leave their homes for just about any reason.  Even taking a walk, cycling or skating alone are out of the question.  Italy has enacted similar restrictions.  I wondered whether I wouldn't be able to ride for weeks, even months, just as the season is beginning.

So, the other day, I made it a point to take a long ride--to Connecticut. On Sundays, Greenwich Avenue in Greenwich teems with strollers and shoppers, and the street is lined with parked cars.  But, from the Greenwich Common, I saw this:

and this:

Arielle, my trusty Mercian Audax, isn't accustomed to such isolation.  She could have been forgiven for wondering whether I took her on a trail instead of a street.

Speaking of streets, here was the view down University Avenue in the Bronx at 2 o'clock this afternoon:

Mind you, on the right, that's an entrance to the Cross-Bronx Expressway--the gateway to upper Manhattan and the George Washington Bridge.

Of course, I didn't mind having to contend with so little traffic, although it seemed almost surreal.  Still, I''d be happy if some of the cars and trucks didn't return after the epidemic--as long as their drivers survive.  I don't extend any bad wishes to people.

While we're on the subject of people:  There is a calm, if not a quiet, I haven't seen since the days just after 9/11.  Sometimes people eye each other warily, even suspiciously--Is that person sick?--but complete strangers are telling each other, and me, to be safe.  

And I want you, dear readers, to be well and safe--and to ride, as often and much as you can!

When You Can't Look Out

The past couple of mornings began with mist that turned to fog at the ocean.

I don't know whether this is what the Ramones had in mind when they sang about Rockaway Beach.  I like it, actually:  The shadowy figures on the jetty were as clear to me as a dream, and I felt myself opening like a leaf on a bush that would soon flower.

The weather and traffic reports warned of poor visibility.  But I had no trouble seeing.

Well, I could see clearly enough to know that Point Lookout would not live up to its name:  It wasn't possible to look out very far from there.

But I could still see clearly, the way we can on an invigorating ride. 

It's Not Dark--Yet!

Where was I at 5:58 PM (EDT) on Wednesday the 20th, Spring Equinox 2019?

I got out for another late-day ride.  The funny thing was that even though I was pedaling into the wind, I wanted to keep on going. And so I did, to Point Lookout. 

You can tell you've been through a winter when you look beyond the rocks and everything seems to be in a shade of stone:  the almost slate-like blue-grey water, the gnarled brown trees and granular tan-colored sand on the opposite shore.

Even though the days are getting longer, and we have more light at the end of the day because of Daylight Savings Time, getting to Point Lookout meant riding home into the sunset along the Rockaway Boardwalk.

After I turned away from the boardwalk and up the bridge to the Queens "mainland", I kept telling myself "It's not dark yet" as the sun disappeared from view--and, yes, even after I turned on my lights in Ozone Park.

Maybe it had something to do with having the wind at my back.

When The Trees Are Barest

It is always darkest just before the day dawneth.

We've all heard some version of that aphorism.  It's often attributed to the 17th Century historian and theologian Thomas Fuller, though he never claimed to be the source.  I've heard that it actually comes from Irish or Scottish folk wisdom--depending, of course, on whether you talk to an Irish or Scottish person!

In any event, there is, I believe, a parallel:  The trees are barest just before spring.

And, perhaps, the snow seems iciest when it's about to melt away.

Whatever the reality, a memorial to those who died in war is always bleak, and any attempts to soften the reality that the commemorated folks are dead, and usually for no good reason, only makes it more so.

But it was still a lovely day, and ride the other day.  The roads were clear, but, seemingly on cue, snow banked the sides of the roads as soon as I crossed the state line.

The Season Catches Up As I Race Daylight

The semester is ending and final exams are beginning. That left me with a "gap" yesterday.  So, of course, I went for a ride.

I don't mind cold weather, though I notice I have to be more careful when the temperature drops:  Muscles stiffen and puddles glaze with icy crusts.  At least there wasn't much wind, and a light show of sun and clouds drifted across the sky.

We are ten days away from the Winter Solstice, the shortest day of the year. So, yesterday, we had only a few more minutes of daylight than we'll have on that day.  At this time of the year, we have about nine hours of daylight and, after I did the things I had to do, I had less than six hours left. 

Of course, I could have ridden after dark:  I often do just that on my commutes home.  Still, I prefer to stick to daylight whenever possible.  I would try to get myself home by sundown, but if I went a little bit later, that would have been fine.

