The Scent of a City

 Many years ago, during my second European bike tour, I visited Marseille, France in spite—or, given the kind of person I was, because—some people warned me that it was dirty and dangerous. 

About the “dangerous” part: I had moved back to New York a few months earlier, just as the crack epidemic was unfolding. So I believed, like any true New Yorker (or someone who tries to seem like one) that no place could present greater perils than what Gotham could proffer.

I had no problems in Marseille. Parts of it were gritty, yes, but even they seemed like the Ginza or Avenue Montaigne compared to where I was living.  They did, however, have some pretty dive-y bars and cafes, which isn’t surprising when you consider that it’s a seaport. (Not for nothing was it the “French Connection.”)

Speaking of which:  The city seemed to have its own distinctive odor: a combination of fish and brine, tinged with bits of sisal and smoke. 

On the Shinkansen, I realized that was a reason why Osaka reminded me somewhat of Marseille. Japan’s third largest city seemed to have its own distinctive aroma, everywhere I turned. It wasn’t at all unpleasant, though it made me hungry: I felt that wherever I turned, I could smell food being prepared. Near my hotel, and around the Doutonbori, frying tempura batter, scallions and soy sauce (or something like it) filled the air. Along other streets and byways, I could follow my nose to steaming fish and meats, sizzling takoyaki and bubbling ramen broths.

No wonder I felt hungrier leaving Osaka Castle than any other museum or monument I’ve ever visited! While learning about the castle‘s—and Japan’s—history and art might have been enough to whet my appetite (Is that why people like to have lunch or dinner after museum visits?) the olfactory enticements to eat seemed to be everywhere.

While there are temples and other historic and cultural sites in Osaka, there aren’t quite as many as in Kyoto, which is practically a World Heritage Site or Tokyo, which is a much larger city. One explanation I’ve heard and read is that Osaka had many military-related industries and thus was a major target of Allied bombings during World War II, while Kyoto, which didn’t have those industries, was spared.

But does that account for all of the eateries, street foods and the ever-present aromas of Osaka? Does steam from bowls of udon noodles rise from the smoke (and ashes) of munitions factories?

Hiroshima

(For this post, I am invoking my Howard Cosell Rule.)

Having just returned from an amazing trip to Japan, I would be remiss if I didn’t mention this:  On this date 80 years ago, Colonel Paul Tibbets flew a B-29 bomber (named Enola Gay, after his mother) over Hiroshima, where Major Thomas Ferebee dropped what has most likely proven to be the single most influential object of the 20th Century.

 I am talking, of course, about “Little Boy,” a 4400 kilogram (9700 pound) hunk of metal encasing 64 kilograms (141 pounds) of highly enriched uranium.

(That nickname should tell you that any military organization thrives on dark or sick humor precisely because it’s incapable of irony.)

Why do I say it’s the most influential object of the 20th Century? Well, if you will indulge me a cliche, the atomic bomb probably did more than anything else to change the world.

For one thing, the Hiroshima bombing, and that of Nagasaki three days later, underscored a point that only a few influential people seemed to understand after World War I: the human race, for all of its accomplishments, is the only one capable of willfully destroying itself. If one atomic bomb could cause so much death and destruction, multiple uses of nuclear weapons—indeed, the continuation of war itself and everything that enables or results from it—would be the end of us.

(Sometimes I think the leaders of nations, including mine, are doing everything they can to ensure our annihilation.)

Now, minds greater than mine —and people who, I admit, are simply more knowledgeable about the war and military history—argue that the Hiroshima and Nagasaki bombings hastened the end of the war. While Japanese forces indeed surrendered just days later, it could also be argued that for all of their will, they might not have been able to continue fighting much longer: major cities and industries had already been destroyed and people were deprived, even on the verge of starvation.

Here is something that, to my knowledge, is never mentioned in high school, or even college, history classes and textbooks:  On 8 August —two days after the Hiroshima nuclear attack and the day before the one in Nagasaki—the Soviet Union declared war on Japan and, a day later, invaded Manchuria, the region of northeastern China Japan invaded in 1931.

