I Ride My Rental Into History

So, here's where I went yesterday:

Take a closer look:

No, I didn't come home early from my trip.  This replica of the Statue of Liberty is on the Ile des Cygnes, a manmade island in the Seine under the Grenelle Bridge.  

(Now I'll make a confession:  I am one of those New Yorkers who's never been to the Statue of Liberty in my hometown's harbor.  When I have made that confession elsewhere, I have been called a disgrace to the human race, and worse.)

Another difference between this one and the one in New York is that you can ride to this one. Well, almost:  You have to walk down a couple of flights of stairs from the Grenelle Bridge. (When I had a mountain bike with a suspension front fork, I probably would have ridden down those stairs!)  And I rode to it--well, actually, I didn't intend to visit the statue. But it happened to be along my ride.

Yes, I rode a bicycle--but not one from Velibre.  One of the hotel staff told me about a site called Bim Bim Bikes, which can locate a bike rental for you anywhere in France.  When you reserve it, you can pay directly with your credit card or with PayPal or other services.  (I used PayPal since my card is linked to it, which makes things easier.)  The shop--Paris Velo, C'est Sympa (which lives up to its name) --is in a neighborhood I know well, near the Canal St. Martin. A six-day rental cost me 65 Euros (about 75 dollars at current exchange rates).

For that price, I got this bike:

a basic "city" bike from a company called "Arcade".  It's slow and handles like a truck, but  I'm not going for speed or even distance on my rides here.  I could have paid more for a "name brand" bike like Giant, but I figured that even if I got a lighter, sprightlier bike, it still wouldn't be my own.  Perhaps this sounds counter-intuitive, but a more performance-oriented bike might make me wish for my own more than a basic bike like the one I'm riding--which, of course, can in no way resemble my Mercians.

But it rolls over cobblestones--and grips to ones slicked by the light rain this city has experienced for most of the day--nicely.  Plus, it includes, in addition to the lock, this interesting bag

that fits onto a Klick-Fix attachment used with some other bags and baskets.  It loos rather like a purse and includes a shoulder strap for carrying it when I park the bike--which, of course, I did at two cafes and a store.  

(I have to admit that I cried at the store.  A young woman was cradling a kitten who looked like Marlee when she first came into my life!  When I stroked that cat and rubbed its nose, that young woman said, "'s't v'avezoon chat, vrai?" (You have a cat, don't you?) in that Parisian equivalent of New York speech that seems, at times, to have more contractions than actual words.

The drizzle I that colored most of the day was interrupted by bouts of rain and overcast sky. But there wasn't any wind, and it wasn't terribly cold (8C high temperature).  Best of all, the low clouds made for an interesting view:

Since I've lived in, have visited and have friends in, this city, I don't think of myself as a tourist.  So I always promise I myself I won't take another picture of the Eiffel Tower.  But I figure the one with the low clouds is justified.  Heck, I can even rationalize another photo of the Arc de Triomphe.  At least I'm approaching it, just like the riders at the end of the Tour de France.

Hey, I even rode around the rond--twice!  I have to wonder, though, what it would be like if they made those Tour riders pedal through the cobblestoned bike lane. Hmm...Maybe they could think of it as training for the following Paris-Roubaix race.

Finally, I'm going to do something I often do when I travel: subject you to a history lessson.  Two, actually.  The first I encountered on the Metro, on the way to pick up my rental:

I had to transfer from la ligne 2 to ligne 5 at Stalingrad.  That's what everybody calls it, but the official name is la Place de la Bataille Stalingrad.  The city was known by that name at the time it staged one of the major conflicts of World War II.  For centuries, it was known as Tsaritsyn; today we call it Volgograd.  I find it interesting and ironic that the name "Stalingrad" cannot be found in Russia, but it remains part of the appelation of the intersection of Paris' two main canals (St. Martin and Ourcq).  

The sign is also interesting because it's in a style that's disappearing. When I first came to Paris in 1980, most signs inside the city's Metro stations were in that style.  Now most of them look more like this:

Now for more history:  Along the way, I stopped at this square:

named for the French officer falsely accused and imprisoned for passing military secrets to the Germans.  He just happened (yeah, right) to be Jewish.  So was the writer who fought for his release, and the reversal of his guilty plea:

The avenue on which Dreyfus park is located bears Emile Zola's name.  He is right that the truth wins out.  Sometimes it takes time--and it comes too late for some people, including the  victims of the terrible incident this statue commemorates.

