Riding To End The World As They Knew It

In an earlier post, I wrote about a remark Susan B. Anthony made:

"Let me tell you what I think of bicycling. It has done more to emancipate women than anything else in the world.  It gives women a feeling of freedom and self-reliance."

Historians, professional and amateur, are taking notice of something that has been neglected, or simply overlooked, for a century:  the relationship between cycling and women's liberation.

It's more than interesting to note that the heydays first modern feminist movement and the first "bike boom" almost exactly coincided during the last decade of the 19th Century and the first decade of the 20th. As I and others have noted, the bicycle gave women, for the first time, an independent means of transportation and led to the design of clothing that was less restrictive than the hoopskirts and corsets "proper" ladies wore until that time.

Of course, those were the very reasons why some--almost all of them men--thought that in seeing their mothers, sisters, wives and daughters astride two wheels, they were witnessing the decline and fall of civilization.   To wit;

 “Cycling tends to destroy the sweet simplicity of her girlish nature; besides how dreadful it would be if, by some accident, she were to fall into the arms of a strange man.” 

As "Sam B.", the author of the blog Fit, Feminist and (Almost) Fifty wryly notes, "I can't imagine falling off a bike into someone's arms (that would take rather a lot of coordination)".  As for me, no one ever said that anything destroyed the sweet simplicity of my girlish nature.  For that matter, no one has ever imputed sweet simplicity to me. At least, I'm not aware of anyone who's done such a thing.

But I digress.  The irrational fear expressed in the minister's quote about how cycling makes good girls go bad was, unfortunately,  shared by some doctors.  Worse, those male medical professionals amplified such nonsense with "scientific studies" claiming that cycling also made women infertile. 

(Ironically, every fifteen years or so some doctor or another claims that cycling causes infertility in men.  Hmm...I guess all of those Tour de France winners who had children are the exception.)

Anyway, those fears were not expressed during the second bike boom and modern feminist movement--which, like their earlier counterparts, coincided.  The difference is, of course, that Betty Freidan, Gloria Steinem and the other "Women's Libbers" of the 1970's did not see the bicycle as a vehicle for female independence.  In fact, they seemed not to think about bicycles at all:  I don't recall them mentioning pedaled two-wheeled vehicles in any way.  

Perhaps one could argue that the bicycle had already done its job in liberating women.  But there was another striking paralell between the two convergences of feminism and cycling:  At the beginning of each, racing and long-distance cycling were almost entirely male preserves. If anything, more than a few women, especially the young, were discouraged from becoming serious cyclists for that very reason.  Rather than predict the moral decay that would ensue from women mounting steel steeds, many male cyclists instead made--sometimes unwittingly--rides and clubs less than hospitable to women.

These days, I see a lot more women on bikes than I did in my youth or even just a few years ago. In yet another interesting reflection of an earlier time, many of the women I see on bikes are riding independently, or with other women.  In other words, they're not trying to become members of a "boy's club": Instead, we are making ourselves more independent, like the women of whom Ms. Anthony spoke more than a century ago.
 

  

Have You Seen This Man?

Would you allow him on your bike?

Cycling vs. Fishing: The Class Structure in New York City?

Sometimes I ride down to the Canarsie Pier, as I did today.  It's on the South Shore of Brooklyn, along the Greenway that connects Howard Beach to Sheepshead Bay and parallels the Belt Parkway as it winds along the beaches and coves of the Atlantic Ocean and Jamaica Bay.


At just about any time of year, in any kind of weather, at pretty much any hour of the day or night, people--usually older men--fish off the pier:

In my time, I've seen plenty of guys fishing off piers and bridges.  The ones I see on the piers seem to have a mutual non-acknowledgment pact with cyclists.  The ones on bridges, on the other hand, are often resentful or simply hostile toward cyclists.  That may have something to do with the fact that on bridges, we tend to pass closer to them than we do on piers, as the walkways on most bridges (where cyclists usually ride and fisherman cast their lines) are only a few feet, if that, wide.


