A Decade On A Mid-Life Ride

Ten years ago today, I wrote my first post on this blog.

Back then, I was less than a year removed from my gender-affirmation surgery.  I had just returned to cycling a couple of months earlier; if you look at the photos in some of my early posts, you'll see that I gained weight during those months off my bike. After a summer and fall of riding, I'd lost most of the weight, though I don't (and probably will never again have) the surfboard-shaped body of my racing and long-tour days.  

What is the point of that story?  Well, a point might be that, as the Tao Te Ching teaches, life is change.  That is what makes life a journey:  If we always know what's next, we are just passing through the same moment over and over again.  

Like most people, I learned to ride a bike when I was a toddler.  Unlike most Americans of my generation (or the previous couple of generations), I didn't stop when I was old enough to drive.  Cycling has been one of the few constants in my life:  I have continued to pedal beyond jobs (careers, even) I no longer work or even think much about, through places and people I've moved away from whether by choice or circumstance and, literally, from one life to another.

Of course, there are people and other living beings I miss:  my mother (who passed a few months ago), my friends Janine and Michelle and my cuddle-buddies Charlie and Max. (Yay cats!) Now I have Marlee and friends I didn't have in my youth, as well as a few who've been with me through my journey.  Marlee doesn't replace Max or Charlie any more than current friends take the place of Janine or Michelle.  But they hold places in my life that I discovered as I've continued on my journey.

Likewise, the ways I ride today aren't  substitutes or consolations for the way I pedaled when I was younger.  The journey changed me; I changed with the journey.  And it changed, just as the sights around you change as you ride from a city to the country, from a village to farmland, from the seaside to a forest or mountains to flatlands.

And, well, the world is different from the world of a decade ago.  This day began with my hometown, New York, under curfew for the first time since the Occupy Wall Street protests of 2011. The latest curfew began at 11 pm last night; tonight it will re-commence at 8 pm.  Those restrictions come as schools and businesses deemed "non-essential" have been closed for nearly two months and social distancing has been mandated.

Who could have foreseen any of those things--or, for that matter, our political situation? If life is a journey and a journey is, by definition, a procession of change, we can at least hope that the curfews, the pandemic and the current administration won't last.  And, as long as I continue to ride, I am on the journey.  As long as I don't know where it ends, I am in the middle of it.  So, even at my age, I am a mid-life cylist.

Nine Years: What Writing This Blog Is Teaching Me

Nine years ago today, I started this blog in much the same way I start many of my rides:  I had a general idea of the journey I was undertaking, but I had no idea of where it would take me along the way.

About all I really knew when I published that first post was that I'd be writing about me and bicycling.  And, I supposed, anything related to them--which, of course, is open to very wide interpretation.  

So, if you've been following this blog, you've heard me ramble or rant about any and all sorts of things:  history, art, architecture, literature, New York, Paris, food, gender and more.  If you'd told me, for instance, that I would try to explain how a certain molecule works, I might have wondered whether you were partaking of substances that have only recently become legal, and only in a few states!

The fact that I write such posts (however ineptly) might be the reason why I've kept this blog going.  While I never imagined writing a post like that one, or some of the others I wrote, I also knew that this blog could not simply be a recounting of my rides or a discussion of equipment.  

 I realize now that this blog has become a forum for my experience of bicycles and cycling.  Whatever I see when I ride, what I think about when I'm adjusting my derailleur, what I recall from rides past, and the things I've learned about everything from urban panning to music as a result of my rides, are all part of my cycling experience.  

Really, I can't think of much that doesn't relate to bicycles or bicycling.   At least, there aren't many things in my life that I can separate from my experience of cycling. So, I expect that as long as I continue to write this blog, it will take twists and turns I never expected.  

Thank you, dear reader, for taking the journey with me.  I'm not done yet!

In The Middle Of My Third Millenium...

Last week it was a brand-new "dream" bike.

This week....a milestone!

You are now looking at post #2500 on this blog.  If you're here now, thank you!  If you've been reading for a while now, more thanks.  And if you've read all 2500 of my posts...well, you deserve something.  What, I don't know.  ;-)

Anyway, it's been a lot of fun and that has kept me going.  I hope to have many more rides and learn more stuff that will give me material for many more blog posts.

Thanks for taking the ride with me!

Seven Years--But No Itch!

OK...So you are probably asking yourself what the most famous scene from The Seven Year Itch is doing on a blog about bicycles and bicycling.

Or maybe you're not.  Maybe you don't mind seeing it any time, anywhere.  I mean, how many people really and truly object to seeing an image of Marilyn Monroe, ever---especially this one?

Well, that scene comes from The Seven Year Itch.

No, I am not suffering from it.  For one thing, I'm not in a relationship with anyone, so I am not feeling "itching" to get out of it, or to "spice things up" with someone else.

Now, I must admit:  I had Helene, the Miss Mercian I recently sold, for nearly seven years.  I wasn't bored or dissatisfied with her:  I merely wasn't riding her much, and thought she would be happier elsewhere.  I was a little sad to see her go, but I think it's for the best, as I have Vera (my green Miss Mercian mixte) and have ordered a Mercian Vincitore Special.

