Our Flag--Or Their Banner?

On Sunday, the day before "the 4th" (American Independence Day), I rode La-Vande, my Mercian King of Mercia, to Point Lookout.  I have taken that ride many times, on every one of my current bikes and several I've owned previously.  Although the weather was just a bit warmer than I like, the skies were clear and bright and the temperature dropped as I approached the water.  Best of all, I was pedaling into the wind, blowing from the ocean and bay, most of my way out. That meant, of course, that I rode with the wind at my back for most of the way back.

Still, I couldn't help but to notice something that distrubed me.  Perhaps the holiday, and its associations sensitized me to it.  A ride I took the other day--the day after the Fourth--confirmed my observation.

Holidays like the Fourth, Memorial and Veterans' Day and, of course, Flag Day, bring a lot of Stars and Stripes out of closets, attics, trunks and storage lockers.  People hang flags in their windows and on their doors and fly them from awnings and poles.  I couldn't help but to feel, however, that the way those flags were displayed was more ostentatious and aggressive than usual.  

My Point Lookout ride takes me through strongholds of Trump-mania:  Broad Channel, a Jamaica Bay island between Rockaways to the "mainland" of Queens, and the Long Island South Shore communities of Long Beach, Lido Beach and Point Lookout itself.  Just past the Long Beach boardwalk, one house flew a flag so wide that it unfurled over the sidewalk in front of it:  Anyone walking by could have been brushed by it which, to some, would have been offense--by the person brushed, mind you--against the flag and therefore the nation. I noticed many other flag displays that were disruptive or simply more in-your-face than ones I saw in years past.

But the incident that showed me that the flag has gone from being an expression of patriotism or simply gratitude to one of agression and hostility, or even a threat, came the other day, as I approached an intersection in Eastchester, a Westchester county town on Negrosa, my vintage Mercian Olympic. Something that looked like a bloated pickup truck--it was nearly as wide as the two eastbound road lanes--pulled up behind me, veering into the shoulder where I was riding.  From poles driven like stakes into each corner of the rear flatbed, American flags fluttered.  Another banner, about the size of those four flags combined, visually blared, as loudly and ominously as the revved-up engine (which seemed to lack a muffler), its message:  Let's Go Brandon.  That, of course is a code for what the driver bellowed at me:  "Fuck Joe Biden."

I pretended to ignore him.  I guess I'm not a very good actor:  I noticed him, the truck, the flags--it was impossible not to.  Eyeing my bike, he growled, "If you hate this country, leave it." 

"I am here because you have the right to say that.  And I have the right to disagree with you.  Members of my family fought for both."

He eyed my bike some more.  "At least it's a 'Merican' bike.  To be fair, he's not the first person to read "Mercian" as "American" or "Murrikan."

"Have a good day, sir."

With a perpexled look, he motored away.  I hadn't felt such relief in a long time.

In 1983, people--including some friends and family members--begged, cajoled and even tried to strong-arm me into not moving back to New York.  In those days, the news, movies, television and other media depicted my city as a lawless hellhole where people were robbed, raped, stabbed or shot.  The implication, of course, was that the victims were like me--a mild-mannered white person (I was still living as male) and the perpetrators were drug-addled black and brown thugs.  

The irony is that some of the people who were sure I'd be dead within a year of moving to New York--and other people who think like them--voted for Donald Trump, a hero to the fellow who was using his truck--and the flag--to intimidate me.

Will It Make Helmet Wearing More Palatable?

In Colson Whitehead's The Nickel Boys, one of the title characters, Turner, is taken in by Mavis and Ishmael, an aunt and uncle after his father abandons the family and his mother's alcoholism renders her incapable of caring for him.  One day, he got between the Mavis and Ishmael when they fought.  Ishmael then took him to an ice cream parlour and told the attendant, "Bring this young man the biggest sundae you got."  To Turner, "every bite felt like a sock in the mouth." Later experiences--including time in "The Nickel Academy," a segregated juvenile "reform school" in Florida--reinforced his belief that "adults are always trying to buy off children to make them forget their bad actions" and leads him to a lifelong hatred of ice cream.

So it will be interesting to see what comes of what a fire department in upstate New York is doing.

