No Needles Needed

I believe I've just found the perfect gift "Velouria". 

 If you've been reading this blog, chances are you know her as the author of Lovely Bicycle, on which she posted almost daily for a few years.  We haven't seen much of her lately.  I'm guessing it's because she's engaged in more remunerative work or enjoying marital bliss.

Or, perhaps she's doing a lot of knitting.  Which is why I believe this would right for her.  




A Dutch engineer has recently created the Cyclo-knitter.  It's a bicycle--actually, more like an exercise bike--attached to a loom, which is placed on a wooden tower above the bike.  As you pedal, the fabric cascades from the tower, and in five minutes, you hve a brand-new scarf.

The contraption has been placed on a platform of a Dutch railway station.  As George Barratt-Jones notes in his Mental Floss article, a commuter who has some "down" time on a cold morning can get on the bike, warm him or her self up by pedaling and, after five minutes, have a scarf that will help keep him or her warm for the rest of the day.

Now, I'm not a knitter. But I know a few, including "Velouria", who are.  While some make money from their work, they don't support themselves on it because it takes too much time.  They tell me the knit because they enjoy it and find it "relaxing" or "meditative".  That, I can understand.  Which is the reason why, on second thought, they and "Velouria" might not want the Cyclo-knitter after all--unless, of course, they actually want to make a living as knitters.  What kind of fun would that be?

Six Years: Thanks For Reading, Again!

Six years ago today, there was an Event.

All right, I'll dispense with the capital "E".  Undeniably, though, something started that day.  I know:  I started it.

It may not have changed the world at all, or even my own life very much.  Well, at least not in ways most people would see.  But it has made my life a little more interesting.  After all, it's brought me into contact with people I never would have expected to encounter.

It's also caused me to reflect on some of my experiences, which has been, at times, enlightening. 

I am talking, of course, about this blog.  On this date, six years ago, I posted my first "dispatch", if you will.  At the time, I really had no idea of what directions it would take.  My only intention was that it would be related, in some way or another, to cycling.

I also had no idea of whether anyone would actually want to read it--well, except for one person: "Velouria", the author of Lovely Bicycle. She encouraged me to write about some of my cycling experiences and reflections after reading my other blog.

Anyway...I've never come close to having as many readers as she's had.  That's all right.  I never felt discouraged about how few readers I've had at certain times, though I'll admit I was delighted to see that last month, I had more than 40 percent more page views than I had in any previous month (just over 20,000 vs. just over 14,000 in my best previous month). Also, I am thrilled to see that page views are coming from places I never would have expected, like Finland and the Ukraine. 

The thing that keeps me going, however, is that I purely and simply enjoy doing this.  Hopefully, you get at least as much pleasure out of reading my posts!

Silver Lilacs

After yesterday's deluges, riding to work this morning under a sun thinly veiled by high cirrus clouds was simply delightful.  Doing the commute with an engaging man--and good cyclist--made it even better.

His name is Allen.  Or is it Alan?  However, he spelled it, he was keeping up a good pace--and riding an intriguing bike.  I'd seen one or two like it before, but his was the first I'd seen in a large frame size.  I didn't get a chance to photograph it, but I've found images of that model on the web.

It's a Motobecane Le Champion.  He said he bought it used in 1981, in his native California.  I'm not surprised that he's still riding it: The frame, which was hand-brazed with Reynolds 531 tubing, is as solidly as it is beautifully built.  

If I recall correctly, Le Champion was the top Motobecane racing model until the Team Champion, on which Luis Ocana won the 1973 Tour de France, came out.  Allan's Le Champion appeared to be from about 1974 or so, based on decals and paint that looked like this:

Sometime in around 1975, Motobecane started to use blockier lettering rather than the script you see in the photo.  But, in 1974, Le Champions were offered in the color shown. The catalogues referred to it as "silver lilac."  It's one of my favorite bike colors of all time, because it has the character of purple that I so love, but it also has, to some degree, the elegance of silver Cinelli bikes from that same era.  