It seems that the worlds of cycling and fishing, at least in urban or suburban settings, exclude each other, whether or not by design.  Sometimes I see men riding bicycles to their fishing spots.  But they aren't riding to take the ride; the bike is strictly is a means of transportation and portage.  As often as not, their fishing poles are strapped or even taped to the top tubes of their bicycles.


Perhaps some of those fisherman resent or envy those of us who are cycling for its own sake, or for training.  After all, even if we have to put down payments on our bikes and pay them in installments before we pedal them, we have lifestyles--and, with it, access to the means, or whatever will get us the means, to buy a nice bike.  Most of the fishermen (Most are male.) are poor and/or working class; many have families they are supporting in full or in part.  And most of them, at least in this area, are members of racial and ethnic minorities.  At the Canarsie Pier, as in other fishing spots in this city,  they are usually Caribbean or Latino.  On the other hand, most cyclists, including yours truly, are white.  Even those who are Caribbean, Latino or from other minority group tend to be a bit better off, financially as well as socially, than those who are fishing.


Hmm...Could it be that this city's class structure can be delineated according to whether someone fishes or rides a bicycle?

Have I Become An Expert? How Did I Do That?

It's really strange to realize that you're an "expert."  Or, at any rate, an elder stateswoman.  Or, at least, experienced.

These days, people ask me, whether in person or by e-mail, questions about some aspect of bicycles or cycling. What's even more ironic is that women--not only young ones--ask me what they should do about or with their boyfriends or husbands.  As if I know!  But that's a topic for my other blog.

Anyway...I think of the times when I was looking for advice about bicycling (and guys!  and girls!) when I was young (which, believe it or not, I was once).  There weren't nearly as many experienced adult cyclists in those days as there are now.  Likewise, there weren't many people who were knowledgeable about bicycles.  Of course, I didn't know that when I first became serious about cycling, but it didn't take me long to find out.

If you rode for a couple of years, you could find yourself walking into a neighborhood bike shop and asking for something they'd never heard of.  Hal Ruzal, a longtime mechanic at Bicycle Habitat, told me about an experience he had during his ride across the USA in 1980.  He was riding with two friends and they'd had a rash of flats. As they were all riding high-quality bikes (Hal was on a Mercian, which he still rides!), their wheels were all 700 C diameter, rather than the 27" that was found on most ten-speed bikes of the time.  And their inner tubes all had Presta valves.  

For those of you who may be relatively new to cycling, Presta valves are thinner than the kind of valves found on cars and motorcycles and on older and heavy bicycles, which are called "Schraeder" valves.  Not only are Presta valves thinner; they also have a stem that must be unscrewed in order to inflate it.  It actually makes a high-pressure tire easier to inflate, and because there's no spring, as there is in a Schraeder valve, there's less to go wrong.

Anyway, Hal described a dilemma he and his buddies faced:  "There wasn't one single Presta valve tube or 700 C tire in the entire state of Kansas!"  A few years earlier, when I was first starting to take long rides and do my own repairs, one didn't have to go to Kansas to find bike shops with such limited selections:  There were plenty in New Jersey, where I was living at the time.  To be fair, there were a few really good shops, and their personnel and I quickly came to know each other.  But most local shops still hadn't progressed beyond kids' bikes or, more tellingly, the notion that bikes were only for kids.

The sad thing is that most of the books in cycling that were available at the time weren't much more useful.  There was no Internet in those days, and although its predecessors existed, they were very limited and you practically had to have a national security clearance to use one.  So people like me were limited to those few-and-far-between experienced cyclists, good shops and books that were available.  

Even the "good" cycling books were full of things that are, at best, outdated (and probably were when they were published) and, worse, laughable or just plain wrong.  One book recommended "yak butter" for breaking in leather saddles.  Does "yak butter" actually exist?  Maybe they have it in Dean and De Luca.  I suspect that whoever wrote that (I've forgotten which book it was in, much less who wrote it.) was partaking of  some Sonoma County gold, and I ain't talkin' about wine, as the early mountain bikers would say.  Or maybe they were simply pulling their readers' legs.

