Riding Like A Rockefeller

I am writing from this desk

after eating lunch in this room

with an audience

in this house

All right, I was exaggerating, well, a little.  After all, if I were writing and eating in a place like that, I probably wouldn't have gotten there on this

Or maybe I would have.  After all, the person who is the reason was known to ride a bicycle, even after the automobile--which he loved--became common in the US. In fact, he loved autos so much that he was a denizen of the "birthplace of speed."

That cradle of velocity is a beach something like this one

in a city that borders the one best known for its race track.

That city, of course, is this one:

and the 'burg on its border is Ormond Beach, home to the "Birthplace of Speed" and the house I visited yesterday.

The house is known colloquially as The Casements.  John D. Rockefeller. Contrary to what some people believe, he didn't actually commission it.  He did, however, put his unmistakable stamp on it.  And, the fact that he lived in it for the last two decades of his life is probably what saved it from the wreckers' ball when it fell into ruin after plans to turn it into a resort hotel never materialized.

Another misconception about the house is that it was the first to be built with casement windows.  Actually, the style existed for about two centuries before they were incorporated into Rockefeller's residence.  One could argue, however, that the house helped to popularize them in the US, particularly in Florida.

After my date with royalty (or, at least, the closest we come to having it in the US), I rode to Daytona Beach and back up State Route A1A, where I could spend days taking in the views of the ocean and flora and fauna.

After pedaling through Painters Hill (I'm still looking for the hill!), I turned away from A1A and the ocean.  After crossing the bridge over the Atlantic Intracoastal Waterway, I rode the path along Palm Coast Parkway and saw some of the prettier roadside vegetation I've encountered.

All of that, and 120 kilometers of cycling.  Not a bad day, I'd say.

Lunch, Palm And Moss

Yesterday I had lunch with my mother and her friend at the local Cracker Barrel.  The place has a split personality :  The restaurant serves homey Southern-style and comfort foods ( no avocado toast), while it’s shop sells overpriced kitsch.  Mom, Iris and I had chicken pot pies , which had more chicken in them than you’ll find in a plate of chicken strips in a hipster bistro.

After lunch and conversation , there were still a couple of hours of daylight remaining.  So I went for a ride along the Atlantic Intracoastal Waterway, which parallels the ocean coastline a few hundred meters inland. The waterway is popular with boaters, recreational fishermen and bird-watchers, while its path connects with other trails, including this one.

It seems that, within a quarter-mile or so, you can find every kind of palm or fern lining a section of this dirt trail that loops away from the main bike and pedestrian lane.

E

From there, I rode along Colbert Lane to the head of the Lehigh Rail Trail, where a wooden bridge leads to a moss-canopied lane.  You couldn’t find anything more Southern Romantic.

Riding Out The Old Year And Into The New

This is the way the year ends
Not with a bang but a bike ride.

All right, so that's not how T.S. Eliot ended The Hollow Men. But, the other day I ended 2018 with one of the best rides I've taken in Florida.

The wind pushed against me for the entire 30 miles (50 kilometers) from my parents' house to the Daytona Beach boardwalk.   But I didn't mind, even though I was riding a rusty baloon-tire beach bomber:  It was a great excuse to bomb onto the beach and into the water.

This is something you definitely wouldn't do in New York on New Year's Eve (unless, perhaps, you are a member of the Polar Bear Club.)  I mean, the temperature doesn't reach 82F (28C) on Coney Island Beach on the last day of the year--though it could happen some year, given the effects of climate change.  On the other hand, my hometown probably won't have the sky or sunshine I experienced on my ride.  (I got sunburned even though I applied sunscreen twice.)  

I also wouldn't see anything like this

or this

 both of which I encountered on the way back, along Route A1A, between Ormond Beach and Gamble Rogers State Park.  Nor would I have seen this

which greeted me in Beverly Beach, near the aptly-named Painters Hill.

Because I took the route through Beverly Beach and Painters Hill, the ride back was longer.  But it was also easier, because the wind I pushed against was pushing at my back.  So, in all, I rode about 65 miles (105 kilometers) for my last trip of the year.

The following day (yesterday), I started 2019 by riding along A1A in the opposite direction, to St. Augustine. The temperature reached the previous day's levels, and the sun shone brightly, but only a breeze blew at my back on the way up, and into my face on the way back.  In all, I covered about the same distance--just over 100 kilometers--I did to end the previous day, and year.