"Velouria"--who inspired me to start this blog--has a Mercian fixed-gear bike  in a similar color, although I think hers is a bit more purplish.  I love it, too.  It's what I would have chosen for my own Mercians if I hadn't gone with the purple/green (which actually looks purple most of the time) finish they sport.

Le Champions were equipped with a combination of high-end French and Campagnolo components. Alan, or someone else, swapped out the original Campy Nuovo Record derailleurs for Sun Tour Cyclones which, in my opinion, shift better.  And modern Mavic rims were laced to the vintage Campagnolo hubs.  But the bike still had its original Stronglight cranks, Campagnolo brakes and other parts.

He said he'd like to give the bike a "facelift."  Whatever he does, I hope he keeps the original color.

Along The Way

While riding to Randall's Island last week, I passed the block--9th Street, from the Noguchi Museum to a construction-supply store-- on which I lived before I moved to my current locale.  


The day I moved there, nearly a decade ago, was almost frighteningly clear and blindingly hot.  I had just left the last long-term relationship in which I'd been involved; I knew I was going to embark upon a part of my life I'd spent my life avoiding but which was absolutely necessary to become the person I've become, for better or worse.


I was struck by how much the light and shadows looked like the ones I saw the day I moved there:

When Velouria came to town for the New Amsterdam Bike Show, we rode down this block.  It just happened to be along the way.

The Meeting

The scholar and critic Cleanth Brooks probably did more than anyone else to champion a generation of Southern writers that included John Crowe Ransom, Allen Tate, Robert Penn Warren and, especially, William Faulkner.


In spite of their correspondence, which spanned more than half a century,Brooks and Faulkner supposedly met only once.  That meeting lasted several hours.  It is said that they did not talk about literature, or even anything else related to the arts, culture or history.  Instead, being true Southern men of their generation, they talked about fishing and 'coon hunting.


So why, you're probably asking yourself, am I mentioning these things on this blog?


Well, I found myself thinking about the story of the Brooks/Faulkner "summit" after meeting "Velouria", the author of the Lovely Bicycle! blog, during the weekend of the New Amsterdam Bike Show.


I discovered her blog--which, at the time, had been running for a few months--when I was recuperating from my surgery nearly three years ago.  I left comments on some of her posts.  An exchange of e-mails ensued and, within a year, with her encouragement, I started this blog.  (Now you know who to blame!;-))


Most of the e-mails we exchanged, interestingly enough, had little or nothing to do with cycling.  Although her upbringing, and much of her early adult life, could hardly have been more different from mine (or so it seemed), we both have had unusual (in different ways) circumstances that, I believe, have led us to see many things in ways that are very different from that of most of our peers. 


When she came to New York, we rode, albeit briefly.  And, of course, she was here for the show.  So it was natural that we talked, at least a little, about bikes and bicycling.  However, I would not say that it dominated the weekend.  Over dinner at Uncle George's and over coffee, we talked about, it seemed, everything but bikes.  I won't get into specifics, but I will say that I found the discussions stimulating because she seems able to get past the hyperbole and cant that too often passes for informed opinion, even among so-called intellectuals.  (Trust me:  I have lots of experience with them!)


You might say that my meeting with Velouria was an inverse of the one between Brooks and Faulkner:  Two men who knew each other via intellectual circles talked about sport, while two women who met via sport talked about culture--both the upper- and lower- case "C" varieties.

Velouria Captures A Working Girl

About two weeks ago, "Velouria" of Lovely Bicycle! fame came to town for the New Amsterdam Bike Show.  She stayed at my (very) humble abode.  Between all of our commitments and appointments, she still managed to photograph me and my bikes.  And, oh, yeah, we got a ride in together.

One shot actually is a pretty fair representation of me going to work on a brisk day.  

I was thinking of that day's "shoot" as I pedaled to work today.  As it was a good bit warmer, I wasn't wearing that jacket.  Also, since I didn't have any meetings, I was dressed a little more casually:  a light blue cotton skirt, flats, a tank top and a three-quarter-sleeve cardigan.  But, yes, I was riding Vera, exactly as you see her in that photo.

You can find that photo, and others, on her Flickr stream. I'm thinking of using at least one or two of them in the banner of this blog.