I have mentioned Jews who were rounded up and detained in the Velodrome d'Hiver (known to locals as Vel-Deev) before they were deported.  That is, if they survived the head and unsanitary conditions inside the velodrome.  

As Zola said, the truth marches on.  And this is its color:

Or so I like to believe.  That sign is found on one of the streets that form one of the Dreyfus Park's boundaries.

Descent From The Grand Boulevards

I'm staying in a place just off the Place de Clichy--where the 8th, 9th and 18th Arrondissements meet.

The 18th is best known for the Sacre-Coeur de Montmartre and its many winding cobblestoned streets. And the Moulin Rouge.  And, oh, the Place Pigalle. My uncle, who spent time in Verdun, France with the US Army, told me that when he and his fellow soldiers had their leave, they headed for Paris  and from the Gare de l'est, straight to the Pigalle.  The cab drivers, he said, all knew the drill.  But as for me, I went only to the Montmarte.  Really, I did!

The 8th is often nicknamed "Elysee" because the boulevard, and the President's residence are located in it.  So are many of the world's best-known fashion houses and France's largest corporations.  The 8th also shares the Arc de Triomphe with the First.  And the 9th is often referred to as "Opera" because the Garnier (not to be confused with the Bastille) Opera house is found there.  It's also called the "Grands Boulevards" district because some of the city's more iconic thoroughfares, including the Boulevard Haussmann, lace it.

I walked down a few of those Boulevards today on my way to Paris Bike Tour.  Along the way, I encountered this:

Now, I know Milton is a common name in English. I couldn't help but to wonder, though, whether the person who named the street was thinking of the poet who wrote Paradise Lost--especially after I encountered this a couple of blocks away:

These scenes of the creation, fall and expulsion of Adam and Eve are behind the pillars of this church:

the Parish of St. Vincent de Paul, next to the Franz Liszt Square.  While the Sacre Coeur de Montmartre is actually located atop a hill, the St. Vincent de Paul only seems to be because of its placement on land that was built up.  Thus, while it stands over everything else in a neighborhood that doesn't have (thankfully!) high-rise buildings, it doesn't dominate the way the Sacre Coeur or even the Notre Dame do in their environments.

Interestingly, the church's organists have included some distinguished musicians.  The one you are most likely to recognize, though, is one whose name you associate with something else:  Louis Braille, the inventor of the tactile writing system for the blind still in use, virtually unchanged.

From there, I passed by the Place de la Republique.  Given that any number of riots or rebellions (depending on your point of view) have begun there, over every sort of cause imaginable, it's not surprising that some of the gilets jaunes have protested--and probably will protest again--in that square.  There, I found something one of the gilets jaunes--or people who are in completely different parts of the political, social and economic spectrum--might have written:

La France est un dictature!! La resistance est un devoir!  You don't need to know much French to get the gist of that:  France is a dictatorship!  Resistance is a duty!  Actually, you could substitute the name of many other countries, including my own, for France: Most countries, I think, are dictatorships, whether of political leaders or the economic elites.

After some more walking, I reached the Centre Georges Pompidou and enjoyed a crepe and coffee in a nearby cafe.  Then I walked to Paris Bike Tour, just across the pedestrian- and bike-mall known as as Rue Rambuteau from the Centre.

The first thing I noticed is that they occupy a smaller space than I recall from the last time I rented one of their bikes.  And it was closed.  Turns out, from December to March, they are open "only by reservation."  In one way, it's not surprising, as there probably isn't much demand for their tours during the winter.  But I had to wonder whether Velib, Ofo and other services have eroded their rental business.

So, I guess I'll be using Velib after all: I don't want to spend too much of my remaining time in search of another rental outlet.  Or, perhaps,  I'll get lucky and find a cheap used bike somewhere. 

At The Home Of A Love Child And Her Love Child

Look at this photo:

Can you guess where I've landed?