Which I did, though not by much--and not for the reasons I anticipated.  Near the end of the ride--about 12 kilometers from home--my front tire started losing air. I was making a turn from Home Street (ironic, isn't it?) onto Fox Street in the Bronx when something seemed a bit off-balance.  I thought perhaps I'd run over something, or that maybe I was just getting tired.  But when I made my next turn, onto Southern Boulevard, I noticed that something definitely wasn't right.  A few blocks down, near 149th Street, I realized that my tire was indeed losing pressure. 

Slow-leak flats are often more difficult to deal with because the source of the leak isn't always obvious.  I didn't want to go to the trouble of locating a puncture or, worse, miss some small shard of something in the tire casing that would cause another flat if I were to patch or replace the tube.  

I was also near a subway stop and, although it wasn't dark, I could see the night approaching.

Plus, I had already ridden about 130 kilometers by that time, so I figured I'd had a decent afternoon's ride. Actually, it was more than decent:  I'd made it to Connecticut and pedaled up a few hills along the way.

One thing I must say, though:  I realized that I couldn't call it a "late fall" ride.  The bareness of the trees, and the light, definitely painted an early picture of winter:

They Don't Make 'Em Like This Anymore!

The other day I was wandering some familiar haunts in Brooklyn with Arielle, my Mercian Audax special.  Along the way, I made a quick detour to look for a sign the world hadn't ended.

All right, so it wasn't so dramatic.  I was, however, relieved and gratified that one of the truly gentle people I've known still has his shop.  If the repair bicycles weren't locked to a rack in front of the store, it would be easy to miss.  

Arnold's Bicycles and Trains is no bigger than my apartment but is chock-full of history. It has been on the same block of Sunset Park for decades.  I don't think Arnold has sold any trains in a while, but I suspect he may have a few leftover tracks or cars in his basement. (Do kids still pine for model railroads at Christmastime?)  He says he still has a few nice old parts but "I've sold most of them over the past few years" as people are restoring all sorts of old machines.

These days, I suspect he makes most of his money from repairs, helmets and other accessories, as well as the occasional new kid's bike.  In addition to his gentleness, everyone who's dealt with him remarks on his honesty, which is probably why his store has weathered the changes in the surrounding neighborhood.

It's hard to believe, but when I stopped by, one of the repair bikes I saw is older than the shop--and possibly Arnold himself:

Like Arnold, it's "the real deal".  In other words, it's what lots of bikes today claim they are:  a Dutch city bike. (Brand:  Victoria) It could have been parked next to an Amsterdam canal yesterday, or 50 years ago, and it wouldn't have looked out of place.  This bike is meant for commuting, as evidenced by at least one interesting feature:

People pay custom frame builders and constructeurs good money for internal generator-light wiring, but here it is on an everyday utility bike!  But the thing that fascinated me most is the crank:

We expect most bikes of this type to have cottered cranskets.  Cotterless sets, we're told, were the province of Campagnolo, Stronglight, Specialites TA and other makers of high-end racing and touring gear.  

This one is made of steel.  Its chainring cannot be changed, but I suspect that it will never need to be.  

Nor will Arnold.  Whatever he sells in his shop, people go to it because of him.  Oh, and there's a place on the next block where you can eat some of the best pork buns you can get without taking a flight to Shanghai!

A Day of Spring

It's been called "The Year Without Spring."

Here in New York, people talk--and complain--more than most farmers about the weather.  This year, though, they do have reason to complain:  Since March, we've had days or weeks when it's been cold and wet punctuated by a day or two of summer-like heat.

Yesterday was one of the few spring-like days we've had, at least temperature-wise.  The mild air, though, was humid, probably because of the heavy clouds that covered the area until mid-afternoon, when the sun broke out.  Also, we had march-like wind.

So what did I do?  I pedaled into that wind--to Connecticut.  Yes, I cranked most of the 70 kilometers (43 miles) up to the Nutmeg State into a 30KPH wind.  I had to remind myself of that when I arrived, more tired than I'd been on previous rides this year.  I thought I'd grown soft over the past couple of weeks, when papers, exams and other end-of-semester duties made me more sedentary than usual.

At the Veterans Memorial in Greenwich, the flowers--and flags--were in full bloom.  Unfortunately, my camera wasn't up to the occasion (or I'm the most technologically incompetent person writing a blog today).  Fortunately, Arielle was.*

Of course, the ride back was--if you'll pardon the expression--a breeze.  

