One Person’s Trash Is Another Person’s Lifeline

 If one were to ask most Americans which possessions they most fear losing, their cars would be high on their lists.  Especially in areas outside city cores, away from mass transportation networks, people depend on their automobiles to get to work or school and for many everyday tasks.

For people who don’t own or drive cars—whether by choice or circumstances—bicycles can be their connection to the rest of the world.  I am one such person.  Others include a club in which I hope not to become a member:  people who don’t have housing. 

In New York, where I live, and in other cities, one often sees battered, grimy and rusty machines among tents, sleeping bags, shopping carts, boxes and shipping crates sprawled under bridge and highway underpasses, train trestles and in any public space with something spread, hanging or standing over it that can provide at least a partial shield from rain and other elements. Because those spaces are often squalid, through no fault of their inhabitants (Americans never have been very good at taking care of public spaces), whatever ends up in them—including their inhabitants’ possessions and the inhabitants themselves—are seen as disposable.

At least, that seems to be the attitude (mis)guiding some City of San Diego officials.  They, who fancy themselves the finest of the self-proclaimed “America’s Finest City,” went into encampments (Would they enter someone’s house or apartment without knocking on the door or ringing the bell?) and tossed unhoused people’s bikes into garbage trucks.

As activist Jacob Mandel pointed out, “For unhoused people, a bicycle can be a lifeline, providing low-cost/free transportation to employment that could break the cycle of poverty.”

He added, “The city is destroying those lifetimes.” Not to mention that if anyone else did what those officials did, it would be considered theft.

The @cityofsandiego throwing away bikes again. pic.twitter.com/AevAm0RDm9

— Michael McConnell (@HomelessnessSD) May 1, 2023

This Veteran Was A True Hero

 The more I am opposed to war, the more respect I have for veterans.

As counterintuitive as it may seem, my opposition to war is exactly the reason why I believe that veterans—especially if they have been in combat—should never want for anything.

That said, I don’t think that the uniform is a halo.  As much as I respect military service, I’m not naive enough to believe that all former service members are heroes in civilian life.  And I don’t think that said service should be a “get out of jail free card.”

Which brings me to Paul Whelan.  I feel for his family, who are about to spend another holiday without him. On the other hand, I think that false equivalencies have been made, and blame has been misplaced, since Britany Griner has returned home while he’s still incarcerated in Russia.

The Trumpists are blaming Biden.  Truth is, Mango Mussolini didn’t do a damned thing to help Whelan, who was arrested four years ago. And, although I’d like to see Whelan returned home, he’s not quite the hero Fox News and other right-wingers have made him in light of his military service—from which he was less-than-honorably discharged.

On the other hand, Steve Pringle was a hero. The Army Veteran started Build A Bicycle-Bicycle Therapy on Michigan’s Upper Peninsula.  The shop’s name reflects Pringle’s purpose or, more precisely, mission: He wanted to help veterans who, like him, had trouble re-integrated into civilian life.  It grew to include programs for rehabilitated prisoners, people with disabilities and others who have trouble finding employment.  

Steve Pringle gives a bike to Kadence Horton of Iron Mountain, Michigan.  Photo by Ryan Gorza, Detroit Free Press.

Money was never his motivation, he said.  That is why he often offered steep discounts and gave bikes away.  His work would range beyond his home base:  He was delivering bikes in Florida, where he operated another shop like his “home “ shop in Michigan, to children and families whose lives were upended by Hurricane Ian.

In a terrible irony, he became another victim of that storm. He drove the bike-laden truck into an intersection, where another vehicle struck with such force that the truck reportedly hit a pole and rolled over.

That intersection didn’t have a “Stop” sign:  Ian’s winds blew it away.

Paul Whelan’s military service didn’t make him a hero. Nor did Steve Pringle’s.  But Pringle became a hero to many who died in the service of the people who have the most reason to revere him.

Can't Fix Your Bike? It's An Environmental And Economic Justice Issue

When I first became a dedicated cyclist--nearly half a century ago!--bicycles were touted as environmentally friendly alternatives to gas guzzlers.  At the risk of sounding like someone who pines for "the good old days," I'll say that most adult cyclists of the time were not merely "signaling" their concern for our habitat; they, as often as not, made other choices in line with their values.

Today, while some are "bikewashing" their lifestyles, there are some who are genuinely concerned with such matters as human-enhanced climate change.  So, while they might cycle to work or school (or, at least to the bus or train that takes them there), recycle the bottles, cans and other packaging they use during their lunch breaks and, perhaps, try to buy as local as possible, they could unwittingly be making at least one choice that undermines their other efforts.

To wit:  Their bicycles might be part of the problem.  Now, I don't mean to be pick on such folks.  Most people, especially if they're buying their first bike in decades, aren't familiar with how or where their bikes are made, or anticipate the normal wear and tear--and repairs--that come with regular use.  They also assume that "new is better," which is sometimes, but not always true.

Most mechanics, or anyone who's been cycling for, say, two decades or more, won't necessarily agree that "new is better."  It's true that almost any derailleur made today shifts better than almost any made fifty or forty years ago.  And, depending on your point of view, some other parts today are more efficient, convenient or lighter than their predecessors.  

But one problem is that most of those parts--or the bikes themselves--are not built to last because they're not made to be fixed.  "If I get a Huffy from the '90's, chances are I can actually make repairs to it," says Mac Liman. It will be heavy, but at least "the steel will hold together," she explains, and the result will be a serviceable, if inelegant, piece of basic transportation.

Liman would know:  She's been a mechanic for 19 years, the past  14 at Denver's Bikes Together shop.  Those Huffys were sold mainly in big-box shops like Wal-Mart, which sold out all of its bikes in March 2020.  "We're already starting to get those bikes," Liman lamented, "And we can't fix them."

One problem is the shortage of available parts caused by COVID-19-related manufacturing and supply chain disruptions. But an even bigger issue is simply the poor quality of those bikes:  Their frames crack and they have non-standard parts that can't be replaced at a reasonable price. "I've seen bearing cups that just fall out of hubs, so there's no way you can rebuild them," Liman says.

Her experiences have led her to join a petition calling for bikes to be repairable.  Its earliest supporters were mechanics at non-profit bicycle co-operatives and training programs like Recycle-A-Bicycle.  Cheap bikes from big-box stores are often donated, or brought in for repair, to such shops.  And people who buy bikes from such places are looking for something good and reliable for not very much money.

Now I have to admit that I was once one of those elitist bicycle snobs who snickered when I saw a department-store bike.  But I now understand that people buy such bikes, not because they're stupid, but because they don't know (yet!) why they should--or can't afford--to buy something better.

So, making unrepairabe bikes, like making almost anything else that's disposable, contributes to degrading the very environment some for which some folks are signaling their support by being seen on a bike.  And, as with so many other environmental issues, it's also a matter or social and economic justice, because it affects the working poor even more than those who buy those shiny-new Linuses and Brooklyn bikes.