Blame It On The Bike!

During my youth, I did lots of strange, stupid and forbidden things that I tried to smooth over with implausible explanations to parents, teachers, professors, supervisors, lovers and other people.  Probably even a cop or two.

I might have even said something like this:

Now, whether the cop believed me, I won't say--mainly, because you know the answer.  All I know is that when I woke up, I wasn't in jail.  But I sure had a headache--and a bike to fix!

A Twist In The Mixte

Most Americans never saw a twin-tube mixte frame before the 1970s Bike Boom.  That, of course, is also the first time most Americans saw a bicycle with a derailleur.  So, perhaps, it's no surprise that bike manufacturers like Peugeot, Motobecane, Raleigh and Fuji sold boatloads of ten-speed mixtes--though, to be accurate, many more diamond-frame (men's) bikes were purchased.

Nearly all of the mixtes available then, and now, have more or less the same design:  a pair of narrow parallel tubes that slope from nearly the top of the head tube to the rear dropout, or some point near it.  The twin tubes usually crossed the seat tube about halfway down, or maybe a bit lower.  The result was a frame that wasn't quite as "open" as the traditional women's frame, with a single curved top tube, but easier to mount than the traditional diamond frame.

What's not commonly known is that mixte frames with twin top tubes mixte frames, or at least frames that resemble them, have been made almost since the first "safety" bicycle (ones with two wheels of equal, or more-or-less equal, size) was introduced in the late 19th Century.  And they have taken on a variety of configurations, such as this example from Geoffrey Butler:

The South London builder made it to the specifications of a then-young woman who owned it until recently.  Its  eBay listing doesn't specify the tubing used to build the bike, but my guess is that it's some variation of Reynolds.  All of the parts are what one might expect to find on a touring or club bike from its era (1962):  all British, except for the Michelin tyres. (Yes, I had to spell it the British way!)  And, I must say, it is lovely.

I was struck in particular by two things.  One is, of course, the configuration of those top tubes:  They don't slope down as far as those on the more familiar kind of mixtes.  In fact, they don't seem much less horizontal (Is that a real phrase?) than the top tubes of most diamond-frame bikes.  Moreover, they end at the seat tube in a sort of semi-lug, which I find to be an interesting touch.

(Don't you just love seeing that pump between the parallel tubes?)

The other thing I immediately noticed is its size. I can't recall seeing a mixte that was too big for me:  For that matter, I haven't seen many mixte frames as tall as Vera, my Miss Mercian.  If the measurements listed are accurate (and, from what I see in the photos, I believe they are), it's indeed larger than my Miss Mercian, or almost any other mixte.  In fact, at 58 cm (for the seat tube) it's even larger than all but one diamond-frame bike I've ever owned. 

With all due respect to Vera, it is a rather uniquely (Is that a real phrase?) lovely bike.  If I were about three inches taller--or had the money and space have a collection--I probably would buy it.

The Mountain We Climbed

Two cyclists climbed the mountain.

Image from Tripsite

Their long, arduous pedal strokes channeled their fear, rage and loneliness into jagged thrusts through virages.  They funneled their darkest secret into energy that helped them push against headwinds on deceptively narrow straightaways.  

They would reach the summit but feel no sense of pride or elation about it.  Years later, each of them would say exactly the same thing:  Yeah, I did that.  To this day, others are more impressed than they are with their feats.

Both grew up in working-class enclaves--one in Scotland, the other in Brooklyn and New Jersey.  They have remarkably similar stories about being bullied and ostracized, and how they both felt the need to escape.  It drove both of them to France.

The American stayed for a time and has returned several times since.  The Scot achieved great professional success there and returns for various gigs.  

They both climbed the mountain.  And, after their descents, they realized that they would have traded that experience, and all of the others, for a life they could not have led until they crossed the valley.

As you might have surmised, I am the American.  What you might not have realized until now---I didn't, until a couple of hours ago--is that the Scot in question was the first Anglophone to wear the polka dot jersey (for the King of the Mountains) in the Tour de France.  In one of cycling's more famous photos, this rider is seen descending a mountain in the 1989 Tour, alongside Laurent Fignon, Pedro Delgado and eventual overall winner Greg LeMond.