And, no, I am not feeling a seven-year itch about this blog, either.  Today is indeed its seventh anniversary:  I posted my first entry on 2 June 1010.  

At that time, I was just returning to cycling after a layoff of several months, during which I was recuperating from surgery.  I had been keeping another blog, on which I once posted almost daily but for which I have not written anything in months. 

That other blog witnessed its seventh anniversary nearly two years ago.  You might say that I was getting a "seven year itch" with that blog:  I knew, then, that I was getting tired of the topic of that blog and I didn't like the directions in which it could have gone.  

On the other hand, I feel more and more energized to write on this blog.  Perhaps I am not feeling a "seven year itch" over this one because, for one thing, I have been a cyclist for most of my life and bicycles still fascinate me.  Another reason, I believe, is that I seem to have a more numerous and wider audience for this blog than my other--and I feel I have gained a clearer sense of who you are. (I have even corresponded with a few of you off-blog.)   And, the longer I write this blog, the more I find I can relate other things in my life--my work (what I get paid to do), my experiences and my other passions--to cycling.  Or, sometimes, I find I can get away with writing about them on this blog even if they have no apparent relation to cycling.  

Anyway, I thank all of you for reading my stories, rants, rambles, musings and other writings on this blog.  And I hope you will continue with me on this journey of cycling, in the middle of my life. 

Like It's 1999

So why am I posting a video of Prince's Party Like It's 1999?

Well, I didn't say I wouldn't be self-indulgent in this blog.  Some might argue that the mere act of starting this blog--or any other--is self-indulgent.  Maybe that's how it should be.

That said, I'm glad you're reading this.  I'm lucky:  I get to write something because I want to write it, and for no other reason, and some people (like you) will actually read it!

You might say that I'm partying on this blog.  True.  But it's not 1999.  So, you might wonder, why the Prince video?

Well, today's "party" is number 2000.  Yes, that's how many posts are now on Midlife Cycling. 

And I am indeed going to "party like it's 1999".  In other words, I'm riding, writing and blogging  as if there's always something new to write about:  another ride, an interesting idea or story, a product past or present, another journey.  None of it ends.

So how did Prince himself "party"?  Well, here's a photo, and a link to a video, of him from the last days of his life:

Click here for video.

He looks relaxed and carefree.  If that isn't "partying", I don't know what is.

El Cinco De Bloggo

All right...Those of you who speak Spanish might hate the title of this post.  But what else was I going to call it?  A Fifth of Bloghoven?

Anyway, I am not going to deal with any weighty, serious issues (as if I ever did on this blog!).  Instead, I'm going to celebrate, and hope you join me.

You see, it was five years ago today that I wrote my very first post on this blog.  At that time, I had been writing my other blog, Transowman Time, for nearly two years.  I had just started riding again after a layoff of several months following my surgery. 

A reader of TT suggested that I start a cycling blog.  Midlife Cycling labored in the shadows of Transwoman Times before taking on a life of its own.  Actually, I very quickly found that I enjoyed writing a blog about my Journey and journeys as a cyclist and found myself putting more and more of my energy into it. 

Anyway, here I am, and here you are, dear reader, 1456 posts later.  I hope that you are enjoying this ride with me, and that we continue it for a long time.

Somehow this image--which represents the freedom cycling offers us--seems apt for my celebration of cycling and what it's given me:

Image by Julia Van Vuuren on Behance

 

50 Years After Malcolm X

On this date fifty years ago, Malcolm X was assassinated in the Audubon Ballroom.  Today the site of the Audubon, in the Washington Heights neighborhood of Upper Manhattan, is a laboratory for Columbia-Presbyterian Medical Center.  I have ridden by it many times and, in fact, once went inside the Ballroom.  Every time I passed or visited the site I thought, however briefly, about his importance, not only to the history of the US and the world, but in my own life.

I first read Malcolm’s autobiography when I was about twenty.  It was around the same time I discovered African-American writers like Ralph Ellison, James Baldwin, Richard Wright and Zora Neale Hurston—and when I first heard Bob Marley.  In one way or another, they all not only expressed the burning desire to be free, but also made oppression—which is to say, the things that turn people into slaves of all kinds—clear and vivid.

I identified with their wishes and feelings for, as it turned out, reasons very different from theirs.  How could mine not be different?  After all, as difficult as my grandparents’ lives were, nobody brought them here in chains.  Even more to the point, I knew who my grandparents and their grandparents were, even though I had never met the latter.  So, even though I knew that so much of what I learned in school was a whitewashed (Yes, I am conscious of that word choice!) version of the truth, I wasn’t—couldn’t be—conscious of it in the profound way that Malcolm and all of those black writers and artists were. 

