Perspective

For many of us, cycling is (among other things) therapeutic.  One reason is that riding helps us to put things into perspective.

From Redbubble

If you can get over the hill, you're not over the hill:  You're a Midlife Cyclist!

From Work To Pleasure On The Island

 On Tuesday, I rode to Connecticut.  Otherwise, it's been a week of local rides, mainly because I've tried to get home before early afternoon, when the heat and humidity is usually worst.

Yesterday fit that pattern.  It also fit another: I rode with a neighbor with whom I hadn't ridden before.  The difference between Kevin, with whom I rode yesterday and Lillian, whom I mentioned in an earlier post, is that she is re-discovering cycling after 40 or so year, whereas Kevin is a lifelong cyclist who raced.

I didn't get a photo of him, and I'll say more about him (and Lillian) in later posts.  I did, however, take some images of a ride that combined the old and the new for me.

The old:  We pedaled along the East River waterfronts of Queens and Brooklyn to the Williamsburg Bridge, which we crossed onto Manhattan.  We continued to the "bottom" of the island, where ferries dock.

 

We took one of the boats I'd never before ridden:  the one to Governors Island.  Being in a place where you're never more than a few hundred meters from the water is, of course, perfect on a hot day.  If and when I go back, I'll pack a picnic lunch and circle the island a couple of times, as Kevin and I did.

I enjoyed riding with him, but I had the same sense of irony, tinged with a bit of guilt, I feel when I ride along Red Hook, Bush Terminal or other parts of the Brooklyn waterfront.  Riding there is, of course, all about pleasure, and if I exert myself, it's an attempt to augment whatever training I might be doing.  During my childhood, and before, some relatives of mine and kids I grew up with worked that waterfront--long, hard hours, most likely without much thought for the beauty of the water or waterfront--or the Manhattan skyline, so close but in another world.

Well, I had the privilege of other folks on the ferry:  We were entering Governor's Island as civilians.    My father didn't have that privilege:  Whenever he went to the island, it was part of his duty as a Coast Guard reservist.  He didn't enjoy it, in part because he was going there to perform repetitive tasks. But, more than anything, it was an inconvenience:  When the island was a military installation, access was limited, as it is on other bases.  What that meant was that only a couple of boats made the trip to and from the island every day, and if you missed the last one, you were stuck.  On the other hand, today the boats make the crossing every 40 minutes starting at 10 am.  

To be fair, my father might've appreciated some landmarks like the Castle or the officers' houses for the history behind them.  But neither he nor anyone else went there to cycle, walk, picnic, camp or do anything for fun or recreation back in the day.

 

I plan to return, as I ride along the Brooklyn waterfront for fun. But the irony of my presence there, or on Governors Island, is not lost on me.

A New Use For A Dutch Bike Lane

 If you’ve ridden with a dynamo-powered light, you’ve converted your pedaling power into electricity.  Some cyclists have also turned their RPMs into amps that ran everything from toasters to tuners.

Now a Dutch province (where else?) is using the bike path itself to generate ecologically sustainable electrical power.

On Wednesday, elementary school students in Maartensdijk, a village near Utrecht, became the first to ride the 330 meter path. Its prefabricated concrete blocks are embedded with solar cells and coated with a transparent layer that allows sunlight to reach the cells as it protects the path. 

Solar bike lane in the Netherlands 

Arne Schaddelee said, “you have to dare to use innovation” to reach goals like the one the Netherlands set for itself: being climate-neutral by 2040.  “And this is very innovative,” the provincial official declared. 

But it’s not innovation for innovation’s sake. “We have a very full province,” he explained.  “For that reason you have to try dual use.”  

His pronouncement could also apply to his country: The Netherlands is one of the world’s most densely populated nations.

Purple Reign On Herkimer Street

Today I took another morning ride to beat the heat.  I had no particular destination:  I crossed the Kosciuszko Bridge into Brooklyn, where I followed the Graffiti Mural Trail (OK, there is no thoroughfare so designated, at least to my knowledge!) through Greenpoint, Williamsburg, Bushwick, and Bedford-Stuyvesant into Ocean Hill, Brownsville, East New York and back into Queens.

I did see some great murals. One, though, stopped me in my Continental tire tracks.

Oh, Prince, Mr. Elegant One, we would welcome any rain, purple or otherwise, on an afternoon as hot as this one has become!

Driver Who Plowed Into Arizona Race Charged, Cyclist Dies

 Today is Bastille Day.  On this date in years past, I have written about two of my favorite topics:  cycling and France.  Today, however, I shall relate a story I wish I didn't have to tell.

Last month, a driver plowed his pickup truck into Masters race that was about to start in Arizona.   Nine cyclists suffered serious injiuries.  On Monday, the family of one, 58-year-old Jeremy Barrett, announced his death.

Jeremy Barrett, R.I.P.

The driver has since been idenitified as 38-year-old Shawn Michael Chock. Turns out, he has a long history of encounters with law enforcement, including DUI charges.  After it was determined that he intentionally drove into the group of cyclists, he was charged with nine counts of aggrevated assault with a deadly weapon.  In addition, he was charged with fleeing the scene of an accident and unlawful flight.

Those charges, however, were brought against him before Barrett passed away. Now his family and friends are calling for additional charges. I am with them:  It's about time that folks like Chock stopped getting away with murder when it comes to cyclists. (I mean, what exactly is someone's intention when he plows into a group of cyclists with his pickup truck?)

It's bad enough when cyclists are killed or injured by intoxicated or simply careless drivers, as happened in Michigan five years ago.  But it's time for folks like Chock to be brought to account for willfully endangering and killing cyclists and pedestrians.

