Like A Champion

 (Snark alert)

Why is road bike racing not more popular?

I don't blame Lance Armstrong being stripped of his titles or the sport's other doping scandals. I blame Miguel Indurain.

As much as I respect him as a cyclist, he had to be one of the least charismatic athletic champions of my lifetime.  When he won a stage or a race, it was just another good day at the office, and he went home to rest up--so he could win again.  He didn't celebrate, boast or even "talk up" his achievements.  In other words, he was the antithesis of, say, Muhammad Ali or Reggie Jackson or Brandi Chastain.

When he was on the podium, Miguel Indurain--who turned 58 yesterday-- should have been more like this guy:

If You Live In Chicago And Need A Bike...

If you've been reading this blog for a while, you know that I like to give "shout-outs" to individuals and organizations who provide bikes, helmets and related items to people in need.

Now a city--Chicago--is undertaking such an initiative.

A new program called Bike Chicago will distribute 500 new bikes and provide "maintainece and safety equipment" this summer.  The program, under the auspices of the Chicago Department of Transportation, plans to provide 5000 bicycles, along with maintainence and safety equipment, by 2026.

The program is part of Mayor Lori Lightfoot's "Chicago Recovery Program" which aims "to increase affordable and climate-friendly mobility options."  In a statement, Mayor Lightfoot said, "Every resident of our city deserves equitable access to safe, reliable and affordable clean transportation options."

To apply for a bicycle and related accessories and service, a peron must:

• be a Chicago resident and at least 14 years old
• have a household income 100% or less of the Median Area Income for Chicago (e.g., $104,000 for a family of four)
• not already own a bicycle, and
• live in an area that faces high mobility hardship.

Those under 18 must have a parent or guardian present when picking up a bike and equipment.

My Tour Continues

 Yesterday I wrote about the penultimate multiday tour I've taken.  It was the ride that, more than any other, changed my life. 

Near the end of that tour, I climbed le Col du Galibier (a couple of days after pedaling up l'Alpe d'Huez) and descended into the valley, where I checked into a small hotel in St. Jean de Maurienne.  The town is next to the Italian border and, though you may not have heard of it, you surely have seen the thing for which the town is best known:  Opinel knives.  (Yes, they are still made there and in nearby Chambery, a small city that just oozes with Savoyard charm.) After checking into the hotel, I walked into the town square in search of something to eat.  That is when I saw a woman, who was not distinctive in any way, crossing a street.  She was probably on her way home from work.  For whatever reasons, I saw in the way she occupied space and time, the way I was meant to live. 

After writing the post, I couldn't stop thinking about that day, and more to the point, what has changed since then, for me and the world.

For one thing, when I returned, my then-partner surprised me by meeting me at JFK Airport.  As tears trickled down my cheeks, she embraced me.  I held her--actually, I held on:  To this day, I see that hug as the single most desperate act of my life.  I knew that my life would not continue, at least not for very long, as it had.

Even if I hadn't seen that woman in St. Jean de Maurienne, I would have, eventually, undergone the process of affirming my gender identity.  But, I believe, some things--including the September 11 attacks a few weeks later--accelerated the timeline.  I was home that but my partner was in her office near Rockefeller Center.  Subway and bus service was suspended, so she and thousands of other people had to leave Manhattan on foot.  I met her on the Brooklyn side of the Manhattan Bridge.  All I could think about was how easily she--and any one of the people crossing that bridge--and I--could have been incinerated or crushed in those towers.

Undergoing my affirmation process, which began, gradually, with visits to counselors and therapists a few months later, changed my cycling.  Aging would have done it, but taking hormones probably sped up the process.  I still like to ride aggressively and show off, sometimes, but I now realize that I now ride more for my mental health than to show off any kind of physical prowess.

