From The Heights To The Cutoff—And Joe

Sometimes, when I ride through the industrial areas of Queens and Brooklyn, I feel like an archaeologist.

Tuesday afternoon I took Negrosa, my vintage Mercian Olympic, for a spin along some landmarked blocks in central Brooklyn.  I hadn’t planned to ride anywhere in particular; I just found myself spinning my pedals out that way.  

Brooklyn has, probably, the greatest concentration—and some of the best examples—of brownstone houses. Long-since-gentrified (and bleached, if you know what I mean) neighborhoods like Park Slope and Carroll Gardens regularly (during non-pandemic times) witness throngs of architecture students and tourists savoring the details of those buildings.  But some equally-beautiful areas like Stuyvesant Heights are less known because they are “off the beaten path. Stuyvesant Heights is still mainly an African- and Caribbean-American neighborhood.  Hmm...Could that be a reason why tourists (or White New Yorkers, except for those in the know) don’t beat a path to it?

These houses on Decatur Street have details even more intricate than what I saw every day when I was living in “the Slope.” 

I would love to see this neighborhood to keep the characteristics—including some interesting shops and cafes—that make it worth seeing.  But I hope it doesn’t turn into a masoleum, I mean museum or, worse, a Brownstone Theme Park.

Likewise, I could see this railroad underpass—under which I passed on my way home—turning into what many of us hoped the High Line would become.  The Montauk Cutoff, as it’s called, bears striking resemblances to The High Line before it became  catwalk for the well-heeled high-heeled:  Like the HL about 20 years ago, the MC is a weed-grown railroad right-of-way previously used by freight trains making deliveries to and from an old industrial area that’s starting to de-industrialize.

As I understand, the MC belongs to the Long Island Rail Road. (Yes, the LIRR still spells “Rail Road” as two words, just as they did in 1834!) Some reports say the Rail Road wants to add some trackage and connect it to their recently-expanded Sunnyside Yards.  Others say it’s structurally unsound and will be torn down.  Then there are stories that some city or state agency or investors want to acquire it and create a High Line, especially since some of the industrial sites could become upscale residential and commercial areas.

Me, I’d love for it to become a High Line for the people. It would include a bike lane (of course!), green spaces and art studios, galleries, craft shops, educational centers and cafes that could represent the many communities of Queens, the most culturally and linguistically diverse county in the United States, if not the world.

(Examples of the diversity include members of Central American indigenous groups who may or may not speak Spanish and Africans who might speak Wolof or some other native language and practice a religion far older than Christianity or Islam.)

Hmm...If someone takes me up on my idea, there might be a plaque or something with my name and likeness. Perhaps someone would look at it and wonder who, exactly, Justine was

just as I wonder what happened to Joe, or whether Marty and Janet stayed together. I mentioned these bits of graffiti on the Review Avenue wall of the Calvary Cemetery eight years ago.  I first saw it many years ago—if I recall correctly, with my family, on our way to visit relatives who were living in Queens.

I never know what I’ll unearth on a ride!

It's Come Here, It's Come To This

Every country I have visited, with the possible exception of Canada, has experienced a revolution, uprising, coup d'etat or other violent attempt to unseat a sitting government or prevent a new government from seating itself.  In some of those countries, like Cambodia and Laos, people are still living with the aftermath--which is sometimes quite visible--of those uphevals.  And, for a time, I lived in a country that had one of the most famous coups of all:  The first time I walked around the Place de la Concorde in Paris, I tried to imagine it covered in blood spilled from the guillotines set up where the famous obelisks stand.

Now, I have participated in a few demonstrations in my time.  We were agitating for change that, we felt, wasn't coming from elected leaders or institutions.  But I never, at any time, threw my lot in with any person or group who tried to violently overthrow a duly-elected government or inflict harm on any person.  I am, I guess, a product of a country where things haven't been done that way.

Until yesterday, that is.  Most people, including the actual and self-appointed pundits in the media, believe that the mobs who stormed the Capitol won't succeed in their efforts to keep the results of the election from being ratified and President-elect Joe Biden from being inaugurated.  My guess is that they're right, but I don't think we should see such an outcome as guaranteed.  

