Bonhomme de Neige, Au Velo

If you've ever wondered what I looked like when I was riding my bike during the winter, back in the day, take a look:

Feom:  "A Short Introduction To Cycling" 

OK.  So I didn't have as much of a sense of style as he does.  But what do you expect?  He's in France!


When I was a messenger, I did a fair amount of cycling in in snow and sleet.  Once, I had to make a delivery on a street that was a solid sheet of ice.  If I remember correctly, I was riding a three-speed bike with knobby tires.  Somehow I managed to ride, without falling, to my destination.  The man who signed for it gave me a tip and shook my hand.  From the expression on his face, I couldn't tell whether he truly appreciated my efforts, admired my endurance or was covertly ridiculing my stupidity.


Then there was the morning I cycled to work and it was 8 degrees below zero (Farenheit, that is).  At least it was dry and the sky was clear.  Plus, the fact that I was keeping a pretty good pace (Or was it the, ahem, substances I used to, ahem, fortify myself?) kept me from feeling the cold even more than I might have otherwise.  In fact, I felt colder while I was working:  It may actually have been colder in the automotive radiator shop where I did, basically, whatever found me.  I guess that was part of the responsibility that came with making 75 cents more, per hour, than the minimum wage at that time--and I was still in college!


Now, wouldn't you get up in the morning and ride half an hour in minus-8 for that?   The guy in the photo does it for less!

Decided: Crankset

I bought a Sugino Alpina for Arielle.  To tell you the truth, I knew I would.  I'd thought about getting a Velo Orange Grand Cru fluted double crankset.  But, even though I like some "retro" stuff, I don't do "retro" for retro's sake.  And that's what I feel the Grand Cru crankset is.  

But most important, with the Sugino, I know what I'm getting.  I've ridden several of their cranksets before, and they have always been good, functional items that were good values.   And the Alpina is definitely one of the prettier cranksets I've seen.


Now, I have some Velo Orange accessories on my bikes.  But I haven't used one of their major components yet.  (They offer brakes, among other things.)  If the crank were defective in some way, I'm sure they'd take it back.  


The difference in price between them is not great and therefore would not have been a factor in my purchase.  VO is selling the Alpina for $175 and their own crank for $190.  When I admitted to myself that I was leaning toward the Alpina, I found it for $150 at Ben's Cycle and Fitness Center of Milwaukee.  They sell on eBay as well as on their own website and in their store, and I've bought a few things--mainly track cogs and other track-related parts--from them previously.  


On top of the good price, I got free shipping via UPS.  


I think Arielle and I are going to be happy with the Alpina.

PC Bikes, Florida

Last week, while spending the holidays with my parents (and riding their neighbor's beach cruiser), I stopped in the local bike shop, PC Bikes of Palm Coast.


It's a small shop, but Jeff (l) and Jake (r), pictured below, are friendly and helpful.

They sell road, mountain and comfort bikes from Trek, Gary Fisher and Giant.  They also have, as one might expect in a Florida shop, a couple of adult tricycles.  But what I found most intriguing were the locally-designed Sun bikes, which I had never seen before.

This model seems like a cross between a mixte and a baloon-tired utility bike like the current Worksman or some of the old Schwinns.  I rather like the way the rear rack seems to be a continuation of the tube that intersects the top and down tubes.  


I really liked the looks of this one, though:

Although I didn't measure it, I am almost entirely sure that it has one of the longest wheelbases I've seen on a single bike.  What that means is an ultra-stable, even cushy ride, which Jake cited as one of the goals in design .  Part of what gives this bike such a long wheelbase is a feature I don't recall having seen before:

This is probably the first bike I've ever seen in which the frame's seat tube doesn't end in the bottom bracket shell.  I don't think I've ever seen another bike, save for a recumbent,  on which the pedals were so far forward from the seat.  And, with the exception a tandem I saw once, I don't think I've ever seen another  bike with a rear wheel that was set as far back from the cranks and pedals as this one is.  


Just what I need for cruising down the boardwalk at Daytona Beach!

We Made It!

Lately my wireless connection has been misbehaving.  That's why I've posted only once this year before tonight.


At least I rode to work yesterday.  I'm teaching a winter intercession course at my "second" college.  They offered me a course before my main job offered me one, and I couldn't have taught both.  Plus, this course is an elective called Readings In Prose Fiction.  Basically, I can assign anything I want in it.  The other course I was offered was a required course in writing research papers.