I'll give you another clue:

Once again, I'm in "the City of LIght."  I decided that the off-season fares made it worthwhile to come here for a week and visit my friends.

I thought about going to other places--say, Scotland or England or Finland--but it's cold here, and I can only imagine what the weather is like in those places.  Normally, I don't mind the cold, but I think this time it's a shock, given that I experienced summer-like weather last week in Florida.

Anyway, I got to my hotel--in the neighborhood where I took the photos--well before check-in time.  The clerk allowed me to leave my bag, and I went for a walk to my favorite building in this city.

Sacre-Coeur de Montmartre is only a 15 minute walk from the hotel but seems even closer.  I have long believed that it's the most Parisian of buildings because it's not typically Parisian.  At least, it seems to belong in this city because, well, it really couldn't be anyplace else.  I mean, in what other city could a Roman Catholic Cathedral have domes that look more like those of a mosque?

Back when it was constructed, it must have been even more out of character for the area, which was then semi-rural, and the city.  These days, however, it's hard to find anyone who can imagine Paris without it.  I know I can't.  And the artists who lived and worked in the area certainly couldn't.

One reason why artists flocked to the neighborhood is that it was, believe it or not, cheap.  Even more important, though, is the light in and around it: subtle, but not muted, and dreamy if not somnambulent.  Best of all, on that hill, you can see the light of the rest of the city unfolding like a video of the weather on a screen of linen haze.  Its movement is slower than that of the city, at least when one walks or cycles the streets, but is a kind of film (rather than a mirror) of the city's life force.

What I have tried to explain makes even more sense after a visit to the Musee de Montmartre, located in the oldest house in the neighborhood.  It's also where Maurice Utrillo and his mother, Suzanne Valadon, had their studio.

The man whose last name he inherited--a Catalan painter--acknowledged Maurice but really wasn't in his life.  Valadon--ironically, a love child herself--would later marry Andre Utter, who was Maurice's best friend and twenty years her junior.

All of this sounds like something you might expect from artists living the bohemian life in what was then the most bohemian part of the western world's artistic capital. So are many other aspects of their tumultuous lives, which included alcoholism and nervous breakdowns.  But what you might not expect is that Utrillo, who was born just steps from the Sacre Coeur and spent almost his entire life within a few minutes' walk from it, spent considerable time in the cathedral, and not only for aesthetic reasons:  He actually had a sincere faith and believed that the cathedral and its environs were suffused with spiritual powers. Some might say that it was part of his search for serenity, or at least comfort.  

Now, I'm not religious, but I can see why people like Utrillo and Valadon--along with other artists--were drawn to the Sacre Couer and its environs.  An artist is a kind of bastard child who doesn't quite fit into the conventions of their society--and, from the story presented at the museum (as well as what I've read over the years), the neighborhood was removed, physically as well as mentally, from bourgeois expectations.

All right, I'll stop theorizing.  All I'll say is that the walk to and from the Sacre-Coeur--and the walk up and down the hill--was a great way to spend the first hours of my latest visit to Paris.  Between the walking and climbing, and my jet lag, I was ready to sleep when I got back to the hotel!

As for cycling:  I haven't done any yet.  During my previous two visits to Paris, I rented a bike (from Paris Bike Tour) because I don't want to worry about finding docking stations and I figured (correctly) that a rental bike would be of better quality and better-maintained.  I'll probably go to PBT tomorrow.

I thought about using Velib, the city's bike-share program, but I saw only one docking station--and, worse, only one of their bikes-- today.  Turns out, there are far fewer of those bikes and stations than there were in the summers of 2015 and 2016.  A little more than a year ago, JC Decaux's contract to run the program expired, and a new company took over and instituted a new system.  Now users complain that it's not only more difficult to find a dock and bike, it's sometimes "impossible" to find a dock that works properly when you're trying to return the bike.  That often results in a half-hour ride (which is free) turning into a two-hour rental.  Worst of all, some users have said that the 300 Euro deposit the system charged their credit cards wasn't returned to them even after the bike was returned.

Anyway, I look forward to riding, meeting my friends and visiting a museum or two.

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!

What Will They Accomplish By Cracking Down On The "Chop Shops"?

