How A Bobby On A Bike Wrote The World's First Speeding Ticket

I've been pulled over for speeding--on my bicycle.  

I don't know how fast I was riding, but the speed limit was 25 or 30 mph, if I recall correctly:  It was a long time ago and, I confess, I was under the influence of something that was illegal everywhere in the US at the time.

(One good thing about getting older is that the statute of limitations runs out.)

Anyway, it was late at night and I think the cop who pulled me over didn't have anything else to do.  I said something like, "Sorry, officer, I didn't realize there was a speed limit for bicycles."  I don't know whether he didn't catch my sarcasm or realized that if I actually committed an offense, it wasn't worth his, or the department's, time to pursue.  He lectured me for a couple of minutes and asked where I was going. "Home," and I told him where in the town--Highland Park, New Jersey--it was without giving an exact address.  "Just be careful, and slow down," he admonished.  "OK.  Have a good evening, sir."

If he didn't ticket me because he thought it wasn't worth the effort, he may well have realized he couldn't charge me.  In some places, bicycles are classified as "vehicles" and are subject to the same traffic regulations; in other places, they aren't.  I'm not sure of what the laws were, or how they were interpreted, in that town or state 40-some-odd years ago.  

A constable in the Kent village of Paddock Wood faced a similar dilemma on 28 January 1896.  Huffing and puffing, he caught up to a speeding scofflaw named Walter Arnold.

His response to the bobby:  "Have you thought about asking your superiors for an upgrade, sir?"  The cop was on his department-issue bicycle, but Arnold wasn't talking about a lighter or even motorized bike. "I could provide him with a very good deal on a Benz motor, finest German engineering..."

Turns out, Arnold was one of the first car dealers in England, and the local supplier of Benz vehicles.  The terms "automobile" weren't yet in use; the conveyances were more commonly referred to as "horseless carriages."   That would be important in Arnold's case.

The officer, whose name is lost to history, was not amused.  He wrote Arnold a citation for four "informations" (counts): using a "locomotive without a horse," having fewer than three persons "in charge of the same," speeding and not having his name and address on the vehicle.

Walter Arnold's "hot rod."

Those offences were against regulations written for horse-drawn carriages.  Arnold's barrister made exactly that point in his client's defense and told the judge that if the carriage were to be considered a "locomotive" (a term for any sort of vehicle powered by an outside source) and if Arnold were to be so charged, he should be levied only a nominal fines for "using a carriage without a locomotive horse" and even smaller fines for the other charges.  Arnold paid them without protest; the publicity the case generated paid for his penalties many times over.

Ironically, one of the constable's pretexts for stopping Arnold--not having a man with a red flag in front of the carriage--was not mentioned during the hearing.  That regulation, however, was subsequently dropped.  As Miriam Bibby wryly notes, it "presumably left the labour exchange staff scratching their heads over what to do with a skill that clearly wan't that transferrable."  

Now to the question some of you may have been asking:  How fast was Walter Arnold driving?  Are you ready for this: 8 mph.  And what was the speed limit for horse-drawn carriages:  2 mph.

Reading all of that, I don't feel so bad about how much I've slowed down in my transition from that young male bike rider whom a Highland Park cop pulled over for speeding to a female midlife cyclist.  Of course, I'm defining "midlife" as elastically (Is that a word?") as Walter Arnold's vehicle could be defined as a "carriage."

 

The Morning After: The Dream

Today is the anniversary of Martin Luther King's Jr.'s "I Have A Dream" speech.

It's a sad irony (How many times have I used this phrase in the past three years?) that it comes the day after what seemed like a bad drug trip that lasted four nights.  I'm talking about the Republican National Convention, which featured more gaslighting than Angela Lansbury's first film.* Dreaming--more precisely, exhorting your audience to envision and follow your dream--is an invitation to a journey toward a better place.  What happened at the convention is the exact opposite:  Speakers imputed sinister motives, words and actions to their enemies and hellish conditions to places that had been doing well (or, at least, improving) until the COVID-19 epidemic.

I guess I shouldn't be surprised at the tone of the convention, given that Trump has not only vowed not to ride a bike, but has jeered cyclists.  On the other hand, MLK was known to take a spin.  And, like Einstein, he looked so happy in the saddle!

*--Like many people, I thought Gaslight was a Hitchcock film until I saw it.  George Cukor, in fact, directed it.

On Two Wheels To The 19th

The United States became an independent nation in 1776.  I would argue, however, that it took nearly two centuries for it to become anything like democracy, and that this evolution came in stages.

The last of those stages came with the Voting Rights Act in 1965.  Before that, the most important event in this evolution came one hundred years ago yesterday, when the 19th Amendment became part of the US Constitution.  It was written to guarantee women the right to vote.

