Not The Best Getaway Vehicle

 Call me sexist (a transgender woman!), but I reserve some of my greatest contempt for healthy young males who prey, in any way on anyone, especially females, who are smaller, weaker or in any way more vulnerable.  Perhaps it has something to do with my old-school blue-collar upbringing in Brooklyn and New Jersey.

But I also couldn’t resist the impulse toward derision when I heard about the perp who, just seven kilometers and a few neighborhoods due  east of my apartment, knocked a ten-year-old girl off her bike.  He then took her bike and cell phone and took off on her bike.

I feel terrible for the girl, but I couldn’t help but to chuckle when I saw the bike.  It’s the sort of thing little girls ride all over the world:  a small drop-bar frame, painted pink, with butterflies on it.

When was the last time you heard of a thief using something like that for a getaway vehicle?

I hope the girl is OK and that she gets the help she’ll need. (Contrary to what we’ve been told, kids aren’t always resilient.  And why should we expect them to be?)  

I also wouldn’t want to be the pero when he ends up in Rikers! For one thing, there’s no one other inmates—even the most incorrigible criminals—hate more than a human-shaped male being (I refuse to call such a creature a “man”) who commits violence against women or children.  Oh, and he tried to get away on a little pink butterflies on it.  They’ll never let him live that down!

Not Making Money In The Bike Shop? Blame Schwinn, He Says

 When I worked in bike shops, friends and family members couldn’t understand how I made so little money when bikes cost so much.

Mind you, that was when few bikes had four-figure price tags, let alone the five-figure tags attached to some of today’s machines.

I would try to explain that small local shops didn’t make much profit—and, as often as not, none at all on bikes themselves, especially high-end bikes.  For one thing, it’s expensive to run a shop:  To do it, you need a lot of space, which is pricey in any good location for a shop. Then, a shop needs fixtures specifically for displaying and working on bikes, as well as tools and machines.  And a shop owner has to pay to keep the lights on—and keep the tax authorities happy.*

On top of all of that, the shop has to have inventory, as some shop owners learned the hard way during the pandemic.  In pre-pandemic times, some bikes could sit in display racks for months, or even years.  That wasn’t as much of a problem back when, say, one year’s Peugeot or Raleigh wasn’t so different from the previous or following year’s models, and component manufacturers stuck with the same designs for decades. But the bicycle industry now follows the planned-obsolescence business model that prevails in other industries, like the automotive.  That means a bike that doesn’t sell at full retail price by the end of the season has to be significantly marked down if it is to sell at all.  Because of the planned-obsolescence model, some manufacturers don’t allow retailers to return bikes, and penalize dealers for not meeting sales quotas.

The business model I’ve described gives bike companies a lot of power over shops, especially small ones.  Among other things, it gives companies like Specialized and Giant the ability to mandate the amount of merchandise shops must purchase, and at what price.  It also gives those companies the ability to control retail prices.  That is why you won’t find much price variation from shop to shop among models from the major brands—except, perhaps, during end-of-season sales, which usually involve the extreme sizes and colors that weren’t popular.

What all of this means is that when dealers have to pay high prices and are told they can sell at a price that yields a relatively small margin—from which they have to pay the costs of running a shop—they have to keep those costs down wherever they can. As often as not, that means low wages for shop employees.

In times past, shops made most of their money from repairs or accessories, helmets, clothing, shoes and gloves and, to a lesser degree, from parts.  Now, though, most of those items are available at significantly lower prices from online retailers.  One shop owner lamented that people came to his shop to try on shoes and helmets they later bought online.

According to Ray Keener, who’s been in the bike industry for about as long as I’ve been alive, one bike manufacturer had much to do with making the current situation.  

To people under 40, Schwinn is just another bike brand sold in Target and Wal-Mart. But, for three decades or so after World War II, it was the only American bike marque with even a pretense of quality.  This gave it the power—upheld in several court cases—to control, not only prices, but what shops could and couldn’t sell.  This, he argues, also effectively gave Schwinn the ability to depress bike shop wages.

And that is why the Bicycle Industry Employers Association’s guarantee of a $32K annual income to mechanics who complete their training can be touted as progress, even if it’s not a living wage in most American cities!