At least a few of my rides have included stops at flea markets.  

So why are they called "flea markets"?

Well, it's a translation of "marche aux puces", the name given to an outdoor bazaar at the Porte de Clignancourt, on Paris' northern edge.  It's been operating there since some time around 1880.

So why is it called the "marche aux puces"?  It was often said--sometimes, with justification--that items, particularly upholstery, sold there were infested with fleas.  

Not long before the market began to operate, the straight, wide boulevards lined with sandstone-colored buildings one sees all over the City of Light were first constructed.  To make way for them, old buildings on narrow, winding streets were demolished.  This left a residue of old furniture and other items out in the open, where they could have been infested with vermin.

There is another reason why people might have thought those items were infested with fleas:  The folks who salvaged them were, as often as not, themselves infested.  Not surprisingly, when Georges-Eugene, Baron Haussmann, executed Napoleon III's vision for modernising Paris, it left many Parisians homeless or simply destitute.*  During the city's transitional period, many such people had few, if any, other ways to generate income.

Homeless people all over the world continue to "pick up the pieces", if you will, all over the world.  In my hometown of New York, I have seen them selling everything from corsets to computers, from books to barbed wire.  And, of course, many pick up soda and beer bottles and cans, which they can recycle for 5 cents each, from trash bins.

In San Francisco, that city of entrepreneurs, it seems that some of the homeless have become small-time operators in the bike business:  They operate what detractors call "chop shops" from underneath bridge and highway overpasses and other semi-enclosed public spaces.  

While even homeless advocates admit that some of the bikes are stolen, the majority are the fruits of dumpster-diving, scavenging on the streets or barter.  Usually, the homeless or poor people who operate these pop-up bike shops fix up the bikes they sell or trade, or assemble bikes from parts found in various places or stripped from other bikes. 

Most of the complaints the city receives regarding these operations are not about the shops, per se:  Most people don't have a problem with people doing whatever they have to do to put food in their mouths.  Rather, many residents say that these vagabond mechanics spread their wares across sidewalks, bike paths and sometimes even into streets, making it impossible or simply dangerous to navigate.   

With that in mind, the city's Board of Supervisors is expected to pass a bill that would prohibit anyone from storing or selling the following on any public street, sidewalk or right-of-way:

• five or more complete bicycles
• a bicycle frame with its gear or brake cables cut
• three or more bicycles with missing parts
• five or more bicycle parts.

The prohibition would not apply to anyone who has a commercial license (which, of course, includes almost no homeless person) or a permit for an event like a bike rally or clinic.  The bill gives the Public Works Department authority to seize items deemed to be in violation of the code. If the owner of the items doesn't allow the PWD to seize the items, police officers can be called in.  And, the owner can appeal to have the items returned 30 days after the seizure and notice of violation.

Not surprisingly, small business associations support this bill, mainly because the "chop shops" often impede access to stores, cafes and other establishments.  Bike shops are among such small businesses, and support the bill for the same reason.  Interestingly, though, none seems to have made an argument that these shops are taking business away from them because of their lower prices, probably because people who would buy (or barter for) bikes from "chop shops" weren't going to buy their bikes in a bike shop anyway.

Also not surprisingly, this bill is adamantly opposed by homeless advocates, civil liberties organizations and the Democratic Socialist party.  Most interesting of all, though, is a letter of opposition penned by Jeremy Pollock. He writes as a ten-year member of the San Francisco Bicycle Coalition who, as he says, has had bikes and parts stolen and recovered a "ghost bike" from a homeless encampment.  

He effectively makes a point that the bill, should it become law, could violate the Fourth Amendment of the US Constitution.  He also decries the lack of collaboration between the city government and its citizens (especially cyclists) in drafting and voting on the bill.  

Pollock also expresses concern that enforcing such a mandate could make the already-challenging  jobs of DPW workers who clear homeless encampments even more difficult by making already-strained relationships between those workers and the residents of homeless encampments even more tense and hostile.  This will put a further strain on the DPW's resources, and will stretch the police department and criminal justice system even thinner than it already is.

