Out Of The Fold Of My Past

In an earlier post, I wrote about the Dahon Vitesse D5 on which I commuted for about a year and a half.  I think I gave the impression that it was the only folding or collapsible bike I've ever owned.  That's more or less true, if you don't count another one I owned for a few days.  

I was reminded of it when I came across this photo:

It's a Chiorda folding bicycle, just like the one I owned for a few days. It's even the same color, although--cosmetically, anyway--in slightly better condition than mine was.

I had an excuse for its rattiness: I found mine by the curb, next to some bags of trash.  For some reason I don't recall, I didn't ride my bike that day to visit a then-friend who was living in Jackson Heights.  I spotted the bike as I walked to the subway station.

But I didn't take the train home.  I walked the bike to a nearby gas station where I inflated the tires.  They held air long enough for me to ride the bike back to Brooklyn, where I lived at the time.

At that time, I'd ridden a few folding bikes, never for very long.  The Chiorda was about what I expected from such a bike.  Actually, I should qualify that statement:  It was about what I expected from a folding bike, but slightly better than what I expected from a Chiorda.

You see, I developed an early prejudice against the brand.  My first--and, for a long time, only--experiences with them came in the first bike shop in which I worked.  A nearby R&S Auto (Think of it as a low-rent version of Western Auto or Pep Boys.) sold Chiorda ten-speeds for $69.  The quality of the ones I saw ranged from ghastly to just plain scary.  I don't recall seeing one that didn't have a misaligned frame; some had bottom bracket threads that stripped when you removed the cups, rear brake bridges that broke off the stays and various other problems.  

At that time, bikes from Taiwan and Eastern Europe (except for the Czech-made Favorits) were considered the worst on the market; I think the Chiordas I saw were just as bad.  To be fair, though, any of those bikes was better than the Indian three-speeds I fixed.  And, I would learn that Felice Gimondi actually won the Tour de France on a Chiorda--though not, of course, the one I found or the ones I'd worked on.

But my ingrained prejudice prevailed. Even though the treasure I found in the trash was better than I thought it would be,  I didn't expect to keep it.  One day, a few days after I found it, I took it out for a spin.  I stopped at a greengrocer, where I encountered a sometime riding buddy and local mechanic.  He actually wanted the bike--for his girlfriend.

I guess I can understand why he wanted it for her:  Even if it wasn't the greatest bike, it was kinda cute.  So, for that matter, was she.  He was, too.  I haven't heard from him in years.  Now I wonder whether she still has that bike--or him.

A Rainy Commute Home

This evening I could have used one of these:

From eta

Actually, I did have raingear for my ride home.  It hadn't rained on my way to work, but the weather forecasters promised rain for the afternoon and evening.  

I managed to stay pretty comfortable throughout the ride.  The only problem was that it was dreary:  If someone wanted an image of what it's like to fall into a depression, tonight's ride home could have provided it.  It was almost, but not quite cold enough to snow.  Hard, real rain fell:  not  a drizzle that fizzles as it reaches the ground and simmers softly around the halos of streetlights.  And, this is the time of year when houses are still decorated for Christmas because people haven't yet managed to take down lights they are no longer turning on.  

To paraphrase Wallace Stevens, I may just be the sort of woman who prefers a drizzle in San Francisco to a downpour in Corona.  

When Is It Too Cold To Ride?

Isn't it too cold for you to ride?

How many times have you heard that?  It seems that even in the mildest of winters--like the one we had last year--someone asks that question whenever I'm on my bike, or look as if I've been on it.

What I find interesting is that some of the cities with the largest contingents of year-round cyclists--and the best infrastructures for cycling--experience more intense cold and get much more snow than New York ever has. Such a city is Montreal, where a cyclist took a video of the winter commute I posted last week. 

Other such cities include Oulu, Finland and Umea (Sorry, I couldn't get the little circle over the "a" !) in Sweden, where the weather doesn't seem to deter these cyclists:

From Copenhagenize

Don't you just love the light in that photo?  '

We haven't had any snow in these parts, so I have to content myself with views like these when I start my commute home:

Bicycles On The 14th Day Of Christmas

I hereby declare today the 14th Day of Christmas. 