(Interestingly, a few states, mainly in the western part of the nation, gave women the franchise while they were still territories.)

I mention the 19th because, well, it matters to me and because bicycles figure into it.  Although Susan B. Anthony didn't live to exercise the right she fought for, she did see changes, however gradual, in what was considered proper and sometimes even legal for women.  

As I've mentioned on other posts, she acknowledged the role of two wheels and two pedals in emancipating us:  

Let me tell you what I think of bicycling.  I think it has done more to emancipate women than anything else in the world.  It gives women a feeling of freedom and self-reliance.  I stand and rejoice every time I see a woman ride by on a wheel...the picture of free, untrammeled womanhood.

She beautifully described what kept me cycling during and since my gender transition.  I feel free and happy on my bicycle. Perhaps most important of all, I feel complete autonomy over my body and person.  If that is not a definition of becoming a woman, a full human being--or of feminism--I don't know what is.

Storming And Social Distancing

How can you enjoy Bastille Day with "social distancing" in force?

There's always a way to celebrate a holiday.  (To me, cycling is a celebration!)  I have to wonder, though, whether there would be a Bastille Day had there been a social distancing regulation in 1789.

Then again, would people who storm a prison obey such a rule?

Get Your 1965 Collegiate Now!

Did you get a Schwinn Collegiate in 1965?

If you didn't, you now have a chance to acquire it. Well, sort of.  And not at the 1965 price.

Of course, the new "1965 Collegiate" won't be an exact replica of the original because none of the parts that came with it are made anymore.

The new "1965 Collegiate" will be offered by Detroit Bikes. Like the company's other offerings, its frame will be made in their Detroit workshop.  In a way, it's fitting, as the old Collegiates were made in another once-thriving industrial city:  Chicago, the site of Schwinn's old factory.  

In another odd parallel, both Detroit Bikes and Schwinn were founded by immigrants:  DB founder Zac Pashak came from Canada; Ignaz Schwinn was born in Germany.  And, while many auto-industry pioneers, including Henry Ford, started off as bicycle builders, designers or mechanics, the current Master Builder at Detroit Bikes is Henry Ford II.  No, they're not related, but it's quite the coincidence, isn't it?

The new "Schwinn Collegiate"

Detroit Bikes is offering the new "Collegiate" to commemorate the 125th anniversary of Schwinn, once the most iconic American bike marque.  While the brand still survives, Schwinn is owned by a conglomerate; its bikes are made in China and sold in big-box stores rather than the network of independent bike dealers that supplied Schwinns to the public for decades.

That dealer network gave Schwinn a platform for re-making the American (and, by extension, worldwide) bicycle market during the 1960s and 1970s.  What made the Bike Boom the Bike Boom was the re-discovery of the bicycle by people who were old enough to drive.  Schwinn helped to stoke this boom by being among the first American manufacturers to offer "lightweight" bikes for adults.  "Lightweight" is a relative term:  the new Collegiates, Varsities and Continentals were tanks, but they had the diamond-style frame of racing bikes and something most Americans had never before seen: a derailleur.  That last feature made possible a wider range of gearing than internally-geared hubs and, even in their crude state (at least, compared to today's offerings), were more efficient. That made cycling more pleasurable--and, in many cases, practical--for adults who hadn't been astride two wheels since the day they got their driver's licences.

The Collegiate was a "gateway" bike: Schwinn offered it as a "budget lightweight."  Essentially, it was a Varsity with 5 speeds instead of 10 (one front chainring instead of two) and a mattress saddle.  It was offered with drop or upright bars on the men's model (upright only on the women's bike). In the days just before the Bike Boom--which would include 1965--many young people bought this bike to, not surprisingly, get around on campus and take rides in local parks.

Those bikes, sold in Schwinn's dealer network, were all part of a strategy envisioned by F.W. Schwinn, the founder's son, who believed that an adult bicycle market could be developed in the United States.  His idea succeeded for a time, then backfired:  People who rode those Collegiates, Varsities and Continentals would discover imported derailleur-equipped bikes that were much lighter than any Schwinn (besides the Paramount, which was made in limited quantities).

In another parallel with Schwinn, Detroit Bikes is helping to re-shape the future of cycling in the United States.  Ford II and Pashak seem to recognize that for the bicycle to become an integral part of American transportation and recreation, their industry cannot continue its reliance on a few buyers of high-end racing or mountain bikes, or even imitations of those bikes. Such bikes are simply not practical for the ways most people ride, and the ways most would-be cyclists want to ride. Instead, Detroit is concentrating on building bikes that are practical as urban transportation as well as for other everyday uses.

