For $10,000 And A Bike

What would it take to get you to move to Arkansas?

With all due respect to natives of "The Natural State," I have to admit that question has never crossed my mind. I've heard that the state has lots of natural beauty, so I might want to take a bike trip there.  But I haven't ever thought of residing there.

Could I change my mind?  The folks at Northwest Arkansas Council seems to think so.  Or, at least they think they can entice city slickers like me.

To that end, as part of their Life Works Here Initiative, the Council is offering $10,000 and a free bicycle in the hopes of luring new residents to their part of the world. If you don't want the bike, you can take a membership to the Crystal Bridges Museum of American Art or some other cultural institution in the area.

 Because many are working from home--and, for some, that home can be anywhere, they "are re-evaluating their priorities and their lifestyle," says Council president and CEO Nelson Peacock. "They are reconsidering where they are living and what they are prioritizing.

Here's another incentive:  the area has 162 miles of paved paths and 322 miles of mountain biking trails. You can choose whether you want a "street" or mountain bike for your premium.

If you're ready to say "goodbye, city life," you can fill out an application on the Initiative's website. 

A Ride Of Remembrance

If you can stand it...

I'm going to subject you to some more images of a late-day ride in the city.

As I rode, I reflected on the significance of this day.  For one, it's Transgender Day of Remembrance.  For another, on this date 75 years ago, the Nuremberg Trials began.

You can understand why TDoR is personal for me.  The day was first observed in 1999, one year after transgender woman Rita Hester was murdered in her Allston, Massachusetts apartment.  Her death came just a few weeks after a more-publicized case:  the killing of Matthew Shepard. 

The Nuremberg Trials are also, in their own way, personal for me.  I am not Jewish (at least, I wasn't raised as one:  a DNA test said that I have a small amount of Jewish heritage), but the Holocuaust is probably the largest mass hate crime event, with the possible exception of the Third Passage, in world history.  

(That same DNA test said I'm 4 percent African.  No surprise there:  That the human race began on that continent is Anthropology 101.)

Anyway, today's ride, like so many others, was a time to reflect.  

R.I.P. Eddie B.

He has been beatified as "Father of American Cycling."  He's also been villified as the one who brought "Old World methods," if you know what I mean, to this side of the pond.

Edward Borysewicz passed away on Monday from COVID-19.  Known as "Eddie B" to his proteges and detractors alike, he is best known for training and developing the first generation of American cyclists since World War I who challenged, and sometimes defeated, their European counterparts. 

Born in Poland, he was a finalist for the Peace Race (often called "The Tour de France of the East") before a misdiagnosis of tuberculosis led to a treatment he didn't need--which, in turn, led to liver damage that ended his career. "I went in feeling like a rooster and came out feeling like a pigeon," he recalled.  (It's been speculated that this "misdiagnosis" was retaliation for his father's outspoken anti-communism.)  He continued to race, if not at the same level, and later turned to coaching.

In 1976, he accompanied the Polish team to the Montreal Olympics where Mieczyslaw Nowicki, one of the riders he coached, won two medals.  From there, he took a vacation in the US, where by chance, he met Mike Fraysse.   

It just happened that Mike Fraysse was the team manager for the US cycling squad.  He also owned Park Cycle in Ridgefield Park, New Jersey.  In addition to being one of the premier pro shops, and employing the likes of Francisco Cuevas and Pepi Limongi to build custom frames, Park Cycle served as a training facility for some budding talent.

He spoke no Polish. Eddie B spoke no English.  So, on a ride, they talked about training and other things in French.  It was there that both Fraysse and Eddie B saw an opportunity.

It just happened that the riders passing through Park Cycle included, or would come to include, Alexi Grewal, Andy Hampsten, Connie Carpenter, Davis Phinney, Beth and Eric Heiden, Betsy Davis and Rebecca Twigg.  None of them would go to Moscow for the 1980 Olympics, as then-President Jimmy Carter imposed a boycott.  However, when the Games came to L.A. in 1984--and the Soviet Bloc countries, in retaliation, boycotted--the stage was set for victories American cyclists hadn't experienced since at least their grandparents' youth.

