The Face That Rode A Thousand Miles

 Rosalind Yalow’s Orthodox Jewish parents tried to stop her from majoring in physics. Why? “No man will want to marry you.”

Well, she not only majored in physics, she used it to advance the state of health-care technology. That she did by co-developing radio-immunossay, which uses radioactive isotopes to quickly and precisely measure concentrations of hormones, vitamins and other substances that are part of, or end up in, human bodies.

For that, in 1977 she became the second woman to win a Nobel Prize in medicine.  Oh, and she married, had children—and kept a kosher home.

I mention that because throughout the history of bicycling, various actual and self-proclaimed authorities have tried to discourage women from cycling on the grounds that it will make us unattractive and less desirable to men and, therefore, unable to have children.

As an example, serious medical professionals and scientists in the 1890s—during the peak of the first Bike Boom— warned of the “dangers” of women and girls developing “bicycle face.”

I wonder whether I ever developed it. Hmm…Maybe that’s why I don’t have a man—never mind that I haven’t been looking for one!

Happy Mother’s Day

 Some would argue that I have never been a mother because I have never had human children.  I wouldn’t argue with them.

Others, mainly people who have pets, would say that I am a mama, or at least a parent, to Marlee—and that I was one to Max, Charlie II*, Candice, Charlie I, Caterina and Sara*. I often refer to the six cats and one dog I’ve housed, fed and loved as my children or “babies.”

There is at least one thing, though, I couldn’t do with them that, perhaps, I could have done with a human child: ride a bicycle. Perhaps even more important, I never could have taught them how to ride one.

In any event, to all of you who are moms (Your children are always your children even after they move out—or, felines forbid, die) : Happy Mother’s Day.

Check out this image, and others, here: https://www.redbubble.com/i/art-board-print/Mother-s-Day-Bicycle-Ride-by-kilkennycat/47181892.TR477

*—Sara was a beagle-hound pup I had briefly, before any of my cats. While out for a walk, a man petted and played with her.  “My grandkids would love a dog like that.”  They played some more. “They could play with it in our backyard…”

“Your backyard?”

“Yeah, in my house in Pennsylvania.”

I let them play for a moment. “How would you like to take her?”

The man’s eyes widened. “How much do you want for her?”

“Nothing. She’ll be happier in your house and yard than in my apartment. She gets to go outside only when I get home from work.”

The following weekend, he took me and Sara to his house, where I met his grandkids. She was happy to meet them. And I was happy for her.

No Soy Una Cyclista Típica

 I may be, ahem, in midlife. So I might be slowing down. But, by virtue of half a century of dedicated cycling—and writing this blog, I can confidently make this claim about myself:

Enjoy Cinco de Mayo!

Tongue Twister On A Straight Path

 Say this three times fast:

Even at my age, I can ride faster than I can say it!

The Four-Two-Oh!

 As I mentioned yesterday, it was “four-twenty.”

Many theories have circulated about how that combination of numbers, and yesterday’s date, came to be associated with marijuana.  One is that “four-two-oh” is the police code for it.* Another is that the date is Bob Marley’s birthday.  Neither explanation is true.

Still another  explanation is that it’s a reference to Bob Dylan’s song “Rainy Day Women #12 & 35”:  Multiply those two numbers and you get 420.  While this is somewhat more plausible than the other two stories I mentioned —and the 2016 Nobel Laureate for Literature did, after all, introduce the Beatles to weed— I still doubt it.

The most credible explanation seems to be that a group of California teenagers met at 4:2O in the afternoon to partake of it and other pleasures prohibited by their school—and the law. Supposedly, that group met during the 1970s and one of its members, Dave Reddix, later became a Grateful Dead roadie. (What else can a teenage pothead from California become?) In late 1990, he distributed a flyer (Remember, there was no social media!) inviting Oakland “Deadheads” to smoke with him at 4:20 pm on 4/20 in 1991. That flyer landed in the hands of a “High Times” magazine editor, who printed it in his publication.

So..the folks at Trek could be forgiven for naming one of their models the 420.  After all, it was 1981 and they probably didn’t know about Reddix and his troupe of truculent teenagers in Tiburon.  Or did they?

*—Cops always say numbers digit-by-digit.  So, for example, the 114th Precinct in my old (It still hurts to say that) Astoria neighborhood is “the one-one-four.”

Proposal

 Some day—perhaps soon—I’ll believe that I’ve moved to the most wonderful neighborhood in the universe. As much as I love my new apartment (even if it is smaller than my old one), its views and its light, and as friendly as my neighbors have been, there are still things I miss about Astoria.

