It's The Stories That Matter

During the past couple of days, it's been colder (in NYC) than it's been in, probably, a few years. Today is definitely a tomato-soup-and-grilled-cheese-sandwich kind of day. Now, to all of you dear readers in Minnesota and North Dakota, this might be a beach day (on Lake Superior?  the Red River?).  But you have to remember that those of us in the Big Apple, everything is bigger, brighter, dirtier, hotter, colder, and generally more intense, and everybody is tougher, stronger and smarter, than in any other place in the universe.

Of couse, I jested (Is that a real word?), but only somewhat, with my previous sentence.  But like any true New Yorker, that's what I tell myself.  And the tourist bureau wants you to believe stuff like that so you'll tell yourself that you'll never, ever come here--until you do.  And you meet someone like yours truly.  And someone else like me. (Yes, believe it or not, there such people.)  And another.  And another.  Then you go home and tell your friends that everything in New York is bigger, brighter, dirtier, louder, more intense--and more expensive--but, you know, those New Yorkers are rude and gruff but they have hearts of gold.

My late uncle Joe was that kind of person.  He was born and lived in Brooklyn until he was about 60, when he and my aunt moved upstate. He never lost his straight-out-of-Red Hook  (I bawt a boddle uv alluv earl in da staw on toity-toid and toid*) accent--or his sense of humor and generous spirit.  

I am thinking of him now because of a feature article in a local newspaper of a place I've never seen. Uncle Joe was an avid motorcyclist until he couldn't ride anymore.  I don't recall him riding a bicycle but he talked fondly of the one he rode as an adolescent in the 1950s:  a Schwinn Phantom, in black.  He said the bike always "felt right:"  in spite of its weight, "it moved."  And somehow, he said, the gearing felt just right:  "I felt I could pedal into anything!"

Now, perhaps that last exclamation had more to do with his youthful energy than the bike, or anything else--though, I must say, if his bike was anything like the two black Phantoms I've seen, he probably felt like a real badass when he rode it.  I know, I probably would have, too.

Howard F. Gordon of Lower Burrell, Pennsylvania has one of those bikes.  And, I would guess, another, perhaps in another color.  And other bikes from that period, and earlier--over 100 of them!

From what I read in the article and saw in the accompanying photos, all or most of those bikes are of the balloon-tired "cruiser" variety made by Schwinn, Columbia and many other American companies until the 1960s.  He calls his 1951 Monark "the Cadillac of bikes.

Even though he admits he has "too many" bikes, he's always on the lookout for new treasures, at garage and estate sales.  "There are so many bicycles in garages and attics that are worth money," he explains. Whenever he buys a bike, he disassembles it and cleans every part before reassembling and restoring the bike to something like its original condition.

One of his more interesting observations regards the condition of the bikes he finds.  Generally, he says, girls' bikes are in better condition because they were better cared-for. Boys, he observed, usually rode their bikes into the ground.

That observation is part of what keeps him interested in vintage bikes:  the stories, known or imagined, by them.  "Every one of those bikes had a rider who can tell you something about the adventures they took on it," he explains.  "A bike is a kid's first feeling of freedom."  Sometimes kids pedaled their bikes to places their parents never knew they went. (Can you see me and Uncle Joe winking to each other?)  

In case you were wondering, Gordon rides.  "My wife and I go on riding dates," he relates.  "We stop for ice cream.  We enjoy the nice weather.  It's great exercise."

That sounds like a story behind at least one of his bikes! 

*--Translation: I bought a bottle of olive oil in the store on Thirty-third and Third.

Photos by Louis B. Ruediger, for the Tribune-Review. 

Egyptian Art Deco Catholic In Jackson Heights

 Jackson Heights is five to six kilometers from my apartment.  I have ridden through it, many times, along various routes.  Still, a ride can lead me to some interesting corner or structure I’d never seen or noticed before.

This is one such building.  At first glance, it doesn’t seem out of place: Like most of what is now in the neighborhood, it was built during the late 1920s:  around the same time as the Empire State and Chrysler Buildings. Also, many palatial movie theatres were constructed during that time, just when movies were becoming the most popular form of popular entertainment.  So it would be easy to take this building for a Loews or RKO cinema, especially when you look up.

Those “movie houses” often combined the line structures and geometric shapes of Art Deco with Egyptian motifs. They sound like an odd pairing until you look at them—and you realize that Howard Carter discovered King Tutankhamen’s tomb in the early 1920s, setting off a fad for all things Egyptian just as Art Deco was becoming the most influential style in architecture and design.

That is why this building doesn’t look out of place in Jackson Heights and would look right in parts of the Bronx or Miami Beach, which were also developed around the same time.

What makes this building so unusual, is this:

I grew up Catholic and have entered all sorts of church buildings and cathedrals here, in Europe and Asia.  I can’t say, however, that I’ve seen any other Catholic Church building—or, for that matter, any other house of worship—that looks quite like this one. 