The college at which I'm teaching is the one that had the full bike rack almost any time I rode in.  It's also the one where I saw a Pinarello parked in the rack.  That bike wasn't there yesterday.  In fact, I was a bit surprised to see any other bike at all.  Although the temperature reached the 40's (5-8 degrees Celsius), there were still piles of snow and ice around the edges of the parking lot, and at the bike rack.

Even if we weren't blessed with the remnants of last week's storm, there wouldn't be very many more bikes parked on campus.  The campus feels like a ghost town, at least in comparison with the regular semester.  To be fair, that's the case in most schools:  Fewer courses are offered, and fewer students attend.  As I understand, financial aid isn't available for students during the winter session.


Anyway, it's nice to be able to park my bike without having to maneuver others.  On the other, I miss the crowded bike rack:  It's nice to know that there are so many cyclists in the college.  Plus, the prof with whom I'd been riding home toward the end of the semester isn't teaching during the intersession. Sometimes I like riding home alone, probably because I interact with people on my job.  But I was enjoying the company of that other prof.  She and her husband had recently begun to take some longer rides on weekends, she told me.  


Somehow I imagine that she'd be riding in if she were teaching.  After all, she cycled through the coldest weather we had at the end of the semester--in a skirt.  So I know I wasn't the only crazy one in the college!  She has nicer legs, though. ;-)


Mine got me to work, which was about an hour and fifteen minutes from my apartment.  One other person at the college could say the same thing.

Floating Into The New Year

On two of the four mountain bikes I owned, I had a front fork with suspension.  But I never had a frame with suspension built into it.  


Now, on one of my bikes (Marianela), I have a sprung saddle.  That counts as suspension, I guess.  And I've had a two other sprung saddles that I can recall.


However, I don't think any suspension system on a bike can compare to this:

Over Flagler Beach, FL, 31 December 2010

And the pilot/passenger doesn't look as if he''s suffering from any saddle soreness:

When I took his photo, he couldn't have been more than about twenty feet above me.   I'm passing on his wishes for a happy new year!

Making Friends At The End of The Year

For my last ride of 2010, I did a few easy miles on the local paths.  On my way to them, a cute stranger crossed my path:

He was roaming around in front of somebody's house, saw me coming and nonchalantly started to cross the street.  Somehow he knew I would stop to stroke him. 

At least it's good to know that someone finds me more interesting than the newspaper--one called the "Observer," yet.  If an observer something and no one pays attention....how does that question end?

So what do I miss most about home?  My cats?  My bikes?  My books?  My friends?  It's really close.  

Happy New Year!

Bridges to Deja Vu

There are at least a couple of different ways in which you can experience deja vu during a bike ride.


The most common way, of course, is to see familiar sights during along a route you've ridden before.  More often than not, that is a pleasant or at least agreeable situation.  After all, you wouldn't be doing the ride again if you don't get some kind of pleasure from it.


Then there is what I will call, for lack of a better term, situational deja vu.  Any number of situations or other experiences can repeat themselves during a ride. Among them are weather, road conditions, fatigue, exhiliaration or some emotion or another that you're dealing with.


Yet another kind of deja vu is, paradoxically, the most ephemeral yet the one that affects us most deeply.  It's the one in which we recall feelings or memories which may have come to us on rides very different from the one we're on at the moment.  Or we have expereinced those emotions during rides we did much earlier in our lives, or in places very different from the one in which we happen to be riding.


There are other ways, I'm sure, in which we can experience deja vu during a bike ride.  I've just mentioned three I could think of at this moment.  They also happen to be the ways in which I experienced deja vu on today's ride.


Although this is my first visit to, and therefore my first bike ride in, Florida in two years, every inch of today's ride was at least somewhat familiar to me.  I had previously ridden every crack and grain of sand my tires tread, though not necessarily in the sequence in which I rode them today.  But it seemed that the flow of sense memories was all but seamless.


It began when I crossed the bridge from Palm Coast Parkway to Route A1A:

Hannibal is said to have shouted "Excelsior!" after conquering the Alps.  Whatever he was feeling, it has nothing on the sensation I experience as I reach the apex of a bridge that connects the mainland to a strip of land along the sea.  At such moments, I feel as if I'm exhaling for the first time, whether the bridge is the one I crossed today, the one that connects Broad Channel to Rockaway Beach, the one I crossed over the estuary of the Dordogne river to the coast near Bordeaux or the one from Highlands to Sandy Hook in New Jersey. 