In The Beginning (Of The Season)

It may not officially be Spring.  Not yet, anyway.  But even with the mild weather we've had yesterday and today, it feels like the beginning of spring.

Or, could it be that riding just felt so good?  Yestersday I took one of the first seashore rides I've done in a while.  One thing about such a ride early in the spring (or on a mild day at the end of winter) is that you know that you're approaching the water because it's noticeably colder.  You see, even though the temperature neared 60F yesterday and 70F today, I don't think the ocean temperature has reached 40F yet.  So, a maritime breeze--let alone a wind--will let you know that you've underdressed, even if the sun feels good on your skin.

But the real essence of a first-of-spring ride is, for me, the feeling of emerging from a cocoon or a shell.  Of course, that might mean an ache or two if I ride a little harder or longer than I'd ridden during the winter.  But, still, it's an energetic feeling--or, more precisely, one of emergence, like a flower groping its way up from the barren earth.

In the spirit of the first of spring, I want to pay homage to someone who's been an inspiration to me over the past couple of years.  In that spirit, here is a "first ride of spring" photo from one of my favorite bloggers:

Velouria, I mean no disrespect or condescension when I say that this photo of you made me think, not only of the first of spring, but of evolution.  After all, according to Darwin's theory (and Genesis, for that matter), all life began in the sea.  So, in a real sense, cycling begins in the sea, or at the water's edge, at any rate. 

As it happens, her blog--Lovely Bicycle!--began in the Spring three years ago.  Coincidence?

The Season

In her most recent post, "Velouria" wrote about what seemed to be the end of her road riding season and the beginning of winter.  The signal, for her, came when the group with whom she'd been riding packed it in for the season and she no longer had a fast road bike to ride.  Fortunately, she found another group that will continue to ride every week as long as they're not snow- or ice-bound, and the road bike she'd converted to a "fixie" has become a road bike again.

Still, her post got me to thinking about the way the seasons signal themselves for cyclists.  Some of us mark the beginning or end of road- (or off-road) riding season with our first or last rides of the year with some group or another of riders.  Other cyclists, perhaps, see the beginning or end of their cycling seasons (or mark different riding seasons within the year) as the daylight hours grow longer or shorter.  Other cyclists, I imagine, have other kinds of seasonal cues.

Somehow, though, I felt I saw a clear signal of winter's approach the other day, when I managed to sneak over to Rockaway Beach before work:

Basket Case

Nearly two weeks ago, "Velouria" of Lovely Bicycle! wrote about parking her Gazelle commuter bike outdoors.


Well, I've been keeping Marianela (a 1979 Schwinn LeTour III turned into a "fixie" with a fixed/free "flip-flop" rear hub) outside for about a month, after keeping it indoors during one of the snowiest winters this area has ever had.  While Marianela is probably not as heavy as "Velouria"'s Dutch bike, and therefore not as difficult to maneuver in and out of my apartment, it's still more convenient to have the bike waiting outside for me, especially if I'm taking it on a short errand.


I've kept bikes outdoors before.  But, today, I was reminded of one of the consequences of doing so:

Now, I've had all sorts of things left in my front basket or on my rear rack:  beverage bottles, fast-food bags and containers, condom wrappers and things even less mentionable.  But nothing so far has been quite as interesting as this Lincoln hubcap.


One man who chanced by as I unlocked the bike stopped and looked.  We both had a good laugh.  I mean, what else could we do?  


I left the cap on a nearby fire hydrant.  When I returned tonight, it was gone.

How Does It Become "Retro?"

To see more about this bike, go to http://rhp3.com/Scwinn_Superior.htm

When she commented on my post from the other day, "Velouria" of Lovely Bicycle! raised an interesting question. She says longtime bike mechanics joke about Ross bikes and say things like "we couldn't sell them the first time around, but now kids are buying them second hand."  


So, I wonder, how and why does something become "cult," "classic" or simply "retro" when it was scorned, dismissed or ignored when it came out?