So, in another sense, it's not such a surprise that Detroit Bikes would re-make an iconic Schwinn:  Both companies, after all, have tried to re-shape the ways people see and use bicycles.  Schwinn succeeded for a time and then became a victim of that success (and some managerial missteps).  Detroit Bikes, on the other hand, has the opportunity for more lasting success. 


(I would love to see the new "Collegiate" in a color Schwinn offered in 1965:  Violet.)

They're Not Free To Celebrate Their Freedom

Seventy-five years ago today, the United States and its European allies accepted Nazi Germany's unconditional surrender of its armed forces.  

Citizens in countries such as France, Belgium, and the Netherlands could, for the first time in years, consider themselves free of a brutal occupation in which many of their friends, neighbors, colleagues--and, in many cases, relatives--were murdered or disappeared.  

As this is the 75th anniversary, few people who participated in combat, or who supported those, in or out of uniform, who participated in supporting the soldiers, sailors and airmen, or in other forms of resistance.  Even those who were young children during that time and remember various privations are not young.  So, this probably would have been the last time significant numbers of people who experienced the occupations in any way, as foes or allies, could or would celebrate in a major way.  

Notice that I used conditional tenses in my previous sentence.  Under other circumstances, thousands of people surely would have participated in ceremonies and other commemorations. Today, however, much of Europe remains under COVID-19 induced lockdowns.  In some countries, people can't even go for a bike ride or a walk and must show an official document granting them permission to go to grocery stores, pharmacies and other enterprises deemed as essential.

So, here is one of many sad ironies of the situation:  On a day when people would have been celebrating their liberation from one kind or tyranny, they are now living under another.  

And, the enforced curfews and other restrictions of Nazi invasions and occupations changed life in ways that still affect people today.  For example, the Paris Metro closes from 1 am to 5 am every day.  That schedule was imposed on the city during its occupation.  So it remains today.  In an odd parallel, for the first time in its history, the New York City subway system is  not operating 24/7.  It is now closed every day from 1 to 5 am--as a result of what has been called our "invisible invader."

Another parallel between the Nazi occupations and the COVID-19 pandemic is that thinking "out of the box" with the available facts is needed to beat back the terror.  The Nazis introduced the Blitzkreig, but French and other military strategists continued to strategize in the ways they'd done, or learned, before.  Once they and their allies understood that the Nazis were sending "lightning strikes" rather than masses of soldiers, they started to win battles.  Likewise, health care professionals, scientists and policy makers--at least the ones who don't placate political patrons--know that while their knowledge and data will inform their decisions, those decisions cannot always be made in the same ways because COVID-19 is not behaving in the same ways as earlier afflicitons.

I just hope that my friends in France and the wonderful people I met in other countries will soon be able to celebrate in the way they deserve (Xoom just doesn't cut it!)--perhaps with a bike ride.

So You Didn't Marry The Girl Or Guy Next Door? Thank Your Bike!

If the love of your life is of a different race, ethnicity, national origin from your own, you have the bicycle to thank.  I might say the same if your significant other is the same gender as you, or identifies in a way you never heard of until you left home.

That's more or less what University of Arizona historian David Ortiz says.  As I've mentioned in several posts, no less than Susan B. Anthony said that the bicycle did more than anything to emancipate women.  Cycling would change the clothing women wore, allowing more freedom of movement.  The bicycle also allowed women to travel unchaperoned by males for the first time.

And, says Ortiz, it also allowed men to travel greater distances.  At the time the "safety" bicycle was introduced, most people never got further than about 50 kilometers from where they were born or raised.  For a young man, then, "the girl next door" wasn't a Hollywood stereotype (well, ok, Hollywood didn't exist then): If she wasn't the one he married, she didn't come from much further afield.

Now, I don't think there's anything wrong with marrying the girl (or guy) next door, if that is what you want.  I just think it's nice to know that it's not the only choice.  And, of course, having two parents of very different backgrounds can be a great thing for their kids:  What could give them a better education?

As a transgender woman, I can't help but to think that such heterogeneity, along with women's liberation, helped to bring about, however slowly, greater acceptance of LGBTQ people. It's no coincidence, really, that the first and most vibrant queer communities have been found in cosmopolitan neighborhoods and cities.

So, if I ever find myself hooking up with an Afro-Japanese Brazilian bisexual whose pronoun is "they", I know the bicycle is responsible!  

Seriously, though:  From what David Ortiz says, the bicycle made us freer.  Certainly, I feel freer when I ride!

200 Years Of Bicycling In New York

It looks like I'll be taking a trip to the Museum of the City New York soon.

If you read this blog regularly, you know I'm not the sort of person who has to be dragged into a museum.  But even if you are that sort of person, and you happen to be in New York, you might want to take a trip to the MCNY.