Why?, you ask.  Well, for one reason and one reason alone:  so I can post another Christmas bike photo.

Actually, it's not technically a Christmas bike photo.  At least, it's not intended as such.  But it's hard to deny the austere, if stark, northern Yule beauty of this Negatone image, which was taken on the main campus of the University of Michigan by "Image MD".

Object Of Curiosity

Have you ever seen a bike parked somewhere, day after day, and wondered about its owner?

I guess I'm weird that way.  Sometimes a bicycle (or, for that matter, some other object) will catch my attention and I'll start to imagine some detail or another about the person who owns it.

Ever since the fall semester began, I've seen this rig on the campus bike rack:

A bike in a color like that is pretty hard to miss.  It's also a pretty good bike:  a Specialized Allez.  However, it's not terribly remarkable, as it's one of the most common racing bikes today.

But seeing it parked in that very same spot on the rack every day has got me to musing about its owner.  Does he or she come to school before everybody else just to get that spot?  A student or faculty member?  Or a staff member, perhaps--in administration? Does its owner race or take long rides?  

And, of course, there's this question:  From whence does its owner ride?  What route does he or she take?

For all I know, it may belong to someone who lives down the block.  Or, perhaps, it might be ridden by someone whose commute puts mine to shame.

A Real Snowbike

So far, this winter hasn't brought much snow up this way.  However, we still have a couple of months to go.  You never know what can happen.

That's the reason why you never know whether you'll need this bike:

From Steve In A Speedo

The fellow who posted the photo uses the bike to train for triathlons.  Seriously, he does triathlons and lives  in Minnesota.  Maybe he's using that rear wheel to grind the grain he'll use to make one of his training foods.

A Long Way Ahead

No, I didn't enlist.  That photo wasn't taken in any sort of official combat zone.  Rather, I snapped it while riding Rockaway Boulevard in Rockaway Beach.

It might be the roughest paved cycling surface I've encountered in an industrialized country.  That's not surprising, given that Rockaway Beach was one of the areas that incurred the most destruction from Superstorm Sandy.

I rode along the Atlantic shore of southern Queens and Nassau County to Long Beach.  There, as in most of the Rockaways, the storm destroyed most of the boardwalk so that the only things remaining are the pilings over which it stretched.  Yesterday, construction crews began to take down the remaining wood, most of which looked something like this:

Some people were taking boards from it--as souvenirs, I guess.  (I wonder whether they'll end up on eBay.)  Others seemed to have other motives in going to the beach.

Was this man enjoying the solitude, feeling resigned to his fate or trying to come to terms with his grief?

Whatever he was feeling, he and the couple may have to follow the same path for the foreseeable future.

The End Of A Winter Day

I didn't get to do a real ride today--just a spin to Astoria Park and a yogurt run.  However, I got home in time to witness a near-perfect ending to a winter day:

At least, it's about as close to perfect any day's end can be in these parts.  As the sun descended, a mist of wispy cirrus clouds rose from the horizon to a deep translucent blue sky:  a dream ahead, and a vision above, this day's ride.

A Devil Of A Commute In The City Of Saints

Those of us who commute by bicycle during the winter take (justifiable, I believe) pride in pedaling through cold, wind and, in some cases, snow.

I respect any year-round cyclist in any climate with variable seasons.  However, I'll admit to feeling a bit more hardcore than someone who rides year-round in, say, Portland or Los Angeles.  At the same time, I give "props" to year-round riders in Boston and points north, and in most European countries.

On the other hand, most of us have nothing on winter commuters in Montreal.  On one of my visits there, I read or heard that the 'burg Mark Twain dubbed "the city of a hundred bell towers" spends more on snow removal than any other city except Moscow.

Whether or not there's snow on the ground, it gets plenty cold in The City Of Saints.  One young man used a helmet cam to record his commute on a day when the mercury stood at -25C (-13F).  Here is the video he produced:

Palais d'Hiver

This photo from Let's Go Ride A Bike made me think of something I wrote some years ago:

  Palais d'Hiver 

Wind:

    dry whispers

      in a house 

    where I

      no longer

    live.