Let's face it:  Most people don't like wearing helmets.  I, like other cyclists, wear one because I know the benefits firsthand:  When I crashed two years ago, the doctor told me that it would have been much worse if I hadn't been wearing mine.  In another incident years earlier, I flipped over and landed in a way that broke the helmet in half but left me just barely scratched.

And when a kid wears a helmet, it's almost always because a parent or some other adult made them wear it. 

In Brownville, the firefighters have teamed up with Lickety Split, a local ice cream shop, to promote safety.   As LS owner Eric Symonds explained, when a kids is"caught" by a firefighter or Symonds wearing a helmet, they'll get a certificate for a free kiddie ice cream.

When I read about it, I couldn't help but to think about Turner. After all, the ice cream--which most kids who aren't Turner love--is being offered as a reward for something they wouldn't normally do on their own.  Also, I wondered how they might feel about the promotion, knowing what prompted it:  the death of  a local boy whose bike hit truck towing a trailer.  

That said, I applaud Symond's and the fire department's effort, which will begin today and give out 100 certificates.

COVID Whiplash And Saris

Depending on whom you believe, the COVID pandemic bike boom is a.) still in full swing, b.) at a plateau or c.) on its way down.

On a purely anecdotal basis, I'd choose b.  I think I'm seeing about the same number of cyclists as I saw a year ago, which is more than what I saw in pre-pandemic times.  But there's even more car traffic, with bigger cars.  My guess is that people didn't ride as an alternative to driving.  Rather, they pedaled to work because bus or train service was reduced or curtailed, or they just didn't want to ride buses or trains as the virus overwhelmed the city.  Or they rode recreationally--and some will continue to do so--because it was a way to get outside and engage in a fun and healthy activity that still allowed them to keep the mandated social distance.

On the other hand, there is a part of the bike industry that's been in decline from its pandemic peak: excercise bikes and trainers.  For a time, they were all but impossible to find--and expensive--when gyms were shut down or, in some places, people were locked down.  

Some suppliers suffered the fate of some, mostly smaller, bike shops:  They experienced a surge in business that depleted their inventories.  But, at the same time they ran out of parts and bikes, supply chains were disrupted because of everything from factory shutdowns in China to truck drivers and dock workers who quit their jobs or got too sick to work.

Then there is the case of Saris.  You probably know about them for their indoor trainers and bike racks.  But they also make "bicycle infrastructure products" like parking racks and lane barriers.  The latter part of their business would seem to be holding steady as more cities and towns build lanes and parking systems.  On the other hand, sales of indoor trainers have fallen off a cliff as gyms have reopened and people who were under "hard" lockdowns could ride outdoors again.  

One of Saris' problems, though, is the opposite of the bike shops I mentioned: They had plenty of inventory.  In fact, they had just as many trainers to sell this year as they had last year and the year before.  

They have experienced what company founder Chris Fortune (great name for someone in business) calls "COVID whiplash."  It's affected other companies like Peloton, Wahoo and Zwift, who also make trainers.  They, too, suddenly had excess inventory as people returned to their gyms or to outdoor riding.  

As a result, Saris is reorganizing its debts through the circuit court system in Wisconsin, where the company is based.  It’s been reported that Fortune wants to sell the company but hopes to do it in a way that won’t affect his employees’ jobs.

Wheels--And Shoes--For The Parade

Today, the 4th of July, is Independence Day in the USA.

I've been following the hearings of the committee investigating the Capitol riot of 6 January 2021.  While I admire the courage of some who have testified--like Cassidy Hutchinson and the Georgia poll workers--I still wonder how long this country--or to be more accurate, its people--will be free from those who tried to take it from us.  The really scary thing is that they weren't foreign invaders. 

On a lighter note, lots of things will be festooned with flags, or at least decorated with its colors.  They include, of course, bicycles, some of which will roll amidst parades.

When I saw this, 

                      Image from San Francisco Bike Party

I wondered:  Were the shoes decorated to go with the bike, or vice versa?

Oh, and are those shoes compatible with cleats?

P.S. Today is my birthday. I won't tell you my age. Let's just say that I'm younger than this country.

How Not To Hydrate

I've been following the Select Committee Hearings on the riot of 6 January 2021.  Some who testified--like Cassidy Hutchinson-- gave me hope that some people will do the right thing.  Other testimony--like that of the Georgia election workers who still live in fear because they wouldn't help to overturn the election results-- was as heartbreaking as it was infuriating.  

