A Ride Of March

Beware the ides of March...

We've all heard that warning.  You probably know that it came from Shakespeare's Julius Caesar, even if you haven't seen or read it.  It was spoken by a soothsayer--a prophet or fortune-teller, depending on what you think--who foretold the emperor's assassination.

The transition from one season to another conjures up visions of other changes.  The middle of March, in particular, carries the weight of hope for new beginnings, which can be as fragile as new buds in this month's winds or a late cold snap.

Today it's a bit colder than normal for this time of year.  That, and gusts of 80KPH (about 50MPH) push reminders into our faces that winter isn't finished with us, not yet.

Two milennia after Caesar's murder, and four centuries after Shakespeare's play, the admonition is relevant.  I'm going to sneak in a ride, however brief--and beware the ides of March.

From Ride and Seek

Coming To A Neighborhood Near...Me

We all waited with bated breath.

No, I didn't mis-spell "bated."  If a cat swallows cheese and stands in anticipation of a mouse, he/she can be said to be waiting with "baited" breath.  But "bated" is just a truncated form of "abated":

Shall I bend low, and in a bondsman's key
Wait with 'bated breath, and whispering humbleness

In Shakespeare's Merchant of Venice, Shylock utters those two lines as part of a soliloquy in which he asks Antonio (the merchant) how he can ask for a loan after Antonio and his associates called him a "cur", spit on him and kicked him around.  Antonio's rationale for their behavior is the "usurious" interest on the loans Shylock gave them.  

Now, of course, I was exaggerating just a bit when I said "we all waited with bated breath."  Nobody does that in New York--except, maybe, for a bank (oh, irony of ironies!)--specifically, Citibank.  But we weren't waiting for a loan so we could open up a pet-boarding house.  Instead, we were eagerly anticipating something else that comes from S-itty--I mean, Citi--bank:  Citibike.

Well, all right, I wasn't waiting for it as much as some other folks were.  After all, I have my own bikes.  But I must say that I am glad that Citibike has come to my neighborhood.  In fact, as of the other day, it was on my corner:

Is the arrival of Citibikes a sign that a neighborhood is "hip"--or that it's merely infested with hipsters?  Whatever the case, I'm glad to see the bikes--even though they're in the ugliest shade of blue--just because I'm happy to see anything that encourages people to ride bikes.

A few days ago I wrote about the thefts that have plagued bike share programs.  Citibike has not been immune to such problems.  Baltimore may have come up with a solution--at least for a while.  There are other interesting ideas out there, including one I found in a 99 cent store just down the street from the new Citibike port:

A Clean Sweep For The New Year....In 1898

If you ever want to see or read a Shakespeare play for fun....

Some of you may not believe that such a thing is possible.  You still have nightmares about some English teacher who made you feel foolish for not understanding the language--or, worse, not interpreting something the same way the teacher saw it.

I really try not to be one of those instructors. Really, I do.  And, yes, some students actually enjoy Shakespeare plays after I teach them.

One I have yet to teach, but am sure most students would enjoy, is A Midsummer Night's Dream.  To tell you the truth, what I have always enjoyed about it is that it messes with readers and viewers.  As you might be able to tell, there's a part of me that likes to do just that with people.   Sometimes, anyway.

And how can you not love Puck, the mischievous character who, at the end of the play, suggests to the audience that everything they just saw may be, in fact, only a dream.

(Some have suggested that the hockey puck derives its name from that character, because it is capricious and flighty, and messes with players, especially goaltenders.  Others have said it's a corruption of the "poke" used to strike or push the ball in the game of hurling.)

There was once a magazine named after the Shakespeare's character.  It ceased publication nearly a century ago.  I have seen only reproductions of a few issues.  But, from what I've seen, I'm guessing that it must have been poignant, funny and intelligent:  sort of what a magazine of New Yorker cartoons might be like if their creators (or the magazine's editors) weren't so conscious of the fact that they were New Yorker cartoons.

While most of Puck's cartoons were political editorials were political, the magazine's editorial point of view was non-partisan:  Politicians of all stripes were fair game.  Donald Trump might have pledged to "drain the swamp"; the folks at Puck would have wanted exactly that, as evidenced in this cartoon ushering in the New Year of 1898:

"A Clean Sweep For the New Year".  On a bicycle, yet.  Where are cartoons like that when we need them?

Backdrops

As much as I love Shakespeare, I have to tell you this:  The man never had an original idea in his life.  At least, not an original idea for a story.  Every one of The Bard's plays was written, in one version or another, by somebody else.  The reason we read, perform, watch and beat them to death today is that he imbued his characters with a depth never before seen in drama, at least in English:  Until his time, most dramas were "morality plays" or other kinds of vehicles to impart lessons or accepted wisdom.