(A few paragraphs ago, I said military organizations are incapable of irony. But their actions sometimes have ironic consequences.)

Some military historians have argued that this was at least as much of a factor as the bombings in Japan’s surrender. Before the declaration of war against Japan, Soviet forces fought to defend their own country and with the Allies throughout Europe. When the Nazis surrendered on 8 May, the Soviets could turn their attention eastward, as per the Yalta agreement.

The Soviet Union, as badly depleted as it was*, nonetheless effectively doubled the number of troops available to fight their Japanese adversaries. Some have argued that alone would have been enough to bring a quick end to the war, as Japanese forces—many of whom were, by that time, ill-equipped and malnourished—were outnumbered by four or five to one.

Whatever the case may be, the lesson of Hiroshima and Nagasaki is not to repeat them. 

*—The Soviet Union had already lost 20 million people, or about 12 percent of its total population. That would be like the US, with its current population, losing every resident of California.

Crossing From The Castle

 So what does Nijo Castle have to do with Japanese road etiquette, specifically between drivers and cyclists?

About the castle: Tokugawa Ieyasu, the first shogun of the Tokugawa shogunate, ordered its construction in 1601. Conceived as a testament to his, and his clan’s power, it served as a stage to many key events in Japanese history, including the transfer of power from the shogunate back to the emperor in 1867, and as an incubator for the codes of honor that governed, not only the samurai, but also Japanese society.

I wasn’t thinking about any of that—indeed, I knew, and still know little about any of it—as I rode my rental bike from the hotel to the castle. But I was still marveling at how drivers making the turn around Omiya Station stopped—and didn’t honk their horns or stare aggressively—as I, two other cyclists and three pedestrians crossed. 

Granted, I have seen such deference in France and other European countries. I have attributed it to the fact (or, at least, my theory) that many of those motorists are also cyclists, or at least have ridden in their recent pasts. The same is probably true for at least some Kyoto drivers:  Indeed, I saw people riding utilitarian bikes like the one I rented who were parking their cars—sometimes BMWs or other luxury or near-luxury vehicles—the day before. I suspect that they use their bikes for errands and other short trips and perhaps take rides with their kids in nearby parks. But the kind of courtesy I experienced there, and even in Tokyo, felt older and thus more ingrained than one conditioned by modes of transportation.

When I left the Castle and found my rental bike exactly where I left it—next to a shop across the street from the Castle’s main entrance—the proverbial light bulb went off in my head. And it grew brighter when I crossed the intersection—again, with drivers stopping to let me go by—it grew brighter.

I don’t know a thing about Kyoto statutes or Japanese laws, but I suspect they include the same prohibitions against stealing from and endangering other people. Such regulations, however, don’t stop people from theft, assault or murder in the United States. Now, some have said that it’s because the US is so diverse and Japan is so orderly because it’s 98 percent Japanese. Frankly, I find that explanation offensive because it’s essentially racist.

In learning about the arrangement of rooms within the Ninomaru Palace and the ceremonies and rituals involved in everything from negotiations between the shoguns and emperors to meals, I realized that there was an even greater degree of shame in violating those rules and morés than in transgressing the unwritten rules, or breaking the laws, of most other societies. It seems that the samurai codes of honor—and the fear of violating them—has become part of the DNA of people whose great-grandparents weren’t born when the last samauri died.

One thing I have learned—and that James Baldwin and others have expressed in ways I never could—is that every person, and every group of people, who has a language and culture that is their own has paid a price for it. (As Caliban tells Prospero in The Tempest: “You have given me language/ And the profit on’t is, I can curse.”) The shoguns were military rulers which means, of course, that their codes had the threat of violence behind them.  So, I believe, it’s fair to ask whether the fact that I could ride without the fear of being victimized by a driver’s “road rage” or that I could leave a bike secured by nothing more than the “Chinese” lock is hereditary, learned or a result of intergenerational trauma. (Nobody is better at inflicting trauma than any military.)

Whatever the answer, I’ll say that I enjoyed the peace of mind I felt while cycling in Japan, even on its busiest roads.