*—Sometimes, there are also “unofficial” taxes—like the one by a waste-hauler who told the owner of a shop I patronized, “You will use our services.”

They're Uniting With The Other Airlines

 What do World Airways, Tower Air, Air India, Pakistan International Airlines, Delta, Air France and KLM have in common?

Well, they have (or had, in the case of World and Tower) many of the same destinations.  Oh, and I've flown them all.

World and Tower no longer exist.  Delta, Air France and KLM have become part of the SkyTeam group, but they were separate entities when I flew them.  And, although I've taken Air India and Pakistan International, I've never been to either of those countries.  I flew them because, until nonstops were available, flights from the US to India or Pakistan stopped in Europe.  With the demise of World and Tower (and other low-cost airlines like Laker), that became the cheapest way to get to Paris.

All of those airlines, though, had this going for them:  They didn't charge extra to fly your bicycle--if it was in a box or bag that didn't exceed their size regulations (Bike boxes from shops fit the bill!), and as long as you didn't exceed the allowed weight.  The boxed or bagged bike counted as one of your pieces of checked luggage--of which, as I recall correctly, you were allowed two, weighing a total of 32 kilos (about 70 pounds)--in coach/economy class, no less.  Since I travelled (and still try to travel light), I never came close to the weight limit.

All of that, of course, was before 9/11.  Then airlines used "security measures" as an excuse, not only to increase fares, but to slap all manner of surcharges on to the final tab.  Bikes were considered "oversized" or "security risks," were charged as much as $200--each way, in addition to "oversize" or "excess weight" fees.  Some airlines didn't allow bikes at all.

Now, thankfully, things are starting, however slowly, to return to what they were two decades ago. United Airlines has just announced that it's ending its $200 surcharge for bikes--something competitors Delta and American did recently.  Perhaps more important, the oversized-bag fees are also being waived for bicycles.  But whatever you check in still has to fall within the airline's weight limits:  23 kg (about 50 pounds) for economy class, and 32 kilos for business or first class.

Better still, United doesn't have some draconian mandate regarding how the bike is packed.  The airline even says that boxes of "durable cardboard" are permitted as long as they have "plastic foam or similar protective material" inside them.  Perhaps best of all, United doesn't seem to be excusing ham-fisted or crooked baggage handlers, saying only that the company isn't liable for "checked bicycles that are not packed as described."  

While United is making it easier for us to travel with our bicycles, it still doesn't allow e-bikes of any size or weight on its aircraft.  I suspect this prohibition has something to do with fire hazards.

The Waterfront, And Echoes Of Shell

Yesterday, I wrote about last weekend's varied rides.  Not only were the locales and sights different on each ride; so were the bikes I rode.

There was also variation within the rides, as there always is.  As an example, my Friday ride took me into Brooklyn and included two utterly different neighborhoods.

The metallic hues of New York Bay and its piers, docks, towers and bridges formed the vista of Red Hook

where one bridge rims the curvature of the earth, while another doesn't go far enough.

A few miles inland, a post-industrial streetscape stands a few blocks from where I grew up, at the edge of Borough Park, now one of Brooklyn's two major Hasidic neighborhoods.  

Change, however, can't seem to efface old identities and purposes:

Tell me that wasn't a Shell station.

I was tempted to check out the convenience store.  Perhaps I will if I take another ride out that way.  Whether or not they're different, I hope it doesn't sell sushi:  There should be a law against selling it any service station convenience store.  

But at least one law says it's OK for folks who'd shop in a place like that to eat sushi.  According to every interpretation of Halakhic law I've read, sushis made with vegetables or raw fish comply with Kosher dietary laws.  I don't imagine, though, anyone who likes sushi, whether or not they follow any religious edicts about food, would eat sushi from that place!

By the way, I had vegetable enchiladas after the ride.

Bet You Can't Ride Just One

Do you actually ride all of those bikes?

You've probably heard that question from the non-cyclists in your life.  I try to explain that even though each of my rides might look similar, they actually offer different kinds of rides, based on their geometry, frame material and components (especially wheels and tires).  

So, my answer is, yes--though, if I'm feeling a bit snarky, I might add, "but not at the same time.  I'm working on that."