In the 1984 Tour de France.

I am talking about someone who went by the name of Robert Millar.  Yes, that Robert Millar.  The one who finished fourth overall (then the highest standing for an Anglophone) in the 1984 edition, when Millar won the polka-dot jersey.   The following year, the Glasgow native would have a Vuelta a Espana victory "stolen" by riders who colluded for a Spanish victory.  Two years later, Millar placed second in the Giro d'Italia:  still the best finish in that race for a cyclist from the British Isles.

Millar, even after retiring from the sport, garnered great admiration and respect from former rivals and teammates, not to mention fans.  While my brief racing career brought me no money or fame, my life as a cyclist gave me, if I do say so myself, people who admired and respected me for riding up the mountain.  And another.  And another.  Some of the folks who shouted "Bon courage!" I would never meet again, but others became riding and training partners for periods of my life.

But even though Millar was a better, or at least more accomplished and recognized, cyclist than I ever was or will be, we do have remarkably similar stories.

We are the same age: only two months separate us.  And in addition to our class roots, we have other similarities in our backgrounds.  In particular, each of us had a parallel experience.  For all I know, we might have had it on the same day:  When we were five years old, the boys and girls lined up on opposite sides of the playground.  Robert in Glasgow felt the same way as Nicholas--"Nicky"--in Brooklyn:  different.  "But there was no way to communicate that without the other boys beating me up or picking on me," Millar recalls.

She took the words out of my mouth!

Philippa York

Robert Millar no longer goes by that name.  Today she is known as Philippa York.  While she has a bike with mudguards and a wicker basket for "going to town", her knowledge of the gradients and lengths of climbs around her home on the South Coast of England is "suspiciously accurate," according to a Telegraph article.  "I still like that rush of speed, but that's only downhill," she explains.  "I can't go fast on the flat or uphill anymore and I accept that I am going to need every gear on my bike."

I can relate.

We climbed the mountain.  And we are here, now--female midlife cyclists, both of us.

N.B.:  I want to thank one of my favorite bloggers, "The Retrogrouch", for alerting me to Philippa York's story!

One of my early posts will tell you more about the mountain (actually, one of the mountains) I climbed.

Her Spirit Lives On--In Saudi Arabia

I know I've mentioned it a number of times, but I never get tired of repeating it.  I'm talking about something Susan B. Anthony said--namely, that the bicycle has done more than anything else to liberate women.

More than a century after she made that observation, it has shown itself to be true, again, in a number of countries--even in one of the nations that has long been one of the most oppressive for women.

I am talking about Saudi Arabia.  For decades, women haven't been allowed to do much of anything without the approval of some male relative.  If they wanted to open a bank account, they had to have a husband's, father's or brother's signature.  If they wanted to travel abroad, they could do so only in the company of a related man.  Police officers were deployed to enforce bans on females mixing with unrelated males in public venues.

Some public venues, such as cinemas, didn't exist at all.

Some things women weren't allowed to do at all, such as driving--and riding a bicycle.

All of this was aided and abetted by the US taxpayer, which propped up the repressive House Of Saud in exchange for allowing the US to build military bases in the kingdom--and, yes, cheap petrol.

But since this is not a blog about foreign policy, I want to concentrate on a change that's brewing, however slowly, in the land of the hajj.  It is embodied in, among other women, Amirah al-Turkistani.  

Amirah al-Turkistani on her bicycle

After earning her graduate degree in 2015, she left Boston and returned to her home country.  She brought her pistachio-colored bicycle back with her.  Friends mocked her.  "What are you going to do, hang it on the wall?" one taunted her.

Now she is riding her beloved machine all over Jeddah, the Red Sea town where she lives with her husband and kids.  She has inspired other women to do the same and one can't help but to think that women like them are inspiring, if not pressuring, 32-year-old Crown Prince Mohammed bin Salman to ease some social restrictions.  They include the ban on women driving, which will end this summer.