What's really strange, though, is the realization that I know more than the writers of even some of the better bike-related books I read at the time.  I'm thinking now of the first edition of The Complete Book of Bicycling from the late Eugene A. Sloane.  (Scroll down to the bottom paragraph for a very politically incorrect statement!) He was roughly the same age as I am now when the first edition of his book was published in 1970.  I read the book about three years later and, even by that time, some of the information had become dated.  For example, he said that the best derailluers were the Campagnolo Nuovo Record, followed by the Simplex Prestige and the Huret Allvit.  Granted, there weren't as many derailleurs available, at least in the US, as there would be by the time the second edition of the book was published.  But I know that there were others,  some of which shifted better than the Allvit.  

Also, he says that high-quality bikes were almost always made of Reynolds 531 tubing.  Now, I've always liked it, but even in those days, it wasn't the only high-quality tubing.  He mentions Columbus tubing (which he refers to as "Columbia") only in passing.  I've ridden bikes with Columbus tubing (including a Colnago on which I raced) and, while it is stiffer, I always felt that Reynolds tubings (of which all of my Mercians are made) gave a livelier ride, which made them better all-around.    Still, I think that any book that called itself "complete," even in the embryonic days of the bike boom, should have said more about Columbus, not to mention Vitus and one or two other brands of tubing.

Also, he recommends Brooks saddles, but the only model he mentions is the Professional.  I know that the B17 and other models were available, and probably many more cyclists ride B17s than any other model of Brooks.

In fairness, Sloane was trying to sum up, for would-be cycling enthusiasts, what was known and available at that time.  And I realize that a large portion of any book that contains technical information as well as advice about equipment that's available--and conditions that prevail--is bound to date itself after 40 years.  But I also see how limited Sloane's perspective was.

Again, to be fair, I must say this:  If the resources available to me were limited, I can only imagine how much more so they were for Sloane.  And he had even less of a cycling infrastructure, so to speak, than I had.  I would imagine that in his day, in order to learn much about cycling or obtain good equipment, it was all but necessary to live in England, France or some other country where cycling was more ingrained in the daily fabric of life.

Now I can say that more people are knowledgeable about, or at least aware of, various aspects of bicycles and bicycling than were at the time I became serious about cycling more than three decades ago.  People like Sloane are responsible, at least in part, for that.  But it's weird to know that I know more, at least about some things, than the people from whom I learned.  Yet I still feel as if I don't know about anything.

Then again, sometimes I feel the same way about writing, literature--and guys--and girls!  Yet I'm still asked for advice about all of those aspects of life.  And bicycles and bicycling.

First Autumn Ride

Every year, there's a moment when I realize I'm on a fall ride.  It usually has nothing to do with the calendar, for--as we know--the seasons neither begin nor end on the "official" date. The Autumnal Equinox comes on the 21st of September, or some date one or two days on either side of it, but the weather may be no different from that of August--or December.  Similarly, the arrival of the seasons has much to do where you are, geographically.  Autumn, or any other season, is not going to arrive or manifest itself on the eastern plains of Montana on the same day, or in the same way, as along the coast of Florida.


Although we've had some cooler weather during the last couple of days, today felt like autumn for the first time.  It had to do with what I saw while riding today:

Picasso had his "blue period;" today I took my Yellow Shot.  Although our trees are nowhere near peak,  and they're not in Vermont, they are lovely.   


I took the shot in Ozone Park, on a street called Aroine Road.  That road dead-ends into a place called Rocket Park.  Perhaps it has something to do with the how quickly the seasons go by.  (That's what you have to look forward to as you get older!)

Cyclists, Cats and Dogs

Every once in a while, I see a cyclist  (usually a male) "walking" his dog as he rides his bicycle.  Of course, the dog is one of the taller, longer-legged varieties like a retriever or hound.   The cyclist is pedaling slowly, if at all, and the trotting dog is tethered by a long leash to the cyclist's hand or handlebar.