So, in my own clumsy way, I reacted to the injustices that persisted long after Malcolm’s murder and the deaths of the others I’ve mentioned though their polemics, rhetoric, rhythms, intuition and sense of irony.  What I did not understand was that they could use those tools or gifts or whatever you want to call them because they mastered them in ways that exact terrible, terrible costs.  (Baldwin has written that any people who has a language of their own has paid dearly for it.) What I could not understand was that I was paying my own dues, as it were, but I did not yet understand what I was paying for.  So I borrowed anger, grief, pain and a very dark kind of humor in my own feeble attempts to come to terms with why I could not live the kind of life for which I was being trained—or why anyone should want that kind of life.

So why am I mentioning such things on this blog?  Well, for one thing, being a cyclist has freed me from a lot of things.  I think of all of the time and money I didn’t have to spend on buying, fueling, maintaining and parking cars.  That is part of the reason why I have been able to live in New York and spend time with things I love:  I didn’t have to work in some job or in some business that would have destroyed my psyche or other people’s lives.  Being a cyclist when it wasn’t fashionable also, I think, has made me less vulnerable to propaganda and groupthink, if it hasn’t made me a better critical thinker or more creative person (though I think it’s done the latter for me). 

Of course, for me, freedom has meant living as the person I am.  Anyone who cannot live with integrity and with dignity is a slave or a prisoner or worse.  One way I identify with Malcolm is that it took him as long as he did to truly come into his own, even if he accomplished a lot else before doing so.  His descent into slavery, as it were, came when, in spite of his academic success and oratorical skills, his eighth-grade teacher mocked his dream of being a lawyer. When he, as an inmate in the Charlestown (MA) Penitentiary, became a disciple of Elijah Muhammad, he found a voice.  However, it took him much longer, I think, to find his voice.

Our voice, if you will, is how we express our authentic selves in the world.  For some, it is in their careers or vocations.  For others, it is in creative work or performing:  I think of Jimi Hendrix’s guitar as his voice.  Others express it through a passion or relationship.  Actually, I think that for most of us, our “voice” is a combination of the things we do and are.  Whatever it is, if it isn’t authentic, we’re still slaves or prisoners.  For me, that is the real importance of Malcolm X’s life and work.

Celebrating Myself And The Soul Clapping Its Hands And SInging

I celebrate myself, and sing myself,

And what I assume you shall assume,

For every atom belonging to me as good belongs to you.

I loafe and invite my soul,

I lean and loafe at my ease observing a spear of summer grass.

My tongue, every atom of my blood, form’d from this soil, this air,

Born here of parents born here from parents the same, and their parents the same,

I, now thirty-seven years old in perfect health begin,

Hoping to cease not till death.

 I am, ahem, a bit older than thirty-seven.  And this blog is a good bit younger than that.

So you can be forgiven for wondering why I'm starting this post with the first part of Walt Whitman's Song of Myself.

Well, you know, writers and English instructors are supposed to use pithy quotes from their favorite writers.  But seriously...I feel that Whitman's verses encapsulate much of the spirit of this blog--and this day.

You see, this blog turns four years old today.  So, it's lasted as long as a US Presidential term (and a gubernatorial term in most states).  It's also lasted as long as the average American stays on any particular job. (My friend Lakythia, with whom I rode yesterday, works in workforce development and mentioned that particular fact.)  And, ahem (What does it tell you when you see two "ahem"s in one post), it's as long as I was married.  When I look back, I'm amazed it lasted that long.


But back to Whitman and this blog:  I guess one might say that this blog is a celebration of myself.  Perhaps a blog about one's personal experiences, feelings and such is, by definition, just that.  Some might say it's self-indulgent.  Perhaps it is.   But even the most self-effacing person, let alone an entire culture, does not survive without celebrating him/her/itself, even if in small ways.

Seen while loafing and inviting my soul during a stop in St. Luke's garden in Greenwich Village

We also survive, at least in part, by loafing and inviting our souls.  Scientists have emphasized the importance of daydreaming, imagining as well as various other kinds of playing and "down" time in everything from the development of a child to the creative processes of everyone from poets to physicists, artists to entrepreneurs.  Perhaps my accomplishments are small compared to those of others and the footprint I've made--and will leave behind--will be minimal.  But it's hard for me to imagine my accomplishments and triumphs, such as they are, without cycling. 

Sooner or later I'm going to update the masthead photos: People tell me I look a bit different now and, of course, the bikes do, too, with the bags Ely of Ruth Works made for me.  Since it's loafing, if you will, I'm not going to rush any of it.  I tried soliciting donations and advertising, to no avail. Really, I am not disappointed with that:  This is a labor of love.  And cycling has made so many other things possible in my life that I simply can't begrudge whatever I didn't make from this blog.

Anyway..,It makes a certain amount of sense to do what I'm going to do next:  close with a quote from William Butler Yeats. For one thing, I often find myself looking at Yeats after I look at Whitman.  But, for another,in his Sailing To Byzantium, he gave the best advice one can get after loafing and inviting his or her soul.  It's a pretty fair summation of what I feel when I'm cycling:  Soul clap its hands and sing, and louder sing/ For every tatter in its mortal dress.