Well, last weekend I did manage to ride three of my bikes in three days.  On Friday afternoon, I took Tosca, my Mercian fixed gear, for a spin along the waterfronts of Queens and Brooklyn.

Saturday was the sort of gloriously sunny and brisk early fall-day that riding dreams are made of.  What better day to ride to Connecticut--on Dee-Lilah, my delightful Mercian Vincitore Special.

I'll say more about her accessories--the bags--in another post.   For now, I'll just say that I like them a lot, and while they're not the easiest to acquire, they're worth waiting for.  

And yesterday I took another ride along the waterfronts, mainly because I didn't want to turn it into an all-day (or even all-morning or all-afternoon) ride, as I'd promised to spend some time with someone who can't ride--and some quality time to Marlee.  I didn't take any photos of the bike I rode--Negrosa, my vintage Mercian Olympic, but she's pretty much how you remember her if you've seen her in some earlier posts.

So, while I didn't ride all of my bikes, I think I varied my rides enough to feel justified in having, well, more than one bike!

Cycling Really Does Pay--In Denver

I've been paid to ride my bike, though not in a way I envisioned in my hopes or dreams.

Like other young riders of my generation, I had images of myself riding with the pros--in Europe, of course, because that's where most of the pros were.  Specifically, I saw myself pedaling with the peloton past sunflower fields, vineyards and castles, through river valleys and up mountains in France, Belgium, Italy and other hotbeds of cycling.  It was near the end of Eddy Mercx's reign, and before the dawning of Bernard Hinault's.  There were some great riders, but none had dominated the field the way Eddy and Bernard did.  So I thought I had a chance to, not only become the next champion, but to become a standard-bearer for my country.

Well, obviously, that dream didn't pan out.  My amateur racing career didn't last long:  I did muster one third-place finish. But I discovered that riding as a job isn't nearly as much fun as riding because you want to.

What led to the discovery of the latter was being a messenger in New York City.  For a while I actually enjoyed it, or at least I was OK with it because, really, during that time in my life, I couldn't have done anything else.  And I was getting paid to ride my bike!

That last aspect of the trade, if you will, lost its appeal to me after I slogged through slush a few times--and when I admitted to myself that I was doing it because I couldn't--actually, wouldn't--deal with a few things I wouldn't until much later.  And I wasn't riding much when I wasn't on the job.  

Still, though, the idea of getting paid to ride a bike always appealed to me.  (If I were President, I would...) So imagine my delight upon learning that in a major American city, people will have that privilege--at least for this month.

Bike Streets, a Denver nonprofit, has launched an all-volunteer project focused on getting residents of the Mile High City to change how they travel around their city.  Folks who sign up will have their mileage logged by Strava; depending on how many sign up, riders will earn 15 to 30 cents a mile, for a maximum of $75 a month.

Photo by F Delvanthal

Oh, and riders can pedal wherever they want:  to school, work, the store or a park, along a trail or a street.  Bike Streets founder Avi Stopper hopes that the reward will entice people to "discover riding a bike, not just for fitness, but to get to every destination they need to go in Denver, is really a viable thing and a fun thing to do as well."

That sounds like a fine reward to me--though I wouldn't turn down the money, either.

By the way, in 2018 Bike Streets created the Low-Stress Denver Bike Map, which has been used about 425,000 times. They're accepting donations to help pay for this month's project, as well as ongoing work like the map.    

What Are They Doing?

 

Are they showing the joy of cycling?

Did they synchronize their moves to show how harmonious a couple they are?

Or are they riding fixed-gear bikes and have suddenly realized that they don't know how to stop without brakes?

How would you explain this image?

She's Rolling, But Not A Stone

 Recently, Rolling Stone revised its 500 Best Songs of All Time list for the first time in 17 years.  For the first time, the Bob Dylan song from which the magazine took its name is not at the top of the list. (It's now #4.) I'm glad that some of the new songs make the list more diverse, in terms of identity as well as musical style.  Still, I think such lists are pointless exercises, at best, and at worst arrogant, as they reflect nothing more than the worldview of the lists' compilers.

