The Good News, And More (I Hope)

In a literal way, this sign can tell you where I'm not right now:

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During one trip to California, I got about as close as one is allowed to the sign.  I'm not anywhere near it now.  However, this sign inspired a sign I saw where I am now:

In a way, I can understand why that "Bonne Nouvelle" sign is done in a similar style to the "Hollywood" sign.  The latter reflects, I think, the exuberant optimism in which the film industry was created. And the neighborhood in which the "Bonne Nouvelle" signs are posted also has a long association with the performing arts.

However, the area around the "Bonne Nouvelle" sign bore  its namesake centuries before the station bearing the sign was built.  

The Bonne Nouvelle district--and the station--are named for the Notre Dame de Bonne Nouvelle.  That good news is,  I am very sure, different from that for a Hollywood producer.

Of course, you surmised that I am in a French-speaking locale.  I am indeed in Paris, again, visiting a couple of friends.  The station is one at which I transferred--on my way to pick up a bike, though not either of the ones I mentioned in yesterday's post!

With An Old Friend, Again. At Least We Didn't Have To Wait As Long This Time!

Yesterday I had a long work day.  The end of the semester is near, so some students are in, or nearing, Full Panic Mode.  Some are just naturally nervous, while others simply procrastinated or skipped classes (not realizing just how many classes they'd skipped!) and now want to "save" their semesters.

So, I got to ride only for a short time after work on a sunny day that's the warmest we've had so far this year.  But I'm not complaining:  I had dinner and drinks with someone special.

Michele, one of my French friends, was in town with Alec--her new husband. She married him in September, not long after my trip to Paris in August.  Although I saw her then, I didn't get to see him.  He is charming and funny, just like all of those Frenchmen you've always heard about. 

Like Michele, he is recently retired, a few years earlier than most Americans.  (Gotta love the French system, huh?)  They actually met, they explained, when they were 18 years old and in Spain.  After returning to France, they went to school, took jobs, married and had kids by other people, and did all of those other things one does for about half of one's life.  And they got divorced. After being out of touch for 35 years, Michele said, he called her one day out of the blue.  But they didn't start dating until a number of years later.  Now they are ready to spend their lives traveling and enjoying each other's company, they said.

And, needless to say, I enjoyed theirs.  We promised that we'd "reconnaitre bientot"--get together again, soon! 

The Attacks In Paris

 Allo.?

Isabelle. Je suis Justine.  Tu vas bien?

Oui.  Comment ca-va?

Bien.  J'ai vous vous reveillez?

Ah...oui.

Pardon.

No problem.  (She likes to use that phrase.) 

J'ai entendu les nouvelles de Paris.

Yes, it is terrible.  But we were not there.

Je suis tres hereuse pour ca.

Would you like to talk to Jay?
Il dort?

Oui, mais se reveillera.

I didn't want her to wake him.  At least I knew he was at home, in his bed.  But she brought him to the phone. 

Desole de te reveiller.

Don't worry.  Mais, besoin de redormir. 

That's OK.  J'ai voule etre sur que vous etes OK.

He thanked me for calling.  I assured him that all I wanted was to know that he and Isabelle were not casualties of the bombings, the shootings, that rocked Paris and its environs yesterday.  I knew that, chances were, they weren't there when those terrible events went down, but I just wanted to be sure.

Then I called Michele.  No answer.  Asleep, I hoped.  I left a message.  Just before I started writing this post, I found an e-mail from her.  All right.  I can breathe a little easier.  Can they?

None of us had gone to the Bataclan together.  But we'd walked those streets, ate in restaurants and sipped espressos in the cafes near it.  When I heard that death struck at Le Carillon, I stopped cold. 

It's just a block away from the Quai des Jemmapes, on the eastern bank of the Canal St. Martin.  Back in August, after a lovely morning ride, I enjoyed a picnic lunch of fresh foods and Badoit water I bought along the way.  As the sun softened the green tint of the canal and leaves that flickered in the breeze, it was hard to imagine anything terrible, let alone the blaze of guns or an explosion.

After my canal-side reverie, I retreated to Le Carillon for a cappuccino to cap off my lunch.  By that time, most locals had finished their lunch and were back at work or passing the rest of the day along the old, narrow streets.  I went to Le Carillon because it was the nearest café, but it was a place I would have chosen otherwise: It seemed like a real old cozy neighborhood watering hole Parisians themselves would habituate, not some place trying to look the part for hipsters who wanted an "authentic" experience. 

