In the middle of the journey of my life, I am--as always--a woman on a bike. Although I do not know where this road will lead, the way is not lost, for I have arrived here. And I am on my bicycle, again.
I typed "Friday the 13th bicycle" into a Google search bar. This is what came up:
"Montxgear" posted it on Pinterest with the caption "Friday 13th, 1922. Jacques may not have won the Yellow Jersey today, but he did receive the Pink Cravat for the most expressive moustache." When I was a kid, it seemed that every "evil villain" (Is there any other kind?) had a sinisterly baroque moustache. I think of such characters as Dishonest John (who had the best laugh of any cartoon villain), Snidely Whiplash, Boris Badenov and Dick Dastardly. Turns out, some of the biggest villains in real life had similarly imposing moustaches--among them Joseph Stalin, Gengis Khan and Saddam Hussein. (So that's where he hid the WMDs!) Friday the 13th and bad guys with moustaches: They go together like bike racing and...
For those of us who are dedicated cyclists, nothing hurts worse than having our beloved rides stolen. It's happened to me a few times. I lost bikes that, frankly, were meant for the purpose: "beaters" that were meant to be locked in urban combat zones. However, I also lost a relatively nice bike and my first custom build to thieves.
For a time, I thought that having had more than one bike stolen was a sign that one was a true New York cyclist. Just about everyone with whom I've ridden in the Big Apple has had at least one bike to theft. In fact, one fellow with whom I sometimes rode in Prospect Park actually sat shiva after losing his classic Ron Cooper.
(I am now recalling how, when drafting him, I would see the tzitzitdangling from the tallit katanhe wore under his jersey! Only in pre-hipster Brooklyn, right?)
For about 99 percent of us, having a bike stolen means never seeing it again. That's because bikes are pretty easy to transport, take apart and repaint. Also, law enforcement agencies--at least here in the US--don't seem to make bike theft a high priority. That's at least somewhat understandable in areas with lots of violent crime but less so, I feel, in relatively tranquil places like suburban or rural college campuses.
Still, when we lose our bikes, we try not to lose hope of being part of the 1 percent whose machines are recovered. As with just about any other kind of theft, the more time that elapses from the moment the bike is filched, the less likely that bike is to be reunited with its owner. And, of course, if you lose your wheels far away from home, there's even less chance that you'll ever see them again.
Such a realization left a fellow named Thomas "bummed/heartbroken" the day he left Japan in 1992. For the previous two years, he'd been stationed in the northern part the country as a US Navy Pilot. The riding was "beautiful" there, he says, and the Mercian Strada he'd purchased as a college student a decade earlier got him around.
He'd raced on that bike against folks like Davis Phinney, Alexi Grewal and Andy Hampsten before even most cyclists had heard of them. It also made an appearance in the movie American Flyers. As he explains it, he rode as an extra with the Cinelli team. The bike the team issued him broke three weeks into the filming, so his Mercian took over.
Well, one cold day a year into his tenure in the Land of the Rising Sun, he stopped at a ramen house to warm his bones with a bowl of noodles. He parked his Mercian outside the eatery and--you guessed it--his bike wasn't there when he came back out.
He filed a report with the local Japanese police as well as with base security. No luck--at least not for a while.
In 2009, he was stationed with a squadron in San Diego. As he tells the story, one "glorious" day (Aren't they all in San Diego?), a box appeared on his front porch.
You guessed it: his Mercian was inside the box. At least, the frame was, anyway: the Campagnolo and Cinelli parts, and even the fork, were stripped off. Somehow or another, the frame was recovered in Japan. Because he was in the military, Thomas was much easier to track down than his bike.
He spent the next few years tracking down replacement components. Once he found them, he sent the frame back to Mercian for restoration. "I'm sure that my next ride on the bike will give me just as much and more joy than that first ride in 1981."
Even though I read and watch all sorts of dark and moody books and films, I like a happy ending now and again. This one is even better than the one in Breaking Away, don't you think?
If you have been reading this blog for a while, you might have noticed a seeming contradiction: although I am anti-war, I have written a number of posts about how bicycles have been used in the military. The real irony is that I have become more interested in such things as my opposition to armed conflict (in 99.9 percent of cases) increases.
As I have said before, studying military history in its truest sense (not what is commonly derided as "drum and bugle history") offers all sorts of lessons into other areas of history--and life. It shows us, very clearly, the sorts of mistakes leaders can make through their own egotism or arrogance, or through pure-and-simple misjudgment or miscalculation. It also shows us, I believe, human nature in its most naked forms.
Now I'm going to present you with another seeming contradiction about myself: the more I adopt an anti-war stance, the more pro-veteran I become.
Actually, my explanation for that will probably make sense (I think): It is because I am opposed to war that I believe anyone who is sent to fight should never want for anything. It's a disgrace that someone who has put on a uniform and faced danger should be sleeping under a bridge or railroad overpass. I have seen a few on my way to and from work.
Thus, I am willing to put in a good word for any organization that might help improve the lives of veterans. Today, I learned about one such organization.
VetBikes.org is a veteran-run non-profit (501c3) that provides adaptive bicycles to recovering veterans. VetBikes began in Seattle, but has recently opened a second location in Denver.
Some of the machines VetBikes has provided were tailored to obvious physical disabilities such as the loss of limbs, but most look like bikes most of us would ride, with small modifications. According to VetBikes' website, its mission is to use bicycles, and cycling (mainly of the sport variety), to help veterans cope with their new lives.
To that end, VetBikes takes referrals from social workers, medical doctors and other profssionals for veterans suffering from combat wounds, substance abuse problems, homelessness and even blindness. However, by far the largest number of referrals is for veterans with Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD).
With those realities in mind, VetBikes does not merely lend bikes or have them available for the vets to take out: It gives each vet a machine. But VB's program doesn't stop there: It also offers mentors, placement in local cycle clubs (to help with community integration), professional mechanical instruction and, according to its mission statement, "an introductory path to a career in the cycling industry".
The site doesn't mention anything about expanding beyond Washington State and Colorado, but it would not surprise me if someone in the organization has that in mind: The need certainly doesn't stop at the borders of the Evergreen and Centennial States. It does, however, say that it can use help, whether as a volunteer, or through donations of cash, bike parts or bikes.