Oh, and if the San Francisco Police Department is stretched thinner, it will dedicate even less manpower and fewer resources than it does to combat bike theft.  As it is, the Department--like others across the country--simply doesn't regard bike theft as a priority.  And, if it wants to combat bike theft, according to Pollock, "we don't need this cumbersome new notice of violation, we need SFPD to focus on catching bike thieves!"

*To be fair, Haussmann's work also made it possible, for the first time, to navigate Paris with relative ease, which helped Paris to grow as a commercial as well as cultural center.  When he widened the streets, he also added sidewalks, which made Paris the walkable city it is today. Moreover, his plan included other public works, including sewers, which greatly improved sanitation and the health of people, as well as a series of public parks and gardens.

Then again, he also made it all but impossible to mount an insurrection in Paris by widening and straightening those streets that could previously be barricaded--or used as escape routes by people who knew them.

A Mayor For---Cycling?

Two years ago, when I was in Paris, I learned that the city had recently appointed its first "maire de la nuit":  night mayor.

When I first heard about it, I wondered whether there was some hour--say, 9pm--when mayor Anne Hidalgo clocked out of City Hall and Clement Leon R, the night mayor, took over.  One of my friends explained to me that Clement Leon R heads the "Conseil de la Nuit"--a night City Council, if you will.  They are tasked with overseeing night life in the City of Light.  Among other things, they try to manage, and sometimes smooth over, relations between such establishments as bars and music clubs--as well as businesses that are legal there but not here.  

The office is patterned after one started in Amsterdam in 2014.  That city's night mayor, Malik Milan, is exploring the possiblity of creating a "Chinatown of night life" where libraries for students as well as eateries and the traditional venues associated with night life could be open 24/7.  The idea, which other cities are exploring, would take noisy establishments out of residential and central business areas and put them in some neighborhood on the perimeter.  As Milan explains, "In Holland, you can't have a proper meal after 9:30 p.m., and when friends arrive late from out of town, all you can offer them is fries."

I imagine that if you arrive late by bike and get a flat, or have some other sort of mechanical issue, you couldn't have it fixed until the next day (unless, of course, you or your friend knows how).  Would a 24/7 bike shop be part of such a district?   And, if it did, would it be then under the jurisdiction of the night mayor?

Or would it fall into the purview of a bicycle mayor?

As my city, New York, is discussing the possibility of creating the office of "night mayor", another city has just appointed the first bicycle mayor in the United States.

Tiffany Mannion assumed that position in Keene, New Hampshire the other day.  While the first in her country, she joins "a worldwide network of bicycle mayors, called the Bicycle Mayor and Leader network," according to Jen Risley, who appointed her as a member of the Monadnock Alliance of Sustainable Transportation's Steering Committee.   In her two-year term as Bicycle Mayor, Mannion will "represent cyclists from throughout the region and focus on three areas: education, connection and creation," Risley explained.  



Mannion is a "regular bicycle commuter and explorer" who "hopes to ride toward her goal of 3000 miles a year," Risley added.  As the area's only certified cycling instructor, Mannion will "educate colleges, universities and businesses with the economic advantages of developing bicycle-friendly policies" and "work regionally to help create confident riders and supported infrastructure," Risley added.

In accepting her role, Mannion thanked a number of people and organizations.  "This small city has enormous dreams," she declared.


Could Keene set an example for my hometown, New York, for cycling as Amsterdam and Paris are doing for nightlife?

Paris In The Bike Lane

If you were to ask, "What is the world's most bicycle-friendly city?", the answers you'd most commonly hear probably would be "Copenhagen" and "Amsterdam".

It would be difficult to argue against either.  And, although it's more bikeable than most American cities, not many people would put Paris ahead of either the Danish or Dutch capitals.

If you've been reading this blog, you know that I thoroughly enjoyed cycling in the City of Light.  That is not to say, however, that there isn't room for making it an even better place for cyclists than it is.  Mayor Anne Hidalgo recognizes as much, and has said that she wants not only to improve the cycling experience in her city, but to make the French capital into "the world's cycling capital".

Although one sees many bicycles and cyclists along the banks of the Seine, the portion of the population that rides regularly, let alone every day, is still fairly low, at least in comparison to places like Copenhagen and Amsterdam.  Nearly everyone agrees that one of the goals in making a city more "bike friendly" is to get people out of their cars and onto bike for their commutes, and to shop and visit the sights of the city.  That can be done when cycling is made available, affordable, safe and practical for those who are not, and do not wish to become, hard-core cyclists.