Al-Turkistani says she plans to drive, not because she really wants to drive, but to show solidarity with other women who are enjoying newfound liberties.  Also, it will greatly help her in her work as a freelance designer and college lecturer.  Still, she says, she plans to continue cycling.

What The Coast Guard Doesn't Like About Bike Share Programs

In an earlier post, I wrote about a legitimate complaint some people make about bike-share programs, the Uber-style programs in particular.  Because bikes in such systems can be located with a smart-phone app, users can leave bicycles wherever they are finished with riding them.

The problem is that in some instances, bikes are left literally wherever their riders stopped riding them.  This became a particular concern in Chinese cities, where streets and sidewalks are narrow and all manner of vehicles, from trucks to rickshaws, compete for space with cyclists and pedestrians.  Some streets and sidewalks became literally impassable, and police warned that the masses of abandoned bikes were keeping police, firefighters, medics and other responders from reaching emergency sites.

Here in the US, you can add the Coast Guard to the list of non-fans of bike share programs.

Why?, you ask.  Well, according to a recent report, bicycles--usually from share companies--are left on Washington State ferries.  When ferry crew members see a bicycle but can't find whoever was riding it, they have to send an emergency call to the Coast Guard which, in turn, has to start a rescue operation.  Since neither the Coast Guard nor the ferry operators can assume that the bike was simply abandoned, the operation is treated as a "person overboard" issue.

Cyclists disembark from Washington State ferry.

Such missions, as it turns out, are expensive.  In one incident last week, it cost $17,000 to send out helicopters and other equipment as well as Coast Guard members to ensure that no passenger ended up in the water.  Such missions take time and, as with any nautical rescue operation, must cover a large expanse of waterway, as currents can pull or push a struggling swimmer many kilometers in any direction.

(I know a bit about such things because my father was a Coast Guard reservist for more than two decades.)

Now Captain Linda Sturgis, the Coast Guard commander for Puget Sound, is urging people to leave share bikes on shore and board as passengers.  That sounds reasonable enough, but, as it turns out, many commuters get to and from work by riding share bikes to and from the boats.  So, upon disembarking from the ferry, a commuter would have to find another share bike to complete his or her trip.  I have never used such a system, but I imagine that there will be time when a bike can't be located in a timely fashion, as we used to say at the office.

Now I have to wonder whether ferries here in New York--in particular the Staten Island and Wall Street ferries--are experiencing similar problems.

Sheltered In Memory

On Sunday, Bill, Cindy and I took the ferry from the Brooklyn Army Terminal, about a mile from Bill's apartment, to Rockaway Beach.   Perhaps I "read" the choppiness of the water into everything I experienced on the ride, from the wind skittering over sand and marsh grasses to the clouds scattered through the sky.

Don't get me wrong:  I enjoyed the ride.  It wasn't long, but the company and the vistas were pleasant, and sometimes interesting.

Saying that someone lives in "a house by the water" probably conjures, for most people, an image of its inhabitants gazing over expanses of sea and sky from an open-air balcony or glass-enclosed solarium.  But, really, it can mean much else, such as this

or this

The first photo probably is a better reflections of most people (at least those who've never lived in such places) have of living "in a beach house" or "by the ocean".   There is one difference, of course:  more color.  If anything, it might look more like South Beach, Miami than the South Shore of Long Island.

The other photo is probably closer to the reality of most waterside residents.  If you think you've seen it before, you probably have:  A couple of weeks ago, we rode by it when the tide was out and mud and other detritus oozed (where murky water would lap around when the tide is in) between those islands of marsh grass and houses.

We are still trying to figure out what the geared wheel is.  My theory is that there was a boat dock there at some point--perhaps as recently as in the days just before Sandy--and that wheel was part of some mechanism that towed boats in.  Now that I think of it, I recall seeing boats in the area before Sandy.

Anyway, on the way back to Bill's place, we rode through Sunset Park.  Many, many years ago, my grandparents took me to the top of this hill

in the park.  The view doesn't seem to change much.  Or maybe there is more change than I realize, and I just don't see it because I always look out, toward the harbor and Statue, from that hill.  It's as if some law of physics applies only in that spot:  My eyes cannot turn in any other direction. 