Bicyclists in Central Park in 1941

There, "Cycling in the City:  A 200-Year History" will include photographs and other objects intended to "trace the bike's transformation of urban transportation and leisure" and reveal "the complex, creative and often contentious (No, really?--ed.) relationship between New York and the bicycle."  This exhibition has been organized by Evan Friss, the author of On Bicycles:  A 200-Year History of Cycling in New York City and Donald Albrecht, one of the museum's curators.  

At least one of the topics covered by the exhibit is something I've discussed in at least a few of my posts:  the bicycle's role in liberating women.  The way we dress today owes everything to the shorter and split skirts, and "bloomers" developed for female riders, as well as those female riders tossing off their hoopskirts, petticoats and whalebone corsets. 

This photograph, taken by renowned photographer Alice Austen, shows her friend Violet Ward on the right with Daisy Elliott.  Ms. Ward, who lived on Staten Island, started one of the first bike clubs for women and wrote Bicycling for Ladies, a 200-page book advising women on how to become serious cyclists.

Another interesting topic the exhibit highlights is the ways in which bicycles and bicycling helped different ethnic and racial groups, some of whom had only recently arrived in the city, to assert their American identity as well as to promote solidarity.  German, Italian, Japanese, Chinese, Mexican and Mongolian created their own riding groups.  So did Caribbean immigrants, as well as African-Americans, most of whom came from the South.  Black cyclists started the Alpha Wheelmen to challenge the notion that cycling was only for privileged white men (We sure can use that now!) and a certain black man rode with the South Brooklyn Wheelmen into worldwide fame as the second black athlete to win a title in any sport. (Canadian boxer George Dixon was the first.)  He was none other than Marshall, a.k.a. Major, Taylor.

A bicycle club member in the Bronx, 2007. Photo Carlos Alvarez Montero

Now, being a white cyclist, I'm not aware of current New York City-based bike clubs organized around the ethnic or racial identities, though their existence wouldn't surprise me:  I often see groups of black or Latino men (and, less frequently, women) riding together, sometimes dressed in the same colors. They might be actual clubs, or less formal organizations. And there is at least one women's cycling group that I know about:  WE Bicycle.

Steve Athineos, center, leads NYC bike messengers in protest against midtown bike lane closure, 1987

And, about the "contentious" part of the museum's introduction:  The exhibit shows that conflict between cyclists and the police or segments of the public are not new.  One reason why we had to fight to get Prospect and Central Parks closed to traffic is that bicycles had actually been banned from those parks, and others, during the first "bike boom" because of confrontations between cyclists and pedestrians as well as horseback riders.  Now, how anyone thought that vehicular traffic was less of a hazard than bicycles is beyond me.  Then again, I don't claim to have one of the great minds of this, or any other, era.

OK, I'll turn off the sarcasm meter and repeat that I intend to see the exhibit. 

Riding Into Public Service, And Through History

He starts every morning with a ride.  He's retired, and the rides are for his health and fitness.

Back in 1965, however, he pedaled to get around.  He was 19 then and looking for a job.  So he pedaled 2 1/2 miles (4 kilometers), resume in hand, to someone who might be able to help him.

Now, I should mention that the fact he was doing so in 1965 was significant.  For one thing, relatively few Americans rode bicycles if they were old enough to drive.  For another, Reginald "Reggie" Brown was applying for a job for which his mother was rejected two decades earlier.

She had done military service during World War II.  Still, she didn't get the job in her local post office because it didn't have segregated bathrooms.

Now, as a transgender woman, I know a thing or two about being denied the use of a bathroom--and about not getting a job because of an identity you've always had!  I can understand whatever anger, grief or resignation she might have felt.  And I imagine that those things were on Reggie's mind when he tried to get a job as a mail carrier.

Governor John McKeithen and his staff were so impressed with young Reggie that they passed on his information, and added their own recommendation.  Two months later, he was working as a substitute mail carrier.

As satisfying as the job was, Brown did not see it as an end unto itself.  His goal, he said, was public service, and his real passion and dream was to work in law enforcement.  

Eventually, he joined the East Baton Rouge Sheriff's Office, where he became the first African American to become a Chief Administrative Assistant and attain the rank of Major.  After 25 years in the office, he was elected to the Constable's Office, where he served another 18 years.  There, he worked on raising standards for the deputies as he started community programs to do everything from raising public awareness of their rights and responsibilities to helping the needy.

He has written My Bicycle Journey.  Proceeds from the sales of that book will go to St. Vincent de Paul charities.  He hopes, however, that its message will benefit everyone.

Who wouldn't be inspired by someone who rode his bike into public service, and through history?

The Original Sports Technology?

Last week, many of us gave thanks for one thing or another on the American holiday dedicated to expressing gratitude by engorging one's self with food.