I sat at a wooden table on the sidewalk.  So did a few other people.  It's hard to imagine that sidewalk with bodies sprawled over it--even more difficult than it was, the first time I saw the Place de la Concorde, to visualize the blood of French monarchy and nobility spilled all over it.  But certainly not as difficult as it is for those who witnessed the darkness that descended upon the City of Light.

 

A Comparison Of Bike Share And Subway Systems: Paris And New York

Although I didn't use Velib when I was in Paris, I couldn't help but to marvel at some aspects of it.

For one, it seemed that quite a few riders on Velib bikes weren't tourists.  Now, here in New York, some people ride Citibikes to and from work, while others who don't own bikes sometimes take out those familiar blue bikes for spins around the neighborhood.  But such riders seemed more common on Paris streets.

But what really impressed me is how well-covered the city is:  One doesn't have to go more than a few blocks, even in the outlying arrondissements, to find a Velib port.  Also, one can find those ports and bikes in areas outside Paris proper:  I saw them in Vincennes, and along the way between the famous Chateau and the City of Light.  I also spotted the ports and bikes in several towns along the way to Versailles.

By contrast, the borough of Queens got its first Citibike stations earlier this month, in Long Island City--not very far from where I live.  Critics say that the new port doesn't really represent an expansion into the Borough of Homes because the ports are next to the subway stations closest to Manhattan, and on the Queens side of the Queensborough/59th Street Bridge.  Many people regard Long Island City (and my 'hood of Astoria) as satellites of Manhattan rather than true Queens neighborhoods.

The same criticism can be made, I think, about the placement of Citibike stations in Brooklyn:  Williamsburg, right next to the eponymous bridge that links it to Manhattan, was the first non-Manhattan neighborhood to get Citibike.  Nobody expects to see the blue bikes in the far southeastern and southwestern neighborhoods of the borough any time soon.  And it would be more than surprising if the bike share program ever came to Staten Island at all.

To be fair, Velib started in 2007, while the first Citibikes didn't roll down city streets until two years ago.  Still, the difference in how each program covers its city reflects another pattern in each city's transportation infrastructure.

You see, all of the neighborhoods that have, or are getting, Citibikes, are ones that are well-served by New York City's subway and bus systems.  They have major lines linking them to midtown and downtown Manhattan, and they are the sorts of neighborhoods in which many people (myself included) live car-free.



New York City Subway map, 2015.  Manhattan is the island to the left; Staten Island is the one in the inset.  Brooklyn and Queens are to the right, and the Bronx is at the top. 

There are large swaths of the city that have no mass transportation at all.  None of the subways cross the city lines into New Jersey, Long Island or Westchester County, and most of the eastern half of Queens--as well as parts of southwestern and southeastern Brooklyn--have never had subway service.  Kings Plaza Mall, the largest retail area in Brooklyn, is about seven kilometers from the nearest subway stop.  So is JFK International Airport--which, until five years ago, didn't even have a light-rail link to the city's subways or the Long Island Rail Road.

Even in Manhattan, there are transportation "deserts", if you will.  One reason for that is that most of the subway lines on the island run parallel to each other, in  north-south ("uptown-downtown" in Big Apple parlance) routes.  Only two lines run across Manhattan:  the #7 train under 42nd Street and the "L" under 14th Street.  The lines that enter Manhattan from Brooklyn, Queens or the Bronx become part of the "uptown/downtown" grid once they reach Manhattan.



Paris Metro map

In Paris, by contrast, the lines are spread in patterns that have been likened to the circulatory system of the human body.  One result is that no point within the City of Light is more than 500 meters (about 1/3 mile, or six New York City blocks) from a Metro station.  Some of the inner suburbs, such as Levallois-Perret, are nearly as well-served as central Paris.  Even so, there are proposals to not only add service within the city and inner suburbs, but to extend several lines further out.

I find it fascinating that both rapid transit and bike sharing systems in New York and Paris reflect the history of planning (or, in some cases, lack thereof) in each city. 

In my hometown, the first subway lines were built by private financiers who operated them, under city contract, in much the same way they would conduct their other businesses.  All of the city's transit lines were not brought under the umbrella of one governmental organization until the 1950's.  In a similar fashion, the city's bike share program, while initiated by the city, is run by Citibank--which can make (or lose) money as it could with its banking, real estate and other businesses. 