And to think:  I came across it just because I decided to make a turn, and ride down a street, I hadn’t before.  That is one of the joys of cycling!

In Philadelphia, You Can Park By A Hydrant If....

Firefighters might be one of the most loved and respected groups of people.  Even they, however, sometimes incur rage for doing their jobs.   As an example, one firefighter told me about the man who showed up at his firehouse, irate.  Turns out, the guy parked next to a hydrant and the firefighters had to damage his car to route the hose and ladder to an inflamed building.

Philadelphia has one of the largest communities of bicycle commuters in the US.  In one part of the city, nearly a fifth of all commuting miles are done by bicycle. Riders in the City of Brotherly love have similar complaints to their peers in other cities.  One is the lack of bike parking spaces:  Especially in central areas, where many work or go to school, cyclists find full racks when the try to park their bikes.

So, you ask, how are those two stories related?

The common thread was woven when three young people met in graduate school for industrial design. Grace Choi, Corey Jameson and Colin Lew formed an alliance called Team Sophon.  Under that moniker, they submitted a proposal to the Rack 'Em Up Bike Parking Competition.  Along with 16 others entries, Team Sophon's ideas were judged by a panel that included members of the city's Office of Transportation, Infrastructure and Sustainability (OTIS), Parking Authority, Fire Department and other agencies.  Five of  those entries were short-listed, and Team Sophon's was ultimately chosen.

Team Sophon's prototype, called "Harbor,"  would include a designated space in front of a hydrant where cyclists would stop and steer their bikes to the racks. That space--painted green--would be segregated by flexible barriers like the ones used to separate bike lanes from streets. Steel bollocks were initially proposed for the purpose, but selection committee members expressed concern that they could be dangerous in a crash.  And the racks, made from thick steel tubing, would sit under a canopy illuminated by solar-powered lights that would be activated when users enter.

Team Sophon's victory comes with a $3500 prize.  To begin, at least two Harbors will be built: one in West Philadelphia and another in the Old City, near a garage owned by the Philadelphia Parking Authority.

Those facilities will at least make some firefighters and cyclists happy.  Motorists, maybe not so much.

Can't Fix Your Bike? It's An Environmental And Economic Justice Issue

When I first became a dedicated cyclist--nearly half a century ago!--bicycles were touted as environmentally friendly alternatives to gas guzzlers.  At the risk of sounding like someone who pines for "the good old days," I'll say that most adult cyclists of the time were not merely "signaling" their concern for our habitat; they, as often as not, made other choices in line with their values.

Today, while some are "bikewashing" their lifestyles, there are some who are genuinely concerned with such matters as human-enhanced climate change.  So, while they might cycle to work or school (or, at least to the bus or train that takes them there), recycle the bottles, cans and other packaging they use during their lunch breaks and, perhaps, try to buy as local as possible, they could unwittingly be making at least one choice that undermines their other efforts.

To wit:  Their bicycles might be part of the problem.  Now, I don't mean to be pick on such folks.  Most people, especially if they're buying their first bike in decades, aren't familiar with how or where their bikes are made, or anticipate the normal wear and tear--and repairs--that come with regular use.  They also assume that "new is better," which is sometimes, but not always true.

Most mechanics, or anyone who's been cycling for, say, two decades or more, won't necessarily agree that "new is better."  It's true that almost any derailleur made today shifts better than almost any made fifty or forty years ago.  And, depending on your point of view, some other parts today are more efficient, convenient or lighter than their predecessors.  

But one problem is that most of those parts--or the bikes themselves--are not built to last because they're not made to be fixed.  "If I get a Huffy from the '90's, chances are I can actually make repairs to it," says Mac Liman. It will be heavy, but at least "the steel will hold together," she explains, and the result will be a serviceable, if inelegant, piece of basic transportation.

Liman would know:  She's been a mechanic for 19 years, the past  14 at Denver's Bikes Together shop.  Those Huffys were sold mainly in big-box shops like Wal-Mart, which sold out all of its bikes in March 2020.  "We're already starting to get those bikes," Liman lamented, "And we can't fix them."

One problem is the shortage of available parts caused by COVID-19-related manufacturing and supply chain disruptions. But an even bigger issue is simply the poor quality of those bikes:  Their frames crack and they have non-standard parts that can't be replaced at a reasonable price. "I've seen bearing cups that just fall out of hubs, so there's no way you can rebuild them," Liman says.

Her experiences have led her to join a petition calling for bikes to be repairable.  Its earliest supporters were mechanics at non-profit bicycle co-operatives and training programs like Recycle-A-Bicycle.  Cheap bikes from big-box stores are often donated, or brought in for repair, to such shops.  And people who buy bikes from such places are looking for something good and reliable for not very much money.