The ride took me over a bridge that spans Matanzas Inlet.  Now, if you know more Spanish than I, you know "matanzas" means "slaughters". 

Indeed, people were slaughtered there:  specifically, French Huguenots who had the temerity to build a refuge for themselves at Fort Caroline, in what is now Jacksonville.  The problem was that they didn't fortify or defend their garrison very well.  So, when the Spanish attacked, it fell easily.  At the same time, a French flotilla sailed from Fort Caroline with the purpose of attacking St. Augustine.  It, however, was blown off course by a storm.  When some French survivors were found, Pedro Menendez de Aviles, the founder of St. Augustine, ordered their execution.

Of course, I'm sure nobody on the beach was thinking about that. I could hardly blame them:  The clear skies, warm air and calm sea wouldn't bring slaughter or execution to very many people's minds.  And, I admit, for me, the serene littoral vista made for a nearly perfect ride to start a new year.

Happy KREM Classic!

Happy New Year!

Different countries and cultures have different ways of turning the page on their calendars.  One of the most interesting and best is a bicycle race that is one of the country's major sporting events.

Is that country in Europe?  Or is it Japan?  Australia?

From the 2016 KREM Classic

No, it's Belize.  That a bike race would help to bring in its new year isn't surprising when you realize it was, until 1981, a colony of a nation with a strong cycling history and culture:  England.  And, much like Jamaica, Guyana and even Canada, it has retained British culture and customs to a much greater degree than the United States.

The 2018 women's winners

The race I'm talking about is the KREM Classic, sponsored by the country's first independent radio station.  The first edition of the race was  held in 1991.  One interesting feature of this race is that cash prizes are awarded to the winners of each stage as well as for the best overall finishes.  It also features a women's as well as a men's race.

Oh, and the race is clean:  During the last few years,  all of the riders have been tested and none came up positive.  How many major races can say that?

Taking Flight In The Snow

So...How am I ending 2018 or beginning 2019?

The more accurate questions are "where?" and "with whom?"

As to the first question, here is a clue:

I arrived in Florida yesterday.  Palm Coast, to be exact.  That's my parents' yard, complete with canal.   

So I answered the other question.  The last few years, I've come down to the Sunshine State around the 6th or the 7th of January, to avoid the holiday rush.  But I decided to come earlier this season for a couple of reasons I'll mention later.

It started to snow in New York about five minutes after my flight took off.  When I got off the plane in Daytona Beach, it was warm enough to jump in the ocean. I didn't do that, of course. But I might today, during the course of the ride I'll take.

Then I'll join my parents in sending out the old year and bringing in the new one.  It's funny that in my advanced middle age, I am doing something I did as a child.  The difference, of course, is that this is a choice.  And, of course, it will be preceded by a bike ride.

What If We'd Worn Them?

If you're of my generation, you didn't wear a bike helmet when you were a kid.  But, if you have kids, you probably are making them wear helmets when they ride--at least if you're in the US.

That got me to wondering:  What would our childhoods have been like if we wore bike helmets?

From Pixabay

You Don't Need Math To Do This

A few years after graduating from college, I bumped into a classmate in the Columbus Circle subway station.  Working for a then-new technology company, she said she liked the work and it paid decently but "nothing is what I expected it to be."

She explained that she got into the work she was doing after being a lawyer for a couple of years and "hating it even more than I thought I would."

"So you went to law school even though you didn't think you'd like practicing law?"

She nodded.  "Why?," I wondered.

"Because I didn't know what else to do.  And I can't do math."

That, for a time, was a running joke:  You got your undergraduate degree in whatever and you can't figure out what to do with it.  You may not know what you can or want to do, but at least if you can't do math, there's always law school.

I considered law school for about 15 minutes, but of course never went.  I must say, though, that some of my other choices have been influenced by my numerical ineptitude:  majoring in English literature and history as an undergraduate, working in publishing and public relations, writing and, of course, teaching.   None of the work I've done has required more computational skill than balancing a checkbook.

Now I'm going to make a confession:  One of the reasons I'm such a dedicated cyclist is that it, too, does not require any math.

All right, that's not really true.  But whether you are an astrophysicist or someone who uses a calculator to figure out how much your lunch cost, you can enjoy cycling. Just ask Nick Charalambous.

