Who--Or What--Is To Blame?

Be forewarned:  Part of today's post will be a continuation of yesterday's rant, in which I lamented the terror and seeming inevitability of the mass shootings in a Texas school and Buffalo supermarket.

Perhaps I shouldn't be surprised that politicians and media pundits are blaming everything but guns.  I'm not talking about the "decay of moral values" or other talking points of the political and religious right.  Instead, I'm talking about flat-out lies spread by folks whose careers and reputations never could withstand the truth.

Paul Gosar, the Republican Congressional Representative from Arizona, is an example of who I mean. I must say, he has managed to concoct a non-reality not even the strongest drugs could induce and twist logic and reason in ways a pretzel-maker would envy.

To wit:  He tweeted that the shooter--18-year-old Salvador Ramos, born and raised in Texas--was a "transsexual leftist illegal alien."  Gosar's source for that bit of intelligence?  A social network called 4Chan, to which folks of his ilk are drawn like flies to, well, the stuff flies are drawn to.  That's bad enough, but I would really like to know where he got his thinking skills.  He followed up his out-and-out falsehood with this pearl of wisdom:  "Sandy Hook proved the need to enhance K-12 security."  OK. That's not too debatable. But then he made a leap into the (il)logical abyss:  "Congress armed Ukraine instead."

Now, as much as I sympathise with the people of Ukraine, I wonder about Congressional members' motives in voting to send even more weapons than President Biden demanded.  But talk about a false equivalency!  I mean, how can he link sending help to Ukraine with school safety, or a school shooting that happened nearly a decade ago?

Compounding the problem is that other voices in the media will amplify such nonsense--or other verbal bilge-- in the same way he was a loudspeaker for Trump's beloved "low-information voters."  Fox News, in following with a hallowed tradition, shifted the blame to parents.  

I have to hand it to the folks at Faux, I mean Fox:  They accomplished something I didn't think possible.  The excerable (even by their standards) Laura Ingraham interviewed someone even more vile than herself:  Andrew Pollack.  That I can unfavorably compare a man who lost his daughter in the Parkland shooting to a Fox host is really saying something. He, who has previously argued "guns didn't kill my daughter, Democratic principles did," in reference to the Texas shooting, declared, "It's the parents."

How he came to that conclusion took a turn of logic that rivals what brought Gosar to his blaming the shooting on helping Ukraine.  "It's your responsibility where you're sending your children to school," he explained.  "You need to check where your kids go to school."  He suggested that parents should take their kids "out of public school" and put them in "a private school, because a lot of these private schools, they take security way more serious."

Where to begin with that assessment?  Well, for one thing, private schools are not an option for most families. Most kids go to whatever public school is zoned for wherever they live and they (or, more precisely, their parents) have little or no choice in the matter.  Also, even if private school is an option, it might not meet some kids' needs.  And, finally, what does he mean by "security?"  Metal detectors?  Armed teachers?

Oh, and there are the usual diatribes about education and mental health treatment.  I would agree:  If someone were to ask me for an example of an oxymoron, I might say, "American mental health care system."  But that fixing that won't stop mass gun violence all by itself any more than better school security or any other action could.

Here's what I wonder: How the fuck did someone who couldn't even drink beer legally get his hands on a military-grade assault weapon?  Would Ingraham ask such a question?  Could--or would--Pollack or Gosar answer it?

So why am I taking up another post on a cycling blog with a discussion of a school shooting and its aftermath?  Well, what Gosar and his ilk do in these situation--blame everything but guns--reminds me of the ways law enforcement and some members of the public react, too often, when a driver maims or kills a cyclist.  Never mind that he or she was driving at double the speed limit, was distracted by a mobile device or impaired by drugs, alcohol or some other substance--or was simply driving agressively or carelessly.  The cyclist, especially if he or she is killed, is blamed.

 

Electric Bikes

Not so long ago, if you ordered General Tso's Chicken, Curry Shrimp, a container of hot and sour soup and wontons for you and your loved one, it would be delivered on a beat-up mountain bike or a bike-boom era ten-speed.


