Ross Willard R.I.P,

 About two weeks ago, I mentioned finding a Bike Library in Shirley Chisholm State Park. Until then, I was aware of only one bike library, in Iowa City, which I learned about by chance.

If the idea is spreading, I shouldn’t be surprised. After all, when I first encountered Recycle-A-Bicycle in my hometown of New York, I thought it was the only program of its kind. Now I see that the concept—which involves fixing bicycles for sale or to distribute to kids and people who can’t afford them—has spread all over the country.  Those programs often involve classes in which kids learn to fix, and earn, bikes as well as volunteer opportunities. 

One thing I have always loved about such programs is that they bypass the elitist racer mentality that intimidates people when they walk into shops.  I was once one of those cyclists who believed that if you weren’t pedaling what Grand Tour riders used and didn’t  live on and for your bike, you weren’t a real cyclist.  I now realize that riders like me were a reason why the US didn’t (and in most areas, still doesn’t ) have a cycling culture.  On the other hand, programs like Bike Recyclers show people that bikes can be a viable form of transportation and that you don’t need to have the newest, latest and most expensive, any more than you need a Formula One car to drive to your family’s holiday get-together in another state.

Folks like Ross Willard are the reason why at least some people understand that new bikes aren’t the only good bikes and,  most importantly, how tomake cycling practical and safe.  Best of all, he started Recycle Bicycle Harrisburg in a city that, while it’s Pennsylvania’s state capital, has faced economic challenges. Also, because it’s more spread out than, say, Philadelphia, and lacks public transportation, residents rely heavily on cars. 

Like most worthwhile change, the shift toward bicycling and other forms of non-automotive transportation has come slowly. But Ross Willard got the wheels rolling, if you will.  He, who passes away last weekend, should be remembered and honored for that.

What Are The Chances?

 People have claimed to see their entire lives flash before their eyes.  I am glad not to have had  (I think) such an experience. But during the past week and a half or so, I feel as if I’ve seen parts of my past unfolding in slow motion.

I believe it began when I had the dream about a high-school classmate I hadn’t seen since graduation and hadn’t thought about for almost as long.  I Googled her name and found it on the “In Memoriam” list of my high school reunion webpage. 

Since then, I have encountered three people I hadn’t seen, collectively, for about 50 years. One of those meetings was planned, with a former colleague and, I realized, friend . The other  two I met during bike rides because I deviated from my originally-planned routes. 

 One gave me a temporary job during Citibike’s first year, when riders and the program’s coordinators and mechanics were discovering the bikes’ “bugs.” I fixed some of them (for good, I hope).  Now she’s running the “bike library” in Shirley Chisholm State Park, where my ride took me when I decided to turn left from 84th Street in Howard Beach onto the Shore Parkway Greenway instead of going straight ahead to the Rockaways. 

The other chance encounter happened when I crossed 167th Street at Bryant Avenue. I was about to turn right so I could access the path that runs through Concrete Plant Park. Instead,I pedaled straight through the intersection toward the Bruckner Bike Lane. “Pro-fessor Jus-time!” A student I had about a dozen years ago but with whom I’d been in touch only on Facebook since then ran up to me. Turns out, she’s running a youth program in the neighborhood.  

Some might say there was a reason for all of those meetings and that dream. Perhaps they will be part of a journey—or ride.