On the other hand, the Paris Metro system was centrally planned from the beginning.  That, I believe, is why lines aren't duplicated and, if you want to transfer from one line to another, you don't have to go all the way to the other end of town, as switching trains in New York sometimes necessitates.  And, interestingly, Velib was started by the Mairie  (City Hall) of Paris, which still owns the system although JC Decaux operates it.

Knowing all of this, I don't feel I'm being cynical or pessimistic in saying that Velib will be in Orleans before Citibike comes to Staten Island!

 

After Paris....A Ride In The Bronx?

Two years ago, the former chief of the French National Police caused a stir when he said that certain parts of Paris were starting to resemble the Bronx.

He was making reference to the increasing crime in those Parisian arrondissements--namely, the 18th, 19th and 20th.  (It also just happens that those neighborhoods contain the city's greatest concentrations of African and Middle Eastern immigrants.)  He is not the first Frenchman, or European, to make such a comparison:  the worst parts of cities, or the banlieues are often likened to New York City's northernmost boroughs, usually based on impressions gleaned from such films as Fort Apache, The South Bronx.  While I certainly wouldn't compare Port Morris with the Place des Voges, not all of the Bronx is poor and crumbling and even its worst parts aren't quite as dangerous as some other urban neighborhoods.  But I guess "Camden" or "North Philadelphia" or "The South Side of Chicago" doesn't have quite the same ring.

Anyway, there is a certain irony in the former police chief's comparison.   It can be seen in certain areas, such as a stretch of the Grand Concourse near Yankee Stadium where I rode today:

 

 

 

 

 

While the buildings are in need of maintenance, some are quite nice:  People actually lived in them by choice.  More to the point (for the purposes of this post, anyway), they bear the influences of Art Deco and classical architectural styles found in many Paris buildings.

Also, you may have noticed that the Grand Concourse, like the Boulevard des Champs-Elysees, is wide, has a parklike median and is lined with residential as well as commercial buildings. 

The parallels I've described are not merely coincidental.  At the end of the 19th Century, most of the Bronx was still wooded or farmland; all of its industry as well as most of its population was concentrated in the southernmost part of the borough.  But new waves of immigration would fill Manhattan's tenements and trains almost to their bursting point, and many longtime Manhattan residents sought bigger apartments as well as more open space but wanted a manageable commute to work.  The city's subway and trolley lines were extended into the Bronx, and new street and apartment buildings were constructed. 

Around this time, a man who had been a surveyor, mapmaker and engineer for the New York Central Railroad (then the second-largest corporation in the US, after the Pennsylvania Railroad) was appointed the chief  topographical engineer for New York City.  His name was Louis Aloys Risse. At age seventeen, he emigrated to the US from France, where he was born in 1850.  Thus, it comes as little surprise that while on a hunting trip (!) in the hills of the North Bronx, he conceived of a boulevard, inspired by the Champs-Elysees, that would connect one end of the borough with the other, and with Manhattan.

So...Do you still think it's so odd that I'd take a ride in the Bronx while still in the afterglow of my trip to Paris?


 

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.

Rue Rennes In The Rain: A Ride For A Romantic?

Rain pattered against asphalt and cobblestones when I woke.  Later in the morning, the stream of water turned to a scrim of drizzle.  I started to ride.  The drizzle turned back into rain.

There are certainly worse things than riding the Rue de Rennes in the rain.  For one thing, as you can see, it looks like everybody's idea of a major Left Bank street--almost a boulevard, really.  For another, it's about two blocks from my hotel room and can take me to just about anyplace I want to go.

I must admit, too that riding Rue de Rennes in the rain triggers more than a few sense memories, as well as emotional ones, from the first time I came to this city and the time I lived here.

I followed it to the Boulevard Raspail, and from there to Saint Germain des Pres, the 'hood of more than a few writers you've read and others you've heard of.  One of them, an American, used to climb this street to get to his place on 74, rue Cardinal Lemoine.

The writer is, of course, Ernest Hemingway, and the street is la rue Mouffetard, which seems to have as many twists and turns as the road on l'Alpe d'Huez or Lombard Street.  Mouffetard, and some other streets in the Latin Quarter, escaped Baron Hassmann's city planning which, although it didn't impose a grid pattern, actually made most of the streets run in more or less straight lines before converging with others in plazas and parks. 