But at least that view is different from any other maritime or littoral vista I have encountered.  It has to be, even if someone  builds houses of the blue and green and terra cotta tiles--or gnarled bark-- between me and the expanse of harbor:  the one I saw with my grandparents more than half a century ago, and with Bill and Cindy the other day.

Michael Goolaerts, R.I.P.

Professional athletes are usually young and in prime physical condition.  That is why almost nobody expects one to die while competing or training.

So it was for Michael Goolaerts.  The 23-year-old Belgian collapsed from cardiac arrest during Paris-Roubaix, the one-day race often dubbed "L'enfer du nord" (the Hell of the North).  

It was originally reported that Goolaerts crashed.  There are no images available, but more recent reports say that he was found on the side of a cobblestoned road, where he is believed to have fallen.  No other riders were found at the scene.  

From there, he was airlifted to a hospital in the northern French city of Lille where he died, surrounded by his family.

Current reports say that he died of cardiac arrest, which could easily explain his fall and why medical assistance was to no avail.  Unlike a heart attack, during which the heart to continues to beat, in cardiac arrest, the heart immediately stops pumping blood to the brain, lungs and other organs.  A heart attack requires prompt attention, while a cardiac arrest victim needs almost immediate help if he or she is to survive, let alone recover.

Another way that cardiac arrest differs from a heart attack is that the former comes without warning.  That is why we occasionally hear of athletes suddenly collapsing and dying, as Goolaerts seems to have done, and why it is so surprising.

I give my condolences:  I can hardly imagine the shock and grief his family, friends and colleagues in the cycling community are feeling.

On Their Own Planet

I was a child in 1968.  I might not have understood everything I saw on the evening news, but I knew it was a tumultuous time. (OK, I didn't know the word "tumultuous".)  As I mentioned the other day, Martin Luther King Jr. was assassinated.  Robert F. Kennedy would meet a like fate two months later.  There were riots, demonstrations and strikes everywhere.

In the midst of it all, some of the cultural touchstones (and cliches) of the late 20th Century made their appearance.  Among them were two movies that became nearly all-purpose metaphors--2001: A Space Odyssey  and Planet of the Apes.

Both movies, er, films, made lots of money for their studios.  If you feel your reputation will be sullied by indulging in a taste for a mere movie, you can turn either into a film by reminding yourself that the music you hear when a chimp uses a shinbone to bash in the skull of a skeletal remain is Richard Strauss's Also Sprach Zarathrusta.  And, Planet of the Apes is based on a novel--namely Pierre Boulle's La Planete des Singes.

(I confess that I learned of the basis in the Boulle novel only recently--as in, about half an hour before I started writing this!)

Anyway...In honor of the 50th anniversary of Planet's first appearance on the big screen, I am offering this:

https://www.askideas.com/chimpanzee-riding-bicycle-funny-picture/

When Toys R Us Didn't Deliver, This Officer Did

Chances are that if you are reading this blog, you didn't purchase your bike at Toys R Us.

But you may have bought one for a daughter, son, grandchild, niece, nephew or other child in your life.  You will not be judged--by me, anyway--if you did.  After all, most such bikes are ridden into the ground, sometimes literally.

Of course, buying anything from Toys R Us is a risky proposition these days, as the chain has declared bankruptcy and is closing its stores.  But I suppose there are bargains to be had, and if you can get one, the risk just might be worthwhile.

(I think I still have a membership card I received when I bought a gift--not a bike!-- for someone's kid or another.  I don't know whether it would actually do me any good now!)

Well, in any event, it seems that when the ship is sinking, some crew members throw their scruples overboard.  That, at least, seems to have been the case in a Temperance, Michigan store.

Toledo police officer Daniel Henderson gives new bike to Haylee McClellan Rowe

Hayley McClellan Rowe bought a bike for her 10-year-old daughter, Shelbie, last month.  As she relates on Facebook, the bike was damaged during assembly.  She returned it and purchased another bike, which was to be assembled by store employees. The receipts for the return of the first bicycle and the purchase of the second were stapled to the box in which the second bike arrived.