From what I can see, Paris has succeeded with the first two priorities:  You don't have to go very far to find a Velib station (or other bikes to rent or buy), and rental rates and purchase prices  are relatively reasonable.  The availability of Velib even well beyond city limits at least partially addresses the practicality issue.  But another part of it ties in with safety:  a coherent scheme of bike routes that cyclists can actually use to get to work, school or anyplace else from their homes and is physically separated from vehicular traffic.

The new Paris bike expressway.  Photo from a tweet by Marie Fugain.

Such networks are what separates Copenhagen and Amsterdam from nearly all other cities, according to Mikael Colville-Andersen,a  planner who regularly works with cities around the world to improve cycling conditions.  Of his native city, Copenhagen, he says, "Visitors who come for the first time will easily find their way around by bike because the network is uniform. That is not the case in Paris," where he points to "incoherent" choices like putting buses and bikes in the same lane on some roads.  Then there are "utterly stupid" ideas, he says, like the bicycle lane in the middle of the Champs-Elysees that is scheduled for completion next year.  "It will fail," he pronounces, because it will "lead to accidents" which will "give ammunition to the bike haters."

He does, however, see signs of improvement, like the new bike expressway" along the right bank of the Seine.  The route was created by taking two lanes from the Voie Georges Pompidou, a motorway that winds past the Louvre and the garden of the Tuileries, across the river from the Eiffel Tower.  This new "expressway" meets the standards of "Copenhagenization" in that it runs in a continuous axis in both directions, has enough room for cyclists to pass each other and has a separator between the bike and auto lanes, according to Colville-Andersen.

He says it could be the start of a bicycle network that could take its inspiration from another network for which Paris is justly renowned: its Metro.

Picasso Can Park His Bike Here--And Have A Beer

If you go to 5, rue Thorigny in the Le Marais section of Paris, you won't find this:

While this piece looks as if it's inspired by Picasso's famous "found object" sculpture, if you want to see it in person, you'll have to go to 1519 West Main Street in Boise, Idaho.

The reason why I say "you'll have to" is that the establishment where you'll go to see it hasn't opened yet. Its owner says, however, that the HandleBar will be up and running by the end of this month.

And while you can't see "Guernica" or "Les Demoiselles d'Avignon" in the Boise bar, it does offer two things la Musee Picasso doesn't:  beer, for one.  But more important (at least to the audience of this blog), you can park your bike inside the premises.  In fact, they'll even let you leave it overnight.

Be careful, though: It might just end up becoming part of the decor.  All right, I'm exaggerating a bit:  The HandleBar, as the name indicates, will be bike-themed.  Not only will bikes and art inspired by them adorn the walls, different fixtures will be made from, or accessorized with, bike parts.  For examples, the handles of the beer taps will be wrapped with bicycle chains.

Owner Ezra Jackson is, not surprisingly, a cyclist.  And his brother was a racer.  He says the idea for HandleBar came to him when he was fixing his bike and "hanging out" with his buddies.  They were drinking beer, naturally, and as he says, "having a good time".  So, he thought, "Why not make it a little bigger?"

And, yes, customers can work on their bikes in the bar--even if the work stands, um, won't always be used for their intended purposes.

Last time I checked, they didn't have anything like that at Les Deux Magots!

215 Steps--How Many Kilometers?

I have no idea of how many kilometers (Remember, I'm in France!) I pedaled today.  I'm guessing it's not less than twenty, but not more than forty.  

There is, however, one measure I can give you with certainty:  215 steps--from 8, rue Elzevir to 5, rue Thorigny. Both addresses are mansions in the Marais district of Paris, which straddles thte Third and Fourth Arrondissements and contains, among other noteworthy sites, the Place des Vosges.  

I had intended to go to the first address.  When I was about to lock my bike to a signpost in front of it, an African man in what looked like a butler's uniform informed me, politely, that there was bike parking at the end of the block.  "Pardon", I said almost simperingly, "je n'ai lai pas vu."  I guess I wasn't the first person not to notice it. "Pas problem", he said. "Merci," I responded.