It's still confusing if you're accustomed to a grid pattern of the kind found in many American cities.  At least it means that you can follow any given street only so far. However, the real reason why Napoleon III chose him to re-shape Paris as he did--at least, according to some historians--was to make it more difficult for rabble-rousers to run away from cops and soldiers after starting or participating in insurrections, which seemed to happen at least once in every generation in Paris.

Most of the streets that were spared from Haussmann's plan are in the part of town I was riding.  Some of them date from Roman times or even earlier; others were built during the Middle Ages.  One such street lies at the end of Mouffetard:

"Bievre" is "beaver".  Apparently, that street was a stream that fed into the Seine and, in ancient times, people trapped the beavers that lived there.  (By the way, that is how the Astors first made their fortune in New York.)  Other streets twist and wind because they, like Mouffetard and Bievre, were constructed around or over features of the landscape that existed at the time.

From Bievre, I rode across the Pont de l'Archeveche --also known as "le Pont d'Amour":

Hmm...Does the kind of lock you leave say anything about your relationship? 

Anyeay, from there, I pedaled along Right Bank roads past the Places de la Bastille and de la Republique to the Pere Lachaise, where famous people like Moliere and, of course, Jim Morrison are buried.  So are some less famous, like my friend Janine.

I didn't leave flowers for her.  I did, however, leave a short letter I wrote, thanking her for her warmth and kindness, and, of course, wishing I could see her on this trip.

After that, I was glad to zig and zag along the crowded lanes of the Goutte d'Or and up the hill to Belleville and, of course, Montmartre.  The ride kept me from wallowing in sadness and I think Janine would have been happy that I was riding to the stairs we had climbed together to the Basilica. 

From there, the rest of my ride was literally downhill to Paris Bike Tour, where I returned my rental bike.  It served me well, but I'll certainly be happy to ride my Mercians again.

The Easiest Way To Get A Date In Paris

When I was living as a guy named Nick, I never had an easier time getting dates than when I was teaching in a language institute near the United Nations.  My pupils included tourists, business people, students who were trying to improve their English skills so they could attend American colleges and universities and young Japanese women from wealthy families who sent them to New York for the summer.  It didn't matter whether I was actually looking for a date; at the end of every week I had at least one.  

I was, at best, an average-looking guy, though I was in really good shape from cycling. I never thought I was particularly charming, intriguing or even intelligent.  Could teaching English really be that much of a turn-on?

Whatever the answer might be to that question, I believe that, today, I just may have found the easiest way to get a date now that I am a woman of, shall we say, "a certain age".  Within a span of a few minutes, three different men offered themselves to me.  Now, you might say that it's because I'm in Paris and some would argue that the true "national sport" of French men isn't cycling or football, but flirtation.  I wouldn't disagree.

Actually, I think it had to do with other things. One is the specific location in Paris.  Yes, I was on the Left Bank--but not of the Seine. Rather, it was the starboard side, a.k.a. le Quai de Jemmapes, of the City of Light's other major--and, to me, equally romantic--body of water:   the Canal Saint Martin, which connects the Seine with the Marne via the Canal de l'Ourcq.

I have always enjoyed spending time there.  Once I even took a barge ride. Today, though, on a nearly perfect Parisian summer afternoon, I kicked off my shoes and sat with my feet dangling over the water.  I wasn't trying to attract attention: I was just enjoying the light that softens the green tint of the water and the leaves flickering in the breeze.   But I wasn't the only female swinging my legs over the water--and I certainly wasn't the most attractive.  And although my sandals are, if I say so myself, kinda cute, I wear them because they're comfortable.  I couldn't understand why one of the men who asked me on a date was staring at them and said they were "sexy."

Hey...I just realized what was attracting their attention.  It was...the bike.

I'd parked it beside me while I was drinking some Badoit and munching on a "pumpkin" tomato I found in a market along the way.

That tomato was really good but I'm not sure that anyone was paying attention to me while I ate it.  Usually, guys watch girls when they're eating cherries or strawberries or other things I won't mention.  I don't recall a woman eating a tomato in an image that's supposed to titillate men or lesbians. (Then again, I haven't looked at a lot of such images.  Really!) 

So, really, what else could have gotten three guys to ask me on dates in a few minutes but the bike?

Perhaps I should tell that to Paris Bike Tour, from whom I rented the bike. 

Then again, bikes always attract attention.  Just take a look at this

hung on a building across the street from the Picasso Museum.    Or this, in the window of a lighting shop on the Boulevard Raspail:

Flick off the switch on that one and it's really "lights out"!