The thing is, while their actions may have been an inevitable outcome of what President Trump and his supporters have done--and, worse, condoned--they weren't normal, at least in one sense.  Most other uprisings and revolutions are a result of deprivation:  as one of Bob Marley's reminds us in Them Belly Full , "A hungry mob is an angry mob."  More precisely, the violence is a reaction to someone in power saying, whether with their words or actions, "Qu'ils mangent de la brioche."

One thing that makes yesterday's riot--and, more accurately, rioters--different is that they're not revolting against a government that's in power.  They are trying to prevent a newly-elected government from taking power.  At least, that's their ostensible purpose. But their real anger rages against what they perceive to be the real power:  a left-liberal conspiracy in the media, academic world, governments and the world economy (globalism).  And they see, however inaccurately, Joe Biden and Kamala Harris as its proxies.

Photo by Erin Schaff, from The New York Times blog

The other difference between them and earlier revolutionaries is that they're not hungry, at least not in the physical sense.  At least, my guess is that most of them aren't:  The really hungry people are too overworked or too beaten down to do what yesterday's protesters did.  Rather, they are resentful (which, it can be argued, is a kind of spiritual starvation) of people who are blacker, browner, gayer or in any other way different--and therefore, in their eyes, the beneficiaries of unfairly acquired privilege.  The guy won't wear a mask believes that his job is in jeopardy because of a woman in a hijab and that his safety is in danger from another woman who wrapped herself and her children in a shawl after a coyote left them in the desert night.  

The assault in the Capitol is a developing story and I realize that by the time you read this, new details will have emerged and some parts of this post might be out of date.  But I felt the need to say something about it because my cycling journeys have taken me to places that experienced what I never thought--until recently--would happen here in the US.  

Reflecting Phantoms and Sting Rays

Some Christians celebrate today, the 6th of January, as the Epiphany.  It's the day after the Twelfth Night of Christmas, so this day is often regarded as the end of the Christmas season.

While some folks take down their Christmas trees and decorations the day after the holiday, or on New Year's Day, I've known many others who put away their holiday decorations on this date.  Also, many decorations in public places like shopping malls and town squares are removed on or around this date.

Such places include the Atlas Park, about 10 kilometers from my apartment.  It's an open-air mall very similar in design to European Village of Palm Coast, Florida.  Both opened around the same time:  just in time for the financial crisis of 2007-2008.  But while EV was built on previously undeveloped land, AP was constructed on the site of Atlas Terminal Industrial Park, which once housed General Electric, Kraft, Westinghouse and New York Telephone as well as other manufacturers.

I don't know whether any Christmas decorations were ever made there.  In the confines of ATIP, however, a company made functional objects that could have served as tree or window ornaments:

If you're of, ahem, a certain age, you might have ridden a bike equipped with those reflectors.  You might still have them, or these:

Gulco "6 pie" reflector, above and below.

6

Schwinns and other bikes from the 1940s through the 1970s came with Gulco reflectors.  Sometimes the company's information was engraved on the metal backing:  Charles Gulotta Company (hence Gulco) of Glendale, New York.  

We all know that modern reflectors and lights do their jobs better than their earlier counterparts.  But you have to admit, those old lights and reflectors had style, or at least character, you just don't find in the new stuff.

Bikes from the 1940s and 1950s used the "bubble" or "jewel" reflectors, while Sting Rays and "muscle" bikes from the 1960s and 1970s came with "2 pie" or "6 pie" reflectors.   All fetch premium prices on eBay.  So does the special bracket that attached "6 pie" reflectors to "banana" seats on Sting Rays.

The small "jewel" reflectors were sometimes attached to the end of leather strips wrapped around hub shafts.  Hipsters and other urban fixed-gear riders sometimes replicate those "hub shiners" on their new machines.

Gulotta/Gulco didn't make reflectors only for bicycles.  The smaller ones were often used to attach license plates to cars and motorcycles; other "shiners" were also found on boats, trucks and other vehicles.