Now I have to admit that I was once one of those elitist bicycle snobs who snickered when I saw a department-store bike.  But I now understand that people buy such bikes, not because they're stupid, but because they don't know (yet!) why they should--or can't afford--to buy something better.

So, making unrepairabe bikes, like making almost anything else that's disposable, contributes to degrading the very environment some for which some folks are signaling their support by being seen on a bike.  And, as with so many other environmental issues, it's also a matter or social and economic justice, because it affects the working poor even more than those who buy those shiny-new Linuses and Brooklyn bikes.

Cologne Study Tells Us Who's Riding

 Two people, about the same age, have just achieved a major career--and financial--milestone. They decide to purchase a new vehicle for their commutes, and for pleasure.  One buys a 'Benz.  The other opts for a Brooklyn bike--or, if they want to splurge, a Brompton.  Why?

Well, an answer can be found in a University of Cologne study on cycling patterns and trends.  The Mercedes-Benz customer I've mentioned could be someone with a successful business or who's just scored a major contract.  The bike buyer, on the other hand, probably is more educated, more likely to be in a profession--and to live in an urban area.

Image from REI

According to the University of Cologne study, those bike buyers accounted for nearly all of the increase in cycling in Germany from 1996 through 2018.  At the end of that period, people with a high level of education (Arbitur) were cycling, on average, 70 minutes per week:  twice as much as they were pedaling at the beginning of that era. That also means they're riding three times as much as rural dwellers without Arbitur, whose cycling habits were all but unchanged.

From We Love Cycling

So what accounts for the differences I've mentioned?  Well, according to the study, people with Arbitur are more likely to live in urban areas--like Cologne--where cycling to work, school or shop is a practical alternative.  On the other hand, people in rural and suburban areas have to travel greater distances and buy more and larger items--which are harder to transport on bicycles--when they shop.

But, according to the study--conducted by sociologist Dr. Ansgar Hudde--there is another reason, perhaps more compelling to the educated folks themselves, why they choose to two pedals and two wheels rather than a gas pedal and an internal combustion engine for transport or other short trips.  It isn't cost:  Most  people with Arbitur, at least in Dr. Hudde's study, can afford a car or to use mass transit.  It also isn't time, though I have to wonder whether the experiences of folks in Cologne (or Hamburg, Berlin or Dusseldorf) parallel those of folks like me, who can ride to work in less time than the same trip would take on a train or bus, or even a car.  

Rather, a chief reason why those educated urban dwellers ride their bikes is the same reason why corporations quote Dr. Martin Luther King in their advertising:  signaling.  Those companies want to signal that they care about diversity and are otherwise socially conscious.  Likewise, urban folk with Arbitur are sending a message that they care about the environment or health, just as the guy with the shiny new Mercedes or Lexus is showing friends, family and others that he's "made it."

(Now I'm recalling that not so long ago, a stereotype of professors was that they drove Volvos.  They were more expensive than most American cars but, from what I understand, very well-made.  But their rather stodgy appearance contrasted with Mercedes polish or the frankly ostentatious looks of American-made luxury cars like the Cadillac Eldorado or Lincoln Continental. So those academic folk were signaling that they weren't signaling that they'd "made it.") 

Anyway, I found the Cologne study interesting for several reasons--one of which is how closely its findings parallel what I've observed here in the US.  While some people--men, mainly--in poor and immigrant communities ride bikes for cost or convenience, once their economic circumstances improve (and many of them move away), they buy cars, abandon their bikes and never look back.

A Trek To World Domination?

 Until a certain manufacturer started fabricating its wares in Wisconsin, Schwinn was regarded as the best American bike brand.  In fact, many, including Sheldon Brown, argued that it was the only U.S. marque with even a pretense of quality.

That reputation among the few dedicated adult cyclists of the pre-Bike Boom era was based largely on the fact that it made the Paramount, which was constructed from Reynolds 531 tubing and Nervex lugs and ridden by the US Olympic Team. But Schwinn also had a high reputation among the general public—it was the first brand that came to most people’s minds—mainly because it was the first company to have a network of authorized dealers.  Those stores were usually spacious, clean and well-lit and resembled automobile showrooms more than the small, cluttered shops that usually catered to cyclists.

(Some would argue—with justification, I believe—that the network, which helped the company prosper for a couple of decades, ultimately factored in its undoing. That is the subject of another post or article.)

It looks like Trek—the Wisconsin-based company I mentioned at the beginning of this post—is trying to replicate that sort of network and, perhaps, to wield or share control of the quality  (i.e., not sold in Walmart-type stores) bike market.  

Last week, Trek announced it bought Race Pace’s seven Baltimore locations.  That is the latest in a string of acquisitions of other local and regional chains as well as independent shops that were Trek dealers.

Commenters on an industry chat group are, naturally, speculating on what Trek’s buying spree—which has also spread, if to a lesser degree, to UK shops—might mean. Some see it as a strategy for competing with Specialized, which has followed a similar strategy for about two decades.  Others see it as a bid to dominate the market.