Sur Les Paves Et Dans Les Jardins...

Coline responded to the post I wrote yesterday with the observation of the day:  "Those look like Paris cobblestones".

Paris cobblestones indeed look different from the ones in New York or other cities--including South Bend, Indiana. (Do they have cobblestones there?) or any other place that has a Notre Dame in it.  That means only one thing...

No, I'm not in South Bend. I am Lutece, the City of Light, thanks to a generous late birthday gift. Would you pass up such a thing?

Anyway, I haven't done any bike riding yet on this trip.  I plan to rent a bike tomorrow, but I don't think I'm going to use Velib for the same reasons I don't use Citibike.  (Well, OK, I have one other reason not to use Citibike:  I have bikes in NYC.)  For one, I don't want to be bound by time constraints such as having to return the bike within 45 minutes or whatever it is.  For another, I'm just not comfortable putting my bank card in one of those machines and having it place a hold on some of my money.  And, finally, the rental shops probably have bikes I'd like better than the ones in Velib, Citibike or just about any other bike share program.


In walking toward the Luxembourg Gardens, I saw a couple of bikes with details we rarely, if ever, see in the States:

I would love to see how that striping was done.  It lends even more definition to the "hammered" pattern in the fenders.  Can you imagine if Velo Orange or Honjo offered it as an option.  Of course, it would cost a lot of money for them to match--as best they could--the finish on the frame. Then again, I guess it wouldn't have to match:  Black stripes would go with a lot of bikes, and other combinations (e.g., red stripes for a blue bike, green for an orange frame or purple with pink) could be done.

All right--enough about accessorizing bikes.  I'm in Paris, for crying out loud.  Hmm...Maybe that's not such an inappropriate topic to discuss while I'm here. Accessories, bikes and Paris:  It all works together.

Now here's something almost none of you have seen:

 

Ok, the fenders (in the photo preceding this one) are cool enough.  But look at the chain guard.  And the chainstay-mounted rear derailleur.  I suspect it's a Huret:  Based on my admittedly- limited experience with such derailleurs, I don't think it's a Nivex.

But the best part is the lugwork, which would be par for the work of the best custom builders.  Oh, wait...

it is the work of an old master: Oscar Egg.  It's truly amazing to see it on a utilitarian city bike parked on a street in Beauborg, near the Pompidou Centre.

 

How Can Fatal Cycling Accidents Be Prevented?

From 1996 through 2005, 225 cyclists were killed in New York City.  There was neither an upward nor a downward trend and, save for one spike (40 deaths in 1999) and one significant drop (13 in 2001), the number of deaths per year was remarkably consistent. That consistency came at a time when the city's population, its number of cyclists and amount of bike lanes grew significantly.  

So, for that ten-year period, 22.5 cyclists were killed in accidents in New York City each year.  For the period from 2002 to 2014, that average dropped significantly.  In those 13 years, 245 cyclists died on Gotham's streets, for an average of 18.8.  Once again, the numbers were relatively consistent, ranging from a low of 12 (achieved in 2009 and matched in 2013) to a high of 24 in 2007.  However, every other year during that time fell within a range of 16 to 24 deaths.

Interestingly, some advocates raised alarms last year when the number of deaths rose to 20, which represented a 67 percent rise from the previous year.  While we'd prefer that no-one dies in accidents, that number is squarely within the range of the preceding two decades. 

London has roughly the same population as New York City.  In 2013, it experienced 14 cycling fatalities, two (or, if you prefer, 16 percent) more than New York.  Last year, 13 cyclists died in the British capital.   Yet those numbers have caused more shock and calls for action than the loss of life in New York, where the media (especially the Post) are always ready to blame cyclists themselves.

One striking similarity between the two cities is that most bike lanes are painted on the side of normal streets and roads.  In fact, that is the case in both the UK and the US.  One problem is that cars often pull in and out of them, which can lead to a car striking a cyclist (as happened to Tom Palermo  in Maryland).  

A Malmo cycle lane

While I think that separate lanes are not the be-all and end-all of urban cycle safety, they can be helpful if they are well-designed and well-constructed.  One city that has shown as much is Malmo, Sweden, which has a network of two-way cycle lanes throughout the city.  Another is Copenhagen, which has the Cyckelslagen ("cyclesnake"), a bicycles-only bridge over the harbor. Unlike too many bike lanes in New York and London, Malmo's and Copenhagen's bike paths are useful connections between places where many cyclists live, work, go to school or ride for recreation.