One example of what I mean is a Schwinn model that was sold as the "Superior" during the early 1960's and mid-to-late 1970's, and as the "Sports Tourer" during the intervening years.  Particularly in the final years of the bike's manufacture, it didn't sell well because other similar bikes from Europe and Japan were lighter, and to many consumers, its filet-brazed joints were indistinguishable from the flash-welds on Schwinn's less expensive models like the Varsity and Continental.


Now I see lots of "wanted" listings for Superiors and Super Sports.  I guess one reason why is that they're among the very few filet-brazed frames to be mass-produced.  And, although somewhat heavier than the bikes they're supposed to compete against, they were solid, and can be made into good, responsive bikes with modern tires, rims, derailleurs, cables and brake pads.  Even though they have long chainstays, and therefore longish wheelbases, they still have a "solid" feel in the rear, where many lightweight bikes (like my old Peugeot PX-10E) could feel whippy.  That is no small consideration if you install a rear rack and load it up. Plus, the Superiors and Super Sports had larger tire clearances than most current road bikes, which makes it easy to install fenders and convert the bikes to commuting and touring machines.


Some of what I've just said about those old Schwinn models apply to the Rosses--and, for that matter, many other bikes of their era.  Perhaps that's one reason why they're sought-out now.


But sometimes you just can't understand why some things aren't consigned to the dustbin of cycling history after being ignored or scorned the first time they came around. One example is some handlebar tape we threw away in the first bike shop in which I worked.  It was shiny; it was slippery; to most of us, there was no rationale for using it--at least then.


Fast-forward a few years.  I'm working in another bike shop, and we have to back-order that same tape because our order of it sold out within a day of our receiving it. The difference was that,by the time I was working in my second shop, the Seventies had turned into the Eighties.  And we all know what happened to bike finishes:  Those elegant silver Cinellis and constructeur bikes, not to mention the understated but meticulous work of American and British framebuilders of that time, was falling out of favor.  In its place came what we now call the "dreaded Eighties paint jobs":  lots of neon colors and fades.  


That tape we threw away at my first shop was now in demand because it was shiny and came in a lot of different colors.  Those of you who recall that time know that I'm talking about Benotto tape (which, by the way, was made in Mexico, not in Italy, as is commonly thought).  


Even when it became popular, it could be found for less than two dollars. These days, it sells for many times more than that on eBay.   If I'm correct,  it hasn't been made in some time, which might account for the prices people are paying for it.


Those Rosses, Superiors and Super Sports are no longer being made, either.  Yet there are other long-extinct marques of bikes and accessories that aren't sought-after these days.  And some of those other bikes and parts have some of the same attributes and assets I've described, as well as others that should make them attractive to somebody.  So why do they continue to languish in obscurity while other products, like Ross bikes, are sold within hours of appearing on Craigs List?

My Philosophy (of Building Bikes, Anyway)

Velouria asked a very interesting question:  How and why do I make the choices I make when I build a bike?


In brief, I like both form and function.  I don't strive for a "retro" look, as I've found that trying to re-create the past--in any area of my life, not just cycling--usually doesn't work very well.  But it just happens that many, if not the majority, of the bikes and parts that appeal to me aesthetically are from, or inspired by, the past.


And there are some "retro" parts that, for me, actually work better than their modern counterparts.  First among them are steel frames.  All of my bikes are built on them.  I've had aluminum bikes and have never liked the ride, much less the looks, of them.  I've ridden, but never owned, carbon fiber bikes and have ridden carbon fiber forks on my own steel or aluminum bikes (though I don't ride any now).  They are light and, yes, I would ride carbon bikes if I were racing and someone were going to buy me a new one every year.  Which brings me to one of the reasons why I won't buy one: The hard-training, high-mileage riders who ride them seem to replace them every year or two.  As a writer and college instructor, I can't afford that!  


Plus, I don't care much for the way carbon fiber bikes look. 


Anyway...When it comes to components, probably the most "retro" things I like are downtube shifters, handbuilt wheels (as opposed to factory-built wheels) and pedals with toe clips and straps.  For me, they seem to be the most practical options.  