But no matter how much I hear or read, there are still some things I will never understand.  To wit:  Some people still insist the election was "stolen," despite any lack of corroborating evidence.  And they still take everything the Former President says as gospel, even though he publicly told more than 30,000 documentable lies (about 21 a day) during his time in office. 

I can come up with only one explanation:

The past few days have brought a heat wave to this part of the world.  Somehow, though, I don't think I'd hydrate with the stuff in the image--even if my political persuasions were more in line with the folks who imbibe it.

Gravel Racing Star's Killer Caught In Costa Rica

A few weeks ago, I wrote about the murder of up-and-coming gravel racing star Anna Mariah "Mo" Wilson.  On Wednesday, her suspected killer, Kaitlin Marie Armstrong, was arrested in Costa Rica.

Armstrong had been dating road-turned-gravel racer Colin Strickland for some time.  The  35-year-old Strickland and 34-year-old Armstrong reportedly took a "hiatus" from their relationship for a couple of months.  During that time, Strickland started dating Wilson, a decade his junior.

Anna Moriah "Mo" Wilson

On the 11th of May, Strickland and Wilson went to the Deep Eddy pool and then had dinner at a nearby restaurant.  That night, he dropped off Wilson at a friend's house in Austin, Texas but didn't accompany her inside.  Later that night, she was found unconscious and bleeding from multiple gunshot wounds. 

An anonymous tipster told police that Armstrong, who'd purchsed two 9 millimeter handguns, had talked about killing Wilson.  And, a vehicle that looked like her Jeep Cherokee was seen at the house around the time of the shooting.  Two days later, Armstrong sold her Cherokee at a Car Max location before taking a flight to Houston, then to New York.  She was spotted at Newark-Liberty Airport,  but no outbound flights were booked in her name.  So, her whereabouts remained a mystery until she was tracked in Costa Rica.

I don't mean to make light of a senseless killing.  But I couldn't help but to notice that what might be the first major scandal or tragedy, depending on how you see it, involves an Armstrong--from Texas, no less. 

All He--Or, Rather, The Kids--Need Are The Bikes

June has just ended.  So, for most students, has the school year.

I recall how, in the old days,  some kids tossed notebooks, pencils and rulers into the air as they dashed away from their school building.  Do kids still do that?  Somehow I have a hard time imagine them tossing laptops or tablets--or their phones--into the air.  

One thing that probably hasn't changed is this:  Kids leave school with visions of long days with friends, at the playground or the beach--or riding bikes.  Maybe they'll ride their bikes to those places.

That is, if they have bikes.

David Yandell has long known that many kids don't have bikes because their families can't afford them.  Over the past twenty years, he's distributed about 2000 bikes in Portland.  In the beginning, he did his own fundraising, but some years back a local developer-turned- philanthropist named Homer Williams got wind of what Yandell was doing and became a partner in the program.

But, this year, Yandell and Williams discovered that, as the saying goes, there are some things money can't buy.  In this case, it was the bikes themselves.  Wal-Mart, normally one of their major sources, said it didn't have any bikes available for them.  The reason is one we've heard since the early days of the pandemic: supply chain disruptions.

More than likely, there are now hundreds of similar bike-distribution programs across the US.  While some may have been suspended, but most folks who undertake such work are dedicated.  And, in Yandell's and William's case, savvy:  Few, if any, such programs have operated for longer than theirs.  

So far, they've acquired half of the 200 bikes they'd promised to kids.  They worked their contacts, not only to find other sources, but to put pressure on Wal-Mart to come up with some bikes.

Turns out, their powers of persuasion are working.  A Wal-Mart representative, citing the value of good community relations, said the company wants to help Yandell get what he needs and believes the bikes are available somewhere in the company's network.

Say what you will (and I would say a lot) about the Wal-Mart's policies and practices.  I think they, or, at least, the representative, know that you don't let down folks like David Yandell because he knows  there are some things money can't buy--like the feeling of being a kid (or a grown-up) riding a bike on a summer day.

In Place

Yesterday I was torn between taking a familiar or a new ride.  So I did a bit of both:  I pedaled through areas of Westchester County I hadn’t seen in a while, on roads I’d never ridden.

