Happy New Year!

 Happy New Year!

You've probably heard the expression, "May you live in interesting times."  Although often uttered as a benediction, it's said to be a translation of a curse:  "interesting" is, according to this story, is a euphemism for "difficult."  Others have claimed that it was always meant to be said ironically:  The wisher wants the recipient to live in peaceful, i.e., boring, times.

Perhaps more important whether than wanting someone else, or one's self, to live in interesting, boring, peaceful, tumultuous, or whatever kind, of times is how different you want 2023 to be from 2022.

Image by Peachaya Tanomsup

From Solitude To Celebrants: A Ride From Yesterday To Today

 Yesterday was even milder than Thursday.  I had a few things to do in the morning and early afternoon, so I didn't get out for a ride until mid-afternoon.  By that time, the weather was spring-like, with a temperature around 10C (50F) and bright sunshine.

Since I knew my ride would be shorter than the one I did on Thursday, I took Tosca, my Mercian fixed-gear, out for the spin.  I did the sort of ride I often do in such times:  along the waterfront of "Hipster Hook"--the Brooklyn neighborhoods of Williamsburg and Greenpoint and the Queens environs of Long Island City and Astoria, where I live.  

On the way back, I took a side-trip into Roosevelt Island.  I enjoyed pedaling along the waterfront paths and around the lighthouse, but in one way that part of the ride could hardly have been more different from my trek to Point Lookout and back.  

During yesterday's ride, the Rockaway Boardwalk and Atlantic Beach Bridge were deserted, and I saw fewer people on the Long Beach boardwalk, along with less traffic on the roadways, than one normally encounters on a weekday.  On the other hand, all of the waterfront areas, especially on Roosevelt Island, were as full of visitors as a beach on a summer day.  Many of those who were walking and taking selfies were, I imagine, tourists in town for tonight's celebrations.  I wonder how many of them are paying hundreds of dollars a night in hotel fees for the privilege of arriving in Times Square twelve hours--with no backpacks or items-- before the ball drop and being forced to stand in the same spot for all of that time.

How do I plan to "ring out" the old year?  I feel as if I have been, during the past few days, in rides that end in sunsets.  Later, I'm going to hang out with a couple of friends who might or might not pay attention to the ball drop. Perhaps it's a sign of, ahem, midlife, that changing calendars seems less momentous than it did.  The constants, whatever they are, seem more important.  For me, they include, as they have for most of my life, cycling.

A Ride Ahead Of A Storm

 The "once in a generation" weather events are happening, well, more than once in a generation.  

Such an event was predicted for last night and today.  The weather, according to forecasters, would take twists and turns that would cause a script to be rejected as too unbelievable. The day started with temperatures just above freezing.  Then the rain came:  a few drops falling as I returned to my apartment turned into downpours accompanied by high winds.  The temperature rose to springlike levels, but are expected to fall enough to give us the coldest Christmas Eve and Christmas in, well, a generation.

Now, I don't mind riding in rain or wind, or in changing temperatures.  But the predicted combination is not my idea of a backdrop for a good ride.  I think the only one in my orbit who likes this weather is Marlee because it keeps me home with her!

Anyway, I spent about two and a half hours on Tosca, my Mercian fixed-gear.  Most of our ride rimmed the East River shorelines of Queens and Brooklyn.  As familiar as it all was, I enjoyed it and, more important, noticed something that I missed because I took a turn I wouldn't normally take.

Along the Greenpoint waterfront is the WNYC Transmitter Park, from which our local public radio stations (on AM and FM) sends out the programs that are often the soundtrack when I'm home.  I guess I shouldn't have been surprised to see a mural dedicated to Black Americans who've been killed by police officers.  I think I pay a bit more attention to such things than most White Americans.  Still, I was astounded and, later, ashamed that I didn't recognize many of the names.  What was more disturbing was the knowledge that, as the creators of the murals acknowledge, the "list" is far from complete.

About twenty meters to the right of the BLM mural (or to the mural's left) is another that couldn't be more different.  

Perhaps that is the point:  The woman in the mural looks as White as the paint in her face.   She is as languid as the Sandra Bland, Eric Garner and others in the BLM mural were tense and fearful when they were confronted by constables.  

Oh, and she is lounging on what appears to be a Spring day. I was looking at her, and the BLM mural, on the second day of Winter, as a "once in a generation" storm was approaching.

