Waiting At The Bridge

What do you do when you're riding and have an unexpected roadblock?


Normally, you go around it by taking a slightly different route.  But, sometimes that's just not possible, or feasible. Such was the case when I was crossing back into Queens on the Pulaski Bridge:

Just as I got onto the bike lane, the gate swung shut and warning bells clanged.  This meant, of course, that the drawbridge was about to open.  


It's far from the first time I've encountered a bridge opening when I wanted or needed to ride across it.  At least, today I wasn't really in a hurry. I had moderate time constraints: I'd had to attend to a few things later in the day, so I had to get home, shower and prepare myself.  But I'd budgeted more time than I thought I would need.


The wait for the bridge didn't seem particularly long.  At least, the weather was nearly perfect, and even the normally turbid (and sometimes rancid) waters of the Gowanus Canal were nearly a reflection of serenity as the boat churned through it.


What was interesting about this wait, though, is something you may have noticed in the photo:  I was far from the only cyclist there.  In fact, I can scarcely recall seeing so many other bikes and riders at any other opening of a drawbridge.  As it turned out, there were just as many cyclists, if not more, waiting on the other side of the opening. 


That there were so many cyclists makes sense when you realize that the Pulaski connects what have become two of the greatest concentrations of cyclists in the NYC Metropolitan Area: the neighborhoods of Greenpoint, in Brooklyn and Long Island City in Queens.  I can remember when both of those communities were blue-collar enclaves in which almost nobody rode two wheels.   It seemed that the only time I saw other cyclists, besides myself, in those neighborhoods or on that bridge was when the Five Borough Bike Tour transversed them.


Some of the cyclists I saw today weren't even born then.

Is This What The Vikings Had In Mind?

Today I am going to create a post that will get lots and lots of views for all of the wrong reasons.  I will express shock and moral indignation. (What other kind of indignation is there, really?)  I will protest some more...and more.  And, well...we all know what happens when the lady doth protest too much.




Sometimes I think a good working definition of the word "model" is "someone who is better--or, at least more attractive--than the product he or she is being employed to sell."   Such is the case with the young woman in the ad for Crescent Bicycles, which appeared in Bicycling! in 1975 or thereabouts.

The bicycles she was trying to entice young men into buying were made in Sweden and bear no relation to velocipedes bearing the same name that were made in the USA at the end of the 19th, and the beginning of the 20th, centuries.  The bikes looked cool in a funky '70's sort of way:  orange paint with checkerboard (that, I think, was supposed to represent a checkered flag) graphics.  That, actually, was fairly surprising for something that came out of the land of Queen Christina.  

Even more surprising was the workmanship--or, should I say, the lack thereof.  This was even true on the higher models made from Reynolds 531 tubing.  I worked on a few of those bikes and found, not only fairly sloppy braze works around the lugs, but globs of molten metal that cooled into unfinished edges of metal at the points where the bottom bracket shell and seat lugs met the frame tubes.  This made it difficult to fit parts such as bottom bracket cups and seat posts accurately.


Perhaps the worst problem of all, though, was the toe clip overlap.  Mind you, I don't mind some toe clip overlap.  But I think that had my shoes been any bigger, I could have flicked the quick-release lever on the front wheel with my toes.  All right, that's an exaggeration.  But I don't recall any other bike--not even the most extreme track machine--that placed a rider's lower digits so close to the front wheel spokes.  As Michael Kone and Sheldon Brown wryly noted, most of these bikes probably "met untimely deaths in commuter hell accidents."


Those young women really should have been wearing helmets and using foot retention!

Hitched And Kickstanded By Stephen Baird

One of my favorite non-cycling blogs is Nikon Sniper.  In it, photographer Stephen Baird showcases his beautiful and, at times, touching photographs.


Apart from the visual lushness (Is that a word?) of his images, I find myself drawn to his blog, in part, because it is so different from my own.  His posts consist almost entirely of his photos with occasional brief comments; mine are lots of words (I'm a writer, after all) interspersed with images that are nowhere near the quality of his.  


When I fist started following Nikon Sniper, most of Stehen's photos seemed to be of natural settings:  sunsets on bodies of water and in canyons, flora and fauna (although, thankfully, they didn't fall into the sentimentality that is a peril of such photos), mountains and the like.  That makes sense, as Steve is obviously an outdoorsman.