While riding, I couldn’t help but to think about how two affluent towns, so close, could feel so different. Scarsdale, New York, like Greenwich, Connecticut, is one of the most affluent towns in the United States.  Both have quaint downtowns full of shops that offer goods and services you don’t find in big-box stores.  But while some Greenwich establishments have the intimacy of places where generations of people have congregated, others are like the ones in Scarsdale and other wealthy parts of Westchester County:  more self-conscious—you can see it in the names, some of which show merely that whoever came up with the name took French or Italian—and more trendy while trying not to seem trendy.  

Also, the mansions of Greenwich are set further from the roadway than those in Scarsdale.  I suspect that has to do with the differences between the towns’ zoning codes—which has to do with the philosophies of the people who made them.  Also, part of Greenwich includes farms where horses are bred and herbs are grown.

In other words, they reflect the difference between New England and suburban New York wealth (though Greenwich is certainly part of the New York Metro area). 

While both towns have public art and sculpture, I don’t think I’ve seen anything like this in Greenwich:

Simone Kestelman, the creator of “Pearls of Wisdom,” says she was inspired by what pearls mean: something to wear for special occasions, purity, spiritual transformation, dignity, charity honesty, integrity—and, of course, wisdom acquired over time.

One might expect to see something like this in Greenwich:

Indeed, the town has public horlogues like that one,  But I encountered it in the Bronx, across the street from Montefiore Hospital!

Simple Arithmetic?

 Only a mathematician could ever come up with that!

I've forgotten what the "that" was.  But I remember that an engineer said it.  Now, my knowledge of mathematics can be summed up, generously, by the divisor of an equation that yields a quotient of infinity. But I understood, I think, that engineer's exclamation:  Almost nothing is as abstract--and, therefore, divorced from reality, at least in the minds of many--as mathematics.

If there are things only a mathematician can come up with, then I imagine there are things an engineer would never try or, probably, even think about.  To wit:

To be fair, Sergii Gordieiev's project was inspired by a real-life situation:  He crushed his front wheel on a curb.  That left him, in essence, with half of a wheel.  So that got him to wondering how to ride with half of a wheel.  The solution came from a mathematical equation so simple even I could understand it:  half plus half equals one.  Thus, he realized, he could make a bike run on two half-wheels--on the rear, anyway.

Your local bike mechanic probably can perform all sorts of miracles.  I know:  I've resurrected a bike or two in my time.  (If you're inculcated with the language of Catholicism, it never leaves you!)  But, my old engineer acquaintance said, there are some things only a mathematician could come up with. 

Next On The Journey--Or: Where Is This Going?

After writing yesterday's post, I noticed something interesting, at least to me.  

I began this blog twelve years ago.  You might say that I spun it off from an earlier blog, Transwoman Times.  I started that blog a year before my gender-affirmation surgery and continued it for several years after.  About a year after my surgery, I--and at least one reader--noticed that I was also writing about my rides and bikes, and cycling in general.  I didn't think bikes or cycling were out of place in TT:  After all, they--and the fact that I couldn't ride for a few months after my surgery--were an important part of my gender affirmation process, as they have been in my life. 

After I started this blog, I wrote less about cycling-related stuff on TT.  So, perhaps not surprisingly, I found myself posting less on that site as I had less and less to say about my gender affirmation.  That is to say, rather than a process of affirmation, my gender identity became a fact of my life.

But now I find that I'm writing more about, if not gender-related topics, then political, social and cultural issues, on this blog.  Those subjects are, of course, related to cycling, especially if it's your primary or a major means of transportation.  You know that from my rants about bicycle "infrastructure" planned, designed and built by people who haven't been on a bicycle since the day they got their driver's licenses. 

I also, however, see that gender-related issues are "creeping" into this blog.  In one way it seems ironic, or at least odd:  Am I coming full-circle (or cycle)?, I wonder.  Then again, this shift in focus, if indeed this blog is moving in that direction, is a fulfillment of what I say in my masthead:  I am--as always--a woman on a bicycle--and something else I say in my profile--this is a blog by a transgender woman.

While I haven't posted on Transwoman Times in a while, I have no plans to let this blog lie fallow.  I just hope that the twists and turns of this blog, and my journey, continue to interest you, and others.  But I must warn you:  I won't stop being "political."  I can't.