A few times,  I've seen people (again, guys) walk their cats.  While the humans were enjoying their Sunday (Yes,  I always saw them on Sundays.) strolls in their local parks, the felines didn't seem to pleased.   It's not hard to understand why, given that cats have shorter, if more flexible, legs and most domestic cats aren't accustomed to the outdoors.  However, I wonder whether those cats notice the people who fawn over them.  

I also wonder what they think of cyclists.  Most of us have been chased by at least one canine in our lives; in my early adolescence, it was something I came to expect when I was delivering newspapers on my Schwinn Continental at the northern end of the Jersey shore.  I think laws were less stringent in that time and place, so many owners let their dogs roam free.  Sometimes people assumed their beloved pets wouldn't leave the confines of their yards, most of which were unfenced.  And, of course, those same people insisted their dogs "won't bite."  That ranks right up there with a doctor intoning, "This won't hurt!" when he (When I was a kid, all the doctors were male.) was about to jab a kid with a needle--or almost anything a young man promises not to do when he's trying to convince a young woman to take off her panties.  Or, for that matter, any politician making a promise during an election season.

But I digress (again!).  Whenever I pedal along a side road (or street), I can't help but to notice animals, however domesticated they may be.  I am particularly fascinated by the game of peek-a-boo they seem to play when they poke their faces from behind cars, light poles or corners:

I saw this one on my way home from work the other evening.

The funny thing about cats like this one is that they're fascinated by cyclists until we get within two feet or so of them.  Then they scamper away from us and, after running and leaping up a curb, they glance back toward us.

I wonder what they're thinking.  And I wonder what Charlie and Max think as I leave with one of my bikes

Cycling On Le Quatorzieme: Revolutionary?

Today is, of course, le jour de Bastille.   Three times in my life, I've been in France on this date: Twice I was cycling in the countryside; the other time I was just barely keeping myself out of trouble in Paris. 


Possibly the most interesting of those quatorziemes was the one I spent in a town called Foix.  I ridden from Toulouse through the Pyrenees into Spain and had just come back into France when I came to Foix.  If you are in that part of the world, I definitely recommend going there.  It's not a big city at all, but it has played significant roles in the history of France and the region.  I won't get into it here, for much more than a blog post would be needed to do it justice.  But it's also worth going simply for the spectacular views. friendly people and the castle:

According to a local song, El castels es tant fortz qu’el mezis se defent: The castle is so strong it can defend itself.   Indeed, since it was built around the year 1000 C.E.,  it has never been captured.  Within its walls resided the counts of Foix, who were considered l'ame  of the Occitan resistance against the Albigensians in the 13th Century.


Most people think that some particularly clever Marine came up with the slogan Kill 'em all.  Let God sort 'em out. Actually, it was Arnaud Amaury, the Abbot of Citeaux and the Papal Legate to the Crusaders, who said Neca eos omnes. Deus suos agnoscet ("Kill them all; God will know His own.") when Simon de Montfort, the Commander of the Crusade, pointed out that not everyone in Beziers, a town he was ordered to sack and burn, was a heretic.

No matter how many people they killed, they couldn't touch the Foix castle. I have no idea of what the Bastille was like. But I imagine they would have had a much, much more difficult time storming the Foix castle than they did with the Bastille. How would history be different if the Foix castle had been built in Paris or the Bastille in Foix?

Anyway...When I showed up at the castle on my bike, people--all of them strangers--applauded. Do people applaud during revolutions?

Keeping Your Balance: It's In The Shoes

"Life is like riding a bicycle.  To keep your balance, you have to keep on moving."


Who said that?  This guy:

Anyone who can, or even tried, to explain the universe is entitled to a theory or two about life, doncha think?


But you can't keep moving unless you start.  And you can't start if you can't get on the machine:

Emma, I don't mean to be condescending, but you can do it.  If I can ride my diamond-frame fixed-gear bike in a short, snug skirt and boots, and a long jacket, you can do it, too.    If you need some guidance, take a look here:  http://www.sfbike.org/?diva.