A Midlife Journey

 Many years ago (Yes, I can say that, even though I am in Midlife!) I took my third multi-day bicycle trek, which also happened to be my first trip outside North America. Like many Americans on their first (and for some, only) European adventure, I started in London because Laker Sytrain (Remember them?) and a few other carriers provided flights to Gatwick that even newly-minted college graduates like me could afford. Also, I—again, like many other Americans—felt I could “ease in” to my journey by starting it in a place where people speak my language, more or less.*

After living on my bicycle for three months through four countries, I landed in Paris, where I would spend three years. When I came back to the States, I was convinced that I was a changed person.  Indeed I was, though perhaps not for the reasons I thought I was.

The real difference, I  now realize, between myself and my peers (around 25 years old) wasn’t so much that—as I believed at that I’d become less American or more European. If anything, my journey and stay highlighted the differences between me the people I met. For one thing, although the bike I rode—a Peugeot PX-10 with clincher wheels and tires—was considered good but not exceptional among my riding, training and racing partners and rivals, it seemed like a spaceship compared to most everyday European bikes of the time.  But perhaps more important, even though my command of any language besides English was not rudimentary, to put it charitably, I could sometimes “go stealth” because I am visibly of European heritage. That, of course, is not possible for me or most Americans in any Asian culture.

The way my European sojourn changed me, I realized much later, had more to do with not following the expectations of my family or society: I did not go to graduate school (I would, however, do that later), take an entry-level corporate job or, as my father wanted, become a young military officer. That, in itself, made me more American than I was willing to acknowledge: Even in the most liberal parts of Europe, most young people followed, consciously or not, a proscribed narrative.

As much as I loved Europe—especially France—I knew I had to get to Asia, particularly India and Japan, some day. Back then, I had a vision (though not a real plan) to save money and work, whether by tutoring English or picking grapes, my way across two continents.

So, on the journey from which I just returned, I couldn’t help but to wonder what I would be like had I taken to my version of the Silk Road, whether on bike or by other means, or had I come to Japan for my first non-North American sojourn.

My guess is that what I would have encountered would have been very different from what I witnessed during the past couple of weeks. While I saw many people riding to and from work, school and other places and events in their daily lives, I suspect that Tokyo and other cities didn’t have the kind of bike culture one now finds there and in many European (and a few American) a cities. My bike probably would have stood out even more than it did in Europe.  

(The bikes I rented in Tokyo and Kyoto were similar to machines people ride every day.)

But perhaps more importantly, simply to survive,  I probably would have had to immerse myself in Japanese language and culture to an even greater degree than I had to learn European ways. That is not to say the Japanese are less hospitable; they simply express emotions and relate to their heritage (and that of others) differently from Westerners. Also, I get the impression that breaking away from expectations could result in more ostracism,  and is simply more difficult, than in Western cultures.

Some of what I’ve mentioned may have to do with the Japanese language itself: There seem to be even more rules, implicit as well as explicit, than in say, French, which is less flexible than English. Could that be a reason Japanese pedestrians and cyclists, let alone drivers, do not seem to even think about crossing at red lights—and why Japanese cops don’t seem to have to do much to enforce traffic regulations?

Oh, and while temples, shrines, monuments and other sites are full of tourists, they feel more like little worlds to enter than boxes to check off on an itinerary. Some of that, of course, has to do with the fact that most visitors—Americans, anyway—know little or nothing about, say, the Shoguns but have at least heard of Michelangelo or Leonardo before going to the Uffizi or Louvre. Also, at many Japanese sites—even the non-religious ones—visitors must take off their shoes and even perform some small ritual or make an offering upon entering. This, I believe, delineates the “inner”and “outer” worlds and is a reason (along with hygiene) why Japanese people take off their shoes when entering their, or anyone else’s, home.

Of course I’ll never know what kind of person I’d be had I first visited and cycled in Japan during my youth rather than in midlife. But I am glad I finally got there,  and have more to tell. (I didn’t want to make this post too long!)