Likewise, Alfred Hitchcock's most iconic scene is no more original than any murder story has been since Cain and Abel.  Even if you've never watched the whole movie, you know that scene:  Marion, played by Janet Leigh, is taking a shower when a female figure stabs her.


 


I am not saying the scene--or the film--does not deserve to be as famous as it is.  Rather, I am just pointing out that Hitchcock probably paid a visit to the Louvre, or at least looked at an art book or two, some time before he started making Psycho.

Please don't ask me how it took so long for me to come to such a realization.  But I might be the only visitor in the history of the world's most famous art museum to laugh while looking at Jacques Louis David's The Death of Marat.

Like Marion Bates, Marat was stabbed by a woman.  He met his fate in his bathtub, where he spent much of his time (and, in fact, did much of his writing) because of a skin condition.  It's extremely unlikely that Marat could have taken a shower, even if he had known they existed:  Even though the first indoor shower was invented two decades before he was murdered, it would be another six decades before modern indoor plumbing would make them workable. The originals were operated by hand pumps.

Anyway, for a time in my youth, Jacques Louis David was my favorite painter.  His combination of revolutionary fervor (He, as a deputy from the city of Paris, voted for the execution of the king.) and painting technique--dark backgrounds that made for vivid, dramatic colors and forms, a technique often called "chiaroscuro"--appealed to my sensibilities in those days, almost precisely because I could not see it as another side of the sentimentality I thought I was rejecting.

But one lesson I learned from Marat and David is that backgrounds or backdrops matter.  Why do you think I came to Paris again?  Why do you think my favorite muesums in Paris are the Rodin, Cognaq-Jay, Picasso and d'Orsay?  I mean, I love much of what Rodin, Picasso and the Impressionists did.  But there's nothing like going to the museums devoted to them (especially Rodin, in my opinion).  On the other hand, I can't say I was a fan of much of the work that's in the Cognaq-Jay.  But it's become a "new favorite" precisely because of the environment it creates and the way those works are presented.  Plus, it has some of the friendliest staff I've encountered in a museum.  (Oh, and it's free!)

Anyway...A great backdrop can make for a great ride.  That's why I can put up with the insanity of Paris traffic (Then again, I'm a New Yorker): What's not to like about riding among beautiful buildings and gardens?  

But cycling also transmutes, if not transforms, backgrounds.  A bleak, apocalyptic necropolis becomes bearable, and an interesting--and in its own way, even beautiful--image when it's the setting of a good bike ride, even if it is just from work to home, or vice versa. I used to pedal through such a setting every day when I was a student and worked in a factory; that ride might be what kept me (relatively) sane.

I have been able to ride through far more beautiful vistas.  Some were natural, whether in mountains or along seashores.   But for the past few days, I've rolled through some of the most beautiful urban scenes in the world.  It's made for some great riding--and a great trip!

Bike Bard

Four hundred years ago today, William Shakespeare died.  

Interestingly, this date--the 23rd of April--might also be his birth date.  We do not know his birthday with any certainty; the first record that exists of him is his baptismal certificate, dated the 26th of April, 1564.  

I am so thankful for Bill.  After all, if he didn't exist, I'd have to torture my students in some other way.  And, really, it's not as much fun to torment people with Tennyson or Chaucer.  I couldn't really haunt my students with Milton, because I'd have to spend more time explaining Paradise Lost than I would for any of the Bard's plays.  By the time I'm finished, most of my students would be too dazed to be terrified.

(That last statement is conjecture.  Now I'll make a confession:  I've never tried to teach Paradise Lost, or any other poem by John Milton.  I'd bet a lot of English instructors today could say the same.)

Seriously, though...Where would we be without Shakespeare?  He has given us so many of the figures of speech and common expressions we use every day.  The only source of more of those pithy words and phrases is the Bible.  And, even if that book is directly inspired by God, as many believe, I'm sure that it wasn't all written by the same person.  Then again, every generation or so, someone makes the claim that not all of Shakespeare's works were written by the same person because, as one commentatior put it, "How could one person write all of that?"

Even if there was not one "Shakespeare"--or, as some have said, the name was an alias--I'd probably still believe that he (or she?) existed.  S'il Dieu n'existait pas, il faudrait l'inventer:  According to Voltaire, if God didn't exist, it would be necessary to invent him.  I think of Shakespeare in the same way.

Now, even though I am a writer (yes, really!) and I teach English (would I lie?), you are probably wondering why I'm devoting a whole post in a bicycling blog to the Bard.  Well, he was an avid cyclist.  Oh, come on:  You don't believe all of the official versions of history, do you?  Especially the ones that say the bicycle wasn't invented until two centuries after Shakespeare died?  Well, if you read almost any of his plays, you realize that time isn't linear--at least, not in his plays.  (One notable exception is his last play, The Tempest.)  He shifts action back and forth between places and times, three centuries before moving pictures--let alone split screens and other effects--were invented. 