Some of us were grateful for family and friends; others, simply to be alive. Then there are those who were grateful to stores for opening an hour earlier than they did last year.  You know what they say:  Early bird gets the bargains.

Well, all right, I don't know who said that.  But a fellow named Tom Taylor and I both gave thanks for...you guessed it...the bicycle.  Of course, we are both happy that a thing that gives us so much pleasure was ever invented.  He, however, gives another really good reason to be happy that the Draisienne, or whatever you consider the first bicycle, was invented.

You see, Taylor is, a mountain biker and involved in other outdoor sports.  At least, that's what I gather from what he says.  And he lives in Moab, after all.

In his article, he said the bicycle was "the original sports tech."  What he means is that, as far as we know, cycling was the first sport or leisuretime activity based on a product that required a certain amount of industrial capacity to produce.

As he explains, you don't need shoes to run and, "a branch falls from a tree, you find a pebble on the ground, and now you can play some form of cricket, or hockey, or baseball or golf.  Yes, you can make a better golf club and ball, but you can play regardless."  

He has a point:  Some of the most accomplished players in the "ball sports" learned how to play with nothing that resembles proper equipment.  They might've just rolled up whatever they could find to make a "ball" and, if sticks or clubs were necessary, twigs, branches or 2x4s from the junkyard stood in.  Naturally, some such athletes played barefoot until they signed their first professional contracts.

It also goes almost without saying that they played in the absence of any formal leagues, or any other kinds of structure or rules. For that matter, they sometimes didn't play on anything resembling a playing field or court.

I am talking about no less than Pele and Sammy Sosa.  Also, any number of hockey players used rocks or other things for "pucks" and anything that could be used to swat served as their hockey sticks.  I even read about one world-class player--I can't recall which, at the moment--who didn't even have skates until he joined a semi-professional league:  He and his friends would simply glide around on the ice on their most slippery shoes.

Now, we have often heard of champion cyclists who came from humble backgrounds, whether the family farm or a gritty indstrial town.  One could say that, for such reasons, a cyclist can't come from the same dire poverty as a football player from the favela because it takes more money to buy even the cheapest bicycle than it does to fashion a ball or stick.  Even if a budding young racer has to borrow a bike from a relative, friend or neighbor, simply having that kind of access signals less deprivation than not having a playing ball.

All of this might explain why no Grand Tour (or other major race) winner has come from an undeveloped country, while marathons and other running races are routinely won by competitors from places like Ethiopia and Jamaica.  This explanation makes sense, at least to me, when you realize that many European and American cyclists are also runners (and I'm not talking only about triathloners).  As Tom Taylor says, you can learn how to be a runner without shoes.  But it's pretty hard to learn how to ride a bike if, well, you don't have a bike.

Keep Moving--On A Divvy, Manta-Ray or Featherstone

Some motorists see us as invaders, or as over-indulged, when we "take" "their" roadway and parking spaces simply by exercising the rights we have--let alone when bike lanes are built. 

Others, though, simply are baffled by us.  They are unaccustomed to seeing us, mainly because few, if any, Americans living today can recall a time when bicycles and cyclists were major presences in their cities or towns.  They certainly can't recall a time when bicycles were important parts of their community's culture and economy.

In some places, such a time really wasn't so long ago.  Detroit, Boston, New York and a few other cities had vibrant, if small, cycling communities during the "Dark Ages" of US bicycling:  roughly the two decades or so following World War II.  Also, a few colleges and universities, including Princeton and the US Military Academy (West Point) had very competitive cycling teams.

There are, however, a few more communities in which bicycles as well as bicycling were an important part of the history and culture, and even the economy.  One such place was Shelby, Ohio.  So was a much larger city about 500 kilometers west:  Chicago.

Mention the "Windy City" and, in regards to cycling, a certain name enters people's minds.  Hint: It starts with an "S".  If you grew up in the US, there's a good chance you rode--or had--one of their bikes. And, if you became an active rider or simply an enthusiast, you might have bought one of their top-of-the line bikes.

I'm talking, of course, about Schwinn, which manufactured bikes on the city's West Side for nearly a century.  But in 1900, it was just one of 30 bicycle manufacturers making its wares along Lake Street!  Perhaps not surprisingly, the "Second City" was also home to one of the most intense racing scenes, and vibrant cycle cultures, to be found anywhere in the US, or even the world.

While much of the current bicycle culture in American cities began with young, educated and affluent people--and is frankly consumeristic--Chicago's cycling culture thrived, then survived to the degree that it did, largely because of its industrial, working-class roots and immigrant (particularly German) communities.  This story is  one that the Chicago Design Museum tells with "Keep Moving:  Designing Chicago's Bicycle Culture," an exhibit it recently opened.