Oh, and I no longer have the bike or clothes I rode during my 2001 tour.  The Voodoo Wazoo, built for cyclocross, was actually a good bike for the ride I took.  But eventually I found myself wanting to change everything in my life, and I sold it--ironically, to pay the air fare for my next trip to France.  And those clothes--do they scream '' 90s mountain biker," or what?  I was indeed still doing some offroad riding, and still owned a proper mountain bike (a Bontrager Race Lite with Rock Shox Judy forks) but I eventually sold that bike and stuck mainly to road riding because I was starting to notice that I didn't heal as quickly from wounds and injuries as I did when I was younger and--OK, this will show how much gender stereotypes still shaped my thinking--I felt that I could be more dignified, ladylike if you will, on a road or city bike.

Now, I don't expect to return to mountain biking because, really, I prefer to stick to a couple of kind of riding.  Also, mountain bikes seem to "age" more quickly than other kinds of bikes. On the other hand, I can ride one of my Mercians just as easily today as I did (or could have, in the case of my newer ones) five or ten years ago, and barring crashes or inability on my part, I should be able to ride them--while replacing only the parts that normally wear out, like chains and tires-- for years to come.

In other words, I expect my tour to continue--precisely because it changed the day I rode up the Col du Galibier. 

L'Alpe, Le Col—And A Secret

Today is Bastille Day.

So, why have I posted a photo of a tide rolling in?

No, I am not making a hackneyed metaphor for the mobs that stormed the prison that became a symbol of monarchial tyranny and class stratification.  Nor am I making an equally tired cliche about the cycles of history.

I took that photo on Bastille Day, almost.  Actually, it's from a couple of days after, just ahead of a Tour de France stage--in the French Alps.

That scene is of something to which I've alluded in other posts.  I took the photo as I pedaled above clouds. To this day, I can't say whether I felt more elation over rising above the clouds or reaching the top of the mountain, which I did a bit later.

Now I am going to reveal one of my dim, dark secrets:

Yes, that's what I looked like on 17 July 2001, a bit more than a year before I started my gender affirmation process. (I am squinting because, at high altitudes, the sun is more intense.) Not only was my world different; so was the world.  For one thing, I asked some random stranger to take that photo:  In the days before i-phones, it was more difficult to take "selfies" without special equipment.  Also, 2001 was the last year of the franc and lira:  On my next trip to France, three years later,  I'd be paying in euros.  And less than two months after I rode to the top of l'Alpe d'Huez, ahead of the Tour peloton, the terrible events of 11 September would change so much else.

A couple of days after that climb, I would ascend to another iconic Tour climb:  the col du Galibier.  I described that climb, and how it--or, more precisely, descending from it and crossing the valley--led me to, among other things, becoming the midlife cyclist who authors this blog. (See this and this.)

So, on this Bastille Day--as the Tour de France climbs and descends through its second day in the Alps--I am writing in part to celebrate the country which I feel almost as much kinship as my own and ascending some of its most difficult climbs.  But I now realize that I am paying homage to the person--known as Nicholas, Nick or Nicky-- who brought me to the part of the journey I've recounted in this blog.  I hope I am honoring him in the way he deserves.

Oh, and today is the anniversary of the day I gave up his name and assumed mine, two years after I ascended those mountains.  I remember feeling, on that day--Bastille Day--that I felt more free, that I had climbed another mountain.

Whether they finish first, last or somewhere in between, the riders in today's Tour stage will always have that.  Just ask Phillipa York, nee Robert Millar.

Note:  I apologize for the poor quality of the images.  I'm still learning how to use my iPhone to take pictures of old pictures!

  

Cyclist Robbed Of Bike At Gunpoint

In other posts, I've mentioned that when I'm riding to or from downtown or midtown Manhattan, my preferred East River crossing is the Williamsburg Bridge.  

For one thing, it has a relatively roomy bike lane.  So, even when it's crowded, I don't feel as if I'm competing for space with pedestrians, scooters or delivery workers on motor bikes.  

For another, the entry and exit points on either side of the bridge are connected to segregated bike lanes that  offer easy access to the Lower East Side, Chinatown, Williamsburg and other places.  You can reach the Staten Island and Governor's Island ferries, or the World Trade Center PATH train in minutes from the Manhattan side.