But they would probably agree with the commenter who said, “I think if you are a Trek dealer and Trek is not actively trying to buy your store, then your store is not part of the long-term plan.”

Could we see a future in which most bike shops belong to one of the Big Three or Four—say, Trek and Specialized and, perhaps Cannondale and/or Giant, in much the same way that, during the 1980s and ‘90’s, most bookstores were part of Barnes & Noble, Waldenbooks or Borders?

Hide Or Seek?

There are two interesting, and opposing, theories about urban street bike parking.

According to one school of thought, you should leave your wheels in the most visible place possible.  The thinking behind this is that would-be thieves are less likely to do their work if they're being watched.

The other notion is that the bike should be hidden, camouflaged even.  The idea behind that, I believe, is that a thief won't take what he or she can't see.

Perhaps the owner of this bike can't decide:

Or is the bike playing peek-a-boo?

If Your Bike Is Stolen, It Might End Up In A Place Like This

During the early '80s, around the time I first moved back to New York, there was a bike shop that sold used bikes and parts, as well as some new accessories.  There were rumors about, shall we say, the provenance of some of the shop's merchandise.

The shop changed locations--though it remained in the same neighborhood--before closing down some years back.  I have to admit that I never patronized the shop myself because two people I knew at the time told me they spotted their bikes, which had recently been stolen, in the shop and an employee or the owner, I forgot whom, assaulted one of them when he pointed out his purloined bike. 

While most shops are owned and operated by honest people, whether they are cycling enthusiasts or families, there have always been the "bad apples" who deal in bike booty.  They flourish under, basically, the same conditions that support black and gray markets:  demand, scarcity, high prices and people who are desperate or dishonest.  The shop I mentioned just happened to be in a gentrifying  neighborhood full of young people--the sort of neighborhood where thieves look for bikes--abutting an area known for drug dealing and other crime.  It was on a border, if you will.

What got me to thinking about that shop, and that part of my life, was a news item about a bike theft ring that's been exposed via the Bike Index registry. In addition to keeping information about bikes, stolen or not, and about theft rings and markets for stolen bikes. It also synthesizes data that connects stolen bikes that fall into patterns.

One of those patterns linked a number of bikes stolen in Colorado with a shop in Ciudad Juarez,  a Mexican city just across the Rio Grande from El Paso, Texas.  I have never been to either city, but CJ has a reputation for poverty and lawlessness, much like the drug-ridden area I mentioned earlier.  From what I've heard and read about it, some people, especially teenaged boys and young men, get involved the trade of stolen or counterfeit goods because they have few, if any, other options.  And people routinely cross over from EP to take advantage of lower prices.

Now, to be fair, the Ciudad Juarez "discount," if you will, has mainly to do with the difference between the nations' currencies and the generally lower cost of living on the Mexican side.  But some merchandise is cheaper than it is across the border because of, well, the way it came across the border.

And so it was with Alexander's Bikes.  They posted bike after bike for sale on a local Facebook page that could be viewed only in Mexico or with a Mexican VPN.  Bike Index used photos and other data from those listings along with reports on Colorado cycling Facebook groups and other BI data to link 10 bikes out of a batch of 43 it examined to their owners.  All of those bikes were, not surprisingly, high-end machines.

In one way, you have to hand it to whoever "masterminded" the scheme:  It's unlikely, to say the least, that someone looking to buy a bike in Ciudad Juarez would've been keeping tabs on bikes stolen in Colorado--or that someone whose bike was stolen in Colorado would stumble upon a geo-restricted Facebook page.

It seems that Alexander's is now closed for good, probably because of the Colorado Attorney General's  investigation or simply the publicity the case garnered.  Alexander Espinosa Perez, who ran the shop, has denied any involvement in bike trafficking and the sale of stolen goods.  He's agreed to work with Mexican and US authorities, but he immediately deleted the shop's Facebook and TikTok pages and wiped its Instagram page clean of its content. 

It's not clear as to whether he'll be allowed to sell bikes again.  Now I'm wondering what became of the owner(s) and employees of the shop I mentioned at the beginning of this post.  

Would Tires Make A Difference?

In the early hours of this morning, we had our first significant snowfall of the season.  Here in NYC, we've had a couple of bouts of flurries.  But this storm resulted in five to eight inches of accumulated white stuff.

Not surprisingly, few people are cycling.  Seeing the Citibike port got me to wondering whether more people would ride on a day like this if Citibikes had snow tires.  Are the share bikes in cities that get more snow--say, Montreal--so equipped?

Then again, I wonder whether Citibikes would get more use on a day like this if their tires had studs.  I don't know whether anyone has studied the matter, but from my observations, I would guess that Citibikes are ridden mainly on bike lanes or streets that are plowed early.  And many are ridden by tourists who, unless they're really dedicated riders or come from colder climates, aren't going to ride on a day like today. 