Nick Charalambous.  Photo by Ken Ruinard for the Anderson Independent Mail

The Anderson, South Carolina native undertook around his home state.  Yes, literally around it:  His route zigged and zagged along its Atlantic coastline, Savannah River banks and the border with North Carolina.  He'd been battling a rare form of lymphoma, and his ride was a way to celebrate his recovery and raise money for the Lukemia and Lymphoma Society.

He completed the ride.  But two mathematical calculations made it even more of a success than he'd anticipated.

First of all, he calculated that his 14-day ride would span 820 miles.  But, at the end of his ride, he realized his tabulations were erroneous:  When he looked at his maps and other information, he found out he'd actually pedaled 930 miles.

His second numerical mistake had to do with the money he raised.  His original goal was around $1000, and his pledges, he thought, would bring him to that amount.  But he underestimated his sponsors' generosity:  In the end, he raised $5250.

Nick Charlambous may not be very good at math.  But he makes up for that with his determination, which is how he completed his trip, even though he had never before taken a bike ride approaching its length or scope.  He also credits his faith which, he said, showed him that he was given "a body new" after his illness.

What he didn't gain, of course, was mathematical ability.  But he doesn't need it:  After all, who said you have to be any good at it to ride your bike?

The Sidewalk Was The Path To His Death

One thing I've learned during my trips to Florida is that many sidewalks are de facto bike lanes.  

More precisely, there are ribbons of concrete that wind and wend alongside multilane roads where the speed limit is 45 MPH (70 KPH)--which, in Florida, means 65 MPH.  One rarely sees a pedestrian on those "sidewalks", so there are no prohibitions against cycling on them.  

The good thing about them is that they are usually separated by at least a meter of something--usually grass or other vegetation--from the roadway.  Interestingly, I almost never see motorists pulling into them. I don't know whether there's a law against doing so.  My theory is that the drivers know some of those little "lawns" might actually be mini-swamps, and their vehicles could get stuck in them.

Riding on the "sidewalks" isn't bad:  Most are well-maintained and rather spacious.  But there are two major hazards I've found, both of which might be reasons why Florida has, by far, the highest death rate for cyclists in the US.

One is crossing traffic intersections.  Nearly all of those sidewalks lead cyclists and pedestrians into the path of right-turning vehicles, who are often going fast.  To make things worse, sightlines are often poor, so even the most conscientious of drivers could hit a cyclist who's clad head-to-toe in safety yellow.

Another is that, sometimes, parts of those sidewalks are blocked, without warning.  So, if you are moseying along and suddenly you find a crew from the power or water company drilling into your path, you have nowhere to go--except the roadway which, as often as not, doesn't have a shoulder.

Dr. Robert Dalton Jr.

Dr. Robert Dalton Jr. encountered such a scenario while pedaling from his home to the Maitland Sun Rail station where, on a normal day, he'd catch the train that would take him to Orlando Health, where he practiced his profession as a cardiologist.

His work no doubt saved more than a few lives.  But nobody could save his on 17 December, when he was struck by a driver.

The sidewalk was blocked for construction of an apartment complex.  This has led to some finger-pointing between the local officials--who say that the construction company should have erected scaffolding that would have allowed cyclists and pedestrians to pass underneath--and the construction company, who say that the city or county or whomever should have put out blinking lights or other warnings for drivers to slow down.

Of course, the scaffolding would have been the better alternative.  But even that would not have addressed other problems, like the ones I've mentioned, that are found on Florida sidewalks-cum-bike lanes.  And, of course, nothing will bring back a well-regarded doctor and beloved member of his family and community.

Needy Kids Have Homeless Man To Thank For Their Bicycles

One of the best-known non-profit organizations in the New York area started because a homeless woman died.

On Christmas Eve 1985, Metro North Police ejected the woman from Grand Central Terminal.  The temperature outside had fallen below the freezing mark and the woman, suffering with pneumonia, returned to the terminal--specifically, to an area that, at the time, wasn't enclosed--in the early hours of Christmas morning.  

She fell asleep on a bench and never woke up.

If you've been in the Terminal recently, you've seen a well-lit terminal that, even when it's jammed with rush-hour commuters, really earns the moniker "Grand" with its ceiling mural and sweeping staircases. But when the nameless homeless woman died there, the mural was covered with soot (mainly from tobacco smoke) and everything else was covered with filth or worse.  

When the "Jane Doe" lived and died there, a man named George McDonald--a garment-industry executive--was feeding homeless people and even got to know a few of them.  They all knew about the "Jane Doe"--whom they called "Mama" and alerted him to her death.