From Morna Murphy Martell

So, it's not only likely he pedaled; it's certain.  The clues are sprinkled throughout his works.  To wit:

       "...thou and I have thirty miles ere dinner time".  Henry                IV Part I, Act III, Scene 3.

I mean, if that isn't something somoene would say during an audax or brevet, I don't know what is.

During such a ride, he was almost surely complaining about his equipment:  

         "to ride with ugly rack" --Sonnet 33

         "thou hast worn out thy pump"--Romeo and Juliet, Act                II, Scene 4


And the ride continued after dark:

         "Lights, lights, lights!"--Hamlet, Act III, Scene 2

         "Lights, more lights!"--Timon of Athens, Act I, Scene 2
          
Hey, he even rode in  Critical Mass:

          "For tis the sport to have the enginer hoist with his                     own petard."--Hamlet, Act III, Scene 4

One thing about Bill:  He liked to kick back at the end of a ride:

          "do you look for ale and cakes here, you rude                            rascals?"--Henry VII, Act V, Scene 4

  

My Bike For A Tart!

"A Cronut!  A Cronut!  My Citibike for a Cronut!"

All right.  So The Bard didn't write that line in Richard III.  However, it seems like an apt headline for a story that appeared in Thursday's  Gothamist.  

A Cronut looks something like this:

Chef Dominique Ansel created it and  it's available only in his ShHo bakery.  It opens at 8 am, but in otder to score a Cronut, one has to arrive before 7 and wait on line. 

That is what someone with a Citibike did.  I don't know whether or not he had an annual  membership or was renting by the hour.  if the former is the case, he is limited to 45 minutes.  For the latter, it's  30 minutes.  If he doesn't check into a Cititbike kiosk before his time is up, each additional half hour is $9.00 (for an annual membership) or $12.00 (for a one-time rental or holder of a seven-day pass).

Now, if said cyclist were to abandon the bike, the Cronut run, as the Gothamist wryly noted, would cost $1000.  Cronut fans claim that is a small price to pay.  As I haven't tied one--or a Citibke-- yet, I couldn't tell you for sure.

Assembling, In Words And Pictures

What are the most important pieces of writing you have ever read?  

I know that's a biiiig question.  Interpret "important" in any way you like.  And the pieces of writing can be just that--whether they're works of Literature (with a capital L) or a warning label.

For me, those pieces of writing would include three of Shakespeare's plays:  The Tempest, Othello and Macbeth.  They would also include T.S. Eliot's The Love Song of J.Alfred Prufrock, Victor Hugo's Les Miserables and Sappho's Odes.  And, I must not forget NSC-68, Christine Jorgensen's autobiography (which I read as a teenager in the local public library) and The City of Ladies.

Oh, here's another:  Everybody's Bike Book by the late, great Tom Cuthbertson.  Mechanics tend to think spatially and visually rather than verbally, so anyone who can turn bike mechanics--or any kind of mechanics--into prose that's understandable, much less enjoyable to read, is a truly special kind of writer.

Here is something I am sure Tom, rest his soul, would appreciate:

From Visual.ly

The Last Bike Standing Follows The Moon On Friday Night

Until recently, there was a TV show called Friday Light Nights.  I never watched it (I watch little to no TV) but the title is apropos of tonight, at least for me.


I was the last one--well, the last cyclist, anyway--to leave the college tonight. 

After getting something like a real night's sleep last night, the ride today felt really good.  It was a few degrees cooler than it was yesterday, so the ride in was brisk, as was the ride home.  I was almost underdressed for the latter:  At times, I wish I'd worn a light jacket over my sweater and blouse.   I did, however, wear pantyhose under my skirt, which felt right--at least temperature-wise.


Today was the last day before Spring Recess.  At least it was for my classes:  Tomorrow, Saturday classes have their last meeting before getting a week of for the holidays.  The students in today's class are normally an interesting and stimulating group; today, they didn't seem as eager to leave as I would expect students to be the day before a recess.  I showed them the filmed version of Shakespeare's  Othello in which Lawrence Fishburne plays the title role.  Othello is one of my three favorite Shakespeare plays (The Tempest and Macbeth are the others) , and I'd say it's probably the one which I've had the most success teaching.  


Now, you may ask, what do teaching Othello and cycling to and from work have to do with each other?  Well, I think that, if nothing else, my experience today led me to a circle of questions:  Do my rides feel good because I feel good?  Or is it the other way around?  And was the confidence I felt on my bike and in my class a result of both going well?  Or did things go well because I was feeling confident and happy?


And when is my enjoyment of cycling enhanced by my enjoyment of other things?  Or does my enjoyment of other things enhance my enjoyment of cycling?

I guess that's a bit like asking whether cycling leads us to follow the moon or following the moon leads us to cycle.