If Your Bike Is Stolen, It Might End Up In A Place Like This

During the early '80s, around the time I first moved back to New York, there was a bike shop that sold used bikes and parts, as well as some new accessories.  There were rumors about, shall we say, the provenance of some of the shop's merchandise.

The shop changed locations--though it remained in the same neighborhood--before closing down some years back.  I have to admit that I never patronized the shop myself because two people I knew at the time told me they spotted their bikes, which had recently been stolen, in the shop and an employee or the owner, I forgot whom, assaulted one of them when he pointed out his purloined bike. 

While most shops are owned and operated by honest people, whether they are cycling enthusiasts or families, there have always been the "bad apples" who deal in bike booty.  They flourish under, basically, the same conditions that support black and gray markets:  demand, scarcity, high prices and people who are desperate or dishonest.  The shop I mentioned just happened to be in a gentrifying  neighborhood full of young people--the sort of neighborhood where thieves look for bikes--abutting an area known for drug dealing and other crime.  It was on a border, if you will.

What got me to thinking about that shop, and that part of my life, was a news item about a bike theft ring that's been exposed via the Bike Index registry. In addition to keeping information about bikes, stolen or not, and about theft rings and markets for stolen bikes. It also synthesizes data that connects stolen bikes that fall into patterns.

One of those patterns linked a number of bikes stolen in Colorado with a shop in Ciudad Juarez,  a Mexican city just across the Rio Grande from El Paso, Texas.  I have never been to either city, but CJ has a reputation for poverty and lawlessness, much like the drug-ridden area I mentioned earlier.  From what I've heard and read about it, some people, especially teenaged boys and young men, get involved the trade of stolen or counterfeit goods because they have few, if any, other options.  And people routinely cross over from EP to take advantage of lower prices.

Now, to be fair, the Ciudad Juarez "discount," if you will, has mainly to do with the difference between the nations' currencies and the generally lower cost of living on the Mexican side.  But some merchandise is cheaper than it is across the border because of, well, the way it came across the border.

And so it was with Alexander's Bikes.  They posted bike after bike for sale on a local Facebook page that could be viewed only in Mexico or with a Mexican VPN.  Bike Index used photos and other data from those listings along with reports on Colorado cycling Facebook groups and other BI data to link 10 bikes out of a batch of 43 it examined to their owners.  All of those bikes were, not surprisingly, high-end machines.

In one way, you have to hand it to whoever "masterminded" the scheme:  It's unlikely, to say the least, that someone looking to buy a bike in Ciudad Juarez would've been keeping tabs on bikes stolen in Colorado--or that someone whose bike was stolen in Colorado would stumble upon a geo-restricted Facebook page.

It seems that Alexander's is now closed for good, probably because of the Colorado Attorney General's  investigation or simply the publicity the case garnered.  Alexander Espinosa Perez, who ran the shop, has denied any involvement in bike trafficking and the sale of stolen goods.  He's agreed to work with Mexican and US authorities, but he immediately deleted the shop's Facebook and TikTok pages and wiped its Instagram page clean of its content. 

It's not clear as to whether he'll be allowed to sell bikes again.  Now I'm wondering what became of the owner(s) and employees of the shop I mentioned at the beginning of this post.  

Would Tires Make A Difference?

In the early hours of this morning, we had our first significant snowfall of the season.  Here in NYC, we've had a couple of bouts of flurries.  But this storm resulted in five to eight inches of accumulated white stuff.

Not surprisingly, few people are cycling.  Seeing the Citibike port got me to wondering whether more people would ride on a day like this if Citibikes had snow tires.  Are the share bikes in cities that get more snow--say, Montreal--so equipped?

Then again, I wonder whether Citibikes would get more use on a day like this if their tires had studs.  I don't know whether anyone has studied the matter, but from my observations, I would guess that Citibikes are ridden mainly on bike lanes or streets that are plowed early.  And many are ridden by tourists who, unless they're really dedicated riders or come from colder climates, aren't going to ride on a day like today. 

A Year After The Capitol Insurrection: Why It Matters

As I begin this post, Vice-President Kamala Harris is introducing President Joe Biden, who is about to talk about what happened a year ago today.

Now I am listening to the President recounting the events of that day. He's referred to the statue of Kleio, the muse of history with the book in which she records everything.  I've read enough books and documents to know that no matter how impartial or unbiased an account, no matter how unambiguous the language--verbal, visual, audio or otherwise--used to record it, no matter how free of irony or metaphor the record is, people will read into it whatever will confirm their worldview.  Still, I have to wonder how some people come to their conclusions.  To wit:  Folks who have looked at the same images, watched the same videos and read the same news articles claim, without a touch of sarcasm, that the insurrection (yes, the President called it that) was a "peaceful" demonstration and that the insurrectionists were trying to "take back our country."