She spoke little English; later, it was determined that she was an Eastern European immigrant.  She seemed to know almost nobody besides the other homeless people who frequented the Terminal--and Mr. McDonald.

Her death led McDonald to a career change:  He would start the Doe Fund, which he still co-directs.  The organization's work includes career training (as well as transitional work), education and helping to provide housing so that people like "Jane Doe" can break cycles of poverty and homelessness--as well as addiction and other problems.

Although the woman's death was a tragedy, it at least led to something that might help others in her situation.  The Doe Fund doesn't perpetuate her name (at least not the one she had before it was forgotten), but at least it helps to provide some people what they need--and what she didn't have.

In Asheboro, North Carolina, the death of another homeless person has led to a charitable program.  It's not as big as the Doe Fund--at least, not yet.  Maybe it never will be as big because its scope is different.  But it's at least an attempt to help some people who have very little.  And it bears the name of the man whose death motivated it.

Gary Long

Gary Long was known to area residents who saw him riding his bicycle loaded with aluminum cans he was hauled to the recycler.  As poor as he was, area residents--including congregants of the West Asheboro Church of God, which he attended--saw him as a generous man.  Matt Gunter said of Long, "His heart was, 'If I had a million dollars, I would love to give kids bicycles.'"

His metaphor might have been a bit jumbled, but Gunter's intentions were good--and he acted on them.  He's the pastor of the church, and he appealed to congregants for monetary donations. 

They gave him enough to buy 12 bicycles, which were delivered to the Salvation Army for distribution to needy children.

Gunter says this donation won't be a one-time event:  He plans to repeat it next year and in years to come.

Pastor Matt Gunter (left) and Luis Viera (of the Salvation Army) with bicycles donated in name of Gary Long.

He is doing it in the name of Gary Long, a homeless man who died on 21 October.  At least Gunter knew his name--which is more than anyone knew about a woman who died in the bowels of Grand Central Terminal in the wee hours  of a Christmas morning 33 years ago.

What Boxing Day Delivers

There are some English customs and holidays that have endured in every current or former crown colony--except for the US.

One of those holidays Boxing Day.  Today's the day.

For those of you who aren't familiar with the Anglophone world outside the US, this isn't a day when people watch, or get into, fights. (Lots of people do that on Christmas Day itself, especially after copious quantities of, ahem, eggnog were consumed.) 

Actually, this holiday had its origins with servants and others who had to work on Christmas Day. Their masters or employers gave them the following day off and sent them off with Christmas boxes for themselves and their families.  So, the families of many maids, butlers, cooks and the like had their "Christmas dinner" on this date.

These days, it seems to have taken on an identity like that of Black Friday--the day after Thanksgiving--in the US.  People take advantage of the sales in big-city department stores as well as smaller, family-run operations.

But, at least in the UK, it also seems to be a popular day for bike rides of all types.  A quick Google search revealed everything from lunch rides for families to spirited club rides--and even a cyclo-cross race or two.

Hearing the term "Boxing Day ride" might conjure up an image like this:

I can imagine that rider being one of those servants or other helpers who just got the day off.  And the recipient of one of those boxes just might be this young man:

out on a family ride, of course!

Happy Christmas!

Yesterday I posted a video of Kanye West being pulled through the streets of San Francisco.

Today, I offer an image of what could be an even more arduous ride for three cyclists:

Imagine pulling Santa all over the world, bearing gifts that must be placed under Christmas trees at exactly midnight! I'm not sure any three cyclists could do it, even if their names were Eddy Mercx, Jacques Anquetil and Bernard Hinault.

Happy Christmas, and thank you for visiting my blog!

Perhaps This Ride Will Bring Him Back

In A Movable Feast, published several years after his death, Ernest Hemingway says this about F. Scott Fitzgerald:

His talent was as natural as the pattern that was made by the dust on a butterfly's wings.  At one time he understood it no more than the butterfly did and he did not know when it was brushed or marred.  Later he became conscious of his damaged wings and of their construction and he learned how to think and could not fly any more because the love of flight was gone and he could only remember when it had been effortless.