During the 1970s, Japanese bicycles found popularity among American cyclists.  Much about them was equal or superior to their American and European counterparts:  the lug work was often cleaner (at least on the lower- and middle-priced bikes), the SunTour and Shimano derailleurs were easier to shift and more precise and the bikes  represented better overall values for the money.  The Cateye reflectors that came with Fujis, Nishikis, Miyatas and other Japanese bikes were brighter, lighter in weight and sturdier (or at least less delicate).

I tried to obtain information on how long Gulotta/Gulco continued to manufacture.  All I could find were reports that "Charles Gulotta Co Inc" was first registered as a business name in 1925; a trademark application was filed in 1960, approved the following year and renewed in 1981 and "dead/cancelled" in 2002.  So, my guess is that Gulotta/Gulco was making reflectors--though, possibly, not bike-specific ones--into the 1980s, and possibly the 1990s.  By 2000, Atlas was no longer functioning as an industrial facility.

If you're restoring a Schwinn Phantom or Sting Ray, it simply wouldn't be complete without the right reflector--made in my neighborhood, more or less!

A Girl Scout Makes Her Town Safe(r) For Cycling

 It's funny to think that I, a transgender woman, was once a Boy Scout (and altar boy).  I joined the Scouts, in part, to try to quell the nagging doubts  about my gender identity.  Although that part of the plan didn't work out, there were things I liked about Scouting.  Among them were the fact that it recognize, and even reward (via merit badges) for doing things I would have done anyway.  So I earned merit badges for reading (!) and cycling.

The requirements for the badge weren't terribly rigorous: a few rides of increasing length, knowledge of hand signals and the ability to fix a flat tire.  I certainly didn't have to do anything as original as Jordan Brown has done.

Jordan Brown

In addition to cycling and scouting (in her case, Girl Scouts), she and I have this in common: Middletown, and its high school, where she is a ninth-grader.

Her Middletown, though, is in Rhode Island. Mine  was in New Jersey. (What US state doesn't have a Middletown?) Oh, and hers is still called Middletown High, whereas mine became Middletown North when a second high school opened just after I graduated.

But I digress.  To earn the Silver Award, a Girl Scout must complete an in-depth project in which she identifies a need or issue in her community (whether local, state, national or international), researches it and plans a project to address the issue or need at its root cause.  It requires a minimum of 50 leadership hours to implement and includes requirements that the project can be sustained beyond the girl who creates it.  The project has to be proposed to, and approved by, an awards committee at the regional organization: in Jordan's case, the Girl Scouts of Southeastern New England (GSSNE).

As often as not, a need is identified through personal experience.  Ms. Brown's discerned the need to educate members of her community about bicycle safety after seeing a friend, who wasn't wearing a helmet, take a major fall on a bicycle.  As a result, she had planned to conduct six weeks of after-school programs, in partnership with Bike Newport, about bike safety and knowledge in Middletown's two elementary schools.

Those programs were to take place in March and April.  Brown had also planned to conduct a community event during the summer.  The COVID-19 pandemic, however, rendered those plans undoable as all of Rhode Island's schools closed from March onward and restrictions were still in place during the summer.

The initiative she took should be reason enough to give her the Silver, and Gold Awards, as well as any number of other accolades.  She embarked on an alternative project that she divided in two parts. The first involved the purchase and installation of two bike repair stations in Middletown:  one at the public library, the other at the Gaudet Middle School.  To fund the $2600 cost of those stations, she held two car washes (which netted $1200), requested and received funds from the Middletown Town Council and received private community donations.

To see this part of her project to completion, she worked with the Town Council,  facilities departments of the schools, superintendent of Middletown Public Schools, principal of Gaudet, town administrator and library director--in addition to Girl Scout representatives and local mentors and advisors.

The second part of Brown's project was educational.  Reaching out to her local community wasn't possible during the pandemic.  So, she created a Girl Scout Patch program based on safety and the history and social implications of the bicycle.  The patch program has been offered through GSSNE and Girl Scout Facebook groups throughout the country.  

On top of everything, Jordan designed the patch, of which 300 were originally produced and given, free of charge, to the first 300 girls who completed the program.  So successful was the program that Brown had to have another 500 patches made. 