Eddie Borysewicz with Greg LeMond, 2006.  (Photo by Mitchel Clinton)

The US team brought home glitter the Trumps would envy.  Alexi Grewal won gold in the men's road race. Connie Carpenter took the same in the women's road race, with Rebecca Twigg winning the silver medal. Steve Hegg won gold in the individual pursuit while Mark Gorski and Nelson Vails (a former NYC messenger) finished 1-2 in the men's sprint.  Hegg, David Grylls, Patrick McDonough, Leonard Nitz and Brent Emery would combine for a silver medal in the team pursuit.  Nitz would also take bronze in the individual pursuit, which Ron Kiefel, Roy Knickman, Davis Phinney and Andy Weaver also won for the team time trial.

Before these victories, no American had won an Olympic medal in cycling since in 1912.  Two years later, another Eddie B-coached rider achieved something that was thought impossible for an American rider.  I am talking, of course, about Greg LeMond's first Tour de France win.

Rumors--some later substantiated--of doping and other risky practices have long beclouded the Tour and other major races.  LeMond, throughout his career, denounced these practices because of the risks they posed, and denied having "juiced" himself.  Although Lance Armstrong and others have attacked him, there has been no credible evidence of LeMond doping or otherwise cheating.

On the other hand, controversy would later descend upon the Olympic medalists when it emerged that some of them had received blood transfusions.  While not illegal at the time, the US Cycling Federation banned it in January 1985.  The transfusions were organized by Ed Burke, the Federation's athletic director, and Borysewicz claimed that they took place without his knowledge or approval.  Nonetheless, he and Burke were fined.

Eddie B would continue to coach elite cyclists to victory, including Lance Armstrong.  But he always proudest of LeMond, whom he called "a diamond."  He also took pride in discovering riders like Twigg.  

His biggest contributions to American cycling, however, may have been in changing the ways Americans approached cycling.  First of all, he used his academic training to create more scientific methods of training and nutrition for his riders.  Second, and perhaps more important, he helped to re-orient the mentality of American riders, and of the American public, toward cycling.  

He didn't want John Howard, arguably the top male American cyclist of the 1970s, on his team because he had a "Texan" mentality: He was, Eddie believed, focused on his individual success.  Americans of his generation, according to Borysewicz, did not share the European concept of cycling for and with a team.  For all of their individual successes, he trained his cyclists to ride as a team, even if they were in individual pursuits like the sprint.

All of that, I believe, ended American cycling's inferiority complex.  After the victories I mentioned, other American cyclists--and the American public--believed they could ride with the best in the world.  That, perhaps, is Eddie Borysewicz's greatest legacy.

Riding The High Life

Are you just spinning your wheels on your rollers?

Does riding on your trainer feel tepid?

Do you feel like you're really going nowhere on your stationary bike?

Or are you falling behind on your Peloton?

Lately, I've heard that sales of dressy clothing--suits, dresses and the like--are increasing.  The theory behind that is that people who've been stuck at home are tired of slouching around in sweat clothes and pajamas.  Perhaps there is a corollary in the world of cycling:  People are tired of pedaling in place while looking at screens--in their sweat clothes.

Well, the folks at Hendrick's Gin are looking at you. They've found, in the words of HG national brand ambassador Vance Hendricks, "the bells and whistles you see on your home workout equipment" are "entirely unnecessary."  

Hendrick's, therefore, is introducing something in line with its customers' tastes--or, at least, an image the company is trying to project.  "We at Hendrick's prefer milder forms of exertion," explains Henderson, "coupled with intellectual stimulation, complemented by a delicious cocktail."

To sate the thirsts, if you will, of their cultivated clientele, they created Hendrick's High Wheel.  

If I hadn't seen this photo, I wouldn't have believed the description:  An iron-framed stationary bike, styled after a high-wheeler ("penny farthing") of the 1880s, equipped with a golden fender carved with roses and cucumbers and flanked by golden curlicues, perched atop a patch of artificial grass strewn with rose petals.  

