Marianne Martin: What Should Have Been

I am very happy that the Women's National Basketball Association is finally getting at least some of the attention it deserves--even if it took a heterosexual Great White Hope to get it.  As much as I like Caitlin Clark, her ascendancy begs this question:  Who will get more commercial endorsements, she or Brittney Griner?

That said, I am also happy to see the success of other women's sports, particularly tennis and soccer.  Both, I believe, have developed identities distinct from those of the men's games:  Tennis has had female players (like Billie Jean King, Martina Navratilova and Serena Williams) who could beat most men, and female footballers had the advantage of not only being great, but also of not having to compete with men (at least in North America) for attention.

Once upon a time, women's cycling was like that, at least in the US.  From the mid-70's through the '80's, a generation of great American female riders won medals and accolades, though not a lot of money.  Unfortunately, time has not been kind to some of them: Mary Jane "Miji" Reoch was killed during a training ride.  Rebecca Twigg has fallen into homelessness. And now Marianne Martin has suffered a horrible crash that has left her with multiple injuries and a lot of pain.

If you're not yet in, ahem, midlife or a cycling fan, I can understand why you haven't heard about Ms. Martin.  But four decades ago, she shared the podium with Laurent Fignon, Bernard Hinault and Greg LeMond.

That year, Hinault achieved the fourth of his five Tour de France General Classification victories.  He would win his fifth the following year.  Fignon won the two previous Tours; a year after Hinault's final victory, Le Mond would win the first of his three Tour titles.  

So why was Marianne Martin on that stage? Well, she won the first edition of the Tour de France Feminin. Maria Canins of Italy and France's Jeanne Longo would finish first and second, respectively, in the 1985 and 1986 races; they would trade places for the last three TdFFs in  1987, 1988 and 1989.

In short, Marianne Martin was one of the most accomplished cyclists in the world. But her moment, like those of Reoch, Twigg and other members of that “Golden Generation” of American female cyclists (who included, among others, Connie Carpenter, Sue Novara and Sue Young) was all too brief. Some would argue that Greg LeMond’s Tour wins, and victories by other male American riders, overshadowed the women’s accomplishments. That’s true mainly because men’s sports garner so much more attention and sponsorship money.  Another reason why women’s racing dropped off the radar has to do, I believe, with attitudes about women in sports.

While there was arguably less gender inequality in American sports than in those of other countries, the distressing fact is that even in the US, female athletes got attention for things that had nothing to do with their athletic accomplishments. For all that she did on a bike, Twigg was noticed as much, or more, for her looks. In Europe, the center of bike racing, the situation was even worse: female riders often gained more fame, however fleeting, (or not-so-fleeting notoriety) for posing rather than pedaling.

Sex indeed sells, but only for so long. So does scandal. Ms. Martin did not generate, however inadvertently, the hype or hysteria of other athletes: She wasn’t even brushed with accusations of doping, as Longo has been.

Thus, riding her bike and being (as far as anyone knows) a good citizen was not enough to keep Marianne in the public eye. It took a horrible crash—caused, according to official accounts, over-correcting on the sort of high-speed turn she made hundreds, possibly thousands, of times before—to bring notice to her in a time when—I hope—women’s sports is ready taking its rightful place in the public’s view.

Going On A Ride As The Neighborhood Goes

Someone delayed the start of my morning ride.

They* climbed from the gutter and onto the sidewalk, missing my front tire by a few feathers.

If I hadn’t seen—and touched—Maria’s pigeon a few weeks ago, I would have been shocked that this one came so close to me and didn’t fly way as I drew closer. They did, however, fly away once I started riding, which led me to believe (or at least hope) they’re not sick.

Now I’m going to tell you a secret:  They and I are part of a conspiracy to gentrify the neighborhood.

Ok, so that was a joke.  We’re not the only white folks in the neighborhood. And although it’s not the Upper West Side or even Astoria, this part of the Bronx doesn’t seem to need (or want) gentrifying:  It’s working- and middle-class, racially and ethnically mixed with, it seems, more of both “traditional” families and LGBTQ people than I expected.

I must say, though, that even in the most posh NYC neighborhoods, I don’t see many people or other beings whiter than I am.  And it’s not often that my ride is momentarily disrupted by a pigeon.

*—Have I become everything the Faux News/MAGA crowd hates? I’m even referring to animals by gender-neutral pronouns!

Hey, Joe!

 Sometimes a seemingly-inconsequential decision can lead to encounter that is, if not life-changing, then at least interesting.

My rides to Point Lookout usually take me through a part of the Gateway National Recreation Area.  Straddling an isthmus on Jamaica Bay, that stretch of GNRA is smack-dab in the path of many migratory bird species. There is at least one species, however, that doesn't spend its winters in warmer climes--or stray very far from its urban habitats.

Most people have, at its closest, an arm's-length relationship with pigeons.  I have always assumed that the avoidance was mutual:  The birds no more want contact with us than we want with them.  That, for the most part, is true.  

However, as Maria--who rescued Joe--pointed out, the birds' reputation as "rats with feathers" is unfair.  Although they frequently land in dirty places, they frequently clean and groom themselves in much the same way as cats and dogs.  And what is commonly forgotten is the role pigeons have  played in relaying messages--and saving lives--during wars and natural disasters.

Joe did something I never imagined:  He craned his neck and touched the tip of his beak to my nose! 

If I didn't already feel good about being on my bike, Joe--and Maria--made a ride I've done, probably, hundreds of times all the more rewarding.

A Race You Really Can't Win Without Trying

I'm riding the Lento.