Everything she did would have been impressive if an adult experienced in teaching, business or community organizing had done it.  That it was accomplished by a first-year high school student means that we'll hear more from, and about Jordan Brown.  I hope she gets to tout her accomplishments from the saddle of her bicycle!

Trexit: Another Consequence of COVID-19

 Just before Christmas, I wrote about an irony of the COVID-19 pandemic:  The dramatic increase in bike-related sales has actually forced some small shops, like Larsen's Bicycles of Powell, Wyoming, out of business.  The same surge in demand that has filled the coffers of bike companies and larger shops has left smaller shops like Larsen's--usually the last to be supplied--without inventory.  

It seems, though, that some other shops are closing, or their owners are shifting their focus to related businesses, by choice. 

People often look at the price tags on bikes and assume that the bike industry is lucrative.  The reality is that margins on bikes are new bikes are smaller--and, the more expensive the bike, the smaller the margin.  Prior to the pandemic, the bike could stand on the showroom floor for months, or even years.  In the meantime, the shop's owner or manager had to pay all the overhead of running the business, not to mention the mechanic who assembled the bike.

In addition, most bike shop owners, like their counterparts in other industries, carry long-term debt, whether for the business itself or in mortgages for their business buildings or homes.  That is often a deterrent to any would-be buyer of a bike shop, or any other small business, and a reason why shop proprietors are running their enterprises long after their peers have retired from salaried jobs.

I have just described some of the reasons why I have no regrets over not opening a bike shop or a book store, even though I was offered opportunities to do both in my youth.  One retailer described the situation well:  "It just did start to feel like we were in the store-running business instead of the bicycle business."  Having worked in both bike shops and book stores, I realized that I love books and bikes, but had absolutely no love for "the store-running business."  That, in essence, is why Chris Kulczyki sold the business he started--Velo Orange--almost four years ago.

Unfortunately, according to that retailer, "the store-running business is where this industry is going."  That is one reason, I think, why some are leaving the industry. The retailer in question admits that he, and other shop owners, have benefitted from the current "boom." Their "store running" has allowed them to pay off old debts and put some money in the bank.  It's also allowed them to get out from under a pile of old inventory.  For the first time, many who opened bike shops during the 1970s and 1980s, can leave with a "clean slate."  

As sad as it will be to see some of those shops go, I really can't blame their owners for selling out or closing down.  You really can't blame anybody for quitting while he or she is ahead, especially if it's taken decades to get to that point.  Also, as more than bicycle entrepreneur has said, "I'm tired; it's time to retire."

Some of those shops were Trek dealers. In recent years, the Wisconsin-based company called in some of its debts by taking over stores, essentially leaving the proprietor with nothing.  Some shop owners were on the verge of such a fate early in 2020.  But the COVID-induced surge in demand allowed them to pay down their debts and allowed negotiate more more favorable terms to their Trexits.

From the Financial Times

What Will They Dig Up?

Four and a half years ago, a gold miner used a water cannon to blast through a wall of permafrost in Canada's Yukon Territory.  That day, Neil Loveless didn't find any precious metal.  Instead, he chanced upon something far rarer:  an almost perfectly-mummified wolf pup who died 57,000 years ago.  Her body was so well-preserved that scientists could tell what she ate (salmon!) for her last meal.

That leads me to wonder what some miner or forager will find 57,000 years from now.

From marquettemagazine.com

  

Enforcement, For A Day

Nevada law stipulates that motorists must give cyclists a berth of three feet (a bit less than a meter) when passing.  Other states have similar laws but they are seldom enforced.  One reason is that police officers can't be, and surveillance cameras aren't, everywhere.  

While some motorists deliberately ignore such a rule because they feel entitled to a road "my taxes paid for" (well, so did mine and those of every other cyclist!), others don't realize such regulations exist.  For that matter, many law enforcement officials aren't cognizant of them as well.

On Wednesday morning, a Las Vegas police officer rode a bicycle equipped with a laser device that measured the distance between bicycles and passing cars along a popular loop. He called out violations to  more than a dozen other officers staged  along that route. By that afternoon, 170 cars were stopped for violations or warnings, 184 citations were handed out and about 30 warnings were given to drivers.