A Year After The Capitol Insurrection: Why It Matters

As I begin this post, Vice-President Kamala Harris is introducing President Joe Biden, who is about to talk about what happened a year ago today.

Now I am listening to the President recounting the events of that day. He's referred to the statue of Kleio, the muse of history with the book in which she records everything.  I've read enough books and documents to know that no matter how impartial or unbiased an account, no matter how unambiguous the language--verbal, visual, audio or otherwise--used to record it, no matter how free of irony or metaphor the record is, people will read into it whatever will confirm their worldview.  Still, I have to wonder how some people come to their conclusions.  To wit:  Folks who have looked at the same images, watched the same videos and read the same news articles claim, without a touch of sarcasm, that the insurrection (yes, the President called it that) was a "peaceful" demonstration and that the insurrectionists were trying to "take back our country."

Although this post doesn't directly relate to cycling, I don't think I'm invoking the Howard Cosell rule in talking about the sacking of the US Capitol.  The mobs that defecated and urinated on the floor and assaulted guards and police officers consisted of the same sorts of people who have been driving their cars and pickup trucks into bike lanes, groups of cyclists and the starting lines of cycling events.  They see us, whether because we are cyclists, or look, vote, love, work, worship (or not) differently from themselves, as threats to their vision of their country, their way of life and, most importantly, themselves.  

   

They're "Considering" Us

Exactly one month before I was born (OK, you can do the math!), Charles de Gaulle proclaimed, "Je vous ai compris!" to a crowd in Algiers.

What, exactly, he understood--or whom he was trying to reassure that he understood--is not clear.  Was he trying to reassure les pieds noirs--French colonials who lived (and some of whom were born) in Algeria that they could stay?  Was he telling military personnel--French? Algerian?  French Foreign Legion?--that he had their backs? Or was he guaranteeing  Algerians that their country would become independent (as it did four years later)?  

Some would say that he meant all, or none, of those things--that, perhaps, "je vous ai compris" was a "weasel" phrase.

If the latter is true, then the phrase could also be interpreted, if not translated, as "I have taken it under consideration" or "I have considered what you've said."

I have spent enough time around academic administrators to know that, for them and other bureaucrats, "consider" is too often a synonym for "ignore" or "pretend to hear." 

What brought those locutions to mind is the recent law requiring New York's Metropolitan Transportation Authority--which includes New York City's subway and bus systems, the region's commuter railroads and some of its bridges and tunnels--to "consider" bicycle and pedestrian access in its capital plans. Those plans would include not only new infrastructure, but also improvements to existing structures that currently lack such access.  

Call me cynical (Hey, I'm a New Yorker!), but I have to wonder just what "consider" means.  Or, for that matter, "access."  Some of the "access" I've seen to bridges is "access" in the same way that the stuff McDonald's and Burger King serve is "food."  

And, if the MTA actually does "consider" bike and pedestrian access, I have to wonder if it will be as poorly-conceived, -constructed and -maintained as most of the bike lanes I've seen in this city.

 

Pushed Boy Off Bike, Brags About It On Facebook

Though I respond promptly to friends’ Facebook posts, I rarely post anything myself.  I keep my page mainly to stay in touch with those people.  

A recent incident illustrated a reason why I don’t spend more time on the platform:  it gives a microphone to people who are clearly unhinged.

“It’s illegal for anyone over the age of 10 to ride a bike on a public footpath, so if your son comes home and tells you a crazy woman knocked him off his bike, it was me, he was riding full pelt at me outside Duke’s, refused to give way so I stood my ground and pushed him to the floor, teach him some manners, next time he won’t be so lucky.”

First of all, Helen Henry-Bond needs to learn about sentence structure.  Furthermore, the account she wrote “to big herself up”—and her claim that 15-year-old had “come flying around the corner” and “slammed on” his brakes was contradicted by witnesses who were customers at the Merseyside, UK bar.  One of them, Robert Hamlin, said the boy’s feet were on the ground and he was scooting along at a walking pace.

(Thankfully, the boy wasn’t seriously hurt.)

Those testimonies, and Henry-Bond’s history of mental illness, led the Sefton Magistrate’s Court to convict her of common assault. She was ordered to pay £814 , which includes a fine, court costs and a victim’s surcharge and £100 in compensation to the boy.  I hope that the Magistrate, if he or she has the power, ensures that Helen Henry-Bond gets the mental health care she needs—and someone to work with her on her comma splices.

First Ride Of The Year

The threat of rain loomed all day.  It fell, lightly, exactly in the middle of my ride, when I stopped to eat.  And it very kindly stopped just as I resumed my ride.