His Little Town

 I grew up, first in a large city, then in a town that was large geographically but small in population.  That town would later become, in essence if not in fact, a suburb in the  metropolitan area of the city where I lived until I was on the cusp of puberty

So I guess I can't say what it might've been to grow up  and ride around in  "my little town."  My image of such a childhood is a collage of stills and short clips from old calendars, movies and TV shows like "Andy Griffith."  I can see a kid riding past wooden houses with yards where clothes flapped in the breeze on my way to a store to pick up a loaf of bread for my mother and some penny candies for myself.  Or to the library, to return an overdue book and pay the four-cent fine.  Then, past some more houses, barns and fields and on to another store, where the kid in my mind's eye would stop for a bag of potato chips and a bottle of Coke before rolling down to a park.

That's more or less a sketch of the ride William T. Hamilton Jr took in Hopkinton, Massachusetts--"circa 1950."  I wonder whether his account of the ride came from a diary he kept as a kid--or whether he's recalling it seven decades later.  Either way, his recall of details is amazing.

You just have to love anyone--whether a kid, adolescent or adult--who can end the story of his ride with this:  "I take a left onto College Rock Road and go to College Rock to enjoy my chips and Coke. Then it's back on the bike for the 3 mile ride home--most of it uphill."

This Veteran Was A True Hero

 The more I am opposed to war, the more respect I have for veterans.

As counterintuitive as it may seem, my opposition to war is exactly the reason why I believe that veterans—especially if they have been in combat—should never want for anything.

That said, I don’t think that the uniform is a halo.  As much as I respect military service, I’m not naive enough to believe that all former service members are heroes in civilian life.  And I don’t think that said service should be a “get out of jail free card.”

Which brings me to Paul Whelan.  I feel for his family, who are about to spend another holiday without him. On the other hand, I think that false equivalencies have been made, and blame has been misplaced, since Britany Griner has returned home while he’s still incarcerated in Russia.

The Trumpists are blaming Biden.  Truth is, Mango Mussolini didn’t do a damned thing to help Whelan, who was arrested four years ago. And, although I’d like to see Whelan returned home, he’s not quite the hero Fox News and other right-wingers have made him in light of his military service—from which he was less-than-honorably discharged.

On the other hand, Steve Pringle was a hero. The Army Veteran started Build A Bicycle-Bicycle Therapy on Michigan’s Upper Peninsula.  The shop’s name reflects Pringle’s purpose or, more precisely, mission: He wanted to help veterans who, like him, had trouble re-integrated into civilian life.  It grew to include programs for rehabilitated prisoners, people with disabilities and others who have trouble finding employment.  

Steve Pringle gives a bike to Kadence Horton of Iron Mountain, Michigan.  Photo by Ryan Gorza, Detroit Free Press.

Money was never his motivation, he said.  That is why he often offered steep discounts and gave bikes away.  His work would range beyond his home base:  He was delivering bikes in Florida, where he operated another shop like his “home “ shop in Michigan, to children and families whose lives were upended by Hurricane Ian.

In a terrible irony, he became another victim of that storm. He drove the bike-laden truck into an intersection, where another vehicle struck with such force that the truck reportedly hit a pole and rolled over.

That intersection didn’t have a “Stop” sign:  Ian’s winds blew it away.

Paul Whelan’s military service didn’t make him a hero. Nor did Steve Pringle’s.  But Pringle became a hero to many who died in the service of the people who have the most reason to revere him.

I Hope Santa Doesn't Leave Coal In My DeFeet Socks

Am I so influential as a blogger that I now have a curse or jinx?

Or is my internalized Catholic Guilt kicking in?

The other day, I wrote about Anthony Hoyte, a.k.a. the Pedaling Picasso, whose rides have been making images of Santa Claus, Frosty the Snowman and other Christmas-related motifs on Strava.

Well, Santa and his reindeer aren't bringing good tidings or shiny new bicycles to some folks who work for the company that gave us the app 100 million cyclists, runners and other athletes use to record and share their rides and workouts.  

The company got caught in the crosshairs, if you will.  The COVID-19-induced surge in demand for bicycles, tech products and services and all things related to both has cooled off.  Also, three years after the pandemic began both industries have been plagued with supply-chain issues and some of the sharks have swallowed the guppies--or, as the business media likes to say, there have been "consolidations."

It's not clear as to which forces, specifically, have led Strava to laying off 40 employees, or about 15 percent of its workforce.  But, being both a bike- and tech-related company right now is, I guess, a bit like being a real-estate and finance company in 2008.

If I jinxed or cursed those now-former Strava employees, I am really, really sorry.  I hope Santa doesn't leave coal in my DeFeet wool socks--though, I imagine, it's difficult to leave some of the sustainable energy sources.  I mean, even though I have pretty big feet, a wind turbine--even a teensy weensy one--probably won't fit!