Sgt. Michael Campbell rides bicycle as part of enforcement effort on West Charleston Boulevard in Las Vegas. (Photo by K.M. Cannon for the Las Vegas Journal-Review

Of course, roads and other bike routes are almost never as heavily-patrolled as that Las Vegas loop was on Wednesday.  I am all but certain that the nearby road where a truck ran down Gerard Suarez Nieva, Thomas Chamberlin Trauger, Erin Michelle Ray, Aksoy Ahmet and Michael Todd Murray on 10 December didn't have the kind of police presence--or a video surveillance camera. 

Moving Forward To 2021

Happy New Year!

The past year was difficult for many of us, for all sorts of reasons.  I have no idea of what this year will bring--well, all right, I think the first few months, at least, will be difficult as the COVID-19 pandemic rages. However and whenever the pandemic ebbs, all we can do is to move forward.

That is what we, as cyclists, know how to do. Even--actually, I would say "especially"-- those of us who like vintage or "retro" bikes are forward-looking:  We are riding toward a landscape free of the encumbrances of fossil fuels, social and economic hiérarchies and the tyranny of companies that dictate what we can and can't use. 

Pioneering female cyclists Violet Ward and Daisy Elliot, 1895.  (Alice Austen, collection of Historic Richmond Town.)

One thing I can't help but to notice is that social progress--which is to say, equal access to dignity--comes as more women and girls ride bicycles.  (Why do you think I underwent a gender transition? ;-)) Think of the bike booms of the 1890s and 1970s:  Those are, perhaps not coincidentally, when the first and second waves of feminism washed over American society.  I would like to think that we are in another boom and that it will result, current setbacks notwithstanding, long-term gains for women.

Women cycling in Davis, California, 1967

If nothing else, if we see more women (and people of all other gender identities) on bikes in 2021, things have to get better.  I hope so.

Annis Horribilis Or An Opportunity?

Queen Elizabeth II (How often have I referred to her in this blog?) referred to 1992 as an annis horribilis.  Her Majesty likes to project an image of someone not given to hyperbole, so perhaps she was just trying to show her former tutors that she still remembered some of the Latin they taught her.

Now, to be fair, I would think it was a pretty bad year if a fire destroyed part of my house.  And I wouldn't look back too fondly on a year in which one of my relatives, however distant, committed suicide.  But the other "tragedies," which include divorces, infidelities and the like were merely instances of Royal Family members showing that, well, maybe they're not so different from the rest of us.

In comparison, many people--and large parts of the world--suffered real tragedies, mainly as a result of the COVID-19 pandemic, but also because of natural disasters and other disruptions to what was considered "normal."

One can hope that the coming year will be better.  For one thing, Donald Trump lost his bid for a second presidential term.  For another, vaccines against COVID-19 are making their way into the world.  

What really gives me hope, however, is the knowledge that tragedies and disasters are opportunities to learn, and there are always resilient people. (Meeting Cambodians who survived the Pol Pot regime and Greeks who have come through wars, invasions and economic crises taught me much about both.)  One example of resilience includes the people who got on their bikes during the pandemic, when mass transit systems shut down or cut back their services and other forms of recreation weren't available.  I hope that the new "bike boom" shows planners, policy-makers as well as ordinary citizens that the future need not (actually, can't) be as auto- and fossil fuel-centric as the past century or so have been.  

If nothing else, I hope this year helps us to learn that we must--and, I believe, can and will--learn and change.

Roy Wallack R.I.P.

One more day!  

That's what remains, after today, of 2020.  For many of us, this year can't end quickly enough.  In addition to the pandemic, natural disasters and all of the other awful events of the world, it seems that so many people (at least of the ones I know) have suffered some tragedies, disasters or setbacks of one kind or another. Or we had plain and simple bad luck:  After nearly half of century of cycling with no serious accidents (a wrecked bike and a few minor injuries), I was--in little more than three months' time--face-planted  and doored.

The face-plant left me with head trauma that, fortunately, didn't result in permanent damage.  I wish I could say the same for Arielle, the bike that started my Mercian obsession.  The dooring didn't do much harm to Negrosa, my vintage Mercian Olympic, but left me with a whole bunch of stitches, a strained muscle and sprained knee.  I'm just starting to get my energy back.