The Museum places a Divvy (from the city's bike-share program) alongside a Schwinn Manta-Ray and an 1891 Featherstone-- believed to be the first US bike offered with pneumatic tires--and other bikes that were made, or had some other significant connection to, Chicago.  There is also memorabilia related to the bikes, including material from Carter Harrison's successful campaign to become the city's mayor.

So why is Carter Harrison's important in the story of cycling in Chicago?  Well, to demonstrate his athletic bona fides, he wore his Century pin--signifying that he'd done a 100-mile bike ride--on his chest while riding his single-speed bike.  

And to think that a certain presidential candidate ridiculed a Secretary of State for falling off his bicycle! Hmm...Would El Cheeto Grande have won Harrison's election?

Will Miji, Sue, Connie and Rebecca Become A "Forgotten" Generation?

A few weeks ago, much was made of Serena Williams calling an umpire a "liar" and "thief".  Not long before that, tennis officials made a fuss over the outfit she wore, saying that it was "unbecoming" of the "traditions" of the "ladies" in the sport--or words to that effect.

While it's unfortunate that Serena has to take such criticism for, essentially, being a woman with a competitive spirit (and black), her experiences are nothing new.  In fact, if you subtract the race factor and change sports, you have an idea of what another group of female athletes faced at the end of the 19th Century.

The opening lineup of a race in Chicago, 2 March 1896.

Those accounts form part of Roger Gilles' new book, Women on the Move:  The Forgotten Era of Women's Bicycle Racing.  Like Serena and other athletes who come from backgrounds different from others in their sport, women who raced during the 1890s had to buck social norms--in their case, the ones of the Victorian Era.  

Some of those conventions were sartorial.  Women were still expected to wear hoopskirts; though "bloomers" had been invented, women were still castigated, or worse, for wearing them.  

What that meant,as Gilles points out, is that the first, now-forgotten heyday of women's racing didn't start until the 1890s--decades after men started riding bicycles--because it couldn't have begun any earlier.  The "safety" bicycle--with two wheels of more or less equal size--didn't make its appearance until the late 1880s.  Before that, cyclists rode "penny farthings" with high front wheels.  I haven't tried, but I imagine it's extremely difficult, if not impossible, to mount--let alone ride--such a machine when one is upholstered as women of that time were expected to be.

Although (sometimes self-appointed) moral arbiters of the time denounced women when they decided to "dress like men"--i.e., wear bloomers or shorter skirts--it had the not-so-surprising effect of attracting male spectators to the races, which were mostly on the track.  Even if they didn't take the women seriously as cyclists, those men and boys could see females, if not nude, then at least with less clothing than usual.

One result is that, ironically, some female racers were well-paid.  In fact, many were the sole breadwinners of their families (an unheard-of role for Victorian women) and a few even made more money than their male counterparts.

Still, female racers didn't get the same respect as the men.  Press coverage of the time tended to focus less on the competition between women on the bike than off it.  Instead of the races, journalists focused on the "catfights" and too often portrayed them as petty women rather than the competitive athletes they were.

So, while unfavorable coverage may not have been responsible for ending the first "golden age" of women's racing--which Gilles places in 1902--it may have helped to prevent a revival.  During the 1920s and '30's, there was renewed interest in racing--mainly the six-day variety--but I have not been able to find accounts of womens' races from that time.  

At least here in the US, there would not be more "glory days" for women's racing until the 1970s, when a generation of talented riders that included Mary Jane "Miji" Reoch, Sue Novara-Reber, Connie Carpenter-Phinney and Rebecca Twigg burst onto the scene and dominated their field for more than a decade.

After another talented generation of women--including France's Jeanne Longo (road) and American Missy Giove (mountain) led their field during the 1990s, women's racing seems to have slipped into relative obscurity.  If global warming or one of El Cheeto Grande's tweets doesn't wipe all of us out, will some future historian write the equivalent of Gilles' book about the "forgotten" generation of women who raced from the 1970s through the 1990s?

Labor Day: Bicycles, Workers And This Economy

Today is Labor Day here in the US.

In years past (here and here), I've written about the ways in which bicycle manufacturers, at least in this country, haven't always treated workers very well.  Now there's not much left of the cycle industry:  All but the most expensive bikes from makers like Trek and Specialized are made in countries where workers make much lower wages and have practically no rights.

Unfortunately, that brings me to our current President.  How any working person can see him as an ally is beyond me.

I mean, he imposed tariffs with the ostensible purpose of bringing jobs back to this country.  But I don't think steel mills, let alone bicycle factories, are going to reappear in the US any time soon, if ever.  And, tariffs or no tariffs, corporations will go to wherever they can get the job done at the lowest cost.  That leaves the rest of us holding the bag:  Unless you're buying a bike like Shinola or the most expensive racing machines from Trek or Specialized--or a custom frame--it's all but impossible to find a bike that's made in the US.  And, even those super-bikes are outfitted with components that come from those low-wage countries.

