Great Chain Robbery

 Just after Hurricane Katrina, I talked with Bill Laine, the now-retired owner of New Orleans-based Wallingford Bikes.  

Katrina devastated the city, prompting an unprecedented total evacuation. Some folks defied the order and took advantage of the desolation by looting homes, stores and warehouses.

Bill explained that his business was spared because, he thought, thieves probably were looking for bikes but found saddles (The biggest part of their trade was in Brooks), bags and other parts and accessories.

These days, thieves know better. COVID-19 pandemic-induced shortages have affected bike parts as well as complete bikes.  One result has been a spike in bike thefts as well as burglaries and robberies of bike shops. 

Some seemingly-professional thieves in Germany have moved up the food chain, if you will. As a truck driver took a break at a rest stop, a well-organized gang released sleeping gas into the vehicle’s cab and raided the trailer filled with Shimano parts destined for BFI, the Czech Republic’s largest bike producer.

One particularly disturbing aspect of this crime, as a BFI spokesperson explained, is that it seemed to be intricately pre-planned to the point that “in all likelihood, the truck had been followed from the time it was loaded.” Also alarming is that the thieves knew what they were looking for: They left nine boxes of low-end parts but took the more expensive components.

This story reminds me of something I reported when I was writing for local Queens and Brooklyn newspapers:  Car thieves were turning their attention away from luxury vehicles in affluent neighborhoods to good, solid everyday cars like the Toyota Camry in middle- and working-class neighborhoods.  Those cars were targeted because they proved more lucrative when sold to “chop shops” for parts.

A Guide Against The Wind

Yesterday afternoon I had some time.  There were things that had to be done, but as long as they got done when they needed to be done, it wouldn't matter when I started working on them.  I guess that's a definition of having, if not free, then flexible time.

Since you're reading this blog, you know what I did.  Of course.  This time, though, an hour or two in early-to-mid-afternoon stretched into, well, very late afternoon. That may have had to do with having the wind at my back and mild (at least in comparison to the past week or so) temperatures as I pedaled down through Queens to Rockaway Beach.  

Of course, when I'm riding with the wind, I know that I'll have to pedal against it to get home.  But I was feeling so good that I just wanted to keep on going.  Which I did---to Point Lookout.  

I hadn't planned to go swimming.  Still, it was a bit of a surprise to see the beach closed, even if it was for work to ensure that the beach is still there in the future.  

So I hung out for a bit by the bocce court.  In contrast to the boardwalks of the Rockaways, Atlantic Beach and Long Beach, where I saw more people than I expected, I had the court and playground all to myself.

By the court, there are stones commemorating family messages and with messages of hope.  I couldn't help but to notice the juxtaposition of these stones:

The one on the left reads, "Mangia bene, Ridi spesso, Ama molto"--Eat well, laugh often, love much. Will those things lead to, or result from, the top-notch lawn care in the slate on the right.  

Even though I was pedaling along a route I've ridden many times before, I felt as if I were being guided to, or through, something--the wind that had grown stiffer, perhaps--along the Rockaway Boardwalk.

As I photographed sun rays coruscating through clouds, I chanted some lines from the Sardinian writer Salvatore Quasimodo:  

M'illumno 

d'immenso.

Maybe that should be engraved in one of those stones by the bocce court on Point Lookout.

Ride Noir?

I ride in the rain, sometimes.  The cold, too.  But rain and cold together is a no-go for me, unless a ride starts off without one or both but they converge somewhere along the way.

Most of yesterday moved through cycles of rain and freezing rain.  I had a class and other commitments, so I didn’t mind.  Fortunately, the rain stopped near the end of the day and the temperature seemed to rise a bit. So I decided to take a short ride.

Mist rising from the river to the bridge made Astoria Park feel a bit like the setting for a noir film.  So I wasn’t surprised to see a film or television crew. (I didn’t ask; they looked focused on task.) 

I’m curious to see how they use those vistas—and whether they took a shot of a latter-day Weegee on a Mercian fixie!

Winter Vista On A Sunday Afternoon Ride

Yesterday the temperature rose into the balmy (at least for those of you in places like North Dakota) 20's, or around -5C.  So I went for an afternoon ride which, among other things, zigzagged the border between Brooklyn and Queens.

The border between the US and Canada has a Peace Garden.  Probably the closest thing our interborough boundary has is Highland Park, with the Ridgewood Reservoir as its centerpiece.

Somehow it feels even more like a reflection of deep winter than all of the displays or any day-after-snowstorm vista in this city.

I usually see at least a couple of cyclists there. Yesterday I was riding solo, though I saw a fair number of people walking their dogs, or with each other. Some looked happy to be there, but others eyed me, and other strollers, with suspicion, as if we'd intruded on their own private Idaho, if you will.

I can't say I blame them.  I know I've referred to Highland Park as our local Montmartre for its location on the highest point in the area and the views it offers.  Of course, it doesn't have the onion-domed cathedral (my favorite building in Paris) and I reckon that fewer people visit the park in a year than visit one of the most iconic places in the City of Light in a year.