*--I'll be riding more of Dee-Lilah, my new Mercian Vincitore, soon.  I have ridden her a couple of times, mainly to test things, but I wanted to save her for the nice weather--and my birthday, for which she is my gift to myself!

Confessions

I have a confession.

I took a ride the other day--to Connecticut.

You're probably wondering why that's a "confession".  Well, you see, it's like this...um...well...

All right, I took a "mental health day" from work.

You know that's just another way of saying I played hooky.  But I rationalized it to myself because I had to go into work on a day when I normally wouldn't have.  Also, I suspected that my students are tired.

(When you were a kid, did your parents send you to bed when they were tired?  I was operating on the same sort of logic, or at least rationale.)

The ride to Connecticut was great.  Arielle, my Mercian Audax, knows it well.  And, for a change, it actually looked like Spring:

except that it felt more like summer when I started home.  The temperature had reached 34C (92F) and, after I crossed the state line, I could swear I was pedaling into a wind I didn't feel at my back on my way up.  

In addition to the wind, I was pedaling in continuous sunlight.  And, for the first time this year, I rode in shorts and a short-sleeved top.  So, while I was probably getting a month's worth of Vitamin D, I probably got as much in ultra-violet rays, even though I was re-applying sunscreen hourly. Also, even after drinking a full bottle each of plain water, Poland Spring and Gatorade, I didn't have to pee.  That meant, of course, that the sun, wind and heat were drawing the moisture out of me almost as soon as I replaced it.

In most years, by the time I did my first ride in such heat, I had done several others in gradually-increasing temperatures.  But on Sunday, when I rode with Bill and Cindy, the mercury barely reached 10C (50F).  Also, most of that ride was under partly cloudy skies, and just about all of the riding I've done so far this year has been under varying amounts of cloud cover.

After a cold, wet April, May opened with the kind of weather we might see in late July or early August.  That has people in this part of the world wondering, aloud, "Where did Spring go?"

My skin was probably wondering the same thing.  Even though this is the sixth ride I've taken to Connecticut this year, this one was the most difficult.  It was so difficult, in fact, that...I bailed with about 20km (12 miles) left in a 140 km (85 mile) ride.  Just after I crossed the bridge from the Pelham Bay Park trail to Co-op City, I started to feel lightheaded. At Pelham Parkway in the Bronx, I saw a hot dog stand by the station for the #5 subway.  I bought another bottle of Poland Spring and got on the train.

So...Which is the bigger confession:  that I played hooky or I bailed out on a ride?

All About Dee-Lilah

I'm waiting for the snow and ice to clear so I can take Dee-Lilah, my new Mercian Vincitore Special, out for another ride.  I'd also like the chance to take newly-painted Tosca, my Mercian fixed-gear out for a spin.

Meantime, though, I'll tell you a bit about Dee-Lilah.

She's made of Reynolds 853 tubing.  The geometry is just slightly different from that of Arielle, my Mercian Audax.  Both frames have 55.5 cm seat tubes and 53.5 cm top tubes.  But while Arielle has a very traditional sport-touring design of parallel 73 degree angles at the head and seat tubes, Dee-Lilah has a slightly steeper seat angle, at 74 degrees, and a slightly shallower head tube angle of 72.  This allows for the response I like in the rear combined with a bit more comfort in front. Also, it will make for better handling when I start using a bag on the front rack. 

If Arielle felt like a magic carpet, Dee-Lilah feels like a cloud with jet propulsion. I know, I've only ridden Dee-Lilah twice for a total of just under 100 miles.  But I definitely feel differences, however subtle, between her and my other Mercians.  And they are subtle differences I wanted when I ordered the frame.