*- I think it was George Bernard Shaw who quipped that England and the United States are two countries separated by a common language.

A Shrine To What Is

 A week in Japan. Three days in Osaka. My twenty-seventh country and—how many cities, monuments and faces have I seen?  Yet I feel I am experiencing everything for the first time.

This has been my first trip to a place I hadn’t previously seen since I went to Greece six summers ago, a few months before COVID changed the world—and me.  (In early 2023 I went to Paris, where I lived years ago and have visited several times since.) Tokyo, Osaka and Japan certainly are different from other places I’ve seen: The qualities of light and color, and even of time and space, are as unlike others I’ve felt as takoyaki is from a jambon-beurre sandwich or a hamburger. Yet I can’t help but to feel that the real differences between what I have known and what I am learning lie within me and sometimes within my body itself.

For one thing, I notice that I am more tired at the end of a day of cycling, walking and sightseeing. Mind you, I have long realized that wanting to end a day of any journey—whether in a place I am seeing for the first time or a place to which I return nearly every day—by laying down my head is usually a good thing:  It means that I have lived that day, if not fully, then at least to the best I could.

The bike I rented in Tokyo.

Of course, some of my fatigue has to do with age: While I am in the middle of my life as long as I don’t know when it will end, I cannot pretend that my body is what it was forty years, or even minutes, ago. That, I realize, is also the reason why I could—and, I admit, do—wish I could have taken this trip earlier in my life, I am glad I am on it, and that it still lies ahead, now.

Then there is the weather: I landed in a heat wave. Or so it seems. Every day I have been here has been as hot as the steamiest days of any summer in New York.  That makes sense when one realizes that Tokyo and Osaka are on the same parallels as the American South. But it seems even hotter here than in Cambodia and Laos, which are undeniably tropical. 

I am not complaining: If everything is exactly as you expected, you aren’t traveling.

Perhaps that previous sentence seems smug or sanctimonious. Perhaps it is. For what it’s worth, it’s something that made sense to me today when I visited the Sumiyoshi Taisha shrine. (Hmm, maybe there is something to those shrines and temples after all!) Yesterday, after touring Osaka Castle, I wandered into NHK World. Not surprisingly, there were screens everywhere showing various Japanese TV programs—and Jaws with Japanese subtitles. I saw that movie the summer it was released and thought back to that movie time when I was pursuing the dreams of my father and a few other adults in my life. I thought that if I hadn’t pursued what they envisioned for me—mainly, their own unfulfilled wishes—my life would have been what it was “supposed to be.” I utterly failed in most of those pursuits because, I was told, I didn’t try or study or Jesus hard enough and that I should just “snap out of “ my “moodiness.”

But today I realize I hadn’t failed, although I couldn’t have known it all of those years ago. If nothing else, I learned that those dreams and goals—such as going to West Point or Annapolis and embarking on a military career, which my father wanted for me—simply weren’t right for me. Perhaps even the dreams I had, like being a marine biologist, were not meant to be even if I blamoed my father and a buddy of his for hijacking them.

As for what any of this has to do with cycling: It’s probably one of the few passions I’ve ever had that nobody could change or destroy.  So here I am, in midlife, cycling in my 27th country.

Anyway, I realized at the shrine that my failure—if indeed there is any—was in believing that my life was “supposed to be” a certain way, whether in line with my own or other people’s wishes. Rather, I need to acknowledge, if not embrace, what is and journey through whatever will be.

Front and side view of one of the shrine’s sanctuaries .

After leaving the shrine, I entered a cafe—“Vie de France”—for a cafe au lait and to use their internet connection. I called Callie, Sam’s significant other, who is looking after Marlee. “I miss you,” she said.

“I miss you too. And Marlee?”

I met her—and “Sam”—just over a year ago, when I moved to the place where I live now.

How Would You Celebrate?

 Yesterday’s military parade in Washington DC was a birthday bash for the Fake Tan Fūhrer, I mean, celebration of the US Army’s 250th anniversary.

I’ve marched in a few parades but I am not a fan of them in general. If I were to have one, however, it might look something like this:

Remembering

 I am about to invoke my Howard Cosell Rule.