It was over that last bridge that I took my first long rides during my early teen years.


And that bridge led, like the one I crossed today, led to a spit of land that stands, almost defiantly, between the ocean and another body of water.  When you ride along Route 36 from Sandy Hook to Long Branch, the ocean is never more than two hundred feet to your left and the Shrewsbury River is no further than that to your right.  When you ride A1A from Palm Coast to Flagler Beach, the dunes of Painters Hill (such an apt name!) and Beverly Beach are practically at arm's length on your left, and you're separated by no more than the width of a grove or mobile-home "campground" from the Florida Intercoastal Waterway.


Even though this is Florida, I'll admit that today's ride is more beautiful than the ones in New Jersey or to Rockaway Beach.  But in the end, I enjoy it--and, more important, it matters to me for the same reasons as those rides, and the one in the southwest of France.  They all are bridges to deja vu.

Riding A Borrowed Bike On Its Own Time

Dear Reader, I really want you to feel pity for me.

Yeah, I know, I'm spending the holidays in Florida.  And, in doing so, I avoided the Great Christmas Blizzard of 2010 (or whatever the media are calling it) that hit the Northeast.

But where I am, while it's lovely enough, it ain't South Beach.  Then again, I never really wanted to go there.  In fact, I never had much of a yearning to go to Miami, or to come to this state at all.  My reasons are beyond the scope of this post or this blog, but suffice to say that my parents are the reason I come here, to a place that's about halfway between Jacksonville and Orlando--and, for that matter, about halfway between Saint Augustine and Daytona Beach. 

Now, all of those towns except Jacksonville (which, frankly, I don't know very well and--again, for reasons beyond the scope of this post and blog--don't want to know very well), have much to recommend them.  The town in which my parents live is not without its charms, including some nice pedestrian/bike lanes.

So, there's some good riding here.  The problem is this:

Yes, this is what I have been riding.  My parents borrowed it from a neighbor.  While I appreciate that neighbor's kindness, I have to wonder how much she actually rides it.  I saw it two years ago, and it looked no more used when I saw again this week.

It's a very cushy bike: the sort of machine on which you'd float along on a boardwalk or around the golf course.  But try to ride it more than half an hour, or make it go more than about three times your normal walking speed, and this bike will ignore your efforts and continue on its merry but very slow ways.

It's not too bad when ridden on level ground (which, around here, is pretty much the only kind of ground) and with the wind.  But pedal against the wind, which sometimes kicks up along the coastline, and it feels as if you're riding suspended in syrup.

This is giving me incentive to order a Brompton.  Of course, if I were to bring it (or any other) bike down, I'd have to check it in.  Usually, I bring everything I need for a trip down here in a carry-on.

Well, I'm glad I have a bike to ride, anyway.  And this one makes me appreciate my own bikes all the more.

Cycling Under A Sword of Damocles

This is one way you know you're in The South (and I ain't talkin' about the Bronx):

Between this bike/pedestrian path and the ocean is a strip of land about 200 yards wide, consisting of more trees-- like the one in the photo-- with moss cascading from them, interrupted by roadside ice cream and hot dog stands, biker bars, gated communities and a Publix supermarket.  Between this bike/pedestrian path and the Inland Waterway are a couple of state parks, a couple of convenience store/gas stations, a couple more biker bars and a couple of "professional buildings."

I stopped in one of the convenience store/gas stations.  The latter is owned by Citgo, but the store is part of a local chain called Jiffy.  This part of Florida, like much of the US, has experienced its coldest weather on record for this time of year.  So, I had a yen for something I never craved in my previous trips down here:  hot chocolate.  Also, I started the day with a headache, which I incorrectly thought I could pedal off.  So I also wanted aspirin. 

While there, I got talking with Sharon, the store manager.  I can best describe her as a redneck wife, and I don't necessarily mean that disparagingly.  She's somewhere between my and my parents' age and has lived all of her life in this area.  Business was slow, she said, but that's how it is everywhere: "Nobody has any money." 

She said she'd seen a report saying that the county in which her store is located--and in which my parents live--has the highest unemployment rate in the country. It's hard not to believe that:  Everywhere I've pedalled, and every place I've gone with my parents, I've seen empty stores and condo buildings.  A so-called European Village consists of a pedestrian plaza ringed with restaurants and shops, about half of which were vacant.  When I last saw it, two years ago, all of the spaces were occupied and business, although not booming, had yet to be wracked by the ravages of the implosion of the local and national economy. 