Now, I know Fitzgerald and Hemingway only through what they wrote and, to a lesser degree, what has been written (and said) about them.  I suspect, though, that Hemingway pegged the author of The Great Gatsby.  Well, almost.  I get the feeling that, if anything, Fitzgerald became conscious of his celebrity and what it entailed, and tried to live up (or down, depending on your point of view) to it.  Plus--now, I know someone is going to accuse me of sexism for saying this--he was trying to please a woman who couldn't be pleased.

(Remember, I am transgender, having lived more than four decades in one gender other than the one I live now.  So, while I may not be unbiased, I think I am justified in, or at least can rationalize, a somewhat jaundiced view of both men and women.)

That amended version, I think, can also apply to Kanye West.  There was a time when I thought he was going to become a sort of male version of Lauryn Hill--a "voice of a generation" that would rise out of the scars of his life.  She released a watershed album two decades ago and has barely been heard from since.  He, on the other hand, released an album that seemed to augur, in a similar way, a new vision--and went in the exact opposite direction from Ms. Hill, to the point that his celebrity seems to be a parody.

I really, really was a fan of his when he released College Dropout and subsequent albums Late Registration and Graduation. Like Hill, he seemed to exhibit a self-awareness that seemed almost of a piece with his awareness of the world around him.  And like her, he had talents that served as near-perfect vehicles for that awareness.

Then he became a celebrity.  And he married a Kardashian.  Well, you know the rest.

Still, I must say, there are moments when I remember the Kanye I liked so much.  One such moment came when someone sent me this video from Twitter of Kanye riding a bicycle:




OK, the emphasis is on riding.  Someone else is doing the pedaling.  He says he was in San Francisco.  Wherever he was, he seemed to be having an un-selfconscious good time.

It gives me hope that perhaps he will become a musician and performer--and not merely a celebrity--again.

This Dutch Couple Is A Treat!

When I say "The Netherlands", what's the first thing you think of?

Well, since you're reading this blog, I wouldn't be surprised (or displeased) if you said "cycling."

OK, so what's the next thing you think of?

Some of you would say "windmills."  Fair enough. I'd also bet that some of you think of art.  After all, it's a country that gave us Rembrandt, Vermeer, Van Gogh and Mondrian.

So it makes sense that the Dutch would produce some nice bike-related art.

OK, so this isn't worthy of the Masters, classical or modern.  But, as we say here in Queens--in a Cyndi Lauper accent, of course:  Ya gotta love it!

(She once said, "I speak the Queens English.  It's just the wrong Queens, that's all!")

How Can They Go Wrong With A Pashley?

Before I started this blog, I thought about buying a Pashley bicycle.

Why?, you ask.  Well, I'd never had a bike quite like the "Princess" or "Guv'nor" before.  I know, they are two very different kinds of machine:  One is stately and lady-like, meant for ambling along boulevards, while the other is a "path racer", a genre of bicycle all but unknown to Americans about a decade ago.

Also, since I had two (only two!) Mercians at that time, I thought I had to "round out" my stable with another Traditional British Bike (or at least one from a traditional British maker).  Don't ask me to explain the logic of that--if indeed there is any.

The real reason, though, I wanted  a Pashley is that they're made in Stratford on Avon--the birthplace of none other than The Bard.

Well, greater minds than my own convinced me that it wasn't the best reason to buy a bike.  Pashleys might indeed be wonderful machines, but their quality has no relation to the fact that they're produced in the same place that gave us one of the greatest writers in the English language, if not the entire world.

I don't regret that I didn't buy one.  But I enjoy seeing them, mainly because we really don't see many of them here in the Big Bagel.

Now I'll have a chance to see a bunch of Pashleys--though not all at once, and not in person.  Instead, they'll be on the "Big Screen"--in the soon-to-be-released remake of Mary Poppins.

Lin-Manuel Miranda on a modified Pashley

I don't usually go to see re-makes if I've seen the original because I expect the re-make to be a disappointment. But Mary Poppins is like the perfect confection:  It's not high art, but there's nothing not to like (sort of like Grease), which means that it can't really be ruined in a re-make.  Also, the movie is set 20 years later than the original, so it has to be at least somewhat different.

Besides, this new version will feature Lin-Manuel Miranda--and those Pashleys!

What To Do On The Shortest Day

The Winter Solistice comes at 5:22 pm (1722 h) today.

That means we in the Northern Hemisphere have less daylight than on any other day of the year.  It's also supposed to rain all day, so we won't get much light.  Forecasters expect that rain to continue into the night, so we won't see the Ursid meteor shower, which is nearing its peak.  We also won't see the full moon, which won't coincide with the solistice again until 2094.