Did They Blow Up The Bike Lane?

Eighty-one years ago today, Japanese forces attacked Pearl Harbor.  

Most histories record it as a "surprise" attack.  That it probably was to most people, though various accounts claim that military intelligence officers, diplomats and, possibly, FDR himself, ignored warning signs.  Whatever the truth is, the attack drew the US into World War II.

On that day, about 2400 military service members died.  I grew up seeing commemorations, some of which included survivors of the attack, in part because one of my uncles was an American Legion post commander.  Until fairly recently, I saw many more observances:  Queens County, where I live, had (and, possibly, still has) one of the largest populations of veterans in the US.  

During the past few years, I've heard little, if anything, about the attack.  There aren't many Pearl Harbor veterans left, and the youngest would be about 98 years old.  And, understandably, those who served in later wars don't have quite the same connection to Pearl harbor or World War II.

I understand that it's possible to cycle to Pearl Harbor on a designated bicycle and pedestrian lane.  If I ever go to Hawaii (something I have never had any inclination to do), I'm sure I'll check it out.  Yelp reviews of the lane are mixed.  More precisely, they seem to range according to whether the reviewer is a resident or tourist.  And they seem to be cyclical:  Sometimes people rave about the ocean views and the fact that it's flat; other times they lament that the path looks and feels as if it subject to the attack 81 years ago--and hasn't been fixed since.  

Voyage En Rose

 In  2000, I did a bike tour through the Pyrenees, from France into Spain and back.  I started in Toulouse, where I spent four days.  To this day, it's one of my favorite large cities.  The people are friendly and it has all of the other things to love about French cities and towns:  great food, beautiful public spaces and interesting art.  But the thing that leaves me with a warm glow (please indulge me in this analogy/pun) is the light at the end of the day.  So much of the city softly blazes as the sun sets among brick buildings.  For that, Toulouse is often called la ville rose.

So why did I think about that while riding yesterday?  (Well, why wouldn't I?)  As we near the winter solstice, the days are growing shorter.  So any given ride has a greater chance of ending, or even continuing, into the sunset, under twilight.  After riding to the Rockaways and Coney Island, I passed through Clinton Hill--a neighborhood just east of the Brooklyn Academy of Music and Atlantic Center.  

The area is probably best known for its old stone churches, brownstones and the Pratt Institute.  Nestled among them is a smaller but well-respected university:  St. Joseph's.  As a longtime presence, it--not surprisingly--shares the neighborhood's architectural and other visual delights.  

Those buildings, on Clinton Avenue, are adjacent to St. Joseph's and share many characteristics with its other buildings.  They are not, however, part of the university.  The exteriors have been almost unchanged since they were built in 1905, in part because the block is one of the city's first designated historic districts.

Whoever lives in those buildings comes home to a maison rose at the end of the day.  That might be reason enough to live in them, as so many other parts of this city have less rose and look more and more like they're built with neutral-tone Lego blocks. 

The Incredible Shrinking Distance Between Bikes And Cars

Apparently, I am not the only one who perceives what I am about to describe.  Moreover (How many times have I used that word on this blog?), there is empirical evidence to back it up.

In New York City, where I live, as well as other American municipalities, there are more bike lanes than at any time since, probably, the 1890s bike boom. Of course, that is not to say that you can get from anywhere to anywhere you want or need to go in a lane separated from traffic, but you can spend at least some of your cycling time secluded from large motor vehicles.

Well, at least in theory, that's possible.  But there is something else that's mitigating against cyclists' safety.  As more "cycling infrastructure" is being built (too often, from misconceptions about cycling and traffic), motor vehicles are getting bigger.  Twenty years ago, a typical family vehicle was a Toyota Camry or some other sedan.  Today, it is a sport-utility vehicle (SUV) like the Kia Ascent or pickup truck like the Ford F-150. As an infographic from Transportation Alternatives shows, that means the typical amount of "elbow room" between a cyclist and a vehicle has shrunk from 18 inches to 4 (46 to 10 cm), a reduction of about 75 percent.

The trend toward larger vehicles began and accelerated well before cities like New York started to build bike lanes.  So, encounters between motor vehicles and cyclists were already getting closer.  That means drivers can't use the excuse that bike lanes were "taking away" their space for driving.  