Although this post doesn't directly relate to cycling, I don't think I'm invoking the Howard Cosell rule in talking about the sacking of the US Capitol.  The mobs that defecated and urinated on the floor and assaulted guards and police officers consisted of the same sorts of people who have been driving their cars and pickup trucks into bike lanes, groups of cyclists and the starting lines of cycling events.  They see us, whether because we are cyclists, or look, vote, love, work, worship (or not) differently from themselves, as threats to their vision of their country, their way of life and, most importantly, themselves.  

   

They're "Considering" Us

Exactly one month before I was born (OK, you can do the math!), Charles de Gaulle proclaimed, "Je vous ai compris!" to a crowd in Algiers.

What, exactly, he understood--or whom he was trying to reassure that he understood--is not clear.  Was he trying to reassure les pieds noirs--French colonials who lived (and some of whom were born) in Algeria that they could stay?  Was he telling military personnel--French? Algerian?  French Foreign Legion?--that he had their backs? Or was he guaranteeing  Algerians that their country would become independent (as it did four years later)?  

Some would say that he meant all, or none, of those things--that, perhaps, "je vous ai compris" was a "weasel" phrase.

If the latter is true, then the phrase could also be interpreted, if not translated, as "I have taken it under consideration" or "I have considered what you've said."

I have spent enough time around academic administrators to know that, for them and other bureaucrats, "consider" is too often a synonym for "ignore" or "pretend to hear." 

What brought those locutions to mind is the recent law requiring New York's Metropolitan Transportation Authority--which includes New York City's subway and bus systems, the region's commuter railroads and some of its bridges and tunnels--to "consider" bicycle and pedestrian access in its capital plans. Those plans would include not only new infrastructure, but also improvements to existing structures that currently lack such access.  

Call me cynical (Hey, I'm a New Yorker!), but I have to wonder just what "consider" means.  Or, for that matter, "access."  Some of the "access" I've seen to bridges is "access" in the same way that the stuff McDonald's and Burger King serve is "food."  

And, if the MTA actually does "consider" bike and pedestrian access, I have to wonder if it will be as poorly-conceived, -constructed and -maintained as most of the bike lanes I've seen in this city.

 

Pushed Boy Off Bike, Brags About It On Facebook

Though I respond promptly to friends’ Facebook posts, I rarely post anything myself.  I keep my page mainly to stay in touch with those people.  

A recent incident illustrated a reason why I don’t spend more time on the platform:  it gives a microphone to people who are clearly unhinged.

“It’s illegal for anyone over the age of 10 to ride a bike on a public footpath, so if your son comes home and tells you a crazy woman knocked him off his bike, it was me, he was riding full pelt at me outside Duke’s, refused to give way so I stood my ground and pushed him to the floor, teach him some manners, next time he won’t be so lucky.”

First of all, Helen Henry-Bond needs to learn about sentence structure.  Furthermore, the account she wrote “to big herself up”—and her claim that 15-year-old had “come flying around the corner” and “slammed on” his brakes was contradicted by witnesses who were customers at the Merseyside, UK bar.  One of them, Robert Hamlin, said the boy’s feet were on the ground and he was scooting along at a walking pace.

(Thankfully, the boy wasn’t seriously hurt.)

Those testimonies, and Henry-Bond’s history of mental illness, led the Sefton Magistrate’s Court to convict her of common assault. She was ordered to pay £814 , which includes a fine, court costs and a victim’s surcharge and £100 in compensation to the boy.  I hope that the Magistrate, if he or she has the power, ensures that Helen Henry-Bond gets the mental health care she needs—and someone to work with her on her comma splices.

First Ride Of The Year

The threat of rain loomed all day.  It fell, lightly, exactly in the middle of my ride, when I stopped to eat.  And it very kindly stopped just as I resumed my ride.

So went my first ride of the new year:  140 kilometers round trip to Greenwich, Connecticut and back.  The day was warm for this time of year:  temperatures hovered between 10 and 15 C (50 to 60 F), which I like at any time of year.  The air felt fresher than usual:  Perhaps the New Year's Day rain washed away some of the pollution.  It may also have had to do with the near-absence of traffic through most of my ride.  

On my way back, I stopped for the traffic light at Fenimore Steet in Mamaroneck, just across from the harbor.  When the light turned green, I proceeded and, on the other side of the intersection, noticed this:

I've noticed the De Lancey name (sometimes spelled as one word, as in the name of a Manhattan street) in the area.  Apparently, the French Huguenot family emigrated to the then-British colony of New York after the Edict of Fontainebleau, an order that revoked the Edict of Nantes, which gave the Protestant Huguenots most of the same rights French Catholic citizens enjoyed.

Given that, it's not surprising that the De Lanceys amassed such wealth and married other prominent families (whose names are sprinkled all over New York) after arriving.  One of the reasons, I believe, Louis XIV and much of the French establishment wanted to suppress Huguenots--who were Calvinists, like the Puritans--is that, because they emphasized education and didn't celebrate most of the Catholic feast days (meaning they worked more), they became, essentially, the merchant and technocrat classes of France in a similar way to  Jews in some European communities before the Inquisition.