 Downtube shifters are much less expensive than STI or Ergo or any other "all-in-one" brake/gear levers.  So, if you take a tumble, you're unlikely to even scratch your downtube levers, and if you trash a normal brake lever, you can replace it for $20 as opposed to $200.


 Plus, I was riding downtube shifters long before the "all in one" levers came out.  And I ride friction (non-indexed) shifter.  Back in the day, that was the only option.  When you use it, you don't have to worry about parts compatibility as much as you do if you use indexed shifters.  My favorite of the old downtube shifters were the Simplex retrofrictions, which were also, to my eye, the prettiest shifters ever made. 

 I don't use them now because they seem not to work with more than seven speeds in the rear, and even seven is not an optimal setup for them.  On Arielle, I ride Dia Compe "Silver" shifters, which are more or less replicas of the old Sun Tour Micro ratchet shifters.  And on my Miss Mercian, I have an old Sun Tour bar-end shifter.  


I have owned and ridden the high-end pre-built wheels (e.g., Mavic Ksyriums and Heliums) and while they're light and, for the most part, of high quality, they take all sorts of non-standard parts like straight-pull spokes.  Replacements are therefore expensive, require special tools and sometimes can be difficult to find, in part because those parts are usually proprietary.  And some wheels, like the  type that were made by Spinergy, cannot be trued or otherwise worked on.  You wreck one of those, you toss it out.

If you have a wheel built from high-quality components by someone who knows what he or she is doing (or if you do it yourself), you are likely to have a wheel that lasts longer and can be worked on as needed.  Plus, parts like spokes are readily available and much less expensive.  On my Mercians, I have Phil Wood hubs, Mavic Open Pro Rims and DT spokes.  And my LeTour has wheels with Formula/Origin 8 hubs (a "flip-flop" freewheel/fixed gear in the rear) , Sun CR-18 rims and DT spokes.


And, after riding clipless for about twenty years, I went back to clips a few years ago.  I simply like the option of riding whichever shoes I'm wearing.  Also, I tend to wreck pedals, and clippable pedals are much less expensive than clipped ones.  I also tended to wear out cleats pretty quickly, which isn't an issue with traditional pedals.


At the same time, I ride modern components when they are clearly better than the older alternatives.  Three of the best examples I can think of are derailleurs, casettes and brakes.  Even the least expensive derailluers available today shift more accurately and smoothly than even the best of the older derailleurs, and moderately-priced dual-pivot brakes with Mathauser Kool-Stop salmon-colored brake pads are more powerful and provide better modulation than any older brake, and are about as powerful as cantilevers.  


As for cassettes:  If you are riding seven or more gears in the rear, they are much better than spin-on freewheels.  They provide more support for the cogs, which means less stress on the hub axle.  For the couple of years that eight-speed spin-on freewheels were made, bent and broken rear axles became more common.


That said, I use eight speeds. It provides a wide selection of gears, and the chains for them tend to last longer.  The more gears you have in the rear, the thinner your chain needs to be.


Of course, if you ride a fixed or single speed, you don't have to think about these issues.


Now, I like the look of many older "quill" stems.  However, having taken some long tours, I came to value the practicality of threadless headsets, especially after having a threaded headset come loose in the middle of the Massif Central, many kilometers from the nearest bike or auto repair shop.  To adjust a threaded headset, you need one or two large wrenches, which are not practical to carry.  On the other hand, you need only a five or six millimeter allen key to adjust a threadless headset.  And there are simply more threadless heasets and stems available.


Now, one area where I let form rule over function is in bike bags.  I much prefer the looks of canvas bags to their nylon or cordura counterparts, even though canvas bags are usually heavier.  But they also have another benefit in that they tend to last longer and are more adaptible.  Too many modern bags require special proprietary hardware and accessories to mount them.


As for aesthetics: For the most part, I prefer lugged frames, although filet brazing is often quite nice, and I've seen some pretty artful TIG welds.   I also prefer silver components. Polished silver is nice, but anodizing is all right, too.  Either way, silver looks classier than black or neon colors in most components. I'm not dogmatic about that, though, as you may have noticed from looking at my bikes:  I have black rims (with machined sidewalls) and black chainrings with silver cut-outs.  But in most other parts, I prefer silver.