On the other hand, as I've said in other posts, lines of paint does not a bike lane make.  Many family vehicles*  on the road today take up the entire width of a traffic lane.  So, if someone is driving their Toyota 4Runner to their kid's school or soccer practice and is trying to pass another driver, or has to swerve for any other reason, there's a good chance that the SUV will veer, or even careen, into the bike lane. At least one driver has done exactly that right in front of me.

Of course, a couple of lines of paint or a "neutral" buffer strip between a bike and traffic or parking lane won't protect a cyclist--or change a motorist's behavior--in such a situation.  Then again, so-called "protected" lanes don't, either:  Most of the objects used to segregate lanes, like bollards or planters, are easy to knock over, especially with a multiton vehicle.  

The size and weight of the vehicles presents another problem.  Safety experts say that driving even a mid-sized SUV like the Buick Enclave, let alone a full-sized one like the Cadillac Escalade, is more like driving a truck than a family sedan of the 1990s.  With all due respect to all of those parents who ferry their kids and aging parents, most of them don't have the driving skills of someone who operates a long-hauler.**  So, Sarah or Seth driving their Honda CR-V to pick up Ian or Beth can easily misjudge the distance between them and other vehicles--or pedestrians or cyclists. Worse, the larger size and heavier weight of their vehicles means that a blow that might have struck a pedestrian or cyclist in the middle of their body and caused damage that could be serious but was probably survivable had the vehicle been a Honda Accord or Ford Escort could, instead, trap the benighted person riding along the street or crossing it underneath the grille or the vehicle itself.

So, while the effort, if not the results, to build "bicycle infrastructure" is laudable, it won't make much difference in cycling (or pedestrians') safety if typical family vehicles continue to grow in size, along with the sense of entitlement that some drivers have.

*--I'm not talking about delivery trucks and the like, which have remained more or less constant in size.

**--Although I've never driven such conveyances, I am aware of the differences in driving skills between people who drive them and the average driver:  One of my uncles and a close friend, both departed, drove trucks for a living and another uncle and a cousin did so for significant parts of their working lives.

 

The Massacre In Colorado Springs

Today I will invoke the Howard Cosell Rule.  That is to say, I am going to write about something that has little, if anything, to do with bicycles or bicycling. 

You've heard about it by now:  Some time before midnight on Saturday, a young man dressed in a military-style flak jacket and armed with a long rifle and a handgun--both of which he purchased-- entered Club Q, an LGBTQ night spot in Colorado Springs.  

By the time a couple of patrons subdued him, he'd killed five other patrons and wounded 17 others. At least one of the victims, Ashley Green Paugh, wasn't even a member of the LGBTQ community:  She was with a friend with whom she'd spent the day.  Now there is a girl without a mother and a man without a wife--in addition to the partners, familys and friends who no longer have Daniel Aston, Kelly Loving, Raymond Green Vance and Derrick Rump in their lives. 

The last I heard, authorities were "trying to determine whether" the slaughter was a "hate crime."  Even if the suspect, Anderson Lee Aldrich, didn't know that Sunday was Transgender Day of Remembrance, and some patrons were in Club Q to commemorate it, I don't know how any other motive can be ascribed to him.  After all, if he wanted to kill people just because, there were plenty of other venues he could have chosen, especially on a Saturday night.

As if it weren't enough of a terrible irony or coincidence that it happened on the eve of TDoR or that one of the victims is named "Loving," it turns out that Aldrich, who committed one of the most lawless acts possible, is the grandson of an outgoing California legislator.  Randy Voepel, who lost his re-election bid earlier this month, reacted to the January 6 insurrection with this:  "This is Lexington and Concord. First shots fired against tyranny."  He added, "Tyranny will follow in the aftermath of the Biden swear in (sic) on January 20."

Now, I know some will say that there isn't a direct link between grandfather and grandson when it comes to attitudes about using violence.  But it's hard not to think that Voepel is at least emblematic of some sort of value Aldrich imbibed. Oh, and in June 2021, Aldrich was arrested for making a bomb threat in his mother's home.  Perhaps neither his grandfather nor anyone else in his family taught him that doing such a thing was OK, but I can't help but to think that from somewhere or someone in his environment--whether in his family, community or elsewhere--he got the idea that it's OK to use force and threats thereof to get his way. After all, even the crankiest and most recalcitrant baby isn't born knowing how to do such things.

That he made the threat in his mother's house has been mentioned. So has the fact that, in spite of doing so, he evaded Colorado's "red flag" law, which is supposed to prevent people with criminal convictions from purchasing firearms.  But the media has only hinted at other issues that the slaughter highlights.