That bike was, more than likely, rescued from trash that was set out by the curb.  Or it was purchased for a few dollars from any number of corners where thieves sold their booty.  (Pre-gentrification St. Mark's Place used to be the epicenter of this trade.)  


Now the men (All that I've seen are men) who deliver your favorite Chinese foods are likely to go to a showrooms to buy their delivery vehicles.  Most of those put-put palaces are out of the public's (and, ahem, law enforcement's) view, although a few operate openly.  The vehicles they buy now are shiny and new and those men have had to save their money for months--or borrow it--in order to buy one of these vehicles.


I'm talking, of course, about electric bikes.  The delivery men love them because they're faster (about 20mph) than most bikes and are almost as easy as bicycles to maneuver in traffic.  Best of all, from their standpoint, those "bikes" don't have to be pedaled.  And now when restaurants hire delivery personnel, they give preference to those who have those low-voltage velos. 


There are just two problems with this scenario.  First of all, electric bikes are illegal in this city.  But, as more than one police officer has admitted, the ban is not enforced because "we have more pressing issues."  There isn't any public demand to raid and close down the shops that sell electric bikes, as there is for, say, "drug dens" or houses of prostitution in residential neighborhoods.  


The second problem is that it's, quite frankly, all but impossible to penalize careless electric bike operators--ironically, because of their illegality.  Because those bikes are illegal, there is no licensing requirement for them.  So, most of their operators don't carry--or even have--driver's licenses.  In fact, one of the few operators who's been arrested--for getting into a fight with a pedestrian--admitted that he and many other delivery men don't read or write English well enough to pass the written part of the exam for a driver's license.  The lack of a license makes it more difficult to keep any kind of record of violations.


As a matter of fact, as that same operator admitted, some delivery men don't have documentation of any kind.  Now, I'm not a lawyer, but I feel pretty confident in saying that there's not much you can do with an undocumented scofflaw but to detain and deport him or her.  Most local law enforcement officials don't want to get involved with the latter (which would involve dealing with Federal agencies, which nearly all of them are loath to do), and feel there are more pressing needs for their jail space.


To be fair to delivery people, though, they are simply people who are trying to make a living the best way they know how.  Worse than them are some of the teenagers I sometimes see riding electric bikes on bike/pedestrian lanes, especially the ones that line the bridges.  The bridge lanes are almost invariably narrow and shared with runners, people pushing baby strollers and such. You know how young people (especially men) who just got their drivers' licences drive their cars. Well, they operate motor bikes with even more reckless abandon.  I am not the only cyclist who has been grazed (or nearly so) by one of them, and I am not the only female cyclist who has had to deal with a young man on an electric bike riding as close as he can, then taking off.


Since banning electric bikes has done nothing to keep them off the streets and paths, I think they should be legalized--and that anyone who wants to use one should be required to get a permit.  To get that permit, of course, they would have to take safety classes.  And, I think, electric bikes need to be governed by a different set of regulations from those for bicycles, motorcycles or automobiles.  Perhaps there could be a "points" system, as there is for automobiles, and anyone who accumulates too many would lose his permit--and his ability to get a license to drive a motorcycle, car or larger vehicle.

What do you think?  Have you seen many of these electric bikes in your community?  If so, what's your experience with them?  Do you think they should be regulated--or allowed at all?

What Would They Make Of Us?

Whenever I see a public statue of some historical figure, I wonder what someone from another planet, or another galaxy, would think of it.  I find myself asking that question even more when the statue is of a famous person--usually a military or political figure--on a horse.  To me, horses almost always look noble, which may be the reason why warriors seem even more belligerent astride them.


Now that I think of it, I haven't seen very many statues of people riding bicycles.  I've seen a fair number of paintings, drawings and photos of cyclists.  But I definitely can't remember the last time I saw a public statue of anyone on a bicycle.