8, rue Elzevir

So why was I going to a mansion at 8, rue Elzevir.  Well, I had a free pass.  Then again, so did anyone else who wanted one.  But since I'm so, like, "over" being part of the "in" crowd (I mixed generational references.  Is that as bad as mixing metaphors?), I didn't mind.  For one, the man who showed me where to park my bike was so nice.  And so was everyone else I met inside.  And there were some really interesting things to look at.

All right, I'll admit it:  I was there to look at the stuff, and the place itself.  You see, that mansion is la Musee Cognaq-Jay.  I had seen signs for it and was intrigued by the name: "Cognac" with a "q" at the end, and "Jay"--that doesn't look so French, does it?

The fully-articulated fish in the foreground is made from gold, enamel and jade.  The other cases are made from gold , enameling and precious stones. 

Well, it turns out that Theodore-Ernest Cognaq and his wife Marie-Louise Jay founded the Samaritaine department store, which grew from a small tie vendor at the foot of the Pont Neuf to an eleven-story Art Deco colossus that took up several square blocks.   If you can imagine a combination of Macy's and Bloomingdale's, a la francaise, you'll have an idea of what the store was like.

Messr. Cognacq and Mme. Jay were, not surprisingly, among the wealthiest people in France.  This allowed them to accumulate a vast collection of art and objects, which are displayed in the museum.  What is so unusual about this collection, though, is that almost everything in it is from the 18th Century.

Although few collectors and curators focus on this period today, it makes sense that Cognacq and Jay would have spent their time and money on it.  For one thing, the work of painters like Van Gogh and other Impressionists were not yet deemed collectable, let alone immortal.  And the work of other artists who are so revered today--including one I'll mention later on in this post--was either in the process of creation, or hadn't been conceived yet. 

So, it's not surprising that whoever advised Cognacq and Jay would have told them to buy works from the 1700s.  By that time, it was a century or more old, so it (or at least some of of it) would have passed the test of time.  In other words, paintings, sculptures and other objects from that period would have gained the stature the Impressionists would attain in the 1970s or thereabouts, when Japanese collectors started to pay large sums of money for Monet and Van Gogh paintings.

I must admit, though, that I never had any great interest in 18th Century art, with a few exceptions.  If I were to become a scholar, I probably wouldn't choose that period.  The most interesting work of that time came, I believe, from philosphes, political theorists, few novelists--and composers.  There isn't much poetry to capture my attention (apart from some of William Blake's early work near the end of the century) and even less drama. 

The painting and drama of that period, with a few exceptions from Fragonard and a handful of other artists, leaves me cold, for the most part.  But seeing them in a setting in a mansion of that period made them more interesting.  Also, seeing those paintings and sculptures along with objects made of porcelain, gold and stones--some of which were intended for daily use--made the paintings more interesting.

If you are in Paris, the Musee Cognaq Jay is worth checking out, even if you're not interested in works from the 18th Century, just to see how an extremely wealthy couple would have lived with the things they collected.

After spending the morning and the first hour of the afternoon at Cognaq-Jay, I walked 215 steps to see the work of an artist I mentioned, but didn't name, earlier.  Yes, his museum is at 5,rue Thorigny:  the Hotel Sale, a.k.a. la Musee Picasso.  

If you've been reading my earlier posts, you know that the Musee Picasso has long been one of my three favorite museums in Paris.   Although it, like the Cognacq Jay, is located in a former residence, the two could hardly have had more different atmospheres:  The Cognacq-Jay has the intimate atmosphere the creators of the Picasso tried to achieve and, I believe, would if it hadn't become a tourist destination.   To be fair, the Picasso has become one of the most famous museums in the world because even people who know nothing else about art have heard his name. 

215 steps later:  5, rue Thorigny

Still, I love the Picasso, in part because of the artist himself,  but also because of the way it creates a milieu for him and his work.   But after 215 steps, I think I have found a new favorite to add to my list.  

And I got to take a late-day ride after taking in both, on a Tuesday in which clouds swirled and rippled in the breeze, diffusing but not muting the sun's rays.