Roy Wallack (right) with Gordon Wright during the 2008 TransRockies Run.

Things could have been worse, though.  On Saturday the 19th, Roy Wallack rode his mountain bike down a steep trail near Malibu, California. He took a fall--no one is sure of how or why, but friends who were riding with him say that it might have been caused by a medical issue.  Whatever the circumstance, the fall resulted in Roy's head hitting a large rock.  

His friends, an EMT and cardiologists who happened upon the scene performed CPR on him until a helicopter arrived.  The rescuers' attempts to save him were for naught.

A terrible irony of that crash is that Wallack hired a personal trainer for his father who "has no disabilities and comes from a long line of centenarians" but whose "problem" was "obvious":  the Easy Boy chair he "hadn't left.. in 30 years (except for Costco and cleaning up in the yard after the dogs)."  The trainer called Wallach's 90-year-old father to urge him onto the treadmill as he's been housebound by COVID-19.

Roy, who intended to ride, run, swim and participate in other outdoor adventures on his way to becoming the latest in his family's line of centenarians, only made it to 64 years old.  But his time was certainly a journey:  While he didn't have the archetypal body of a cyclist or runner, he pedaled Paris-Brest-Paris and many other rides, ran marathons and participated in all manner of outdoor sports, sometimes competitively but more often for the adventure. 

That is what made his writing--for publications such as Bicycling, Runners' World, Bicycle Guide and Outside; and in his books and the Los Angeles Times' Outdoor section--so engaging.  He wrote the way he approached cycling, running and other outdoor activities:  as an adventurer and enthusiast rather than as a "jock." He rarely wore lycra; in the baggy shorts he usually wore, wannabe racers might have seen him as a "Fred."  To me, though, he embodied and expressed the essence of what makes cycling, running, hiking and other outdoor sports lifetime activities rather than games that can be experienced only as a spectator after one reaches a certain age.

Where They Bike More

 Would you bike more in Baltimore?

I would, if I ever get to "Charm City" again--especially after seeing this:

The folks at Bikemore are offering it.  What could possibly be a better name for a bicycle advocacy organization?

I wonder, though, whether they pronounce it as Bike-a-more?

Which Side Of The Gate?

 We are passing out of this year.  I don’t know many people who are sad to be leaving it, even with all of the uncertainty that lies ahead.

I know there are three more days left in this year after today.  Somehow, though, yesterday—the last Sunday of the year—felt more like the denouement.  In a normal year, not much happens during the week between Christmas and New Year’s Day.  Then again, what has been “normal” this year?

I thought about all of this while riding along the North Shore yesterday.  The funny thing is that I didn’t stop until near the end of my ride.  But I think you can see why I paused in Astoria Park, only a kilometer and a half from my apartment.

As I’ve mentioned in other posts, this bridge is called the Hell Gate Bridge, after the stretch of the (misnamed) East River it spans.

If that is indeed the Gate of Hell, which side of it are we on?

What Should They Be Trained To Do?

 Thirteen is a difficult age for almost anyone.  The body is going through all sorts of changes, so everyone and everything in the world seems capricious, unjust and even cruel.  Sometimes the anger you may have  felt at that age was justified, especially when you're mocked, bullied or punished for, well, being thirteen years old.

My family had recently moved. (I forgave my parents for that when I turned 40. ;-)) As if everything else I was experiencing weren't enough, that Christmas a recording that's still a hazard to my mental health polluted and smothered the airwaves.  Like many other people, I got a kick out of the novelty of dogs barking "Jingle Bells"  for about the first 15 seconds it played.

A few days ago, when I was running some errands, a store was blaring the barking monstrosity in the street.  I might get it out of my ear by Groundhog Day. Aargh!

These days, I own two Christmas CDs: Celine Dion's "These Are Special Times", which my mother gave me the year it came out, and an album of the late, great Jessye Norman's concert with the Orchestre de Lyon in the Notre Dame cathedral.  Other CDs of mine include a Christmas song or two, like John Lennon's "War Is Over."  But if anyone gave me a disc of the Singing Dogs, I'd use it for a coaster or frisbee.  Whoever made and promoted that recording should be indicted for animal abuse!