Then again, for some categories of products, there isn't even a partially-made-in-the-USA alternative to something from China or Indonesia or wherever.  Just try to find a computer or "smart" phone, or just about any article of clothing (except, again, for the most expensive) that's made in any fair-wage country where workers can organize.


Still, I think cycling is a better remedy than automobile travel or other kinds of industry for workers and their rights.  Dependency on fossil fuels (or, worse, fracking or nuclear power) will not make workers safer, healthier or more prosperous:  Only cleaner, "greener" jobs can do that in the current economy.

And at least we can still enjoy a ride on this day. It sure beats sitting in traffic!

How Old Is That Bike?

While in Cambodia and Laos, I visited temples lorded over by statues of Buddha and decorated with carvings of Hindu deities, natural and mythical animals, dancers and other people engaged in tasks as well as celebrations.

(About the dancers:  Since those carvings are centuries old, many are worn in spots, if not wholly.  A guide told me that much of that wear is caused by visitors' touches.  That made sense when I saw that on some of the dancers, a particular body part--a pair, actually--suffered the most erosion.  As Stuart, who accompanied me on the Grasshopper tour, said, "Stones don't lie.")

What I didn't see, though, were depictions of cyclists.  Of course, I wasn't expecting to see them:  Bicycles, at least as most of us would define them, have been around for a century and a half; the temples have stood for centuries, and even a milennia, longer than that.  

So how is it that a carving of a bicycle was found in the Panchavarnaswamy Temple, built over 1300 years ago in India?

At least, that's what Praveen Mohan, host of the "Phenomenal Travel Videos" Youtube channel, claims to have found. 

Of course, he's not the first person to find an anachronistic depiction of technology:  Sometimes I think one of the reasons why Shakespeare's Julius Caesar isn't taught or performed more often (I confess:  I've never taught it!) is that none of us wants to deal with a smart-aleck student who wonders aloud, "What's a clock doing in this play?"  It's hard to answer that one without sounding like, well, an English teacher.  

(Then again, almost no one ever notices the discrepancy of Hamlet going to study at the University of Halle-Wittenberg, which didn't open its doors until three centuries after the time in which the play is set!)

We all know that Shakespeare is allowed to do things like that because of poetic license or dramatic license or because, well, he's Shakespeare and we're not.  But how does one explain an image of a bicycle in a temple built more than a milennium ago?

Since Mohan made his claim, some have tried to discredit it by saying that the temple is really only a century old.  Such is a possibility when you realize that many temples and cathedrals are not, in fact, "original".  As an example, St. Peter's Basilica in the Vatican was built during the 16th Century.  At least, the one standing today dates from that time.  Other structures bearing the same name, however, have stood on that site at least since the 4th Century CE.

So, it could be that the current Panchavarnaswamy Temple is not the "origninal" or first built on the site.  Almost nobody with any knowledge of it, however, believes that this is the case:  It's generally agreed that the temple dates to the 7th Century CE or thereabouts.  

The more logical explanation is that the bicycle depiction was added during a renovation.  According to records, one took place early in the 20th Century, when the bicycle was a common mode of transportation in India as well as its colonial overlord, England. 

That explanation makes sense when you realize that "modern touches" are often added to renovations of ancient sites.  For example, a photo of an "ancient astronaut" on the wall of a medieval Spanish cathedral has circulated for years.  But even Erich von Daniken would have trouble believing that someone in the 12th Century would have depicted something that looks like a modern space explorer.  That "ancient astronaut" was most likely an astronaut:  The image was added during a 1990s renovation.  

A Ride Through History And Culture

If you've been following this blog, you know that I sometimes, oh, digress a bit into subjects like culture, history, politics, the arts and literature.  

Now the Museum of Ventura County in California has opened what, from the description I read, sounds like what this blog would be if it were an exhibit.

"Pedal Pushers!  Bicycling in Ventura County" is running until 17 June.  It will, among other things, contrast utilitarian bikes of the late 19th Century with sleek modern racing bikes--and highlight all sorts of machines in between.  In addition to bikes, the exhibit will include catalogues, photographs and various kinds of art work related to bicycles.

The purpose of the exhibit, says Charles Johnson, is to show the evolution of the craft and art of bicycle-making and to demonstrate the ways in which bicycles are a reflection of their times.  "We realize what the bicycle has meant in culture over time, and it has meant different things to different people," explains the Museum's research library director.

One of the best illustrations, if you will, of what he means is one of his favorite photographs.  It shows members of the Ventura Bicycle Club assembled on Ventura's Main Street in 1898.  Club members are dressed in their "Sunday best."  Johnson finds that, and the fact that there are so many women in the photo, interesting.  It shows that "bicycling was not an Everyman's sport at the time," he elaborates.  "Bicycles were like $20 and up to $100.  This is not a working man's salary in 1898.  You had to be very wealthy."