So went my first ride of the new year:  140 kilometers round trip to Greenwich, Connecticut and back.  The day was warm for this time of year:  temperatures hovered between 10 and 15 C (50 to 60 F), which I like at any time of year.  The air felt fresher than usual:  Perhaps the New Year's Day rain washed away some of the pollution.  It may also have had to do with the near-absence of traffic through most of my ride.  

On my way back, I stopped for the traffic light at Fenimore Steet in Mamaroneck, just across from the harbor.  When the light turned green, I proceeded and, on the other side of the intersection, noticed this:

I've noticed the De Lancey name (sometimes spelled as one word, as in the name of a Manhattan street) in the area.  Apparently, the French Huguenot family emigrated to the then-British colony of New York after the Edict of Fontainebleau, an order that revoked the Edict of Nantes, which gave the Protestant Huguenots most of the same rights French Catholic citizens enjoyed.

Given that, it's not surprising that the De Lanceys amassed such wealth and married other prominent families (whose names are sprinkled all over New York) after arriving.  One of the reasons, I believe, Louis XIV and much of the French establishment wanted to suppress Huguenots--who were Calvinists, like the Puritans--is that, because they emphasized education and didn't celebrate most of the Catholic feast days (meaning they worked more), they became, essentially, the merchant and technocrat classes of France in a similar way to  Jews in some European communities before the Inquisition.

The De Lanceys might well have remained one of the prominent families of New York, and America, had their allegiances been different.  In the Revolution, they were Loyalists.  In fact, James De Lancey--to whom the house belonged--formed, along with his uncle, a brigade that was known for its brutality against American revolutionaries. Once the latter won, the family had to give up their properties and fled to Nova Scotia and England.

Unless you are a member of an historical society in New York state or a graduate student in early American history, you probably hadn't heard of the De Lanceys before today.  But you have almost surely heard of the other name on the plaque:  James Fenimore Cooper, one of this country's first popular authors.  (During Edgar Allan Poe's lifetime, his poetry and fiction were more popular in Europe, especially France, than they were in the United States.)

I wonder how  De Lancey or Cooper would feel about the restaurant that's in the house.  I think Poe would have appreciated the view some of its patrons would have had yesterday:

 

 

Try To Return This

 You open a holiday gift in front of the person who gave it to you.  

You feign a smile while suppressing the urge to blurt out, “What the…?”

The person who gave you the gift bursts out laughing.

You were pranked!  Perhaps the person gave you this:

Happy (I Hope) New Year

 

From the San Diego Bicycle Club website.

Happy New Year!

In looking for some images appropriate for today, I saw many for the beginning of 2020.  They seem like artifacts from another era. People seemed to have high hopes for the year. (I did, too, if they were tempered by my mother’s passing three months earlier.) I think it had to do, not only with the conditions of the time, but that 2020 just sounded so good:  2020, perfect vision, clear skies ahead.

We all know what happened next.

Now, after two years of COVID-19, the mood is more somber. Most people I know don’t seem to have the hope or optimism they (most of them, anyway) had 731 days ago. Many public events, including the celebration at Times Square, were scaled back or cancelled altogether. But even in my neighborhood and, I suspect, others, there wasn’t as much revelry as one normally witnesses as we usher one year out and another in.

I’m not particularly a U2 fan, but their New Year’s Day song, especially its last couple of stanzas, seems apt today:

And This is How 2021 Ends (Apologies to T.S. Eliot)

So how will you remember this year?  

Whatever the state of the  COVID pandemic, or anything else in the world, I can say that 2021 was better than 2020 in at least a few ways, however small.

For one thing, I didn't have two accidents (here and here) that landed me in an emergency room (one of them to a trauma center), as I did last year.  I guess one of my blessings, if you will, is that they were the only two such accidents in my nearly half-century of dedicated cycling.

For another, I've met a couple of new potential riding partners.  As much as I like to ride alone, I sometimes want someone to share the experience.  And one of those new fellow riders is two years older than I am and took her first rides in four decades--with me.  Lilian is good company and the educator in me finds fulfillment in helping her re-enter the world of two wheels and two pedals.

And last year's first crash, which wrecked Arielle, my Mercian Audax, yielded enough insurance money for me to buy another Mercian frame--La Vande, a custome Mercian King of Mercia constructed from Reynolds 853 tubing and equipped mainly with parts I had in my apartment.  She's a nice complement to Dee-Lilah, my custom Mercian Vincitore Special.

I still wish I could have taken a trip somewhere more than a state or two away. Well, I could have, but even though I am fully-vaccinated, I have been reluctant to get on a bus, train or plane.  That hesitancy has also kept me from doing a few rides that I've done a couple of times in each of the past few years because they involve a ferry ride to connect parts of the trip or a train ride to get me home.  So, I've been doing many of the same rides again and again.  Perhaps, in the coming year, I'll seek out some new routes.

Oh, and Marlee has been at the beginning and end of my rides.  She joins me in ushering out this year, and wishing you good tidings in the new year.