The Williamsburg wasn't always my crossing of choice, however. Even before it was refurbished, it had a better bike lane than the other bridges.  But about thirty years ago, when the overall crime rate was much higher, the neighborhoods on either side of the bridge were still considered, even by the standards of the time, high-crime areas.  I knew several cyclists who were robbed of high-end bikes at gun- or knife-point by individuals who jumped them or groups who blocked their way.

Unfortunately, it seems that such incidents are on the rise again. While I don't know any cyclists who've been so victimized recently--at least, not yet--I am reading and hearing about more incidents of cyclists losing their bikes while riding them.

One such incident happened on Saturday night.  What is particularly striking about this incident is that it took place on a designated bike path--in Madison, Wisconsin, a mecca of cycling in the middle of the country. (Some call it the Portland of the Midwest.  I wonder whether, when Portland was first becoming popular with the young, hip and "weird," someone called it the "Madison on the Pacific" or some such thing.) Apparently, a masked man stepped in the cyclist's path and pointed a gun at him.  The cyclist dismounted; the thief took it and took off.

Polka Dots For This Mum!

In the summers of 2000 and 2001, I became a "Tour chaser":  I rode along part of the race's route.  Specifically, I rode the mountain stages, not far from the race itself.  In 2000, I rode up and down some of the Pyrenees climbs en route to Spain and back.  The following year, I ascended some of the most difficult Alpine climb, including a ride up the Alpe d'Huez in the morning, ahead of the Tour caravan.

I thought I was quite the rider.  So did anyone who saw me or heard about what I did:  I made all of those climbs and descents with a full set of panniers and handlebar bag.  So, although my bike--a Voodoo Wazoo Cyclo-cross machine--was relatively light, especially considering that I rode with sturdy tires, I was hauling about ten kilograms more than any of the racers.

I don't know what it would be like to do those climbs now.  After all, I was twenty years younger than I am now.  Oh, and those two tours (the 2001 ride took me into a bit of Italy and another bit of Switzerland) were the last I did before my gender affirmation process.  So I had a full dose of testosterone, if you will, powering those muscles in my legs.

But I must say that someone who followed Sunday's ninth stage of the Tour de France puts me to shame.  

#TDF2022 It's hard to be a good mom #respect #sharingpassion pic.twitter.com/vKZwPRso6I

— ProCyclingStats.com (@ProCyclingStats) July 10, 2022

Dubbed "Supermum" and "Mum of the Year," she pedaled up--and down--the Col de Croix with her kid in tow.  Some have suggested that since she was riding a Cannondale, and did something similar in the wake of the 2019 Giro d'Italia, the bike-maker should sponsor her.

If I'd been awarded the polka-dot jersey for my rides, I would gladly have given it to her. 

Enjoying The Moment Of The Ride

The past weekend was, by almost anybody's definition, a perfect summer weekend for bike riding: clear skies, low-to-moderate humidity and high temperatures of 27-29C (81 to 85F).   So, of course, I took advantage of it.

How could it have been any better?  Well, on both days I managed to ride into the wind most of the way out and with the wind most of the way home. People were out and about, but the places where people congregate weren't terribly crowded.

On Saturday, I pedaled up to Greenwich, Connecticut and took a "pit stop" in the Common, in the center of town, where a family and their dog greeted me. I didn't take any photos, in part because there was nothing really new about the ride, but more interestingly, because I felt so much as if I were riding in, and enjoying the moment--some might call it a "zen" ride--that I didn't want to do anything else but pedal and take in what my senses, opened from pedaling and simply being immersed in the moment, offered me.

Yesterday was much the same, except that I took another familiar ride, to Point Lookout.  There were a few small differences from my normal trek, as Beech Street in Long Beach was closed off for some sort of fair or festival.  After I zigged and zagged for a few blocks, I found a one-way residential street--Walnut--where I saw no traffic all the way to the west entrance of Nickerson Beach--a couple of miles of riding bliss, by my reckoning.

At Point Lookout, I saw a "creature."  At least, that's what it looked like from the corner of my eye.

Could the young woman sitting on the edge of the surface have been unaware of that "monster" creeping toward her? Or was she in denial?   

Or, perhaps, she was just enjoying the moment, too.