What if cyclists had a "500 Best Songs" or "Greatest Musicians" list?  Would they include "Freewheeling" by Ali Spagnola?

Connecting, By Bicycle

This post is about Andre Breton.  

No, I'm not referring to the author of Manifeste du surrealisme.  But the man I'm about to mention is something of a philosopher. 

On 6 September, the 50-year-old began a "prologue," if you will:  a ride from Fort Collins, Colorado to Bradford, Kansas.  From Bradford, he undertook his "real" journey, which he dubbed "Connecting My Grandfathers."

His maternal grandfather was born in Bradford.  According to his website, he expects to arrive in Waterville, Maine--the birthplace of his paternal grandfather--some time later this month.  Along the way, he saw, and anticipates seeing beautiful landscapes, and visits with friends and family members.

The 50-year-old Breton is a relative newcomer to cycling.  He bought a bike on impulse in 2010, on Saint Patrick's Day.  He said he was "guilted" into the purchase because he was living in Fort Collins, Colorado, where he was working on his third post-doctoral fellowship as a wildlife biologist.  "That community rides bicycle far more than any community I've encountered in the United States," he explains. 

Buying that bicycle might've been one of the best bits of timing in his life:  He had just broken up with a paramour and felt ready to do the same with the academic world.  Riding again for the first time since he was a teenager sparked "a massive fire" in him that led to racing.    "This is my ninth season, the last two years as a pro," he says.  "I got my butt kicked, but when else am I going to do it?"  

He's also taken some long tours, in North America and Europe.  All of those hours in the saddle, he said, helped him out of a depression.  "There are lessons you can gain on a bicycle in a short time that can teach you about your whole life," he explains.

His current ride is to connect his grandfathers.  The real connection, I believe, is the one he made with himself.  In a way, that's not so different from what the French writer did when he used his dreams to tap into his creative subconsciousness.

Andre Breton. Photo by Della Taylor, for the Potter Leader-Enterprise.

I Admire His Ingenuity, But There Are Better Uses For Bikes

In earlier posts, I've written about homeless people I often encounter on rides, especially during my commutes to and from work.  I've seen them in the places one expects to find them:  in doorways and vestibules,  under train trestles and under overpasses of one kind or another, inside any kind of structure abandoned temporarily or for years or decades. I saw one man sleeping on the ramp, partially enclosed, that gave cyclists and pedestrians access between the Bronx and Randall's Island before the connector opened.  Some unhoused people even sleep, or at least recline, on sidewalks that see little or no foot traffic after business hours, covering themselves with blankets, rags, cardboard boxes or almost anything else that provides a layer, however thin, between them and the night.  When that doesn't prove to be enough--or sometimes when it does--they curl up into a fetal position as if they were trying to re-create their mothers' wombs, their first (and perhaps only real) home.

And some have bicycles.  I would guess they were "rescued" from dumpsters, trash left for curbside pickup or other places and repairs, just enough to keep the bike operable, salvaged from those same sources.  Some folks use their bikes as their "shelter", or at least part of it.

Apparently, one unhoused man in Los Angeles' Koreatown took the idea of using a bicycle as "shelter" further than anyone I've witnessed or heard about.  He built a wall of bicycles between himself and the traffic of 4th Street.

Of course, not everyone appreciates the man's creative ingenuity.  He is just one of many people living in a sidewalk homeless encampment on 4th.  Since not many businesses or residents would allow such people to use their toilets or showers, sanitation is a problem.  So is access to the local businesses, including a dental office.  "I have a few who have left our practice," complains Dr. Charisma Lasan, whose office is across the street from the encampment.  "They actually came and turned around and just went home" upon seeing the encampment, she explained.

While I can understand her and other business owners'--and residents'--concerns, I also know that simply chasing or detaining them won't solve the problem.  If any of the encampments' residents are like the man who built the bicycle walls, they have talents and skills--some of which may have been developed or honed on the street--that can help them to do more than merely survive.  Of course, that would mean ensuring they receive whatever they need, whether education, mental health services, medical care or other thing--including, of course, a place to live.

Oh, and as much as I appreciate the man's inventiveness, I would rather see the bikes used for transportation or recreation.  I don't think they were ever intended as shelter!