But unseasonably warm temperatures are forecast for the day.  Maybe I'll take a ride if the rain isn't torrential--or if it isn't accompanied by strong winds.

So, for a Winter Solistice ride, do you try to cram as many miles (or kilometers) into what little daylight you have--or take a night ride.

(I'm thinking now of one dear reader, Leo, who lives near the 64th parallel and will have about half as much daylight as we'll have here in NYC!)

Why They Should Be Recognized As Professionals

Americans often complain that French--or even Asian--waiters are "rude," or simply not friendly.

On the other hand, some gourmands will argue that the quality of a restaurant's food is inversely proportional to the friendliness of its service.  

I would agree with that second assertion, to a point.  I recall that the old Second Avenue Deli had, arguably, the best matzoh ball soup and pastrami sandwiches--and the rudest waiters--in Manhattan.  And I have been in many a restaurant--yes, even Italian and Indian-Pakistani ones--where I loved the food but the waitstaff weren't vying to be Mr. or Ms. Congeniality.

Now, French and even high-end Asian restaurants represent cultures very different (at least in some ways) from those that gave us the various ethnic restaurants found in New York and other American cities.  But I have always sensed that there is a certain kinship in the attitude of waitstaff.  

In France, and perhaps to a lesser degree in other European and Asian countries, being a waiter or waitress isn't something you do to pay for college or because you don't have the documentation or credentials for other kinds of work.  In fact, it isn't just a job:  It's a profession.

One almost never hears the words "professional" and "waiter" or "waitress" used together in the English-speaking world.  That, perhaps, is a reason why they are not given respect--or a living wage.  (As you may know, you don't tip a waiter in France: there's a service charge built into your bill.)  On the other hand, a waiter, like a chef, sous chef or anyone else involved in creating, preparing and delivering a meal, is expected to help create a dining experience.  So a waiter not only hauls trays and plates; he or she also choreographs the dining experience, ensuring that everything from the table arrangement to the wines are appropriate for the meal that is being consumed.

I think now of something a lawyer once told me:  "It's not my job to be my client's friend; I am here to be my client's advocate."  I think it's a fair summation of any profession. Yes, you want your lawyer or doctor or teacher or whoever to be courteous and respectful.  But it's not his or her job to be your buddy.  And that professional does not quit at a certain time of day.  Most important of all, a professional is always learning something new.

I know of bike mechanics like that. In fact, I go to a couple of them when I don't have the right tool(s) or simply don't have (or don't want to spend) the time to do something properly.  The mechanics I am talking about have been doing their work for years, or even decades, and because of their expertise, they work year-round in shops, even during seasons when other mechanics are laid off.

They aren't professionals just because they're getting paid to work on bikes:  They attain such status, at least in my eyes, because of the way they approach their work--and their relations with customers.   Their goal is to make your bike work, and to work for you.  Moreover, they understand how bikes and cyclists are changing--and remaining the same.

But almost nobody--at least in the US--thinks of being a bike mechanic as a profession.  Part of the reason, I suspect, as that most mechanics, save for the ones I've described, don't see themselves as practicing a profession.  It's a job--as, I admit, fixing and assembling bikes was for me at different times in my life--that will sustain you until you complete your degree or move on to something else in your life.

Also, a professional isn't bound by one employer or workplace.  As an example, a doctor doesn't stop being a doctor upon leaving a hospital where he or she worked--or if that hospital shuts down.  That doctor can work elsewhere, or set up his or her own practices.

Mechanics are going to need that sort of mobility.  With the rise of internet sales and bike-share programs--and rising rents--the existence of a bike shop is increasingly precarious.  But even if people buy their bikes from online wholesalers or use bike-share programs (instead of renting bikes from shops), someone will have to assemble that new bike, or fix it after it's been ridden through streets and over hill and dale.  Many cyclists don't have the time or inclination to make those repairs (or they're not allowed to fix share bikes).  So, there will always be a need, I believe, for mechanics.  And because bike designs, and the ways in which bikes are ridden, are changing, mechanics and other bike industry professionals need to keep on learning.

As I understand, those are the motivations behind the Professional Bicycle Mechanics Association, founded two and a half years ago.  As its president, James Stanfill, says, "Service is to me what we do for others, and for us mechanics, it is absolutely inclusive of all we, as an industry, do for others."  