Photo by Scott Olson, for Getty Images

One of those issues is that a place like Colorado Springs needs a place like Club Q.  I have spent exactly one day in the city:  I was passing through on my way to someplace else.  The city always touts its proximity to Pike's Peak, which is visible from just about everywhere.  I must admit that made me long, for a moment, to live there, if for no other reason that I'd probably be a better cyclist--or, at least, a better climber--than I am.  

But I also knew that, had I stayed in Colorado Springs, I would be living a very different life. Actually, I might not be living at all:  Aside from being a cyclist, it would be very difficult to be the person I am.  Like many "blue" or "swing" states, Colorado has its red, as in redneck, areas where some have longings like the one a taxi driver expressed to me:  to be in Alaska, Montana, Wyoming or some other place where people live, as he said, "like real Americans."  

Colorado Springs is in that red zone.  But its conservativism is amplified by some of the institutions in and around the city.  The most prominent and visible is the United States Air Force Academy.  There are also several military bases nearby.  And the town is also home to Focus on the Family which, like other right-wing Christian organizations, uses its "focus" on the "family" as a smokescreen for a homo- and trans-phobic, misogynistic, anti-choice agenda.  Several people who were interviewed, including a few lifelong residents, confirm the impression that I have about the city.

As in any place else, kids grow up in the closet. For them, a place like Club Q is the only place where they can safely be themselves.  And there are adult LGBTQ people in places like Colorado Springs because of work or family ties--or simply because they like living in the mountains.  Where else would they meet people in similar circumstances but in a place like Club Q.

Anyway, I couldn't think of much else besides the tragedy in Colorado Springs.  The most terrifying thought of all, though, is that it probably won't be the last.

Deliver Your Vote!

Today is Election Day here in the US.

I have already voted and I exhort you to do the likewise.

If you've been reading this blog--or simply know anything at all about who I am, in addition to being an avid cyclist--you probably can guess how I voted.

There was a time when I didn't vote because I "didn't think it mattered."  I can understand why people--including you, perhaps--might feel that way.  After all, your ballot is one of millions.  And you might live in a jurisdiction where one candidate or party or another is "safe."

Well, let me tell you, no district is as "safe" as it seems.  The past few elections should have taught us that.  I can recall hearing, in early 2015, that Hilary Clinton was a "shoo-in" for the Presidency and Donald Trump's candidacy seemed like a joke. Right now, here in New York State, the gubernatorial race is much closer than anyone had anticipated--and I have seen many more signs for Zeldin than for the incumbent Hochul.

Even if you don't think reproductive rights or even bodily autonomy, let alone equality for women, LGBTQ people, immigrants or any other marginalized people are relevant to you, I assume that, since you are reading this, you are a cyclist or have some sort of interest in bicycles.  While most candidates don't mention cycling or bicycle infrastructure specifically, there are a host of other issues that relate directly to what we love.  They include, of course, the environment and transportation.  But cycling also intersects--to borrow Kimberle Crenshaw's postulation--with economic and social justice in all sorts of ways. We need not only to encourage people to trade four wheels and one pedal for two and two whenever possible, we must also make communities--and jobs--safe and affordable so that people who aren't athletes can ride bikes to work or school.

Anyway...these Boy Scouts (confession:  I was one in my dim, dark past!) are delivering the message in more ways than one:

Back In The Day, We...

 I admit that I've made, oh, a joke or two about Millenials and avocado toast. 

Now that I've confessed as much, I'll say that I actually respect what folks like me in, ahem, midlife call "the younger generation."  They think differently because they know they need to, and I think they'll be fine as long as we don't cook the planet.

That said, I must also say that whenever I see them while I'm riding, there's a good chance they're looking at an iPhone, Android, Garmin or some other electronic device clipped to their handlebars.  I wonder if they can imagine riding without those gizmos.

I mean, how is she going to find her way to Starbucks?

Back in the day, we...

I Have Seen What He Sees, And I Don't Like It, Either

I wouldn't call myself a "retrogrouch."  Yes, I ride steel frames. None of my bikes have disc brakes, tubeless tires, clipless pedals. "brifters" or Ergo-levers, threadless or integrated headsets, press-fit bottom brackets, "anatomic" handlebars or any carbon-fiber parts. Heck, I even ride with full-size frame-fit pumps.  Three of my bikes, however, have indexed shifting (wit h downtube levers), three have dual-pivot brakes and four have modern low-profile cranksets.

Now, I am not opposed to all new innovations, even if they're resurrection of old ideas.  But I don't feel I need to have the newest and latest of everything. If it works for me, I'll continue to use it.  And I prefer things I can fix myself:  about the only kind of fix I won't do myself is a frame repair.