It's kind of ironic that in writing about it on this blog, I'm more likely to tip off someone in Belleville or Berlin than the folks in Bensonhurst or Belle Harbor about a place where I go for a quick ride and the cheapest form of therapy (along with  a cuddle from Marlee) I know about.

  

WWMS: What Would Marshall Say?

 Marshall McLuhan famously said, “The medium is the message.” 

What would he have thought of this?:

I encountered it while riding down Driggs Avenue, one of the north-south thoroughfares of northern Brooklyn. The corner gifted with that message is South 2nd Street, just a couple of blocks from the bridge named for the neighborhood.

Given that Williamsburg, Brooklyn (at least the part north of the bridge) is the world’s capital of trust fund kids posing as hipsters, I have to wonder whether it’s one of their lame attempts at being “ironic.”

C-L: A Classic

 A few years ago, Andy Richman resurrected a classic name in British cycling:  Chater-Lea.  It had shuttered its factory and offices three decades earlier.  

From 1890 until its demise, the company made components and frame fittings that were, arguably, of superior quality to anything else made.  Indeed, when Richman persuaded the owner of Condor cycles to sell him a 1948 Condor frame, the owner remarked, "You do know there's only one set of components worthy of going on this bike? Chater-Lea."

That meant, among other things, that their stuff wasn't cheap. Lower-priced imports, along with the rise of the motorcar, helped to fuel the company's decline.  Also, as well-made as their products were, late in their history, they didn't keep up with changes in the cycling world.  For example, they never produced a cotterless chainset (what the Brits call a "crankset") or bottom bracket and clipless pedals would displace high-end traditional cage or platform pedals on the kinds of bikes that would have been adorned with Chater-Lea stuff.

But Ron Kitching, whose catalogues were eagerly awaited by cycling enthusiasts for decades, blamed the company's demise on another factor: By the 1960's Raleigh had achieved a near-monopoly on the British cycle industry, which allowed it to force down suppliers' prices and put many out of business.

I am glad Richman decided to resurrect a part of cycling history, albeit with somewhat updated designs and superior materials.  In keeping with one of the company's traditions, the new Chater-Lea parts have their own distinctive looks, just as the old stuff did.

Notice the "CL" embedded within the pattern.  It's kind of funny that people pay insane amounts of money to wear a designer's initials (or waste their money on knock-offs that begin to fall apart the moment they've paid for it).  But somehow I wouldn't mind bearing the monogram of Chater-Lea if I were riding a bike with its equipment.  

Will Bicycles To Bring Them Back To Buffalo?

For at least a couple of decades, young people, particularly the educated ones, have gravitated toward cities like San Francisco, New York, Boston and Washington, DC.  All of them--with the possible exception of Washington, government basically is the economy--are what might be called "post-industrial" cities, where the chips and digits have largely replaced furnaces and smokestacks.

Buffalo, in media depictions and the public imagination, is anything but such a city.  It might one of the "poster children," along with Detroit and smaller cities like Youngstown, Ohio and Gary, Indiana, for what is commonly known as a "Rust Belt" community.  Because they have--or are perceived to offer--few opportunities, the educated and ambitious young rarely move to them, in spite of other attractions and resources some offer, not the least of which is housing (and an overall cost of living) that are a fraction of that in the coastal metropoli.

That incentive could become more powerful if the trend toward working at home continues.  But most such cities and towns will need to offer even more, such as cultural events and lifestyle amenities.  In the latter category is something I'll mention in a minute and relates to one of the disincentives to move to some place like Rochester, New York.

The home of Kodak was the smallest city in America with a subway line until 1956, when the downtown track beds were used to construct sections of two Interstate highways.  Other "rust belt" cities suffered similar fates when the Interstate system was built and automobile companies bought subway and trolley systems to destroy them and eliminate competition. (Buses, or at least the parts for them, were made by the auto companies.)

Buffalo had a similar story.  Ironically, it has a subway system "from nowhere to nowhere" that was built during the 1980s.  But, in a similar way to Rochester and other cities, it had a system of streetcar (tram) lines that connected different parts of the city and the city itself to some surrounding communities from the 1830s until 1950.  

I mention this history because it points to a disadvantage many of many "Rust Belt" cities:  the lack of a transportation system, whether because, like Rochester and Buffalo, it was disbanded or because the city never had one in the first place.

So, some folks in Buffalo--specifically, the Buffalo News editorial board--understand that making their city more bicycle-friendly might help to lure some young residents.  They seem to understand that many of us (OK, I'm not as young as the folks they probably have in mind!) bike to work, school or shop simply because it's often the most convenient or even fastest, not to mention the least expensive (aside from walking) way to go.  

Go Bike Buffalo members painting arrows for the area's first protected bike lane--which lasted only a year due to protests from motorists.  Photo by John Hickey for the Buffalo News.

Perhaps even more to the point, they understand that there's more to  making their city more amenable to young cyclists than building bike lanes. They also mention that such efforts must include "re-educating resistant drivers and residents who think the roads are theirs, alone" (That's the first time I've seen a comma used in such a contenxt in a long time!) or people who "don't see the advantages of creating spaces that might attract new, younger residents."