Today is Memorial Day in the US—at least, officially. While it is a Federal holiday—banks and government offices are closed—some states have taken it upon themselves to declare their own “Memorial Days.” Some are being celebrated today. Others have chosen other dates: For example, in North and South Carolina, 10 May is Confederate Memorial Day: On this date in 1863, Confederate General “Stonewall” Jackson died after being accidentally shot by his own soldiers; in 1865, Confederate President Jefferson Davis was captured.

Given what we’ve seen so far from the Fake Tan Führer, I wonder whether he’ll try to end the current Memorial Day and replace it with the Carolinas’ (or some other state’s) Confederate holiday. Of course, it would include a military parade that wouldn’t honor the “suckers” and “losers.”

Unhoused veterans occupy 30 tents on the Veterans Row encampment in front of the West Los Angeles VA campus in April, 2021. George Rose/Getty

Me, I wish this day’s memorial were more about the tragedy of dying young (and, sometimes, for a questionable cause) rather than a celebration of “heroism”—or simply another shopping orgy. Oh, and wouldn’t it be nice if we made sure that those who served got the mental as well as physical health care they need—and that we don’t create more veterans who live under highway overpasses. Avoiding war and turning “swords into ploughshares” would be the best—perhaps the only—way to ensure that.

A Cateye View Of The Future?

Today we're going to take a trip on the Wayback Machine...to the  future! 

The second link in the previous sentence references one of the most popular movies of all time.   Around the time it came out, I acquired a piece of what was possibly the most advanced bicycle-related technology of the time.

I am referring to a Cateye Solar computer.  Like other Cateye products of that time, it was cleverly designed, easy (at least relatively, for a perpetually technologically-challenged person like me) to use and all but indestructible.   That could mean, of course, that it could have been made only in Japan, where anything that was good, electronic and not made for the military was manufactured.

The only problem with it was, well, that you had to keep it charged.  Otherwise, the solar battery would die altogether.  (That, I suspect, is how many units fell into disuse.)  And it was difficult to read in less-than-optimal light conditions.

I got to thinking about the Cateye Solar when I came across this:

According to a patent recently filed, Classified--the Belgian firm that brought us the Powershift hub--plans to harness the sun's energy to charge electronic bicycle components, including electronically powered brakes.  

I'll be the first to admit that I'm hardly part of the target market for such a system, as I have not taken to electronic shifting or other bike parts.  I respect, however, one intention behind the invention:  eliminating the need to plug in to charge an electronic system.  I have to wonder, however, how well the system would store energy and whether it would "die" if it's depleted.

Still, I admit that I cheer just about any time someone comes up with a way to run anything on solar--or any other sustainable--energy source.  Hmm...Does that put me on the Fake Tan Fuhrer's Enemies List?

QBP: DEI!

 Blame it on DEI (diversity, equity and inclusion) and the organization’s “woke” agenda.

At least, that’s what he-whom-I-will-not-name would do if he paid any attention to the bicycle industry.

I’m talking about Quality Bicycle Products which, as their name implies, supplies fine bikes, parts and accessories to retailers. They are known in the industry for their efforts to promote DEI, not only within their own ranks, but also the industry.

One example of the latter was their mechanics’ school, which offered scholarships to “women, trans, non-binary, non-conforming or intersex” US residents who worked in the industry.

Notice that I wrote of the school in the past tense:  It closed about a year and a half ago. Were he President, and had he paid attention to the bike industry, the Fake Tan Fūhrer (FTF) would have screamed, “DEI! Woke!”

 In reality, QBP’s decision to close its academy had, to some degree, to do with the “bust” that afflicted the industry after the “boom” early in the COVID-19 pandemic. Then again, other schools, like that of United Bicycle Institute, have had waiting lists. 

Why? Well, schools like UBI and Appalachian don’t limit their enrollment to people already employed in the industry. While some UBI and Appalachian students work in the business, others are young people or career-changers who want to work in the bike trade. Still others are home mechanics who simply want to improve their skills.