On the other hand, you can do things the easy way:

Then again, Audrey Hepburn made everything look easy, or at least effortless.  Isn't that the definition of grace?


Lance said it's not about the bicycle.  He knew a thing or two about moving forward.  One thing he didn't mention--because he couldn't have known--is that a lady needs the proper shoes for cycling:

A big "thank you" to the editor of "Girls and Bicycles" for setting me straight--to the extent that anybody can do that! ;-)


Doncha know?  Bike shoes are for cycling, not walking.  At least, that's what I used to tell customers when I was trying to convince them to spend $200 on a pair of shoes to go with their $200 pedals and $30 cleats.  I actually believed that.  I also believed that one could not move forward--and therefore keep one's balance--without the proper shoes.


Today I know that for a fact.  The difference is in my definition of the proper shoes.  But sometimes it's hard to find them in size 11 wide. 

Still, I will keep moving forward.  And keep my balance.  After all, isn't that what being a woman on a bicycle is all about?  

Serendipities

I got up late today because last night, after riding, I stayed out until the wee hours of the morning. Then I couldn't sleep when I got home.

After showering and having a sort-of-vegetarian supper, I went to Columbus Circle  to meet Joe.  He lives in New Jersey and advertised a bike on Craig's List.  Last week, I sold my three-speed because it was small for me.  I liked the ride and look of it, but even with a long seatpost and stem, it never felt quite right.  Plus, I would have had to change saddles, as I did with my Mercians.  And that Raleigh three-speed, which was painted a bronze-greeen colour, simply would not have looked right with a new saddle.  (I had a brown Brooks--a very traditional leather saddle--on it.)

Anyway, Joe had some car troubles but finally made it to Columbus Circle.   His fiance, Deanna, accompanied him.  When they had just entered Manhattan, she called me.  "It's been a day from hell," she sighed.  I thought she said "date." 

"This is his idea of a date?," I wondered. 

She defended him; I laughed.   It wouldn't be the first time any of us laughed.

At any rate, the bike is what I'd anticipated:  It's a larger ladies' Scwhwinn Le Tour III, from around 1978.  The finish, once a rather nice pearlescent orange, is chipped, cracked and marred in all sorts of ways. But everything worked, and the price was right. 

I'm going to work on it.  I'll probably change the handlebars and seat, and I'm going to add  a rear rack and  fenders.  So it'll be a commuter/beater bike.

After I bought the bike, Joe and Deanna said they were heading downtown and invited me to accompany them to the Cafe Esperanto.  When we got there, we found that it had closed for good.  Instead, we went to Cafe Reggio, which I hadn't gone to in years.  It's not that I dislike the place:  They always have my respect for looking and acting like, rather than merely caricaturing, a funky bohemian cafe from back in the day.  Reggio served esperesso and cappucino before most Americans knew what they are; today Reggio's versions are still among the best.


But the best part was staying up half the night and talking about theatre (Joe is a sound engineer), art, politics and thinking generally.  He asked what I thought of Obama; after I explained why I've never been crazy about him, we got into a long conversation about foreign relations, conspiracy theories and such.  


It made me think of what my youth ight have been like if a few things had been different. It  was exhilarating to be on Macdougal Street, one of my old haunts, even if it was almost wall-to-wall people.  And there I was--the clean, sober woman I carried within me during those days of drunken bitterness.  Best of all--though it makes me a little sad now that it's the day after--is the way the conversation and their company stimulated me.  I almost never feel that way after spending time on campus, among some of my so-called educated coworkers and acquaintances.  That's one of the reasons why being at the college has been so dreadful lately:  In addition to all the pettiness, there is a severe lack of intellectual stimulation.


Ironic, isn't it, that I find mental stimulation on a Saturday night from a guy  who got a two-year degree and a woman who got her certification in cosmetology?  Also strange, n'est-ce pas, that in middle age, I'm finding the sorts of excitement I wanted in my youth, and that I found it when buying a used bike?


I guess that even when I find order in my life when I ride my bike, cycling also makes it--some way or another--unpredictable and serendipitous.