Cyckelslagen

Other cities, like Paris and Dublin, have tried to make cycling safer by regulating traffic, particularly trucks (or what the Brits call "lorries"). I have found that, even in cities, most truck drivers are courteous and careful and try to accomodate cyclists.  (At least, they're nice to me.)  But the presence of even a single truck on a city street snarls traffic, especially in older cities with narrow streets.  And when one stops to load or unload its cargo, it has the same effect of a door opening:  The cyclist has nowhere else to go and can either crash or take his or her chances swerving into the traffic lane.

At least some policy makers in London are looking to those examples in other European cities.  I wonder what they would make of the situation here in New York, and what policy makers here could learn from their counterparts on the other side of the Atlantic.  

Cycling is growing in all of the cities I have mentioned.  In order for it to be considered as a true alternative to other forms of transportation, it must not only seem safer; it also has to be safer.  

The Moveable Feast Of Bicycle Racing

Recently, I mentioned Ernest Hemingway in one of my classes.  Not a single student had heard of him, let alone read any of his works.

I have very mixed feelings about that.  On one hand, I'm appalled that they'd gotten to college without knowing about one of the most famous American writers.  On the other, I'm not so sorry, as I've gone through periods of absolutely loathing him (the man as well as the work) for the all-but-complete absence of credible, let alone substantial, female characters and the testosterone-soaked world he created and image he projected.

Then again, there is an economy and precision in his language that few other writers have equaled--and which, ironically, makes him easy to parody.  And for all that he glorified masculine pursuits, few writers have shown war-weariness from a combatant's point of view as well as he did.  

Whether I've loved or hated him, there is one work of his I always loved:  A Moveable Feast, which was published posthumously.  Even after having lived in Paris and enjoyed a few extended visits in the City of Light, I am still moved by his descriptions of his life there.  Also, I always had the sense that if he ever let his guard down as a writer, he did so in writing that book.

If he was capable of sighing, he did it in that book.  In particular, he expresses regret--and seems almost apologetic--in talking about one topic about which he couldn't write: bicycle racing.

One of the things that all of those English teachers never mentioned while they were ramming The Snows of Kilimanjaro and A Clean, Well-Lighted Place down the throats of my generation was that, while in Paris, he became a big fan of bicycle racing and that he was an active cyclist through much of his life.  A friend of his, Mike Ward, introduced him to it after giving up betting on horse racing because, he said, he'd found something better in bicycle racing. 

 

Hemingway similarly became enamored of two-wheeled pursuits after turning his attentions away from the trotters.  Given that he wrote stories about hunting and fishing, which he also loved, it's no surprise that he would want to write about bike racing.  But, as he recounts in A Moveable Feast:

"I have started many stories about bicycle racing but have never written one that is as good as the races are both on the indoor tracks and the roads."

 He gives one possible reason why he couldn't write a story he liked about racing:

"French is the only language it has ever been written in properly and the terms are all in French and that is what makes it hard to write."  

Still, he is glad to have been introduced to the sport:

"Mike was right about it, there is no need to bet. But that comes at another time in Paris."

 Maybe it's time for me to read him again.

 

Je Suis Charlie, Nous Sommes Charlie

For today, I am going to forget what I normally write about on this and my other blog--sort of.

In terms of content, this post will not resemble others I've written.  However, It will express concern for everything that makes this blog, and others, possible.  In fact, some of those things even make it possible for me to do the very thing I write about on this blog:  ride a bike.

You see, in some cultures, women aren't allowed to ride bicycles--or go to school, read, write, teach or do much of anything besides bear a man's children and submit to his demands.  In such places, someone like me doesn't have the right to be a woman--let alone a cyclist--at all.

That is the reason why I am writing today to express my solidarity with all of those people who rallied in my home town as well as London, Tokyo, Istanbul, Montreal, Berlin and many other cities around the world--and, of course, in France, most prominently in Paris.

I have lived in the City of LIght.  So have some people I've loved and with whom I've worked.  They've been native-born French people--some of ancient Gallic and Frankish heritage, others born to families who emigrated to France from other places in this world.  They've been Catholics, Jews, Muslims, Hindus, Buddhists and people who didn't adhere to any formal religion or philosophy, or who believed in nothing at all beyond this life.  They've been wealthy, poor and, mainly, in-between.  