On the other hand, QBP’s policy meant that few mechanics, of whatever gender identity or expression, could attend. Few bike shops could or would pay the tuition (and lodging and travel expenses) to send their mechanics to school: Shop owners and mechanics usually train employees themselves and expect those employees to augment their knowledge with online resources. (In my day, we used books and manuals.) So, attendees tended to be either scholarship recipients or better-paid employees of bike-related companies—like QBP.

Speaking of whom:  QBP is laying off two percent of its workforce. That will be the company’s third reduction of staff numbers in just over two years. Of course, QBP isn’t the only bicycle-related concern to let go of employees (or close altogether) in the wake of the “crash” that followed the “sugar rush,” so to speak, of increased demand during the pandemic. But if FTF were watching:  “DEI! Woke agenda! Send the military to the border!”

The War To End All Wars

 Today is Veterans’ Day here in the US.

I can remember when it was called Armistice Day, after the treaty that ended World War I, a.k.a. “The War to End All Wars.”

I wonder how many soldiers, sailors, marines, airmen/women and other military personnel go into battle hoping that their battle, their war will be the last.  I think that’s what I would hope.  “Hey, let’s not do this shit again, OK?”

And then swords would be beaten into ploughshares—and mortar into bicycle parts.

The Aftermath , So Far

 Orange Crush (i.e., the election) left me crushed. People who know me could see it; some of them, I am sure, felt the same way.  One of our building’s managers, however, said, “It’s gonna be OK.” I wonder whether he believes it.

Since Tuesday night’s testament to treachery, I have taught three classes: one last night and two on Wednesday.  I barely heard a peep from the first group. Were they merely stunned, or did they feel resigned. Since most of them are of traditional college age (18-19 years old), I hope it’s not the latter.

The second class is smaller: 7 students. As you can imagine, it’s easier to get everyone to participate. At least, on a normal day it is. But the other day, they seemed as stunned or mentally weary as my first class, save for one student. He, who emigrated as a teenager with his family, became a citizen through US Military service. Interestingly, when we discussed The Trial and Death of Socrates, he was as zealous as anyone I’ve met in his defense, if you will, of the peripatetic philosopher: “He thought for himself. He questioned authority. That’s what we must do.” Thus, I am not surprised that he lambasted Trump as he did; what surprises me is that anyone who wears, or has worn, the uniform could support a career criminal who called the permanent residents of the Aisne-Marne American Cemetery “losers” and “suckers” after skipping out on a D-Day commemoration .

Last night class, on the other hand, was lively, even feisty. Most of those students come in to class from work, and all of them were upset that Trump won the election. One student mentioned Project 2025 which calls for, among other things, dismantling the Department of Education. Others mentioned their fears about health care, immigration and women’s and LGBT rights. Most interesting or all though, was the participation of one student whom I hadn’t heard before. “This whole country will be like Texas!” she lamented.

That wasn’t an idle statement: She was born and raised in the Lone Star State, “near Dallas.” She has spent time in other parts of the state: Houston, El Paso, Lubbock, San Antonio. The latter is home to The Alamo. “It’s all they talk about,” she said, “as if there’s no other history.”

I interjected that I was taught it was a “battle for freedom:” Texans wanted to liberate themselves from the yoke of Mexican oppression and become part of the Land of Liberty. “That’s what we were taught”—about half a century after I was so indoctrinated—“but we were also taught that it was part of Manifest Destiny, which was part of God’s plan.”

“They actually told you that God wanted the US to take Texas?” She nodded. Never was it mentioned, she explained, that Texans were fighting to keep slavery, which Mexico abolished four decades before the United States.

“We have to do away with American exceptionalism,” she intoned.”

People like her are the reasons for whatever hope we may have. She has obviously taken the time to learn what she wasn’t taught and questions authority and received wisdom. I can only hope that people like her aren’t brought before kangaroo courts on trumped-up (no pun intended) charges and don’t have to suffer his fate.