The folks at the Buffalo News sum up their case thusly:  "Making the roads safer for cyclists makes it safe for everyone, improves the quality of life and atracts young people to the area."

They won't get any argument from me.  I just hope Buffalo doesn't become Williamsburg-on-the-Niagara, complete with $15 slices of avocado toast and $25 craft beers.

 

Here's What You Need To Climb The Next Hill

Racers and cycling's trendistas (who generally spend more than they ride) have long been obsessed with having the lightest bikes and equipment possible because they've bought into the notion that lighter=faster.  Now, it's true that a lighter bike is easier to accelerate, all other things being equal.  However, once a bike reaches a given speed, a heavier bike will maintain its speed with less input from the rider: This phenomenon is known as momentum.  But it will also decelerate at a faster rate because of headwinds or other factors.

Anyway, during the 1970s and early 1980s, the obsession with weight led to a fad called "drillium."  It's what it sounds like:  holes were drilled (or slots were cut) into parts to reduce weight.  In most cases, the mass saved--a couple of grams, usually--wouldn't make any difference for any rider save perhaps a time trialist.  

Interestingly, track riders--whom one would expect to be most obsessed with weight-- don't seem to have embraced the "holey" look as much as other riders.  did. If I'm not mistaken, NJS, the governing body for Japan's Keirin racing system, prohibits the practice. And when some companies offered pre-drilled or -slotted parts--like Campagnolo's brake levers--they were actually heavier, if ever so slightly, than their smooth-surfaced counterparts.  The reason, I was told by a company rep, is that the Campy used slightly thicker material to compensate for what they believed was a loss of strength that resulted from drilling or slotting.

That leads me to another point about "drillium:" the parts that were drilled or slotted were usually among the lightest to begin with.  As an example, I've seen Huret Jubilee derailleurs--to this day, the lightest made--with pinpoint apertures in it pulley cages. And the poked and gouged parts were almost always intended for racing.

So, I was surprised (even if I shouldn't have been) to come across this:

Now, the SunTour Vx-GT wasn't porky:  Even by today's standards, it's more than reasonably light for a rear derailleur that can handle a 34 tooth rear cog. (And, it shifted better than almost any other wide-range derailleur made before indexed shifting became the standard.) But that capacity is the main reason why racers and others who rode with narrow-range gearing didn't use it:  If they rode a derailleur from the Vx series, they used the shorter-caged version.

So...I guess someone thought he or she simply had to save weight on the rear derailleur to make up for something he or she carried in a pannier or handlebar bag.  It reminds me of someone I knew who made floats with Haagen-Dazs ice cream--and Diet Coke:  the lack of calories in the latter, she said, balanced out the abundance of same in the former.

What You See Depends On Your Vantage Point

 Philosophical question of the day:  Is a groundhog more likely to see his* shadow as an active cyclist

or as a passenger?

I ask because today the critters didn't get their stories straight:  Punxsawtney Phil, the most famous groundhog, saw his shadow, but our local forecaster, Staten Island Chuck, saw his.  According to Phil, there are still six more weeks of Winter, but Chuck says Spring is arriving early.

Which one glimpsed from the saddle, and which one got his view from a basket?

*--It seems that all of the groundhogs consulted for the seasonal forecast are male.  Does that mean that only they have the power to predict?  Or could it be that it's a big deal when they rise from hibernation because the females have been awake all along?

Helping Healers Stay Healthy

I have passed the Memorial Sloan-Kettering Cancer Center many times, by bike and on foot.  Every time, I noticed two things:  few, if any, bikes parked in its vicinity--and how many people in lab coats or scrubs were smoking just outside its doors.

And I've been accused of "ignoring the risks" for cycling in Manhattan, and other parts of New York City. 

(For the record, I've never smoked, wear a helmet, am fully vaccinated and wear a mask when I'm within a couple of meters of any other person.)

Anyway, I have noticed more health-care workers of all kinds riding bicycles.  As a matter of fact, in the pandemic's early days, I gave the old Cannondale M300 mountain bike I fixed up to someone who works in Mount Sinai-Queens, a block and a half up the Crescent Street bike lane from my apartment. His is not the only bike I see parked in the racks outside the facilities.  

I mention all of this because I wonder whether what I'm experiencing and observing is indicative of wider trends, as they say in academic and marketing (!) circles. The question particularly interests me in light of a story that came my way:  the Mayo Clinic, in Rochester, Minnesota, has been named a Bronze-Level Bicycle Friendly Business by the League of American Bicyclists.  In conferring this designation, the LAB cited "improved bike racks, secure parking rooms and tips for employees to ensure a safe and secure ride to and from work" as bases for so categorizing the Mayo. 

We've all heard the admonition, "Healer, heal thyself" (Cura te ipsum.)  It looks like the Mayo is taking steps to encourage its employees to follow that nugget of wisdom.  I hope other health-care facilities are doing the same--which, I admit, can be a difficult thing to do when perhaps no other profession has so many stressed-out people, especially in a time like this.