Anyway, here is how Dee-Lilah is kitted out:

Wheels:  

• Phil Wood hubs, 36 hole rear, 32 hole front
• Mavic Open Pro Rims, Velox rim tape
• DT Competition Spokes, 14/15 ga.
• Continental Grand Prix 4 Season tires, 700X28

Drivetrain:  

•   Sugino Alpina Cranks, 110 BCD, 170mm length
•  Specialties TA Syrius chaninrings, 48/36
•  Phil Wood square-axle bottom bracket, 108 mm
•  SRAM PC-991 chain
•  Shimano Ultegra 9 speed cassette, 12-25
•  Shimano Dura-Ace rear derailleur, w/sealed pulleys
•  Shimano Dura-Ace front derailleur
•  Shimano Dura-Ace downtube shift levers
•  MKS Urban Platform pedals w/MKS "basket" toe clips and Velo Orange Grand Cru straps

Steering:

• Nitto Mod. 177 "Noodle" handlebars, 42 cm 
• Nitto NP (Pearl) stem, 11 cm
• Chris King 2Nut headset

Braking:

• Shimano R650 brakes w/Mathauser-Kool Stop salmon pads
• Cane Creek SCR-5 levers

Seating:

• Brooks Team Professional, Maroon (cordovan/oxblood)
• Nitto 65 ("Crystal Fellow") seat post, 27.2

Other items:

• Sugino chromed seat binder bolt
• Newbaum's Eggplant purple cloth handlebar tape
• Rustines handlebar plugs (like Velox)
• Nitto M18 front rack
• Andrew King "Iris" stainless steel water bottle cages
• Crane bell on Velo Orange spacer

Dee-Lilah is designed so that, if I like, I can add fenders and/or a rear rack if I decide to, say, take her on a tour. But I had her built mainly with day trips in mind, and my first such ride with her has been a joy. 

In all, I have tried to combine my color preferences and my love of traditional bike aesthetics with what is practical for me.  So far, it all seems to have balanced out nicely!

Speaking of aesthetics:  Dee-Lilah's main color is Lilac (hence her name) Polychromatic (#17 on the Mercian colour chart) set off with a head tube and seat panel in Deep Plum Pearl (#56).

                           

Arielle And Amber

You know a winter day in New York is mild if it doesn't seem cold after you've just spent a week in Florida.

Today was such a day.  Actually, I experienced a day or two in the Sunshine State that were even a bit chillier than today.  For me, it was perfectly fine for riding.

And it was for Bill, too.  What inspired us, aside from the sheer joy of being on our bikes, was the light of this day:

It wasn't only the clarity of the sky that so inspired us.  Rather, it seemed that on every street, in every field, sunlight became the bricks, reeds and even the trees--all of them amber momentos of days, of seasons.

One way you know you're in a park in New York is if you see a rodent and you know it's not a rat or a squirrel.  As we carried and pushed our bikes on a trail I'd ridden before, but was today submerged in mud and dotted with slates laid down as stepping stones, we saw rustles in the reeds.  I never realized muskrats were so quick!

So...How did we know they were muskrats?  Well, in that marshy area by Willow Lake--really a dot to the dash that forms an aquatic exclamation point in Flushing Meadow  Park--what other rodent-like creatures would we have seen?  A sign at the entrance to the trail--where we exited--listed muskrats among the "wildlife" in the area.

All of those creatures seemed to enjoy the light as much as we did.  

So did Arielle, my Mercian Audax.

N.B.:  I took the bike photo with my cell phone.  Bill took all of the other photo in this post.

Ride Before The Storm

It's here.  

I'm talking about the snow.  Ever since the middle of the week, the weather forecasters said we'd get the white stuff this weekend.  Well, they were right on target:  Flurries that fluttered down early this morning have turned into big, puffy flakes.  I don't know how much will accumulate, or stay, but everything looks like someone opened up a big box of confectioner's sugar and sprinkled it.

Good thing I went for a ride yesterday--specifically, the ride I took.  Although you could have guessed that snow was coming even if you hadn't heard the forecasts, there was no threat of it yesterday. Nor was there a hint of sun:  The overcast sky spread a blanket of that particular kind of gray seen just when late autumn is turning into winter--and the pyres of fallen leaves are flickering their last embers of color.

I tried to get those colors and that light without becoming a road pancake.  Oh well.  At least I managed to capture, I think, the you-wouldn't-know-it-was-the-Bronx-unless-you-were-there feel of that scene.

Anyway, at that point I was about a quarter of the way to what would be my destination:  

You guessed it--Greenwich, Connecticut.  That's the Town Hall, across from where I sat and consumed some dark chocolate and nuts.

Trusty Arielle, my Mercian Audax, got me there and back.  She seemed particularly quick and comfortable today.  Perhaps I was simply enjoying my last-chance-before-the-storm ride.  

So what am I doing today (besides writing this post)?  Reading some students' papers, and making some beet soup.  And enjoying yesterday's ride.