Make Sure You Know The Way

 Nearly a century and a half ago, Baron Haussmann remade Paris. Before he began his work, the City of Light had, like many other old European cities, serpentine, circuitous streets. He replaced them with wider, arrow-straight avenues and boulevards. 

He reasoned, correctly, that those new thoroughfares would facilitate commerce. 

But city and national officials probably cared more about how they could make it easier for troops to move—and put down protests and rebellions for which Parisians were famous. City residents who incited or participated in such conflicts could evade gendarmes and soldiers, many of whom came from other parts of the country—or different quarters of the city—and were therefore not familiar with the meandering streets.

I mention this history because if you are trying to flee law enforcement or military personnel—whether because you’ve incited a protest for a noble cause or have committed a crime (which I don’t recommend)—on your bicycle, be sure you know the terrain.

It’s too late for a man in Troy, New York. Police in the city, just northeast of Albany, responded to a call about “suspicious activity.” They tried to question a man riding his bike in the area. But instead of stopping, he sped up and tried to evade the cops.

He pedaled down a couple of streets pursued by the patrolmen who flashed their lights and blared their siren. He steered into a backyard where, in the darkness, he tumbled over an embankment and into the Hudson River, where he drowned.

I don’t know whether the man actually committed a crime or simply panicked when the cops approached him. Either way, fleeing wasn’t a good idea—especially if he didn’t know the territory.

Bike Mistaken For Deadly Weapon In Gaza

Armed conflicts often lead to a form of hyper-vigilance I’ll call “war paranoia.” (There’s probably  a clinical term for it.) Everyday people, objects and situations are seen as threats or dangers and met with brutal or deadly force.

Such was the case in Gaza, where an Israeli military strike targeted what was believed to be a rocket propelled grenade launcher.

It was bicycle, and its rider died in one of the most horrifying ways possible.

Susan B.Anthony, Muhammad Ali And Flight:370

 Today is International Women’s Day.

Whatever your gender identity or your anatomical configuration, if you are a cyclist, you should recognize the importance of women in cycling and, well, the world.  For one thing, we are the majority of humanity.  For another, there have been many great female cyclists, most of whom have ridden without recognition and support. A few, including Beryl Burton, have even beaten men’s records.

But perhaps the most important reason of all is that anyone who cares about gender equality needs to recognize the role the bicycle has played in the long journey toward that goal. After all, Susan B. Anthony said that the bicycle did more to liberate women than anything else. (That is why oppressive regimes like the Taliban forbid or discourage women and girls from riding them.) Bikes provided, and continue to provide, independent mobility. They also released women from the constraints of corsets and hoop skirts which, I believe, helped to relax dress standards—and thus make cycling easier—for everyone.

Today also happens to be the anniversary of two events that occurred during my lifetime.  One is one the greatest aviation mysteries of all time:  the disappearance of Malaysia Flight 370 ten years ago. Such an incident would have caused consternation in any time, but have become much rarer over time.

While that tragedy may not seem to have much in common with bicycles or bicycling, the other event is somewhat more related.  On this date in 1971,”the fight of the century” took place between Joe Frazier and Muhammad Ali. Joe won that bout, but Ali would win two rematches.

To this day, I can’t recall another sporting event-and very few events of any kind-that were preceded by as much anticipation and hype. I’m no boxing expert, but I doubt that there has ever been a title match between two opponents so equally matched in talent and skill but so different in style. Also, Ali had been stripped of his titles—and his boxing licenses—for three years because of his refusal to register for the military draft that could have forced him to serve in the Vietnam War.

So why is “The Fight” worthy of mention on this blog?  Well, as I mentioned in a previous post, a boy named Cassius Clay might never have grown up to become Muhammad Ali, “The Greatest,” had his bicycle not been stolen. In recounting his loss to á police sergeant, he vowed to “whup” the thief.  The sergeant, who just happened to train boxers on the side, admonished young Clay that he should learn how to fight first.

So..did you ever expect to see Susan B. Anthony and Muhammad Ali mentioned in the same post—much less one that includes Malaysia Airlines Flight 370?

What Are You Looking At?

 I written about bicycles in the military.  Turns out, they’ve been very useful in, among other things, reconnaissance missions.