Sharon says she's never seen anything this bad.   In a nearby town, where she sometimes has to go on business, she sees "kids with eighteen siblings, and none of them have the same father."  And, she says, "They're white."

Five years ago, someone with no job, no income and no assets could get a loan to buy a house.  Today, this county and other places are full of young people with no job, no education and no future.  Now, if they had education, they'd be like certain young people in the Northwest of England nearly four decades ago.  What did they do?  They became the Johnny Rottens and Sid Vicouses of this world.  If, instead of education, they had religious dogma, they'd be suicide bombers. 

But those young men and women truly believe in nothing at all.  At least, they're not willing to die for anything, and they're living, not for the future, not for (much less in) the moment, and not even for the present or the Eternal Present.  Instead, they are in a chasm that cannot be filled with anything, not even their own deaths.

You can see it on their faces.  In fact, during the time Sharon and I were talking to each other, three of them--the "rock-heads," as she called them, came into the store.  One young man used the bathroom and left; a girl, younger, tried to buy cigarettes and another bought a case of beer. 

"You've got to watch out for them," she warned me.

"They look pretty scary."

"You're on your bicycle.  You're a woman riding alone.  Around here, that can be dangerous, epecially between here and the bridge."

"What do you mean?"

"They attack people and rob them.  And sometimes they do worse."

I thanked her for her advice and wished her a happy new year. And she wished me a safe trip, which I continued under the trees with moss hanging from them.

Cycling Where North Is South and South Is North

The local forecasters are saying that tonight we're going to have the coldest weather we've had for this date in at least forty years.  The temperature is supposed to fall to 27 degrees here; with the wind-chill, the "real-feel" temperature will be 20 or less.

Now, if I were in New York, I probably wouldn't give a second thought to this weather.  But I'm in Florida.  Granted, it's about an hour and a half northeast of Orlando, but still...

I guess this weather is Floridian compared to what they're having in New York and, in fact, just about all of the Eastern seabord north of Savannah, GA.  And I did get out for a brief ride this afternoon.  Although it was still chilly and breezy, there was scarcely a cloud in the sky.  Plus, I saw very little traffic.  On the other hand, I did see lots of pine trees.  I've nothing against them, but after an hour of seeing little else, they can get monotonous.  Perhaps I wouldn't have felt that way if they were magnolias or some other trees I don't normally see.

The other day, I described the apparent lack of commuter and utility cyclists in these parts.  That leads to drivers, whether intentionally or not, riding close to cyclists or turning into an intersection as a cyclist crosses.  To be fair, the latter may be due to the faulty timing of traffic signals.

Those same motorists, once they leave their steel cocoons, can be very pleasant and polite, or even charming.  I encountered one such driver today:  He made an uncomfortably close turn and, upon noticing me, rolled his eyes and said "Dang!" or something stronger.  As his window was closed and my lip-reading skills are only slightly better than my navigational or computational skills, I can't be entirely sure.

Anyway, I stopped in "Monkey," one of a local chain of 7-11 type gas stations/convenience stores, to use their bathroom.  On the way out, I picked up a pack of Crysto-Mint Life Savers.  As I walked up to the counter, that same man was chatting with the cashier.  He turned and, upon seeing me, drawled, "How d'ya do, ma'am?" 

"Oh, very well, thank you.  Lovely day, isn't it?"

"Yes, it is, ma'am.  I hope you're having a nice holiday."

"Why, thank you.  And I hope you're having the same."

When I used to come down here in boy-drag, I found that some of the young good ol' boys would run me almost off the road and whoop, yell or make comments about my obvious Yankee-ness.  Ironically, I was born in Georgia, though I spent only the first five months of my life there.  My father was stationed there with the Strategic Air Command, and during my infancy, they moved him, my mother and me back to New York. 

In the visits I've made since becoming Justine, I find that the motorists act more out of neglect or ignorance, or an unconscious sense of entitlement, than out of outright hostility than they did when I was Nick.  And, in my days as the "before" photo,  people were invariably polite and often friendly when they encountered me off my bike.  Now, I still find most of them polite and friendly, though some men are what some would characterise as chauvinistic and sometimes solicitous.

These experiences remind me of what someone once told me:  In Florida, South is North and North is South.  Down to about Orlando, it's very much like one encounters in Georgia or Alabama.  But much of the area south of Epcot Center has been colonized by Yankees and Quebecois.

But as far as today's weather goes, North is North, all right.