He Wants To Make It A Place Where It Doesn't Happen (Again)

His city has a "denser, older urban core that was laid out before the automobile."  Around it, though, are neighborhoods that were "designed around cars."

That could be a description of many cities, perhaps yours.  But Tanner Thompson was describing Norwalk, Connecticut, where he is the Chairman of the Walk/Bike Commission.  He adds that as cars have gotten bigger and streets have gotten wider, cyclist and pedestrian fatalities have increased across the nation.

Shameka Fisher is relieved that her 15-year-old son did not become one of them--but understandably angry that he could have.  Last month, he was riding along Connecticut Avenue at Taylor Avenue when a Toyota RAV 4 struck him from behind.

  

The boy, who is "recovering nicely," jumped off his bike but collapsed off-camera.  He called his mother, who rushed him to the hospital, where police met them. One officer said they should have remained at the scene of the crash, but, as Ms. Fisher said "the mother in me" caused her to act on reflex, just as her son probably did when he jumped off his bike.

The bicycle ended up under the SUV.  The driver, whom the police are seeking, backed off it and sped away.  Thompson said the hit-and-run is "horrifying" but the Bike/Walk Commission is committed to "making Norwalk a place where this doesn't happen."

That is a goal I can get behind, and I wish Thompson well--and a good recovery for the boy and his mother, who probably is suffering from some degree or another of PTSD.

Making A New Friend As She Rediscovers An Old One

 About a month ago, I snapped up a bike I saw on Craigslist.  The woman from whom I bought it said she'd posted it only a few minutes earlier.  And, given how bike prices have skyrocketed, it was a bargain.

The bike, a Mongoose Switchback from about 20 years ago, wasn't for me.  I picked it up for a neighbor I've gotten to know better since the pandemic started.  

She hadn't ridden a bike "in about 40 years," she said, and wanted to start again. So I figured a bike like that would be a good "starter."

I've taken a few rides with Lillian.  They weren't long treks, but I've enjoyed them.  So has she. It's nice to see someone taking up cycling again.  Somehow I feel that she's rediscovering an old friend, if you will, as I'm making a new one.

How We Began

 I have to admit that there was a time in my life--before my midlife!--when I looked down on anyone on a bike not made of name-brand tubing (Reynolds, Columbus, Vitus, Tange, Ishiwata) and not sporting high-end components.

These days, I am happy to see anyone on a bike, even if it's something I wouldn't have test-ridden when I worked in shops and the person riding looks as if they* hadn't been on a bike since they got a driver's permit. The more who ride, for whatever reason or purpose, the better.

I remind myself that we all started sometime, somewhere, somehow!

Another Way Across?

O Sleepless as the river under thee,
Vaulting the sea, the prairies' dreaming sod,
Unto us lowliest sometime sweep, descend
And of the curveship lend a myth to God.--

                            From  --"To Brooklyn Bridge" by Hart Crane

In this town (New York City), there are some things in-the-know cyclists never, ever do. One of them is to pedal across the Brooklyn Bridge.  Even if it's the Sistene Chapel or Notre Dame of bridges, it's best seen while riding across the Manhatan or Williamsburg Bridges.   

On its upper deck, the Brooklyn Bridge has a wide lane that's off-limits to cars and trucks.  Although that lane is wider than the ones on some of the other bridges, cyclists have to share it with pedestrians, scooters, skaters and all other manner of tourists who might stop dead four feet in front of you to take a "selfie."

I'm not complaining about the tourists:  Many are on once-in-a-lifetime trips to the Big Apple.  I'd just prefer not to dodge them if I'm riding to get to someplace, or even for fun. (Forget training:  You can't keep any kind of a steady pace on the bridge!)

All of that will soon change.  Construction has begun on a protected bike lane in the center of the bridge.  Manhattan-bound drivers will lose one of their lanes for the two-way bike lane.

When completed, it will mark the first reconfiguration of the Bridge, opened in 1883, since the trolley tracks were removed in 1950.

I hope that the lane includes a safe and easy transition to the street.  Too often, I've seen bridge bike lanes that "dump" cyclists into chaotic traffic intersections.

Otherwise, the best option for cycling across the East River, in my opinion, will remain the Williamsburg Bridge, which I take whenever possible. 

Daring Elsa

Yesterday wasn't quite as hot as Wednesday was, but the humidity was even more oppressive.  That's one reason why I took another morning ride which, I hoped, would bring me home before the early afternoon heat.

That part of my "mission," if you will was accomplished, even though I continued in one direction when another would have taken me home for, oh, a couple of hours.  

The weather forecast was dire:  Tropical Storm Elsa was bearing up the East Coast of the United States.  Sometimes I "play chicken" with the rain:  I ride as if I'm daring the rain to start falling on me before I finish my trip.  Yesterday, the stakes were higher:  The rain would cascade from those heavy gray clouds moving across Staten Island and New Jersey on their way to Brooklyn and Queens.  

Those clouds might have moved even faster than the traffic across the Verrazano Narrows:  They don't have to pay the toll on the bridge!

Seriously, though, I reverted to a youthful delusion:  That I could actually hold bad weather at bay becasue, well, I was pedaling.  Even when the sky and the waters of New York Bay all but matched the steel and glass hues of the Manhattan skyline, I was not ready to turn around.  After all, the brownstones and blue-collar brick row houses of Sunset Park hadn't been consumed by the the gray colussus.

On 31st Drive, one block from my Astoria apartment, rain began to fall.  It cascaded into a torrent just as I wheeled Tosca, my Mercian fixed gear, into the door.