The thing is, they all knew that their right to be any, all  or none of the things I've mentioned was protected under the laws of their country.  And, while some expressed resentment or condescension toward America--or, more precisely, toward our misconceptions or simple unawareness of our position in the world, they all have expressed respect, admiration and sometimes even wistfulness for the openness of our society and the generous spirit of Americans they've met. 

Demonstrators hold up pencils to express ther support for freedom of expression.

The rallies, like funerals and memorial services, are about grieving those who died in the attacks on the Chrlie Hebdo offices and the kosher supermarket in Paris.  But, just as important, they are a reminded of what we--I, the people I've mentioned, and everyone else--need to do:  to live, as the people we are, free to pursue our dreams, honor or values, to love those we love--and, always, to speak the truth, whether through simple facts, irony, images, humor or in some other way.  We can't let those who murdered seventeen Parisians during the past week take that liberty, that right, away from us.

Je suis Charlie.  Nous sommes Charlie. 

Hangin' Out With Serge The Concierge

Visitors to my apartment are sometimes amazed to see how many bikes and how much related equipment I've been able to fit--along with shelves full of books and a real bed and dining table.  And Max and Marley share the place with me!

Actually, I don't know how I'd manage if I were living with another human, especially if said human were not a cyclist.  I guess I'm more fortunate than most other cyclists--especially those here in the Big Apple--in that I've never owned a collapsible or folding bike out of necessity.

But I understand why such bikes are gaining in popularity.  Higher housing costs mean that we're living in smaller spaces.  Also, airlines seem to have become more ornery about transporting bicycles.  And, finally, today's Bromptons and even Dahons are better than folding or collapsible bikes of the past.

Of course, there are other solutions to the problem of small living spaces:

From Serge the Concierge

 

The Hills, The Wind Or The Cold: Why Do (Or Don't) People Ride?

In recent posts, I’ve noted that I’ve seen few—sometimes no—bike riders who weren’t making deliveries.  If you thought it was just a way of saying that I wasn’t riding, I won’t try to dissuade you from such a perception.

For much of the past couple of weeks, conditions on many New York City streets were simply dangerous for any wheeled vehicle.  There was ice everywhere and the effective width of some streets was cut, sometimes in half, by the piled-up snow and ice.

The last couple of weeks is the longest stretch I’ve spent off my bike since I was recovering from surgery four years ago.  A lot of other cyclists can probably make a similar claim.

That got me to thinking about the difference between weather and climate, and about terrain. 

In most places, there is seasonal variation in the number of people who ride bicycles, whether to commute, shop, race or simply for fun.  Put simply, fewer people ride when it’s cold and/or wet.

However, the places where the greatest number of people ride regularly are not necessarily the ones that have the most days of sunshine or the warmest winters every year.  Here in the United States, we see more cycling in New England than in the South, more riders in New York, Boston—or, of course, Portland-- than, say, in Miami, Tampa or Albuquerque.  In Europe, the most cycling-intensive and –friendly cities are found in the north—Amsterdam and Copenhagen immediately come to mind---rather than in Greece or even Italy.  And there are, from what I’ve seen, there are fewer everyday riders in Rome or Madrid than in rainier and cooler London and Paris.

From SFGate

As for terrain:  When I was in Prague, a few locals confirmed my impression that a cycling culture was just beginning there and that, while cyclists in the Czech capital are committed and enthusiastic, it will be a while before they have the kind of infrastructure—in terms of human and informational as well as physical resources—bikers in Berlin (the example they most cited) enjoy.  One reason, according to those Prague pedalers, is that the city is hillier than most others in Europe. 

That reason seems plausible enough:  A lot of people would indeed be deterred from cycling if they have to climb a steep hill to get wherever they’re going.  That would also partly explain the fact that I saw so few cyclists when I was in Istanbul a few years ago.  (In the former Ottoman capital, there are also cultural factors that would discourage cycling.)  On the other hand, San Francisco—one of the most vertical cities in the world-- has had a community and culture of cycling for much longer than most other places in the United States, including such pancake-flat places as Kansas.

(It occurs to me now that San Francisco’s street grid simply makes no sense in such a hilly place, but it would be perfectly suited for most towns in the Great Plains.)

So I wonder:  Why is it that, discounting for seasonal differences, places with less-favorable climates and terrains develop vibrant cycling cultures while seemingly-ideal places don’t?