When she went to pick up the bike, however, employees could not locate the receipts and the bike was sold to another customer.  Neither the store's management nor the company's offices helped her, even after they were contacted by The Blade of nearby Toledo, Ohio.

Among that city's police officers is a fellow named Daniel Henderson.  He saw Ms. McClellan Rowe's Facebook posts and helped her--and daughter Shelbie--in a way the law couldn't.

He bought her a new bike.

Ms. McClellan Rowe said when she calls the police, she expects help "with the situation at hand."  She did not, however, "expect him to purchase a bike out of his own pocket."

Neither did Toledo Police Chief George Kral.  "Officer Henderson went above and beyond the call of duty for this family, for this little girl," he said.

What--If Anything--Wii This Trade War Cost Us?

I passed the only economics course I took as an undergraduate by promising the professor that he would never, ever see me again if he gave me credit for the class.  If I were to fail, I warned him, I would be forced to take the class again and he might get stuck with me for another semester.

It worked.

Well, all right. It didn't quite go that way.  I passed the class, but I didn't make any such promises or threats.  I think the prof, though, realized that I had absolutely no talent for the subject to which he devoted his life and I wanted to return to school the following semester.  In short, he seemed to feel pity for me, and might've added, oh, a point or two to my final grade.

Anyway...The point of this is that I should not, under any circumstances, be mistaken for an economist.  And, no, I didn't play one on TV. (How does one play an economist on TV?)  So, take anything that resembles economic or business forecasting on this blog with a large bottle of frame prep solution.

As you all know, El Cheeto Grande is proposing tariffs on Chinese imports.  They are in retaliation for similar fees China imposed on imports from the US--which, in turn, were a reaction to earlier tariffs Trumpf slapped on Chinese goods.

The difference between the first and second round of Trump Tariff Punch is that the later round includes a greater number of products than the first, from which consumer goods were mainly absent and, instead, included farm products and basic materials such as steel.

Although details of the second round haven't been made public, some folks who know more than I know say that simply because the second round encompasses about twice as much of what the US imports from China (by monetary value), it's likely to include consumer goods.

As to which consumer goods might be affected:  No one has said outright that bicycles will be in the crosshairs, but it's hard to imagine that they won't be.  The tariffs might even include "bike-related imports", as more than one article put it.  

So, even if you don't buy a Chinese-made bike, there's a good chance that some of the accessories or parts you hang on it will have that tax levied on it.  For example, of my six bikes, four are British (Mercian), one American (Trek) and the other Japanese (Fuji).  I don't have any Chinese parts on them, and about the only accessories from China I use are the rack, lights and handlebar wrap on the Fuji. So, if I were to buy those things today, I wouldn't be affected much, if at all.  

But in spite of my efforts to buy from companies based and operating in countries where workers are paid decently and are guaranteed some basic human rights and protections, I find that I am not "innocent", if you will.  Turns out, my Giro helmets are made in the land of Leninist Capitalism.  So are my riding glasses, gloves and a few other things I use while riding.

What gets taxed, of course, will depend on how the categories of taxed goods are defined.  If there's a group called "bicycle-related goods", or something similar, watch out!  On the other hand, the law might specify certain categories of bicycles defined by price point or wheel size, as is done in places where there is a sales tax on new bicycle sales.  Naturally, none of us would like that tax, but at least you have a clearer idea of what will and won't be taxed.

Now, if this tariff were in the works during my youth, I would have scoffed:  "Well, I don't buy such crap bikes."  These days, though, it's hard to avoid buying Chinese unless you are shopping near the top of the price scale.  Some of those bikes and parts with familiar names you've long known may no longer be made in Europe or Japan or the USA--or even Taiwan.  They may be produced in Chinese factories.

My prediciton:  Some bikes and "bike-related products" will be affected.   But I think they will be a result of falling into larger categories of imports that are affected:  Somehow I don't think that the folks who are charged with turning El Huffy's Twitter storms into international trade law are thinking about bicycles in particular.  