I think I found someone who thinks more or less the way I do in Eben Weiss.  He authored the "Bike Snob" blog and now writes columns for Outside magazine.  In his latest piece, "I Can See The Future of Bicycle Technology and I Don't Like It," he decries what I'll call the Apple-ization of the bicycle industry.

What he and I detest is what almost everybody hates about the company that gave us the iPhone. (Full disclosure:  I have one.)  If you use it, or one of the firm's computers or pads, you know that they consist of specialized parts and accessories that aren't compatible with their counterparts from other tech companies and can only be repaired by Apple-approved technicians working in authorized dealerships.  That is, if they can be repaired:  Too often, parts and even entire units are made to be disposable--or Apple makes it so expensive or logistically onerous to fix your phone or computer that you just give up and buy the newest, latest model.

Now, to be fair, Apple is engaging what other companies in other industries have been doing for decades. It's called planned obsolescence.  Unfortunately, it's come to the bicycle industry.  Worse, it sometimes seems that bicycle, component and accessory manufacturers are making their products more technologically complicated for its own sake--or to impress people who mistake complication for sophistication or refinement.  An example is electronic shifting systems or other systems that can be operated only with phone apps.

Oh, while I'm at it, I'll complain about another unfortunate trend that I encountered in reading Weiss' article:  a paywall.  That wasn't an issue for me, as I am an Outside subscriber.  But you are forewarned: about that and what's come and coming to a bike near you.

It Doesn't Make Sense, And I'm Not Surprised

 If something is logical, it doesn't necessarily make sense.

I don't remember where I read, or from whom I heard, that.  But it has helped me to understand some strange and unusual developments--and to feel equal parts of shock and disgust but absolutely no surprise.

One such development is this:

The GMC Hummer EV All-Wheel-Drive e-bike is the Frankenstinian offspring of the maker of the world's most over-the-top motor vehicle and Recon Power Bikes.  

Before I say anything else, I should point out that a bicycle cannot be all-wheel-drive.  "All" refers to entities of three or more; then again, I guess "both-wheel-drive" doesn't have the same macho appeal.  

Now that I've done my writer/English teacher duty, I want to explain how this contraption makes perfect sense.  I will start by laying out an axiom that comes from years of observation:  The fancier the van or pickup truck, the less likely it is to be used for any sort of work.  So those souped-up diesel-powered rigs with the most unnecessary  accessories and flashy (or garish) paint jobs are, more than likely, being driven by some 20-year-old (whether chronologically or emotionally) dude who's overcompensating for how little he contributes to society and where he's lacking in his body, if you know what I mean, as well as his mind.

The ridership of fat-tire electric bikes is very similar to the drivership of those begirded, bejeweled (well, at least it's jewelry for the ones who drive them) behemoths.  By straddling a two-wheeled vehicle that has pedals, even if they're used only to start the engine, riders of those machines think they're projecting an image of hard work and toughness.  Put them on a bike without a motor and even I, at my age, could run rings around most of them.

Anyway, if a Hummer driver is going to bring a bicycle with him, I don't think it would be a light, airy road machine or even a high-end mountain bike.  Such bikes simply won't do for someone who's trying to compensate for, well, all sorts of things.  If he's going from four wheels to two, he simply cannot give up that feeling of invincibility he gets from the roar of an engine and the width of his tire tracks.

So...In its way, the new Hummer eBike is completely logical, at least given its target market.  But does it make sense?  Probably not, to or for anyone not in that target market.

For Their Final Ride...

Es el segundo dia de los muertos. (It's the second Day of the Dead.) With that in mind, I bring you this:

A few years ago, my father insisted that I write a will.  Of course, I didn't want to, but I'm glad I did.  What interested me more, however, than what would happen to my, shall we say modest, wealth is what will happen to me.  To wit:  I've specified that I don't want a funeral and that I want to donate my body for medical research.

But whatever happens, my body will have to be transported.  I didn't mention that, but now I know how I want it to be brought from wherever to whichever research facility.  For that, I have Isabelle Plumereau to thank.

She runs "The Sky and the Earth," a small funeral home in Paris.  Her brainchild is the "corbicyclette."  The name says it all:  It's a portmanteau of "corbillard" and "bicyclette," the French words for "hearse" and "bicycle."  Essentially, it's a cargo bicycle designed to carry full-size coffins.  

Plumereau says she is trying to bring environmentally sustainable practices to the funeral industry.  She also had, however, other motivations when she created her vehicle for the "final journey."  For one thing, it "allows for a slow, silent, quiet procession, to the rhythm of the steps of the people who walk behind and who make the procession."