 

All Of The Cycle--Except The End (I Hope!)

Some might say that, at my age, the title of my blog is a statement of denial or defiance.

As I have said, as long as I don't know when my life will end, I am in the middle of it--in midlife, if you will.

If I am indeed in the middle of my life, what is my "cycle" of life?

Whatever it is, I hope the end doesn't look like the last frame of Andy Singer's cartoon!

A Ride To The Truth?

The other day, on a pleasant summer afternoon, I was riding back from a trek to Westchester County.  I couldn't help but to notice more work crews than I normally see on the streets.  Some came from ConEd or Verizon, others from the city's transportation department.  They confirm one of my from-the-saddle observations:  streets and roads are in worse shape than I've seen in some time.  Whether it's a result of the weather (climate change?) or simply deferred maintenance, I don't know.

One detour led me down Prospect Avenue in the South Bronx.  I actually didn't mind:  The stretch south of the number 2 and 5 elevated train lines has some rather nice old row houses, and the people seemed to be in a rather relaxed mood.  

Occasionally, I'll stop if a building or detail looks interesting. But I never expected to see, anywhere, something that sums up so many of the truths I hold to be self-evident, to paraphrase the Declaration of Independence.  

Within the past two weeks, the Supreme Court has voted to curtail a woman's right to her own body and, possibly, a bunch of other rights-- but not the one to carry a gun with you.  Why can't they support the simple truths expressed in that sign?  

  

Their E-Bikes Or Their Apartments?

I haven't said much about electric bikes (e-bikes) on this blog.  I have nothing against them:   I simply have no experience with them.  

They are often touted as a "green" alternative to driving.  That's probably true, but I don't expect people to use them instead of their cars for long trips or if they have to carry a lot.  Strictly based on my own observations, I'd say that most people who are riding them to work or wherever are using them as an alternative to mass transportation, walking or a traditional human-powered bicycle, not an automobile.

I also see a fair number of people who seem to be riding them recreationally.  Here in New York City, however, the largest number of e-bike riders seem to be delivery workers of one kind or another.  E-bikes are faster than regular bicycles, at least for most people, so workers can make more deliveries in less time. That's no small consideration, as many workers are paid per delivery.  

Another thing I've noticed is that many of those delivery workers are older than ones I've seen before the advent of e-bikes.  My guess is that the majority are immigrants, many of whom don't speak English or have other marketable skills or credentials recognized in this city or country.  Some are breadwinners, not only for their spouses or partners and kids, but also for extended families, whether here or in their birth countries.  For them, e-bikes are a form of life support, if you will.

It also happens that a good number of those workers live in public housing, a.k.a. "the projects."  

Thus, the New York City Housing Authority's proposal is stirring up a hornet's nest of controversy.  The rationale for it is the Fire Department's report stating that, to date, 104 fires have been caused by lithium-ion batteries, the power source of electric bikes.

In NYCHA's proposal, "residents and their guests may not keep or charge e-bikes or e-batteries in apartments or in common areas of NYCHA buildings."  The agency defines "common areas" as "included but not limited to stairs, halls, laundries, community rooms, storage rooms, walks, drives, playgrounds and parking areas."  In effect, NYCHA wants to ban e-bikes on all of its property.  Workers wonder whether this will cause them to be targeted if they even enter the grounds of a NYCHA complex to make a delivery.

Nathaniel Hill won't be able to keep his e-bike under a NYCHA proposal. Photo by Noah Martz, for Streetsblog.

While it's true that there is a fire hazard, and a fire can cause a greater number of casualties in a densely-populated housing complex, residents and advocates see the proposal as discriminatory, as electric cars are allowed to park in NYCHA lots and Citibike e-bikes park in docks adjacent to NYCHA buildings.  Also, the proposal, if enacted would put delivery workers who live in NYCHA buildings in an impossible situation. "Nobody should be forced to choose between keeping their housing or keeping their job," said Transportation Alternatives' Senior Organizer Juan Restrepo. He suggests that Mayor Eric Adams come up with other solutions, such as public charging stations and secure parking areas.