So...I know that almost anyone who reads this will dispute at least one thing I've said.  That is your right.  But just remember that your riding experiences probably differ from mine.  I used to race, but I haven't in years.  And I've literally lived on my bike, and I live with them, so I tend to choose accordingly.  Finally, you may simply have tastes that are different from mine.  Chacun a son gout.

Velouria Gets Fixed Up

"Velouria," whose wonderful writing and photography graces her "Lovely Bicycle!" blog, has given new meaning to "Be careful of what you wish for."

She has written about her "attraction to beautiful track bikes" and "wistfulness for the velodrome," which she had dismissed as "ludicrous."

Well, I warned her....If we dismiss or resist something long enough, we'll take to it, or it will take us!  (Trust me, I know that as well as anybody can.) So I exhorted her to "go for it."  And, I made a deal:  My spirit would guide her if she promised to bring back one of those beautiful dress guards she always seems to find when she's in Vienna.

Yesterday she took her first ride on a track bike--yes, in Vienna!  And, from what she says, she enjoyed the experience.

I can just see it now:  Velouria on the velodrome in Vienna!


Could this be her future?:

Congratulations, Velouria.  And you owe me a dress guard! ;-)

I Rode That Way Then Because This Is How I Ride Now

"Velouria" wrote about me and this blog on her "Lovely Bicycle!" blog.  


She made me blush.  I may not know much, but I know this:  The only thing better than a man who can make a woman blush is another woman who can make another woman blush!


Part of me wonders whether I deserve such a wonderful write-up. First of all, look at the photo at the top of her blog and the one at the top of this one.  Not only is she (or whoever took that photo) a better photographer than I'll ever be, she's also more beautiful and stylish.   Take a look another look at that photo:  Do you really think I can compete with that?


Also, look at the layout and design of Lovely Bicycle!  I wouldn't have a clue as to how to do anything like that. And, finally, read her writing and compare it to my ragged prose.


But, hey, what can I say?  I'll take the compliments.  Besides, she's right definitely right about the fact that I've experienced two completely different aspects of cycling, and I'm one of the very few people who's experienced both of them.  


The funny thing is that I was the "lycra-wearing, hard-training, fast-spinning, Alps-conquering roadie...named Nick" precisely because I wanted to be "the woman who cycles to work in a skirt and heels."  Or, more precisely, I was the hard-riding guy precisely because I always knew that, deep down, I was, and was meant to be, that woman cycling to work, to the marketplace and down a country lane to the sea.


So why did I live and cycle as I did?  Well, I have to admit, I enjoyed competitive riding, whether or not it was sanctioned in a race, and the camaraderie that accompanied and followed it.  But I now realize that I wanted to ride as hard and as long as I did because I had so much anger in me.  By now, you probably realize what forged much of that anger:  the cauldron of rage that roiled from the fires of my unfulfilled desire--to live as the woman that I always knew myself to be.


Some guys' worst nightmare is finding out that the girl for whom they've fallen was once a guy--and probably even more of a guy than any of them ever were!  Of course, I don't mean to make light of that:  Too many of us have been killed over that. But, it's hard not to see the irony in it, and to apply it to my cycling life:  What if some of those guys I used to ride with and against were to meet me today?  

Actually, one of those guys has.  And he's taken it very well.  He has an even stronger sense of himself than I ever imagined he did.  What am I saying?  Back in the day, I wasn't even thinking about whether he or anyone else was secure within his own skin.  There was simply no way I--as I was in those days-- could have thought about that. 


But as for the other guys...well, I'll tell you about one of them.  He would have utterly despised me, as I am now.  Or, at least, he would not have been seen with me, whether or not either of us was on a bike.  But I know for a fact that if no one else were watching, I am the very first person he would have come to, for love, advice or just about anything else.  He would have--if he were honest with himself--spent the night with me rather than with his wife or any girlfriend he ever had--or, for that matter, almost any other woman and absolutely any man.  He would have gone for rides with me for the same reasons he would have gone to museums, poetry readings and stores, and walked the streets of Paris, San Francisco, Rome and Boston with me.  