On the other hand, I want to applaud whoever created this image:

You can buy a print of this on Etsy 

Un-Boxing Day

Today is Boxing Day.  The United States is probably the only English-speaking country that doesn't celebrate it.

According to which accounts you believe, this day originated as a day to give gifts to the poor--or when upper class families boxed up gifts and food for their cooks, servants and other employees, who were sent home (with boxes) to spend time with their families after working on the holiday.

Either story leads me to this question:  How many bicycles are boxed on Boxing Day?

 

From The Washing Machine Post

One blogger documented his un-Boxing Day.  I don't know what day the blogger's Cielo bicycle arrived, but  I'm sure that un-boxing it was at least as eventful for that person as boxing cookies, cakes, leftovers or gifts was for the people who gave them to their help, or to the anonymous poor. 

Cheer

 This is 2020.  So I'm not going to say "Merry Christmas."  Instead, I am going to express the hope that this day--whether or not you celebrate it as a holiday--is as fulfilling or simply restful as you want or need it to be.

That said, I am going to express gratitude for those who gave in great and small ways--from hospital workers, teachers, grocery store clerks and others on the front lines to those who simply bring some joy to what has been a g

Those people include the folks at 21-29 25th Road, just four blocks from my apartment in Astoria:

25th Road is a narrow street and when I rode by it, on Sunday, snow was piled along its sides.  That made it difficult to get panoramic shots--so I apologize for the quality of these images.

A Ride Through Time Before Christmas Eve

 Yesterday, after finishing everything I needed to--and could--get done before the holidays, I went for a much-needed ride.

Why do I need a ride?  Well, for one thing, I'm a lifelong bike rider.  The only other things besides basic bodily functions that I feel I "need" are reading, writing and occasional travel.

Also, even though I know I've done the things that needed to be done, I felt a tinge of guilt that I probably won't get much, if anything, done betwee now and the fourth day of the new year. (New Year's Day, like Christmas, will fall on a Friday.)  But I reminded myself of Congress*, so I don't feel so slothful.

Anyway, I pedaled down to Rockaway Beach, Riis Park and Coney Island.  I saw the sun preparing for its descent in Rockaway:

and exiting in a blaze of glory at Riis Park:

Just as captivating, to me, as the refulgent spectacle were the shifting cloud formations.  I felt as if time were a scrim drifting across the sky and tracing its face on waves of the sea.

By the time I reached Coney Island, the sky and sea were dark.  I didn't take photos because--silly me--I forgot to charge my phone before I went for a ride and it was all but depleted by the time I got to what might be the world's most famous boardwalk.  More people than I'd anticipated were taking walks and rides, men were fishing off the pier and some Puerto Ricans played some traditional music from the islands on their guitars and drums.

There weren't, however, many people on the Verrazano-Narrows promenade, which passes underneath the bridge.  Most of them were fishing.  I think that most of the fishermen I saw were Latinos and their catch might make up their families' Christmas Eve dinners--which, for Catholics includes fish. 

My family ate whatever fish my uncles caught--or, in later years, what looked good to my mother at the market-- and scungilli: deep-fried rings of squid. That memory, sparked by those fishermen, loped through my mind as I continued through Brooklyn on my way home. 

Those memories, like time, drift through my mind like that scrim of time between the sea and sky.

*--Congress took--how long?--to pass a second coronavirus relief bill.  They didn't accomplish much. The President and his buddies, on the other hand, did a lot--none of it to mitigate the COVID crisis and all of it malignant! (That' not an editorial comment:  It's a fact!)

From A Blocked Path To Latimer's House And Gatsby's Shore

Sometimes art imitates life...

and journalism really conveys what's going on in the world

or your bike ride.

The Post article I referenced in yesterday's post talked about bike lanes that hadn't been plowed. Sure enough, I encountered one. 

What's worse, though, than finding an impassable path (Is that an oxymoron?) is to ride the path for, say, a kilometer or two before it tells you, "Vous ne passerez pas!"