The De Lanceys might well have remained one of the prominent families of New York, and America, had their allegiances been different.  In the Revolution, they were Loyalists.  In fact, James De Lancey--to whom the house belonged--formed, along with his uncle, a brigade that was known for its brutality against American revolutionaries. Once the latter won, the family had to give up their properties and fled to Nova Scotia and England.

Unless you are a member of an historical society in New York state or a graduate student in early American history, you probably hadn't heard of the De Lanceys before today.  But you have almost surely heard of the other name on the plaque:  James Fenimore Cooper, one of this country's first popular authors.  (During Edgar Allan Poe's lifetime, his poetry and fiction were more popular in Europe, especially France, than they were in the United States.)

I wonder how  De Lancey or Cooper would feel about the restaurant that's in the house.  I think Poe would have appreciated the view some of its patrons would have had yesterday:

 

 

Try To Return This

 You open a holiday gift in front of the person who gave it to you.  

You feign a smile while suppressing the urge to blurt out, “What the…?”

The person who gave you the gift bursts out laughing.

You were pranked!  Perhaps the person gave you this:

Happy (I Hope) New Year

 

From the San Diego Bicycle Club website.

Happy New Year!

In looking for some images appropriate for today, I saw many for the beginning of 2020.  They seem like artifacts from another era. People seemed to have high hopes for the year. (I did, too, if they were tempered by my mother’s passing three months earlier.) I think it had to do, not only with the conditions of the time, but that 2020 just sounded so good:  2020, perfect vision, clear skies ahead.

We all know what happened next.

Now, after two years of COVID-19, the mood is more somber. Most people I know don’t seem to have the hope or optimism they (most of them, anyway) had 731 days ago. Many public events, including the celebration at Times Square, were scaled back or cancelled altogether. But even in my neighborhood and, I suspect, others, there wasn’t as much revelry as one normally witnesses as we usher one year out and another in.

I’m not particularly a U2 fan, but their New Year’s Day song, especially its last couple of stanzas, seems apt today:

And This is How 2021 Ends (Apologies to T.S. Eliot)

So how will you remember this year?  

Whatever the state of the  COVID pandemic, or anything else in the world, I can say that 2021 was better than 2020 in at least a few ways, however small.

For one thing, I didn't have two accidents (here and here) that landed me in an emergency room (one of them to a trauma center), as I did last year.  I guess one of my blessings, if you will, is that they were the only two such accidents in my nearly half-century of dedicated cycling.

For another, I've met a couple of new potential riding partners.  As much as I like to ride alone, I sometimes want someone to share the experience.  And one of those new fellow riders is two years older than I am and took her first rides in four decades--with me.  Lilian is good company and the educator in me finds fulfillment in helping her re-enter the world of two wheels and two pedals.

And last year's first crash, which wrecked Arielle, my Mercian Audax, yielded enough insurance money for me to buy another Mercian frame--La Vande, a custome Mercian King of Mercia constructed from Reynolds 853 tubing and equipped mainly with parts I had in my apartment.  She's a nice complement to Dee-Lilah, my custom Mercian Vincitore Special.

I still wish I could have taken a trip somewhere more than a state or two away. Well, I could have, but even though I am fully-vaccinated, I have been reluctant to get on a bus, train or plane.  That hesitancy has also kept me from doing a few rides that I've done a couple of times in each of the past few years because they involve a ferry ride to connect parts of the trip or a train ride to get me home.  So, I've been doing many of the same rides again and again.  Perhaps, in the coming year, I'll seek out some new routes.

Oh, and Marlee has been at the beginning and end of my rides.  She joins me in ushering out this year, and wishing you good tidings in the new year.

Late Afternoon, Early Winter, End Of Year

Late afternoon.  Early winter. End of the year.

That was today’s ride, down the Brooklyn and Queens waterfront and back.

I lingered a bit at the Long Island City promenades op and piers. I started riding there long before it sprouted glass towers, trendy cafes and young people who might be a little too self-consciously hip for their own good.  

Back then, it was an industrial area where each block, it seemed, showed a different stage of post-industrial decay.  But it felt comfortable, to me anyway, like a sweater that might look a bit tattered but feels right.  One thing that hasn’t changed is that it offers some nice harbor vistas and the best views of my two favorite Manhattan skyscrapers—the Empire State and Chrysler Buildings. I wonder, though, whether we’ll be able to enjoy those  views for much longer:  It seems that developers are building more and more, as tall and as close as possible to those edifices, as possible.

I mean, if they continue to hem it in, nobody will be able to see this, from Long Island City or anywhere else.

 

Still, the ride was a nice ending to a day and a year, at the beginning of winter.