They could be very interesting. What would our friend from another part of the universe think about if he or she were to see a statue of Lance or Eddy or Jacques pedaling up an Alpine virage or a Pyreneean pass?  Or, what would our visitor make of a sculpture of someone like John Rakowski or Ian Hibbell on the pannier-laden bikes they rode around the world?

Route A1A and The Nomclemature of Two Wheels

It wasn't exactly jet lag.  But when I got to my parents' house last night, I was exhausted.  And as much as I appreciate you, dear reader, I wanted to spend whatever waking moments I had with my parents.  After all, they're getting on in years.  Then again, we all are, I guess.

Anyway...Today was very much a summer's day:  the temperature reached 90F (32F).  And the sun lit a nearly turquoise sky and a sea that was only slightly more opaque.  The temperature was a few degrees warmer than normal for this time of year in this part of Florida, but some brisk winds tossed flags about, particularly along the ocean.

Along the way, I stopped at Flagler Beach, where an outdoor market filled with people who shopped the produce stands and whose kids had just hunted for Easter eggs in a nearby park.  In the market, a woman who makes jewelery from beads and shells was selling her wares at discounts because it's going to be her last day at the marketplace until the fall.  Naturally, I bought a few items and got into a conversation with the woman, who says she's going to spend her summer in Wyoming, where she is going to manage the Native American jewelery section of a National Park's gift shop.  She can't sell her work there, she says, because it would be a conflict of interest.  However, being there will give her the opportunity to collect some Native beads and other items, as well as some ideas, she might use. And she'll be able to hike and camp in the mountains.

After shopping, I ate a banana, a pear and a Lindt dark chocolate bunny and washed them down with a bottle of spring water while sitting on a bench facing the ocean.  Another woman on a bike walked by; we exchanged pleasantries about what a beautiful day it was.  Her cell phone rang and her family said that they'd finished doing whatever they were doing, so she was going to meet them. 

She motioned to a bar across the street.  "I'm going to the bikers' bar," she explained.  "The one for the real bikers."  Of course--given that we were on Route A1A, about halfway between Daytona Beach and Saint Augustine, she was referring to the ones whose motorcycles, mainly Harleys, were parked outside that bar.

From "Motorcycle and Bicycle Illustrated, July 12, 1917

I didn't have the chance to ask her what made them "real" bikers, as opposed to us.  Now, if she'd said that they were "bikers" and we are "cyclists," that would have made some sense to me because I've never referred to myself as a "biker" and most other people I know who ride bicycles reguarly refer to themselves as "cyclists."  

Not so many years ago, "cyclists" were referred to as "wheelmen" and the first club to which I belonged was affiliated with what was then known as the League of American Wheelmen.  That organization dated from the days of penny-farthing or high-wheeler bicycles and, I guess, hand't yet heard about feminism.  Then again, if they had, what would they have called themselves?  "Wheel men and women?"  "Wheel people?"

Can you tell that I got more sun today than I've gotten in the past four or five months?

Gender Studies

OK, now I’m going to offend Floyd “I have a naturally high testosterone level”  Landis  and get myself barred from every gender studies program in the world.  But it will be a lot of fun.  Here goes:

All cyclists are, or should have been born, women because

• We absolutely must have the right shoes.
• We absolutely must have the right bag.
• Not having the right outfit can ruin our day.
• We accessorize, accessorize, accessorize!
• We know that titanium is sooo 1996.
• We spend more to get less.
• We justify maxing out credit cards and raiding 401 K’s by saying, “I bought it on sale!”
• We can never be rich or thin enough. (Don’t I know about this one!)
• No matter what we do, we end up with “helmet hair.” 
• Our spouses/partners/loved ones simply cannot understand.

Trust me: I know!

Rainy Days, Cyclists and Cats

The sky is darkening; the fine light rain seems to be suspended between streets slickened with streetlight reflections of drizzle.  Earlier today, harder rain plunked against the awning by my window and seemed to drive all reflections in streams down pavement that’s even darker than the sky is becoming now.