Those things include, of course, my friends—with whom I’ll try to stay in touch.  Also, it had, if not the best, then some of the best, of New York:  It’s about as close as you can get to Manhattan without being there, but it doesn’t have the self-conscious hipsterism of Williamsburg, Greenpoint or Bushwick.  

Oh, and there was the food. I’m finding good eats here, but I still haven’t come across a bakery, let alone one that makes bread or cookies like Parisi’s or bagels like Lots o’ Bagels. 

And of course, there are the rides.  I could continue to do them, but I would have to ride (or take a train) to get to them.  I’m just starting to discover some good routes here, but I’m still in the “It’s not the Fort Totten ride!” stage.

Finally, there are the characters.  I’m sure I’ll find them here, but I still think of the ones I just left. They include the guy who hung out by the train station and the stores. He approached me and, probably, every other woman in the neighborhood, with this proposal:  “Will you marry me?  I’ve got food stamps!”

I have to admit, there are worse—or at least more bizarre—pickup lines.

Soon I will return to regular posting.  I have been so busy—and tired—that it seems like a miracle that I actually managed to do two rides—about 25 miles each—that had nothing to do with commuting or errands.

What Color Is Your Ride?

 It isn’t easy being green!

Egg Hunting

 Happy Easter!

The G&O Cyclery ((Seattle WA) announcing they’re closed because they’d “Gone Egg Hunting.”

I haven’t posted during the past week because of a change in my life.  I hinted at it in recent posts.  I’ll tell you more and return to regular posting soon.

Which Way?

Yogi Berra supposedly said, “When you come to a fork in the road, take it.”

Right Where They Belong

 Happy Saint Patrick’s Day!

Somehow, leprechauns look like they belong on bicycles. Maybe it’s because they always look happy, and bike riding makes people happy.

That said, should we admonish them to wear helmets?

Why Do I Have A Cat?

This is why I have a cat:

GOAT—Or Just Horny?

 Until recently, I thought “goat” denoted an an animal that lives in the mountains and has horns.  

Only a few years ago, I learned that “GOAT” is an acronym for the “Greatest Of All Time.”

That title has been bestowed upon Michael Jordan, Tom Brady and other record-setting athletes. It’s commonly agreed that cycling’s GOAT is Eddy Merckx.

More than one of my old cycling buddies probably thought of themselves as the “GOAT.” Of course they weren’t.

But they were goats in one other way:

Did cycling make them horny?

A Translation of “Hasta La Vista, Baby!”

 As cheesy as it sounds, I have envisioned a movie, video or play ending with the main character mounting a bicycle and intoning, “See you later, alligator!”

What's In A Name?

 If you live in the English-speaking world, you almost certainly call someone you know "Mike."  Chances are, he's a boy or man named Michael.

So, if "Mike" is short for "Michael:"

Life Lessons

 No matter how strong your legs,

No matter how quick your reflexes,

No matter how wide your peripheral vision,

No matter how proficient a cyclist you are,

In, ahem, midlife you realize that you will never again do some of the rides you did when you were young!

A Mirror?

 Recently, I heard someone refer to cyclists as "narcissists."

Of course, my reaction was to think, "It takes one to know one."  I think that person was saying that we are entitled or a privileged class because we now have bike lanes--never mind that riding on some of them, at least here in New York, is more dangerous than cycling on the streets.

That person might have been right, in a way.  Narcissus saw his own reflection.   

Of course, we won't fall onto the pavement while kissing an image of ourselves.  At least not intentionally.

Down And Back

Today's post will answer a question that, most likely, you've never asked.

We've all seen someone ride a bicycle backwards.  At least, a bicycle as we know it, with two wheels of equal (or nearly-equal) size.

And we've all seen someone ride a bicycle down stairs. In fact, some of us (yes, I include myself) have done it.

But has anyone ever ridden a "penny farthing" (high-wheeler) backwards down a flight of stairs?

And, if they did, did they live to tell about it? 

You Talkin’ About Me?!

 Remember..this blog is about Midlife Cycling…whatever my age!

What Are You Looking At?

 I written about bicycles in the military.  Turns out, they’ve been very useful in, among other things, reconnaissance missions.

That got me to wondering whether spies have used bikes in their work.

Turns out (I know, I used that phrase already!), the great minds think alike.  Or, at least, I think like my people: Apparently, someone in Italy had the same idea!

It was in Tyrol, which some other Italians argue isn’t really Italy: sono tedeschi.  So I’ll go with “great minds!”

How Do They Ride?

 The ride of some bikes has been described as “squirrels.” What riders mean is that the bike seems to wiggle, squirm or furtively jump, usually at high speeds (especially downhill) or when the rider pulls on the handlebars or stands up on the bike.

That got me to wondering:  Do squirrels ever describe anything as bike-y?