The real and fake vegetation and the bike's decor allude to the gin's rose and cucumber flavor.  So it makes sense that one mounts this contraption on four cucumber-shaped steps. Also logical, given the bike's intended ridership, is that the direct-drive front wheel (like the rear of a modern fixed-gear bike) has no resistance, which allows riders to break "the ever-so-slightest of sweats." (Note to the folks at Hendrick's:  A lady doesn't sweat; she glistens!  That's what I was told when preparing for my debutante ball.) Oh, and the the pedaling output powers a headlight, which will make your rides safe if there's a power outage in the royal suite.

If you simply must have a Hendrick's High Wheel, act now:  Only three will be made and sold.  

If one can afford something, one doesn't have to ask what it costs.  Since I am one of the hoi polloi, I shall do what the intended clientele would consider to be unspeakably gauche:  I will reveal its price.  For $2493.11, you get an HHW complete with a book stand (no screen here!), a horn to alert your butler to bring you canapes and cocktails, and a handlebar-mounted water bottle holder.  Perhaps it's rude of me to ask whether a bottle of Hendrick's is included.

Oh, if you're buying this, you'll want to let your interior designer know that HHW takes up a floor space of 38.5 by 76 inches of floor space.  After all, one shouldn't clutter one's ballroom, should one?

Recovery , In June And Now

Because I felt so good after my Saturday ride, I thought I could go a little further on Sunday.  So I pedaled down to DUMBO and looped along the waterfront under the Manhattan Bridge.  In all, I cycled for about an hour and a half--about half an hour longer than I rode on Saturday.

To give you some perspective, my Saturday ride was about as long as my commute was, round trip.  So, while Sunday's ride was longer, it still barely seemed like a "baby" ride, at least in comparison to what I'm accustomed to doing.

Yesterday, I mentioned all of this to my orthopedic doctor. I also told him that immediately after my Sunday ride, I felt good but late that night I started to feel pain where my muscle strained.  "You have to listen to your body," he said--specifically, that part of my body.  "It's still healing," he reminded me.  So are my gashes, though more rapidly. "They're looking good."

There's an irony in all of this:  The injuries from my June accident were more serious, but my recovery from this mishap might be slower.  Because I'd crashed face-first and there was slight bleeding by my brain, there was the potential--which, thankfully, wasn't realized--of some real damage.  But after going about three weeks without headaches (and never having experienced dizziness), I was ready to ride and built myself back to something like my earlier condition in a few weeks.  On the other hand, my recovery seemed more certain this time, but my injuries are in my leg, so it affects the pace of my cycling more than my earlier injuries.

My doctor counsels patience.  I trust him but, damn, I want to go back to riding as many miles as I did before the accident!

Late In The Day, Late In The Season

I'm still limited to short rides.  But my time in the saddle has given me no end of visual delight:

Saturday I rode to Roosevelt Island again and, from there, down the waterfront. November sunsets are so vivid--and bike rides so fulfilling--because of the darkness, the cold, that is ready to descend, just as trees are their most colorful at the moment before the wind strips them bare to the long, dark nights ahead.

 

Yesterday I took another, slightly longer ride.  I didn't take any photos, but I'll have something to say about it tomorrow.

Tuber Alles?

 Most of us know at least one couch potato. Some of us were CPs before we took up cycling. 

Is it possible to be a Bike Potato?

Thief Stopped, Too Late

 During my dim, dark past, I did a few good deeds.  One of them, some three decades later, fills me with pride and glee:  I stopped a would-be bike thief.  

After watching a film--My Left Foot--I left the old Paris Theatre, just across 58th Street from the Plaza Hotel.  A burly guy hunched over a Motobecane locked to a sign post.  Normally, I wouldn't have given someone like him any more notice, but my glance lasted just long enough to see him twist that bike.  

He was trying to pop the lock.  I'd heard that it was an M.O. of bike thieves, but that was the first time I'd seen it in action.  My rage rose; I could have shouted but I crept behind him--and tapped him on the shoulder.

Then, I was still a guy named Nick.  I rode, literally, everywhere and every time possible--including, of course, to the Paris Theatre.  In those days, I was also lifting weights, so I was solidly muscled throughout my body.  And I wore a full beard.