Actually, he wouldn't have done any of those things with me.  He did those things with me.  What's more, he did them with me, and in the presence of his wife and girlfriends.


By now, you've probably figured out who that man was.  Yes, he was me.  And he was who he was--including that "lycra-wearing, hard-training, fast-spinning, Alps-conquering roadie"--because he was me:  the "woman who cycles to work in skirts and heels."

The Almost Unbearable Lightness of a Late-Day Ride

Gunnar and Velouria may not have ever met.  But they have created a monster.


You see, they both used the word "pretty" in talking about the photo someone took of me the other day.  So, when I stopped during my ride today, I asked random strangers to take photos of me.  


Here's the first one, taken by a young Japanese woman on the George Washington Bridge:

OK, so it's not going to get me an endorsement deal, much less a modeling contract.  But at that moment, I understood what Salvatore Quasimodo meant by writing the shortest poem I know of: 


M'illumno
D'immenso.


That I was riding over the bridge at the beginning of rush hour but not dealing with the rush hour traffic was, in and of itself, pretty exhilarating.  But it was an utterly glorious day:  Yesterday's heat and humidity were nothing but memories (or bad dreams).   Pedalling across the bridge felt like flight.


On the Jersey side, I turned left and pedalled down the road that winds a descent from the top of the Palisades to the shelves of rock that line the Hudson, which looked like the sun-filled atrium of one of those very peaceful houses in which  everyone would like spent his or her childhood-- and some can visit in their dreams.  


I spun the cranks of Arielle, my Mercian road bike, as I descended layers of sunlight to the ferry piers at Port Imperial.  Then I followed the riverside road to Hoboken, where young people who work in downtown Manhattan were ascending from the PATH station.  A day like this really feels like an ascent when you're coming from the grimy subterranean depths, and when you feel a cool if strong breeze before the sun begins to set.  

In back of me is the old Erie Lackawana railroad terminal on the Hoboken waterfront.  At times like that, I wish the government hadn't taken over the still-existing railroads after the Penn Central bankruptcy of 1970.  After all, what use will anyone have again for such a beautiful word as "Lackawana?"


I continued down Washington and Jersey Avenues to the Jersey City waterfront.  Marlon Brando's character certainly wouldn't recognize the place now.  He might, however, recognize Richmond Terrace and the views from it:

I stopped in a nearby deli for something to drink during the boat ride.  That, ironically, caused me to miss a boat, with the next one half an hour later.   I had to spend that time in a penned-up "secure" area.  Staten Island's terminal of its eponymous ferry feels more like a series of airport security checkpoints.  A TSA employee even brings in a dog to sniff the bicycles.


Anyway, here I am in their version of Checkpoint Charlie:

Still, as you can see, I was in a great mood.


You may have noticed something pink attached to the saddle of this bike, and my fixed-gear.  It's one of the more interesting products I've tried lately:  a Bike Burrito.  It's so named for the way it folds (or rolls) up.  Inside it are a few small tools and a spare inner tube.


Back in the day, when I was poor, I used to roll up my repair kit inside a bandana and strap it to my saddle rails.  The Bike Burrito is basically the same idea, except that it has pockets inside and is made of very sturdy duck cloth, much like Carradice bags.    That canvas comes in various colors as well as a few prints as Jayme, who sews the Bike Burritos herself, finds them.  I ordered the two pink ones with black interiors.  They are "negatives" of a combination she offers regularly:  black outside, pink inside.  (That might be more anatomically correct, but what the heck.)  I also bought another, in a multi-colored paisley, which will go on my Miss Mercian.  That bike, because I'm building it with the Velo Orange "Porteur" bars, won't have the tape you see on my fixed and road Mercians.


Anyway...I recommend the Bike Burritos, which are available in three sizes.  Jayme is very sweet and accomodating, in addition to being a talented designer and crafts person.  And, her creations are compatible with Shimano, Campagnolo and SRAM shifting systems, as well as all other current and vintage components and bicycles.


And I recommend late afternoon-early evening rides along the Hudson that culminate in ferry rides back to the city!