Late Afternoon, Early Winter, End Of Year

Late afternoon.  Early winter. End of the year.

That was today’s ride, down the Brooklyn and Queens waterfront and back.

I lingered a bit at the Long Island City promenades op and piers. I started riding there long before it sprouted glass towers, trendy cafes and young people who might be a little too self-consciously hip for their own good.  

Back then, it was an industrial area where each block, it seemed, showed a different stage of post-industrial decay.  But it felt comfortable, to me anyway, like a sweater that might look a bit tattered but feels right.  One thing that hasn’t changed is that it offers some nice harbor vistas and the best views of my two favorite Manhattan skyscrapers—the Empire State and Chrysler Buildings. I wonder, though, whether we’ll be able to enjoy those  views for much longer:  It seems that developers are building more and more, as tall and as close as possible to those edifices, as possible.

I mean, if they continue to hem it in, nobody will be able to see this, from Long Island City or anywhere else.

 

Still, the ride was a nice ending to a day and a year, at the beginning of winter.

Rest And The Path Ahead

 I wanted to ride this afternoon, but I wasn’t feeling adventurous.  Perhaps it has to do with the year ending:  Starting new journeys seems more appropriate for a new year.

So I rode to the Flushing Bay Promenade, recently renamed the Malcolm X Promenade.  He lived in nearby East Elmhurst, along with other luminaries like Louis Armstrong, Dizzy Gillespie and Ella Fitzgerald.

The ride is pleasant enough, sort of like comfort food for me and my bikes.  I rode up and down the promenade a few times, in part to get into a physical and mental “groove,” but also because of two men.

Short and squat but broad-shouldered and thick-fingered, they looked like the sort of Central American immigrants who wait at strategic but discreet intersections in residential neighborhoods where contractors, landscapers and other small business people hire people like them as day laborers.  

Such people work and sleep hard, wherever they can. So it’s unusual to see men like them dozing on park benches.  

But were they sleeping ?

Their faces, which probably would have been colored like terra cota or the earth from which they came, instead looked as if they’d been worn to reflect the gray sky and water. One man’s hand drooped in front of him, his fingers frozen in a grip of something no longer there.  

The other man’s head was cocked to his side, as if he stopped himself from resting it on the other man’s shoulders—or a pillow he realized wasn’t there.

A mobile phone propped between them played bouncy conga drum and stringed music.  But it could just as well have emitted “elevator music,” for all of the effect it had on them.

Finally, when I rode by them for the sixth time, I think, the man with the cocked head stirred. 

“¿Estás bien?” I shouted. He nodded.

“¿Necesitas algo?” He moved his head slowly from side to  side.

“¿Estás seguro?” Another nod.

“OK. Feliz año nuevo.” Even if they’re OK, I hope the path ahead is easier and clearer for them in the coming year.

At least the ride back was, for me.

Another Reason Your Favorite Shop Doesn't Have What You Want Or Need

During the 1980s and early 1990s, some bike shop owners and employees, it seemed, regarded robberies as a rite of passage.  I knew, and was known in, most Manhattan and Brooklyn shops and I don't think a single one escaped having expensive bikes, parts or money stolen.  Some even prepared themselves for what seemed an inevitability:  One employee was able to free herself, two fellow employees and the shop's owner after a perp tied them up and fled with cash and merchandise.

Later in the 1990s, as overall crime dropped, such events became less common.  Theft in bike shops, by that time, was more likely to be a matter of  some sticky-fingered opportunist absconding with a bike computer or expensive accessory or part--or low-paid employees taking "samples" of stuff they couldn't afford on their salaries.  

If you live long enough (as someone with a blog called "Midlife Cycling" has), you realize that almost no condition, good or bad, lasts forever--and that the good usually has at least one bad consequence,and vice versa.

Case in point:  the COVID 19-induced Bike Boom.  Anyone selling or repairing bikes, or anything related to them, was doing more business than they've done in years, or ever.  Then, lockdowns and workforce attrition throughout supply chains--from factories in the Far East to docks on the East and West coasts--led to scarcity that caused the prosperity that burned so brightly to consume the very shops that enjoyed it, however briefly.  

Those shortages--and the overall increase in crime--led to something that now seems all but inevitable:  an increase in theft, of bikes parked on streets, stored in warehouses or displayed on showroom floors, and of parts and accessories.  So, the number of bike shops incurring theft--whether of small items or bikes with five-figure price tags--has risen for the first time in decades.  

Worse, bike shop robberies and other crimes have been "taken to another level," in the words Gillian Forsyth.  She owns BFF Bikes in Chicago, which was hit when "people were going to work and cars about" on a weekday morning.  The robbers "crashed through one of my windows" and "targeted five very high-end bikes," she said.  "They just kind of rushed in, grabbed the bikes and left very quickly."