Now, the guy was built like me though, perhaps, he wasn't doing as much to keep in shape as I was.  But he must have believed that whatever he saw in my face, or the way I stood--or, perhaps, the rage that radiated from me--was a more powerful force. Or, maybe, it was just scarier.

He took off faster on his feet than most people could have on any set of wheels.  Good thing for him that just past the Plaza is Central Park!

The pride I felt was in knowing I saved some fellow cyclist, whom I've most likely never met, from losing his or her means of transportation, fitness or simply pleasure.  The glee came later, when I recalled the expression on the perp's face after I tapped him and he turned around.

But, given that I confronted that guy in a New York of record-high crime rates (think of Fort Apache, The Bronx or Hill Street Blues), things could have ended differently.  I could have met the fate of Brent Cannady.  

On the night of 5 August 2019, he and his friend left his  apartment in Bakersfield, California.   There, 29-year-old Marvinesha Johnson wheeled a bike-- one belonging to Cannady's friend.  

They grabbed it and headed back to the apartment. Ms. Johnson followed, threatened to kill 37-year-old Cannady and pulled a gun from her bag.

She fired four shots.  All of them hit Cannady.  He died the next day.

Marvinesha Johnson

The other day, she was found guilty of second-degree murder and resisting a peace officer. At her sentencing hearing, scheduled for 10 December, she faces 40 years to life in prison.

Fortunately for me and the owner of a Motobecane, my confrontation of a would-be thief ended with someone keeping his or her bike and a perp with his tail between his legs, if only for a moment.  I can only wish that things could have ended as well for Brent Cannady and his friend.

  

A Few Weeks After A Summer Ride

Lambent sun rays flickered through leaves and skittered on rippled water.  I pedaled languidly along the canal path after wandering nearby streets, stopping near a steel footbridge to munch the cheese, bread and tomato, and drink the bottle of water, I picked up along the way.  Flirtation ensued:  I won't say whether they or I instigated it!

Afterward, I wheeled the bike to a cafe and enjoyed a cappuccino--and more flirtation.

You may have guessed, by now, that I was in Paris.  (Did the flirting give it away?) I achieved, without trying, a perfect--or at least postcard image--day in the City of Light. It was all but impossible to think about death, let alone any carnage leading to it.

A few weeks later, however, darkness descended.  On this date (a Friday the 13th, no less!) in 2015, the deadliest and most infamous terrorist attacks struck the city.  Just a couple of tables away from where I enjoyed my cappuccino--at Le Carillon--other patrons, possibly sipping on cappuccinos or cafe espessos--were shot dead.

Even though I've suffered two accidents and injuries just weeks apart, I am still fortunate.  After all, I'd been cycling for about half a century--including that perfect summer day by the Canal Saint Martin-- before my misfortune struck. If only those patrons at Le Carillon could have continued their journeys!

When Not To Ride With A Parent

The COVID-19 pandemic has canceled many holiday observances and celebrations.  Although it wasn't postponed, Take Your Children To Work Day wasn't marked in the usual ways, as many people couldn't (or simply didn't) go to their regular workplaces.  Then again, a lot of kids got to see their parents' work, even if those tasks were performed through a laptop on a kitchen table rather than a console on a desk.

Some parents, however, should not bring their kids with them to work because, honestly, there are some kinds of work no kid should ever witness. An example is what Jason R. Anderson did.

The "workplace"?  A Kohl's department store in Batavia, New York:  about halfway between Buffalo and Rochester.  The "job"?  No, he wasn't stocking shelves or helping customers.  Instead, he helped himself to some of the store's merchandise.

His method of transportation? A bicycle, which he parked outside, where his 6-year-old daughter waited with her own bicycle.

She followed him as a he fled.  So, in addition to larceny and possession of burglary tools, Anderson has been charged with endangering the welfare of a child.

It wasn't Anderson's first arrest.  One assumes that his daughter won't consider following his line of work--and hopes that she won't see the bicycle as a means of committing nefarious activities.