That comment reminded me of a conversation with a neighbor who's studying to be a funeral director.  As he described some aspects of the job, I realized why they're called "directors:"  a funeral is as much a performance and a production as anything staged in the Globe or on Broadway--or done in the classroom.  Plumereau seems to understand that; if anything, from the comment I quoted, I'd liken her to a choreographer.

Another motivation for her was the aesthetics of the vehicle itself.  "I am as attached to the form as I am to the content," she explained.  "For me, it is very important to accompany the families by proposing to put meaning in the ceremony, but also by proposing to put beauty.  Because beauty is also what will bring comfort."

I wonder whether she feels the way I do about typical funeral hearses:  They disturb me, not only because they carry dead people, but because they're just so ostentatiously intimidating in their appearance.

  

While Isabelle Plumereau's "corbicyclette" is the first of its kind in France; it's not the first in the world:  A few similar bicycle-hearses exist in Denmark and the United States.  But a funeral home, however small, using such a vehicle in a city as prominent as Paris--and in a country like France which, like other European countries, has an aging population--may well influence others, in her own city and country and others.

Oh, by the way, the corbicyclette has an electric assist to help its operator up hills.  Still, I have to give Ms. Plumereau and anyone else using such a vehicle "props." (I was going to say that I'd be "eternally grateful" but that's, well, somewhere I felt I couldn't go if I'm going to continue calling this blog "Midlife Cycling!")

 

Pierre Omidyar Led Me To This

Whether or not he realizes it, Pierre Omidyar created one of the world's major rabbit-holes.

At least it is for me. Whenever I look for something on eBay--usually some difficult-to-find small bike part or book--my search triggers other listings, some only loosely, if at all, related to what I was looking for.

Case in point:  I was looking for some brake springs.  I know I could go to Recycle-a-Bicycle or one of the older shops and raid their old-parts piles. But that might mean taking an entire brake mechanism (for which, admittedly, I probably wouldn't pay much, if anything at all) and end up with a bunch of other parts I am not likely to use.  Besides, I wanted to find a "fresh" spring if I could, not one that is rusted and has lost its springiness.

My search took me down a dark, narrow path (OK, I'm being more-than-metaphorical here!) that included this:

Now, I would buy a set of such brakes only if:  1.) the asking price was a small fraction of what the seller wants for them, 2.) I had a bike that needed such brakes or 3.) I were collecting such things.

As for the "if I were a collector" scenario:  Those brakes would definitely be interesting.  They embody almost everything that no bike builder or brake manufacturer does today. 

For one thing, they clamp onto the fork blade.  I know that Dia-Compe (a "legacy" manufacturer that's still making very nice brakes and other parts) makes a dual-pivot brake that similarly clamps onto the fork blades.  But its reach is much shorter than that of the brakes in the photo because it's mainly intended for use on track bikes. Almost every caliper brake made today mounts through a hole in the fork crown or rear seat stay bridge, or is bolted into braze-on fittings on the forks or stays. The latter includes the so-called "direct mount" brakes.

But probably the biggest difference between this brake and anything made today is in the way it's actuated. It's usually classified as a "center pull" (or "central pull," as the manufacturer called it)  because it has two pivot points at each end and its pads are pulled in toward each other when a straddle or traverse spanning the tops of the two arms is pulled away from from the tire.

Actually, "pulled" is not the right word.  That describes how the center pull and cantilever brakes we're familiar with work:  A yoke attached to the brake lever cable pulls the straddle or transverse wire upward.  The arms of one of the brakes in the photos, however, is pushed upward with some sort of cam-like device attached to the cable. Note the position of the cable hole below the spring.

Those "central pull" brakes--some bearing the name "Philco" (I still think of radios!)--were manufactured  by Phillips.  At one time, they were the second-largest bicycle manufacturer in the world, trailing only Raleigh.  In the 1960s, I believe, Raleigh bought them out, as it did to most of their competitors, though bikes--and parts--were still marketed under the "Phillips" name. Those parts include the steel sidepulls found on most British three-speeds until Weinmanns displaced them and the rod brakes on bikes like the Raleigh DL-1 that came with Westwood rims which, unlike rims made for caliper brakes, don't have flat sides.

I've never tried the Philco, "central pull" or whatever you want to call those brakes.  But, from what I've read and heard, the share at least one quality with rod brakes and the company's sidepulls:  they're better than no brakes at all, but not by much--especially in the rain.  Then again, most bikes equipped with such brakes were seldom ridden fast.

