At Seventeen

I have never attended any class reunion of any school I graduated. And I don’t plan to be at the upcoming 50-year reunion of my high school class.

It’s not that I don’t want to remember those times.  I couldn’t forget them, even if I wanted to. Among my peers, I had only two friends. Both are long dead. Most of my “social” time was spent among adults: two of my mother’s friends and some teachers, including one whom I hated at first but who influenced me in ways I didn’t realize until much later. 

I wasn’t exactly “date bait.” To my knowledge,  none of my peers considered me physically attractive. I had no social skills. (Sometimes I feel I still don’t have any.) I was bookish, but not in the way I am now: My energies were directed, mainly by my father, toward subjects and pursuits that would help me get into West Point, Annapolis, one of the other Armed Forces academies or an ROTC program. 

And, even if I were less nerdy, I wouldn’t have wanted to date. Like every other LGBTQ kid in that place and time, I was in the closet. Other non-confirming kids might’ve “come out” if the social environment had been less hostile. But I couldn’t have: I didn’t even have the words to express how I felt about my gender and sexuality and knew of no-one who could be a model for me. So, dating anyone, whatever their identity or orientation, wouldn’t have felt right.

About my only solace was cycling: up the Atlantic Highlands scenic route; along the ocean from Sandy Hook to Long Branch, Asbury Park and sometimes beyond; out past the farms and horse ranches in western Monmouth County. That, of course, made me even more of an oddball among my peers, nearly all of whom discarded, abandoned or handed down their bicycles the moment they got their driver’s licenses.

So, if I have no plans to go to my class reunion and make no effort to recall those times, why am I talking about them now? Well, the other day I was in a store when Janis Ian’s “At Seventeen” played on the PA system. 

I hadn’t heard it in a long time, but it was all over the airwaves during my senior year—when I was seventeen. It, of course, is about not “fitting in” because of one’s looks, personality or socioeconomic class. Some, including yours truly, have also heard it as a song about being “in the closet.” That makes sense, especially when you realize that she “came out” a while back.

As much as I appreciate the songwriting talents of Joni Mitchell, John Lennon, Laura Nyro and the Bobs (Marley and Dylan), none of their works, or those of any other tunesmith, has ever meant as much as Ms. Ian’s anthem did during that year. And I daresay that even now, almost no other song can move me, again, the way “At Seventeen “ did (to tears) the other day. For that, I will always be grateful to Janis Ian.

Women’s Work?

When I rode with the Central Jersey Bicycle Club, more than four decades ago, not many women were dedicated cyclists. Save for one who was, probably, close to the age I am now*, they were usually accompanied by boyfriends or husbands.

In most couples, the male cyclist spent much of the ride “drafting” his partner: He rode a few meters ahead of her so she could pedal in the slipstream. There was, however, one couple who “flipped the script.” At first—being young and not knowing otherwise—I thought he followed because he liked looking at her from the rear. (Hate me, if you will, for saying this: I couldn’t blame him.) After a few rides, though, I realized she was the stronger cyclist.

I thought about them, for the first time in ages, when I saw this:

*—I was less surprised by her skill and dedication than I was by her husband, who seemed completely sedentary.

What Won’t Get Them To Ride

 In my childhood and adolescence, I imagined England as a quintessential cycling country.  After all, those Raleigh, Dunelt, Philips and Dawes three-speed bikes—“English Racers”—took people between homes, farms, factories and schools. At least, that was the image of the country we got from movies and magazines.  And those “English Racers” seemed, on the eve of the ‘70’s Bike Boom, as exotic as the latest Tour de France or World Championship track bike looks today—never mind that three-speeds bore as much relation to those bikes as a hay wagon to a Formula 1 car.

In other words, to neophyte cyclists like me who had never been more than a state or two—let alone an ocean—away from home, Albion seemed like today’s Amsterdam or Copenhagen.

Of course, my first trip there—the first part of my first European bike tour, in 1980–would change that image for me.  To be sure, I saw more people riding for transportation and recreation than I encountered in New Jersey, where I had just graduated from Rutgers College.  But people, while helpful, wondered why an American would come to their country—to ride a bicycle.

Perhaps that experience, and subsequent visits, make something I read more plausible: According to a newly-released government survey, 7 out of 10 Britons never ride a bicycle.

Perhaps even less surprising are the reasons why people don’t ride and what might persuade them to get on the saddle.  They’re less surprising, at least to me, because they’re the same reasons I hear in my home city and nation of New York and the United States.

The chief reason why people on both sides of the pond won’t ride, they say, is that they wouldn’t feel safe. Where perceptions might diverge a bit is in what might make them safer.  While a majority New Yorkers and Americans say bike lanes might entice them, only 29 percent of English respondents cited them. On the other hand, the two most common improvements—safer roads and better road surfaces—were cited by 61 and 51 percent, respectively, of English people.

What accounts for their perceptions? I think it might be that even if the vast majority of English people don’t ride bicycles, many still have memories of parents, grandparents or other adults pedaling to the shop or classroom on the same roads used by motorists. In other words, they didn’t see cyclists segregated from traffic. 

Few Americans have such memories. Moreover, they grew up inculcated with the idea that bicycles were for kids who weren’t old enough to drive. 

So, the British survey is interesting in that it shows a common perception—cycling isn’t safe—but a difference in the perception of what could make it safer and therefore more appealing.

Off The Rails

 When I had a mountain bike with suspension, I thought I could ride over anything.

That included railroad tracks. I assumed they were abandoned…until I heard a low rumble, clackety-clack and blaring horn.

It’s a good thing my reflexes were great. (I was younger!)

Even with suspension, riding those tracks was rough. Perhaps this is what I needed:

You Can Do That On A Bike

 As I pedaled across the bridge from New Brunswick to Highland Park, New Jersey, a police cruiser pulled up alongside me.

That should have been easy to do because no one else was crossing the bridge at that hour.  But I noticed that the cruiser approached me in an almost hesitant way. 

The officer in the non-driver rasped, “Stop.”  I complied.  He opened his door.

“You know, you were weaving all over the road.  I know there’s no traffic, but still...

I looked at him sheepishly.  “Where are you going’?”

He realized I was only a couple blocks from the apartment I shared.  “OK.  Be careful.  And next time, get a ride home.”

I don’t know whether he smelled the hooch or simply knew, from looking at me, that I could just barely see—let alone ride—straight.  (Had I understood then what I understand now, I would have realized that I can’t do anything straight!;-)

I was about 20 and since then, much fluid has passed under that bridge. It was one thing to ride home drunk from a party because of youthful folly combined with a lack of planning. So I have to wonder about the wisdom of a

bike ride with stops for alcohol consumption.

Apparently, some folks in Scottsdale, Arizona think it would be fun.  They’ve planned a  bicycle pub crawl  for Leap Year Day (29 February).

I wonder:  How does one crawl on a bicycle?  And how far do they ride between each pub?