Although she has security footage of the incident, Forsyth says that identifying the perps will be difficult because they were masked--an ironic consequence of a measure taken to deal with the COVID pandemic.

In an ideal world, everyone will have a good bike and will ride it without worrying about their safety while riding or the bike's safety when parked.  In the meantime, we'll have to settle for part of the utopia, I guess:  More people are riding bikes.

Sobre Las Piedras

 During the past couple of weeks, I wrote a couple of posts that didn't have much to do with cycling.  But I felt I had good reason:  After all, they, like my rides, are part of my journey of Midlife Cycling.

Now I'll be completely self-indulgent and post something that has even less to do with cycling.  I hope you don't mind.

This is the coqui guajon, also known as the Puerto Rican Rock Frog.  It lives in the southern part of the island in, as the name indicates, caves and rocky streams. 

Say what you will:  I am not impervious to cuteness.  

Policing Of Cyclists is A Social And Economic Justice Issue

For a very brief time in my youth, I worked in sales.  As with jobs of that kind, numbers were everything:  I, and other salespeople, were rated on the number of sales and the dollar value of them.

Knowing that, I, of course, went for the easiest "closes." (A "close" is a completed sale.)  After I drained the pool of easy marks, I realized that I hated sales and quit soon after.

There are other lines of work in which people are similarly evaluated.  Management calls those numbers "metrics" and use them, not only to decide on promotions, but also whether to continue someone's employment.  Such a situation, I discovered, also prevails in the academic world:  Decisions on tenure, promotions and continued employment are based on, among other things (like the ever-so-concrete category called "collegiality") the number of a faculty member's publications, and how much grant money he or she brings to the institution.

If anyone asks you what a professor and a police officer have in common, now you know.  In many departments--including the one in the "City of Angels"--police are judged by, among other things, the number of tickets they write and arrests they make.  Here I have no truck with conspiracy theories:  Constables themselves have said as much.  They also admit that they go after cyclists because we're the proverbial low-hanging fruit.  I am learning that I am not the only cyclist who's been stopped by cops--and ticketed--for something I didn't do.

One way you can tell a true salesperson, without knowing his or her numbers, is that such a person is a "schmoozer" (which I can be, when I feel like it) and gets a rush out of engaging, and closing the deal with, a customer.  It always seemed to me that to a true salesperson, the deal or the sale is, to them, as the painting or sculpture is to an artist.

Many police officers, I suspect, get a similar thrill out of a "collar."  "Everybody loves a good bust," said J.P. Harris, a retired Los Angeles County sheriff's lieutenant who now sits on the Sheriff's Civilian Oversight Board.  "The person who makes the right hooks, they are respected, they are admired."

A source for the Sheriff--who asked to remain anonymous because he's not authorized to speak in public--confirmed the suspicions I, and probably many of you have about why we're targeted:  "Like a lion looking for prey, what is she going to do?"  The source explained, "That's what cops do--they look for the easiest stop."

From the Good Word News

That also partially explains why non-white cyclists are disproportionately ticketed and arrested while riding their bicycles.  Another officer explained that when cyclists are stopped, it's not really about the missing reflector or bell, although that's might be the reason the officer gives when he or she approaches a cyclist.  Also, that officer explained, the goal isn't always to write a ticket, though that is often the result. 

Rather, stopping a cyclist--especially in a low-income neighborhood, and especially if the cyclist is not white--is really seen as a gateway to making an arrest for something more serious, like gun or drug possession.  Another officer explained that when was a new assistant in Compton, his training officer told him that in low-income areas like Compton, he should assume that any adult on a bicycle had most likely lost his (they're usually male) license because of some crime he'd committed.  

In other words, that law enforcement agent was trained to see any cyclist in a low-income neighborhood as a criminal. And he says he wasn't the only one inculcated with that notion.

That sort of training continued for years, even though it didn't produce the expected results.  According to a Los Angeles Times investigation, 44,000 cyclists were arrested in the county from 2017 until July of this year.  Of them, 85 percent were searched.  Only 8 percent of those searches revealed illegal items, and weapons were seized only 164 times, or in only 0.5  percent of all searches.

Perhaps the most galling aspect of those stops, arrests and seizures--and the training and mentality that produces them--is that they target the very cyclists who are least able to defend themselves against the charges.  It's hard not to think that makes poor black and brown cyclists such appealing targets for sheriff's assistants with itchy ticket-writing fingers:  Cops don't look good to their peers or superiors when their summonses are dismissed or charges dismissed. (That, by the way, is also the reason why the so-called War On Drugs so decimated black and brown communities:  Cops won't arrest a pot-smoking prep school kid whose parents can afford a good lawyer.)  In rare cases, large numbers of frivolous citations and arrests lead to disciplinary measures against and, even more uncommonly, dismissal of officers.

So, I don't think it's an exaggeration to say that the way cyclists are policed isn't just a first-world, white people's issue:  It's a matter of social and economic justice.