However, lately, Steve seems to have branched off into "slice of life" and shots that are the still-photo equivalents of cinema verite.  Or, perhaps, he'd been making such photos all along, and simply decided to start sharing them.

"Hitched And Kickstanded" by Stephen Baird, In Nikon Sniper

In any event, I decided to post a photo he posted today.  Not only does its content appeal to me, but also the feelings it evokes in me.  It reminds me that, in at least one way, a bike is a metaphor for life:  It doesn't have to be perfect to be beautiful and useful, and to make its owner happy.


Plus, as wedded as I am (for now, anyway) to city life, I'd love to be able to park my bike with such a thin cable lock!

The Tides And A Perfect Ride

Some would say today was a perfect cycling day in these parts.  It was certainly one of the prettiest we've had in a while.  Nary a cloud hazed the blue sky; the air was warm and dry.  The sea was calm; by the time I got to Point Lookout, the tide was out, but not did not leave us.

I can never get over those long sandbars exposed when the waves recede.  The tides usually leave things, and sometimes people, to the sand or rocks.  But when they leave, those people can roam, and sometimes play.

When the tides retreated, Arielle and I came in.  We'll be back. And so will the tides.

John Forester As Literary Critic

In a previous post, I mentioned that a new edition of John Forester's Effective Cycling has been published.


Not long after learning that, I stumbled over an essay he wrote but which, to my knowledge, isn't in the book.  It's about a topic that I have never heard discussed in any English or Literature department--or, for that matter, in any educational institution.  


In his essay, Forester asks why cycling has played only an incidental role in literature, and why there are so few works of literature about bicycling or cyclists.


This is not to say, of course, that there is little writing about pedaling two wheels.  As Forester points out, there are any number of "travelogues" about bike tours and races, most of which center on the locales rather than the rides.  There are also any number of books, magazines and blogs, some of which include some very good writing.  However, as he points out, they are not literature because very few, if any, non-cyclists could find anything of interest in them.  That is because none of them connect cycling to the overall human condition and quotidian life as most of us know it.  Plus, most such works "get it wrong" about the way cyclists actually ride.  Even the "major" authors, some of whom make cycling a part of some of their stories.

Allez Eddie!

If you were following bike racing in 1974, when this photo was taken, you'd know that the racer in front is none other than Eddy Mercx.  I mean, who else had muscles like that in his legs?


Now, the question:  Was this photo taken in le Tour de France, which he won that year?


Well, from what I'm told, the fans were shouting "Allez! Allez!" to Eddy.  That would probably rule out le Tour, as French cycling fans actually weren't very fond of him.  


So let's see...Where else would people have been shouting 'Allez!  Allez!" ?  Specifically, where would they be directing it at Eddy?


Hmm...His home country of Belgium, possibly?  Of course, it would mean the race was in Wallonia, or possibly around Brussels, which is a bilingual city.  Either one is a possiblity:  He seems to have been popular in those areas, though not as well-loved in his home region of Flanders.


Switzerland is a possiblity.  After all, there's a mountain in the background.  And, he seems to have been more popular in the Francophone Helvetian provinces than he was in France.  


We could rule out the French-speaking African countries, as Eddy never raced them.  Ditto for French Guiana and the departements in the Caribbean.  


Saint Pierre and Miquelon?  We're getting closer:  At least we're on the right continent (more or less).  If we go a few hundred miles west, we come to a city whose flag is a white field with a clover, thistle, rose and fleur-de-lys.


You guessed it :  Montreal.  A few weeks after his fifth (and final) Tour de France victory, Eddy won the first World Professional Championship held in North America.  In the photo, he's ascending Mount Royal (for which the city is named), a climb he described as one of the most difficult of his career.

Now that we've placed it geographically, there are a few clues that tell us that the photo was indeed taken in 1974.  One, of course, is that Eddy is still young.  Also, the bike he's riding is a give-away.  But most important of all, in my opinion, are the clothes of a fan near him.  I mean, he wouldn't have gotten away with wearing them--especially those pants!--a year or two earlier or later.  