Most things sound better in Italian. (One of the few exceptions is the mushroom, fungo in la bella lingua.)  And if I didn't know any better, I'd sign up for it.

But those of you who know the language--or music terminology--know that "lento" means "slow."  Believe it or not, there's actually an event in which people try to go slowly--something that comes naturally to me at my age!

What's really wild, though, is a barrier the riders were trying to break.  Just as running a mile in four minutes or less seemed impossible until Roger Bannister did it in 1954, one wonders how someone who isn't completely immobile can ride less than a kilometer (about .625 mile) in an hour.  That was the goal of Davide Formolo and Maria Vittoria Sperotto at the Velodromo Rino Mercante del Bassano di Grappa, in the Veneto region.  They were trying to "better" the old mark of 1070 meters set by Bruno Zanoni in the same event two years ago.

Formolo and Speretto shattered that record by riding 918 meters.

Now, if you think you can out-do them simply by stopping for a latte every 30 seconds, think again.  The cyclists in the Lento are every bit as fit as the riders you'd see in any race:  Formolo, in fact, has competed in, and finished, all of the Big Three races and placed as high as ninth in the Vuelta. But they're not trying to showcase their power or speed, as someone trying to break (in the sense we'd normally think of) a distance or speed record.  What the Lento rewards, instead, are skill and patience.  

The rules of the race are that riders must always ride forward at the slowest possible speed without coming to a complete stop, and they must do so on a geared bike without brakes.  

In a way, the event reminds me of something theater and film directors have long said:  People can't play themselves.  Likewise, you can't win an event like the Lento if your normal speed is slow:  You have to be strong, fast and skilled enough to control yourself at the slowest possible speed.    

When Is A Bicycle "Irrelevant"?

I was intrigued by the headline:  Woman Flees Police On Irrelevant Bicycle.

It got me to wondering:  What, exactly, is an irrelevant bicycle?  Is it one that can't be ridden anymore?  Or is "Irrelevant" a brand?  (Now that would be terrible marketing!)

Turns out, said velocipede matched the description of one that was stolen in Hilo, Hawaii.  That is why cops pursued its rider--29-year-old Maria Duquette.  I probably would have believed, as they did, that she stole the bike, which she used to lead the gendarmes in a wild chase through Hilo Town to the Hilo Bay Front.  There, she ditched the wheels and jumped into the water.  

She swam, and cops lost sight of her.  A helicopter and boat search didn't yield any sign of her.  Later, though, someone saw her on Coconut Island.  She tried, again, to swim away, but officers pursued her into the ocean and took her into custody.  She was charged with traffic violations related to the chase and disobeying an officer's direction.

So they got their perp.  But, as it turned out, the bicycle wasn't the one that was reported stolen.  I guess that's what the headline writer meant by "irrelevant"--to the investigation.

As some of you might know, newspaper headlines are almost never written by the person who wrote the article.  I am sure that such was the case for the story and title I've linked.  I feel sorry for whoever wrote the article:  When I wrote for a newspaper, a few of my articles bore titles (not written by me, of course!) that were silly or even irrelevant.

When In Rome...

Bikes and Kisses.

That was the name of the place from which I rented my bike when I was in Rome.

With a name like that, how could I go anywhere else?

Actually, it's called Bici & Baci, which of course has a rhyme and consonance the translation loses.  As I mentioned in an earlier post, they also rent Vespas and, in fact, the branch I patronized has a Vespa museum.

The branch in question is near the foot of the Via Cavour, only a few pedal strokes away from the Forum and Colosseum.  Other branches are found near the Piazza Spagna (at the foot of the Spanish Steps) and la Piazza della Repubblica.

The real charm of the Via Cavour branch, though--aside from its location--is the folks who work there.  Especially Roberto, who guided me around on my first day.  The three-hour tour is 30 Euros and Roberto gave me a choice between the "tourist sites" tour and one of "hidden Rome".  Of course, I took the latter and was treated to some interesting stories, made all the more interesting by Roberto's storytelling as well as his intimate knowledge of the city. (I tipped him 20 Euros!)

The bike rental fee is 12,5 (that's 12.50) Euros per day, but I was charged 40 Euros for 4 days.  They will place a "hold" of 200 Euros on your credit card if you keep the bike overnight--which, of course, is removed when you return the bike.  

Another recommendation is for the hotel in which I stayed:  Il Tirreno.  The location is hard to beat: literally steps from the Santa Maria Maggiore Basilica (which is worth visiting for its ceiling alone!) and about a five-minute walk from Bici & Baci, the Forum and the Colosseum.  About ten minutes in the other direction will take you to Termini, the city's central depot for intercity--as well as airport-bound-- buses and trains.  

It's on a very narrow street--an alley, really--that winds from the Basilica down to the Via Cavour, which in turn slopes down to the Forum.

My room was small but well-kept and clean. Since I usually get in late after a full day of riding (or walking) and sightseeing, I really don't ask much more of a hotel room.  Also, the breakfast selection is decent (the usual rolls, butter, coffee, cereal, etc, as well as fruit and hard-boiled eggs) and abundant.  There is also a nice little patio/terrace where you can sit and eat, drink or whatever.

The best part of the Tirreno, though, is the staff:  They are friendly and helpful with everything from suggestions for places to go and services.

One of their suggestions included a tiny restaurant directly across the street/alley:  Il Brigantino.  It's really more of a pizzeria than an restaurant, and it's easy to miss.  But I had an utterly decadent pie made with buffalo mozzarella, porcini mushrooms and a local ham.  The lighting is low, but it's has a friendly, inviting "vibe", mainly because of the people in it!