Tosca's Face Lift

This season has been quite a coming-out party--for me and my bikes.

A few posts ago, I introduced you to Dee-Lilah, my new Mercian Vincitore Special.  She's a gift to myself for a round-number birthday that's coming in July.  

The other day, I told you about my first ride with my new-old (well, not-really-so-old) bike:  Tosca, my Mercian fixie.  A while back, I sent her for a repair and to change the threadless steerer to a threaded one so I could use a prettier stem. All of that, of course, meant, Tosca got a facelift--a refinish.



Previously, she was coated entirely with Mercian's "flip-flop" finish (#57)--which Arielle, my Mercian Audax, still has---and white pinstriping.  I wasn't tired of it, but I decided that while I wanted to keep all of my Mercians in the same color "family", I didn't want them to look the same.

So I had Tosca re-finished in Mercian's Purple Polychromatic (#9) with head tube and seat panel in Dusky Pink Pearl (#49).  The cut-outs in the lugs and fork crown are also finished in that dusky pink hue, and the lugs are outlined in white.

Most of the parts were on the bike before the re-paint.  The exceptions are the stem, brakes, saddle, toe clips and chain (which I would have replaced at some point anyway).  Here's the "spec sheet":

Frame and fork--Reynolds 631.  Threaded steerer.

--Steering:

• Chris King headet:  This threadless set was overhauled by Mercian and was converted with King's threaded 2Nut adapter.
• Nitto Pearl Stem, 12 cm.
• Nitto Model 177 "Noodle" handlebars

--Seating:

• Brooks Team Professional Special Edition (L'eroica 2015)
• Nitto "Crystal Fellow" Seat post

--Wheels:

• Phil Wood hubs.  "Flip-flop" (fixed-free) 36 hole rear, high-flange track 32 hole front
• Mavic Open Pro rims, Velox rim tape
• DT Champion spokes
• Continental Grand Prix 4 season tires

--Drivetrain:

• Sugino RD 2 cranks (130mm BCD), 170mm, with All-City 47T chainring (1/8")
• Phil Wood bottom bracket, 103mm
• MKS Urban Platform pedals w/MKS "basket" toe clips and Velo Orange Grand Cru straps
• Phil Wood stainless cog, 17T, 1/8"
• Shimano freewheel, 18T
• SRAM PC-7X chain 

--Brakes:

• Dia Compe BRS 101 in gold (I couldn't resist) w/ Kool Stop salmon pads
• Cane Creek SCR-5 levers

--Other Items:

• Newbaum's Cloth tape, Eggplant, w/Rustines (like Velox) plugs
• Andrew King "Iris" stainless steel cages

(The bag is one of several I use that were made by Ely Rodriguez, of Ruth Works.  I move them around among my bikes, as I need them.)

Welcome back, Tosca!

Fifty Years Ago Today

Today I am going off-topic.

One of the most tragic events--no, I take that back, the single most tragic event--in the history of the United States took place fifty years ago today.

I am talking about the assassination of Martin Luther King Jr.

Now, I don't mean to diminish how terrible were the killings of John F. Kennedy, Malcolm X or the unfortunate souls who perished on 9/11.  They were all awful, and it could be said the country and this world weren't the same after them.  

Perhaps I see the murder of MLK as I do because it's the first assassination I can recall clearly.  I have only vague memories of JFK or Malcolm X, and the fall of the Twin Towers doesn't have a single tragic figure that stands out.  But, even at my tender age, I could see that Martin was emblematic (though neither I nor anyone else in my milieu at the time would have used the word) of everything that was necessary and possible.

Martin Luther King Jr. is kissed by his wife, Coretta Scott King as Nipsey Russel, back left, and Harry Belafonte, right, look on in 1963.

America is, of course, not alone in venerating its military leaders.  And I am not foolish enough to believe that this country, or the world, will ever exist without armies and munitions.  But the only hope the human race has, I believe, is to work toward, if not ending, then at least diminishing, the role of the military and war--and indeed all violence--play.  Doing such work, I believe, is inseparable from the struggles for social and economic justice.