 

  Many mechanics, and others in the bike industry, are already living and working by that credo.  So it makes sense to start a "professional association" (which is not the same thing as a union) for bike mechanics.  I mean, auto mechanics are recognized as professionals, as they should be.  So why not bike mechanics?  If nothing else, I think such recognition would help not only to bring more respect to the bicycle industry, but to cycling itself.

For Once, The Women Won't Be Thrown Under The Bus

Say what you will about Serena Williams' outburst, her style or anything else:  Women's tennis needs her more than she needs it.  I mean, when she retires--which I predict will happen some time after she breaks the record for Grand Slam singles titles--who will command the same sort of respect and attention she has?

(Now, I don't want her to retire any time soon. But I really want to see her break the record, especially because Margaret Court holds it.)

While the fact that she could break the record within a year speaks volumes of what a great player she's been, it also can't be denied that the state of the tour isn't what it was, say, thirty years ago.

Back then, Martina Navratilova dominated the sport in a way that, possibly, no other athlete dominated his or her sport.  Even though people expected her to win whenever she played, she faced some formidable competition from the likes of Steffi Graf and Chris Evert.  This is not to say that Serena's opponents are pushovers; I just don't think they quite match up to what Martina faced.

If you were to argue that the women's game was better than the men's, few would have disagreed.  That is the reason why most tennis sports and sports historians agree that Martina was the greatest female player of all time, and more than a few she was the greatest tennis player, male or female, who ever graced a court.

Once Williams retires, women's tennis will revert to the state of affairs that existed before Billie Jean King came along.  And broadcasters, sponsors and the general public won't be nearly as interested as they have been, let alone as interested as they were when Navratilova ruled.

Women's cycling, unfortunately, has had a parallel history.  I can recall a "golden age" for American women, which started roughly with Mary Jane ("Miji") Reoch's prime in the early 1970s and lasted for about two decades, at least until Rebecca Twigg's 1995 victory in the World Championships.

During that time, American male cyclists were on the rise, too:  Greg Lemond, after all, won the Tour de France three times in the late 1980s.  But, although he competed against some strong American male racers, the American women were, on the whole, more dominant and garnered at least as much attention.

Also, toward the end of that period, European women were ascendant.  In fact, a women's version of the Tour de France commenced in 1984 as a curtain-raising event for the men's race.  It ran in various forms, and under various names (the men's Tour organizers sued to keep the women from using "Tour" in the name of their race) for a quarter-century.  

It's telling that when American Marianne Martin won the first edition of that race, she and runners-up Heleen Hage and Deborah Shumway stood on the podium with male winners Laurent Fignon, Bernard Hinault and Greg Lemond.  While Fignon won the equivalent of $225,000, Martin was given $1000 and a trophy.

The women's race always had to scramble for sponsorship, even in the best of times.  So, when economic times got tough and sponsors had to cut back on spending, guess what they cut?  As best as I can tell, the men's Tour, as well as the Giro and Vuelta, are still going, even though interest in bike racing overall has declined.

The loss of the women's Tour-equivalent mirrors a situation found all over bike racing, and in sports generally:  When money supplies tighten, women's events are usually sacrificed.  While I don't think the women's tennis tour will disappear, I think we'll see a lot less of it once Serena retires--unless, of course, someone else comes along who's as dominating and compelling as she is.

Fortunately, though, one event is bucking the trend, if in a relatively small way.  The Colorado Classic has featured men's and women's races since it debuted two years ago.  Next year, however, one of them will be eliminated.

It won't be the women's race.

Why?  According to Ken Gart of the RPM Events Group, which organizes the event, the change will allow organizers to set up "one great race instead of two average ones."  Or, as Colorado Governor-Elect Jared Polis said, it could allow the event to turn into "the premier women's race in the Western Hemisphere."

The theory is that by putting all of the resources into one race, longer and more challenging courses could be set up.  Also, as Gart explained, "We love men's cycling...but our ability to impact men's cycling was very minimal."  

One could say he means that the best way to promote women's cycling is to not force it to compete with men's racing.  That might be true, but I think what's more important is that the women's race won't be an adjunct to, or "opening act" for, the men's race, as it was in the women's tour.  

That may well be what women's sports in general needs:  a way to make it interesting and worthwhile in its own right--as women's tennis was in the era of Martina, and women's cycling was in the days of Twigg--and not merely something designed to sink or swim in the trail of men's competition.