That got me to wondering whether spies have used bikes in their work.

Turns out (I know, I used that phrase already!), the great minds think alike.  Or, at least, I think like my people: Apparently, someone in Italy had the same idea!

It was in Tyrol, which some other Italians argue isn’t really Italy: sono tedeschi.  So I’ll go with “great minds!”

Thanking One Of Our Friends

 He looks like a hippie who became a prep-school Latin teacher.  For me, that was his charm.

And it probably helped him to be effective at his job.

Since 1996, he could be seen with a bow tie between the wings of his shirt collar—and a fluorescent bicycle pin on the lapel of his blazer.

Perhaps not surprisingly, he’s been the best friend cyclists have had in the US Congress in, oh, a century or so. In addition to crafting legislation that allocated money for cycling and pedestrian infrastructure, and for making his hometown the “poster child” for livable, sustainable cities—at least among US cities—he helped to expand healthcare coverage through the Affordable Care Act, save over 100,000 restaurants during the COVID and—in something almost un-heard of these days— worked with a member of the opposing party to create a pathway to permanent legal status for Iraqi and Afghan nationals who directly supported US military missions in their countries.

Perhaps it will not surprise you to learn that he has represented Oregon’s 3rd Congressional District—which includes most of Portland.  In fact, he has been called “Mr. Portland.”

Earl Blumenauer has just announced that he is not running for re-election next year. I guess it is understandable:  Not only has he spent 27 years in Congress; he is 75 years old.

He has not been specific about his “next chapter.” The Democratic legislator said, however, that he plans to continue his work to “make communities more livable, people safer, healthier and more economically secure…without the burden of day-to-day politics.”

Thank you, Earl Blumenauer, for all you’ve done.  And I wish you well in whatever comes next.

Some Things Can’t Hide

 For my morning ride, I turned from Crescent Street to Broadway and crossed under the elevated train at 31st Street.  I found myself in…Ukraine?

That’s what I wondered, at least for a moment.  What would it be like to ride down a familiar route and encounter a military vehicle .

Of course, that truck had nothing to do with the Armed Forces.  And its driver did nothing to menace me or anyone else.  But I had to wonder about the motivation of whoever had that cement mixer truck painted in camouflage colors!

They Stormed The Beaches—With Bikes

 Today is D-Day.

On this date in 1944, Allied forces landed on the beaches of Normandy, France. This daring operation is cited as the door that opened to liberating France and, ultimately, western Europe from Nazi occupation.

The Allies included, among others, American, British and Canadian soldiers, sailors and airmen.  Don’t ever forget the Canadians:  Military strategists and historians have long praised their tenacity and steadfastness.

Like other troops, the Canadians had their weapons: guns, explosives, bayonets—and bicycles.

About 1000 “paratrooper” bikes accompanied Canadian forces on D-Day. Most were left behind when the soldiers were deployed to other fields, sent home or died. Locals picked them up and used them up. Therefore, the one in the photo—in the collection of the Juno Beach Centre, the Canadian museum near the landing beach—is one of the few that survive.

It was issued to Sherbrooke, Quebec Marius Aubé, who served with the Royal Canadian Army Service Corps. He befriended a local farm family and when he departed, he gave the bike to Christian Costil, the family’s 14-year-old son.  He used it on the farm and, later, on his rounds as a meter reader. from which he retired in 1985.

The bike also kindled a lifelong friendship that included letters which were donated, along with the bike, to the museum after Costil died in November 2020.

Even without such a back-story, that bike is interesting. For one thing, Birmingham Small Arms—BSA—made it.  As their name suggests, they also supplied the British and Canadian forces with firearms.

As you can see from the photo, there are two large wing nuts in the middle of the frame. This allowed the bike to fold, and the trooper to hold it close as he disembarked from a ship, marched—or parachuted. For the latter maneuver, a soldiers would lower the bikes so it hit the ground before he did. That would cushion the impact somewhat and the soldier simply had to straighten the wheel and tighten the wing nuts before pedaling away.

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.

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.