For three days, we’ve had weather that’s been one variation or another of the two kinds I’ve just described.  But that’s not the reason I haven’t ridden.  

The other day, I still felt I had the mild case of the flu, or whatever it was, that found me over the weekend.  I felt congested and lethargic:  not the conditions under which most people choose to ride.  Yesterday, I still wasn’t feeling so well, but I had an appointment and only the vaguest notion of where it was, much less of how to get there.  So I took mass transit.  The Metropolitan Transportation Authority (MTA) here in New York has Trip Planner, a variation of the Google map on its website.  You can type in the addresses of your starting point and destination—or the names of landmarks—and Trip Planner will show you which buses and/or trains to take and estimate your travel time.  Cyclists need some version of that:  When you use Google or similar systems, they usually show only the routes over main highways.  I once tried to use the bike map feature, but it was worse than useless:  It gives directions like “Proceed down Maple Street.  Turn left.” 

Anyway…Today I was preparing myself, logistically and mentally, for tomorrow, which is the first day of the new semester.  Charlie and Max were content to spend time in my lap or simply curled up next to me.  And I was content, too. 

Is it my imagination, or is there some affinity between cyclists and cats?  It seems that most of the cyclists I’ve known have had cats, or wanted to have them.  On one hand, it doesn’t make sense:  After all, it’s pretty difficult to take your favorite feline with you when you’re riding.  I know that a kitten or a small cat can curl up inside a basket on the front of the bike, and that, with a bit of ingenuity, a kitty carrier can be attached to a bike rack.  But cats don’t seem to take very well to such arrangements. 

Sometimes in parks or other places where there’s little or no traffic, I see cyclists “walking” their dogs.  Those dogs are on leashes and trot a few paces behind the bikes. Of course, the cyclists are ride slowly; sometimes they pedal just enough to keep themselves balanced and moving forward.  Even so, I don’t think it’s possible to take a cat out for a “walk” while riding.  At least, I’ve never seen it.

So why do so many cyclists like cats?  OK, I guess this is where I get to promulgate with another of my crackpot theories.  (Actually, most theories are pretty crackpot.  That’s one thing I’ve learned from being around people who’ve gotten tenure, or made careers in other ways, from them.)  My guess, I mean theory, is that even as cycling has become more popular, it still takes a certain amount of independence to be a cyclist, especially a committed one. 

Even though cycling has become a more socially acceptable activity in the US—at least in certain segments of the community—it’s still not something one does to gain approval from the society at large.  Some people don’t even get approval from those who are closest to them when they start riding, first for recreation, then for transportation, let alone when they decide to take off for weeks, months or even years on a bike trip. 

Also, when we want—or need, for that is what it is for some of us—to ride, friends, lovers, spouses and other family members may feel as if they’re being ignored or snubbed.  Likewise, some people see cats as aloof or simply unaffectionate because they don’t snap to, the way dogs will, when humans summon them.  When a cat slinks off into a corner or sashays to the windowsill rather than to the lap of the person with whom she or he lives, said cat is not shunning or ignoring said human.  Rather, the cat is fulfilling a need, whether or not people can understand it.

Plus, I think that cats simply enjoy their own company.  It’s almost trite to say that you have to enjoy your own company before you can enjoy anyone else’s company because, well, it’s true yet people try to live as if it weren’t.  If you’re going to spend lots of time on the road by yourself, you’d better enjoy your own company.  But even if you ride with others, you need to be able to be Thoreau’s “majority of one” because, even when done in large groups, cycling is still an individual activity in ways that other sports and activities aren’t.

Finally, of course, there is a good logistical reason for cyclists’ affinity with felines:  They can be left alone when we spend all day on our bikes, and if we go on multi-day rides, all they need is for someone to give them food and water—and, if we’re gone more than a couple of days, clean or change their litter boxes.  Dogs and other pets—not to mention some humans—need more.

At least cats understand that we’re coming back.   And the funny thing about independent people is that they usually come back.