At least I am accustomed enough to riding on streets--and familiar enough with the street in question (20th Avenue, Astoria) that switching over to the roadway felt like a return to normalcy. (Yes, such a thing is actually possible in 2020!)  Even finding snow piled between the parking and traffic lane--which, of course, gives you no room to maneuver--was a return to the status quo of winter riding as I've known it.

All right, I'll stop complaining.  Although the afternoon was the warmest we've had in nearly a week, it was still raw, with overcast skies and damp air.  I actually like riding in such conditions, just as I enjoy riding along the sea through chilly winds, under gray skies:  Few people are out; there is just me, my bike and my ride.

Even after so many years of riding in this city, there are still streets I've rarely or never seen.  I ventured down one, near the Whitestone Bridge and chanced upon this:

I'd heard of  Lewis Latimer  and knew something of his work with Thomas Edison, but I didn't realize he lived in the neighborhood.  It's too bad the house was closed, probably because of COVID.  But I'll return one day.  While people normally associate African American New Yorkers with Harlem and Bedford-Stuyvesant, there have been many others who, like    (and Malcolm X, John Coltrane and Duke Ellington) who lived in Queens.

Some may have even spent time

in Fort Totten Park was, until the 1980s, an active Army base.  Today, parts of it are used for Army Reserve, NYPD and NYFD training, but the rest is a park.

Its part of Queens--Bayside--is near the western end of Long Island's North Shore:  Gatsby country.  If you had one of those terrible English teachers who beat the symbolism of the green light to death, I apologize.  Such a teacher might've taught you that the novel is about the desire to reinvent one's self--and the question of whether or not such a thing is truly possible.  Or, perhaps, you realized as much yourself.  More than a few writers and scholars have argued that raising such a question makes it the "quintessential American novel."

Perhaps it is, but for a different reason.  When I re-read the novel a few years ago, I couldn't help but to feel that it was conveying a profound loneliness. Nick Caraway, the narrator, expresses it, intentionally or not.  Jay Gatsby, the title character, embodies it; other characters are enacting it--unconsciously, I believe.

Perhaps this is the light they were following, even if they were looking for another kind:

Me, that light suits me fine.  At least, it feels about right, for this day, for the times we've been living--and I rode--through. 

 

Has The Blizzard Thawed Their Attitude Toward Cyclists?

The New York Post is not the most cyclist-friendly publication.  So, naturally, I paid attention when they published an relatively neutral, or even somewhat bike-positive, article.

Even the title, while in true Post style, doesn't elicit hostility:  "NYC blizzard freezes out cyclists due to snow-covered bike lanes."

Better yet, the article pointed out that cycling is an important means of transportation because many of us in the Big Apple don't own cars--or even driver's licenses.  And its popularity has skyrocketed during the COVID pandemic because the subways and buses are running on more limited schedules and some of us, whether because we have underlying conditions or simply are conscious (some might say paranoid) about our health, don't feel it's safe to use mass transit.

Photo by Gregory P. Mango

The problem is that most bike lanes run alongside curbs.  That makes it all too easy for snow shoveled from sidewalks or plowed off streets to be dumped into the lanes.  Also, it seems that clearing the lanes is simply not high on the city's list of priorities. Perhaps those in charge still see cycling as mainly a recreational activity.

I Didn't Cycle Far Enough To See The Planets

 The other day, I posted about seeing the crescent moon over Crescent Street.  After that, I had high hopes for seeing the astronomical event of the millenium:  the near-conjunction of Jupiter and Saturn in the evening sky.

Although forecasters said we might not see it due to weather, I still had high hopes.  After all, those same forecasters said the planets would be bright enough that they might be seen among city lights.

So I hopped onto Martie, my commuter, and pedaled toward the waterfront by the Socrates Sculpture Park, Rainey Park and Gantry Park (the Long Island City piers) and looked toward Manhattan--to the west, where the spectacle would be visible.  I looked for "gaps"--mainly, streets that transverse the width of Manhattan--through which I sometimes watch sunsets.

Alas, all I saw were clouds and mist.  I wonder whether I would've seen the planets in New Jersey or Connecticut.

As I understand, the next such planetary near-conjunction will take place in about 400 years.  Maybe, just maybe, if I keep on riding my bike, I'll see it.;-