That last sentence is something Martin understood, perhaps too well.  When he said as much, in a speech he gave exactly one year before he was gunned down, many of his longtime supporters abandoned him. President Lyndon Johnson championed both civil rights and America's involvement with the Vietnam War.  When Martin denounced the war, some of his supporters took it as an attack on the person who brought to fruition some of the things for which Martin and his followers fought.

Some Americans--including some of my acquaintance, a few of whom are related to me--simply cannot understand why Martin Luther King Jr. is "the only person with his own holiday."  In some states, at least, that is not the case: Lincoln's birthday is celebrated before "Presidents' Day".  But, really, if only one person in the United States of America is to have his or her own holiday, I cannot think of who else that person could or should be.

In short, I feel he is this country's greatest hero, and we are still hurting from losing him.                                                               

Introductions At The Beginning of A Season

When I first learned about Western Civilization (yes, with a capital C and capital W!*), I was taught about a period called the Dark Ages, which was in turn followed by the High Middle Ages and the Renaissance.  Everyone seemed to agree that the Dark Ages began when the Roman Empire fell (in the 5th Century C.E.) and ended more or less with the millenium, but there was more debate about the High Middle Ages and the Renaissance.

Anyway, I grew up with an image of the Dark Ages as a defoliated, barren landscape broken up by patches of mud and huts from wattles made.  And in the late part of the Middle Ages, the brightening but still austere light of winter-turning-into-spring made the landscape all the more stark.

Years later, when I would first read The Canterbury Tales, I somehow pictured Chaucer writing in such an environment, just as the first buds of irises and crocuses and lilacs were peeking out of sinewy vines and weary earth.  

That landscape of my imagination came to life, more or less, on Saturday, when I went for a ride with Bill and his friend Cindy.  Not that the landscape was a bad thing:  When I ride, it's all good.  And they were fun to ride with.

Our spin took us, ultimately, to the ocean.  Along the way, just after we crossed over the Belt Parkway between the Queens neighborhoods of Ozone Park and Howard Beach, we encountered this entirely appropriate (for the season, but unlikely for the location) sign of the season:

I've ridden horses only a couple of times in my life. I would ride one again.  Even if I don't, though, I'm glad to see them--although I'm sure they'd rather not be fenced in.  Everything about them--their beauty, their movements and the aura they have--reminds me of what I love about cycling.  In fact, they embody, they are, the freedom I feel when I'm in the saddle, with two pedals at my feet and two wheels between me and the street (or ground).

They can skip with the wind.  We can glide with it.  They gallop over reeds and fields.  We pedal by them.  And we and they can trod or slosh through mud--or not.  Our reasons, of course, are different.  We didn't ride through this mud because, well, it wasn't all mud:

It was odd to see such a vista just within the limits of New York City, just before the Atlantic Beach Bridge.  Even when it's full of water, when the tide comes in, it seems almost out of place.  But exposed or submerged, wet or dry, with the tide in or out, it was exactly right for a day like Saturday.



Anyway, these very-early-spring days full of sun and wind--especially when they include rides to the sea--always seem like beginnings.  So, perhaps, it's appropriate that I was riding with a new friend in Bill and I may have made another in Cindy.

And, like the ride I took two weeks ago, I introduced a new bike.  Well, all right, Dee-Lilah, my Mercian Vincitore Special, is indeed a brand-new bike.  But on Saturday, I rode another Mercian that looks brand-new.  

I am talking about Tosca, my fixed-gear bike.  A while back, I sent her to Mercian for repairs and refinishing.  She finally got to see the light of an American day again.

She may have a new look. But she rides like an old friend, only better!  I'll write more about her soon.

N.B.  All of the photos in this post--except for the one of me and Bill--were taken by Bill.  That photo came from Cindy.

The Day After

'Tis the day after Easter.  I stepped outside and what, to my wondering eyes did I see?

Well, it's also the day after April Fool's Day.  Perhaps Nature, that old prankster, is reminding us of that.

According to weather forecasts, the snow will be gone tomorrow. But then we'll have rain.