That photo would make an interesting contrast with another in the exhibit.  It was taken a century later, in 1998, and shows the California State Championship cyclists zipping past Ventura's City Hall.

If I were in the neighborhood (which,to Californians, means anything within a two-hour drive), I would definitely go to that exhibit.

Her Spirit Lives On--In Saudi Arabia

I know I've mentioned it a number of times, but I never get tired of repeating it.  I'm talking about something Susan B. Anthony said--namely, that the bicycle has done more than anything else to liberate women.

More than a century after she made that observation, it has shown itself to be true, again, in a number of countries--even in one of the nations that has long been one of the most oppressive for women.

I am talking about Saudi Arabia.  For decades, women haven't been allowed to do much of anything without the approval of some male relative.  If they wanted to open a bank account, they had to have a husband's, father's or brother's signature.  If they wanted to travel abroad, they could do so only in the company of a related man.  Police officers were deployed to enforce bans on females mixing with unrelated males in public venues.

Some public venues, such as cinemas, didn't exist at all.

Some things women weren't allowed to do at all, such as driving--and riding a bicycle.

All of this was aided and abetted by the US taxpayer, which propped up the repressive House Of Saud in exchange for allowing the US to build military bases in the kingdom--and, yes, cheap petrol.

But since this is not a blog about foreign policy, I want to concentrate on a change that's brewing, however slowly, in the land of the hajj.  It is embodied in, among other women, Amirah al-Turkistani.  

Amirah al-Turkistani on her bicycle

After earning her graduate degree in 2015, she left Boston and returned to her home country.  She brought her pistachio-colored bicycle back with her.  Friends mocked her.  "What are you going to do, hang it on the wall?" one taunted her.

Now she is riding her beloved machine all over Jeddah, the Red Sea town where she lives with her husband and kids.  She has inspired other women to do the same and one can't help but to think that women like them are inspiring, if not pressuring, 32-year-old Crown Prince Mohammed bin Salman to ease some social restrictions.  They include the ban on women driving, which will end this summer.

Al-Turkistani says she plans to drive, not because she really wants to drive, but to show solidarity with other women who are enjoying newfound liberties.  Also, it will greatly help her in her work as a freelance designer and college lecturer.  Still, she says, she plans to continue cycling.

From Pearl Harbor...To Rinko?

A cliche about modern history is that World War II "changed everything".  But I have found it interesting to look at some of the specific ways the arts, culture, technology and politics were affected in the US and other countries.

On this date two years ago, I wrote about how the attack on Pearl Harbor transformed bicycles in this country.  On the day of the attack, the average American bicycle weighed 57 pounds (26 kilos)!  The US Government decreed that bicycles be made lighter, both to save on materials (rationing had begun) and so that they would be more nimble for use on the front lines. Not many bicycles were available to the general public, and production of children's bicycles ceased altogether.  

Those few people who were able to buy those lighter bike preferred them to the older, heavier ones.  So did the troops who had the newly-redesigned bikes--and who saw, and in some cases brought home, still lighter bikes from the places in which they fought.  (Yes, even with their changes in design, American wartime bikes were heavier than even the English three-speeds, French ballon-tired bikes or Dutch city machines!)  Ever since, no American company has made bikes--except those for industrial purposes--as heavy as the ones made before the war.  And no American who is not a collector has bought anything like those old behemoths.

Still, even with all of the bicycles that were made for them, the US Armed Forces didn't use nearly as many bicycles as their counterparts from both their allies and enemy countries.  In fact, Americans didn't use bikes on the front lines at all, while British forces made some use of them in that capacity.  On the other hand, "It was probably the Japanese who used the bicycle most during WW II," according to Bicycle Technology co-author Robert van der Plas.  "The invasion of Malaysia, with thousands of soldiers rolling into Singapore on bicycles, is one of the best-known instances," he adds.  

During the war, according to van der Plas, the Japanese used folding bikes designed specifically for warfare.  Some were later re-purposed for civilian use.  In reading about that, I couldn't help but to think about Rinko, the Japanese way of packing bikes for train travel.

  

While there is not a Rinko-specific bike, and a bike doesn't have to be foldable or collapsible in order to fit into a Rinko bag, it's hard to think of a system that is more tailored to making bikes more transportable and usable in places where space is at a premium and bikes need to be transported quickly and easily.  Fenders, pedals and other parts are made easily detachable (and retachable) so that the whole bike fits in a bag not much larger than the frame.

I can't help but to wonder whether such a system might be, directly or indirectly, a development of the war.