Excuses On A Lazy, Rainy Day

He doesn't have opposable thumbs.  He can't balance on two feet.  He doesn't know how to use foot retention.  The top tubes on all of my bikes are too long.  (So, for that matter, are the seat tubes and cranks!)  He's doesn't like Brooks saddles.  And it's raining.


Oh, the excuses he has....

And you know why he gets away with it?  Marley is just unbelievably, ridiculously cute, even when he squints.

Of course, I could say the same thing about Max.

And he has one more excuse than Marley:  He's older (in cat-years, anyway) than I am.  

Just Ahead Of The Storm

From Traveling Two

This morning I managed to get in a ride just ahead of one of the worst storms we've had in a while.

Just after I got home, I could hear the raindrops pinging like BB's against the awning.  We may have had hail, as some other parts of the NYC Metro area did.

Whatever the precip was, a sudden, fierce wind drove it.  Some people on Long Island said they saw a funnel cloud; I know that a lot of trees came down.

When I'd finished riding, the temperature was near 100 F (39C).  The one good thing about the storm was that it dropped the temperature by about 20 degrees F within an hour.  But I could just barely see out my window, so I didn't go for another ride.

But, as brief as my morning ride was, it gave me a pretty good workout.  And I felt a sense of victory, however small, over having beaten that storm!

Build It And They Won't Let You Ride On It

You win a few, you lose a few...


Today I rode to the Steeplechase (a.k.a.Coney Island) Pier.  For years, it's been ravaged by storms and tides; the section that meets the boardwalk literally had beach sand "growing" through it. 

Well, it's been re-boarded.  (Roads are re-paved; I figure that boardwalks and anything else with planks on it is re-boarded. )  Thankfully, actual boards, and not concrete substitutes, were used.  


So far, so good.  But I got about fifteen meters onto the pier (It's about 150 or so meters long.)  when an earnest young woman in a green Parks Department polo shirt blew a whistle.  "Miss! Miss!"  I turned.  "You have to walk the bike!"


Well, that was a first.  And how did she know I'm not married, anyway?

Given that it was so hot (The temperature was close to 90F, or 32C, when I left my apartment at 9:30 this morning), I expected to see more people on the pier.  If nothing else, it offers, in addition to views (and good fishing, if you're into that sort of thing), nature's first air conditioning:  sea-breezes.  It was--or felt, anyway--about ten or fifteen degrees (F) cooler than it did when I left my apartment.


But, in addition to the fisherpersons (Yes, I've seen women casting lines into the surf!), you see some interesting, if solitary characters:

Nothing like having the whole city--let alone the whole world--to yourself, eh?


Note:  I apologize for the lack of detail in these photos.  I took them with my cell phone.

An Early Morning Ride, Because I Could

Today I did something I haven't done in too long:  I took an early-morning bike ride, and I wasn't going to work.


There was a time in my life when, if such rides didn't constitute the majority of my cycling, they were at least routine.  On days when I worked in the afternoon or evening, I took such rides, and on weekends I got up early to take my long rides.


But I can't recall the last time I did such a ride.  Part of the reason is the work schedules I've had. I also can't help but to wonder whether the hormones and other changes have made me into more of a night person:  I stay and get up later than I used to.  At least I can say that, as often as not, I'm writing or doing some other necessary work when I'm "burning the midnight oil."


Today I made a point of getting out early.  For one thing, I wanted to avoid the heat this part of the world would experience later in the morning and afternoon.  But I also wanted to remember what it was like to take such a ride.


Back in the day, my early-morning rides were solitary or in the company of other hard-core cyclists, all of them male.  The latter kind left me pumped with adrenaline and testosterone:  If I went through a day cocky, it was a result of such a ride.  On the other hand, the early-morning rides I did alone left me feeling a peace with--if not within--myself and the world around me that I rarely, if ever, attained in any other way.


Today's ride--a little more than an hour and a half on Tosca, my "fixie," left me feeling contented and ready for the rest of the day.  That was definitely a good thing on a day which is not structured by outside forces.  I needed to do laundry (which I did), but there was nothing I absolutely had to get done today. But I managed to accomplish a couple of other things I could just as easily have put off. 


I say this, not to congratulate myself, but to show what a wonderful thing it is to be able to ride early in the morning without going to work.