One thing I have to say for those Phillips brakes, though:  They were lushly chromed in the way only British parts from about 1970 or earlier were.  (For an example of what I mean, try to find a Cyclo Benelux Super 60 rear derailleur.)  And, well, they did make for an interesting find in the "rabbit hole" Pierre Omidyar sucked me into when I was looking for some center pull brake springs!

A Detour Into Surprise

The other morning, I set out for Connecticut.  Dee-Lilah was certainly up for it:  the sky was clear and bright, and a light wind rippled yellow leaves that line my street.

Across the RFK (Triborough) Bridge and the Randalls Island connector.  Up the deserted industrial streets of Port Morris and Southern Boulevard to "the Hub," where the Boulevard meets White Plains Road and several subway lines.  Traffic was almost as light as the wind (though not me, at my age!) all the way up to the Pelham Bay Bridge, where my visions of the perfect Fall ride to the Nutmeg State met with this:

"Oh, it must be Ian's fault," I thought. Though the Hurricane brushed by us two weeks earlier, the damage, if there had been any, was still there, I mused.  But, peering ahead, I couldn't see it:

Then I glanced to my right and got the really bad news:

Spring 2023.  If I could believe that, I wouldn't be so upset:  I wouldn't be able to ride the Pelham Bay Trail to Westchester County during the rest of this Fall and Spring, but most of that wait would span the winter.  But, if you know anything about New York City Department of Transportation projects, you know that Spring 2023 is most likely when the work will start.  Then it will be further delayed by some dispute or another, and costs.  Call me a cynic, but I've seen such scenarios play out too many times.

Oh, and when I looked on the city's website, I learned that the plan is to replace the bridge altogether.  To be fair, it may well need replacement:  The bridge wasn't designed for all of the traffic it handles (and, I might add, the bike/pedestrian lane isn't the greatest, but it at least takes you to the trail) and probably is falling apart.  

I could have taken one of the routes I rode before I discovered the bridge and trail.  But, instead, I wandered in and out of the Bronx and Westchester County.  Guess where I took this photo:

It's a view from the Bronx, but not from where even people who know the Bronx might guess.  At the far eastern end of the borough, there is a neighborhood with the seemingly-incongruous name of Country Club.  The neighborhood was indeed the location of the Westchester Country Club before the Bronx became part of New York City.  But, in a way, the area still has a "country club" feel:  It's effectively an island, cut off from the rest of the Bronx (and New York City) by water, I-95 and Pelham Bay Park.  The houses come in all ranges of styles, but they have this in common:  they're big, more like the ones you find in the far reaches of Long Island or New Jersey.  The few buildings that aren't single-family houses or small stores or restaurants (mostly Italian and, I suspect, good) are condos, some with their own marinas!

Just on the other side of the highway is another neighborhood that seems to have been untouched by the "burning Bronx" of the 1970s. Like Country Club, it has many Italian-American families and remarkably clean public spaces.   And it has a store that seems to have been kept in a 1950s time capsule:

Frank Bee.  Transpose the "ee" on Frank, and you could have a nickname for someone in the neighborhood--or a DJ.  Frankie B.   Now that sounds like a name people would associate with the Bronx.

Just by those signs, you can tell that, like Country Club, Schuylerville has a lot of Italian-American families whose kids Trick-or-Treat freely in the neighborhood.  While very little in the store falls into the price range advertised on the store's banner, the prices are actually very good, especially compared to those in other parts of the city.

Whatever happens, I hope the store--and those signs and mannequins--stay where they are.  In an ideal world, such friendliness would be an antidote against the odious bellowings of would-be oracles:

Now, I'm not a political scientist and I'm an historian only if you define that term loosely.  That said, in my understanding, the notion that "Democracy killed Jesus" is wrong on two counts.

First of all, Pontius Pilate wasn't an elected official; he was an occupying Roman.  Second, and more important, an angry mob agreeing on something and acting on it isn't democracy, especially if it doesn't reflect the wishes of most people--or, as in the case of Jesus (if he indeed lived and died as he did in the stories passed on to us), if most people didn't even know about the accused or his alleged deeds.

Did that bit of graffiti reflect what most people in Country Club or the Bronx believe about the death of Christ or democracy?  I suspect not.  Whatever they think, I have to say this for them:  They, whether they were walking, raking their leaves or even driving, were very nice and a couple even cheered me on.  What I didn't tell them, of course, is that Dee-Lilah, my custom Mercian Vincitore Special, makes me look like a better rider than I am!😉