A Ride And The Real Thanksgiving

Much of what I was taught while growing up was full of holes.  Sometimes those gaps were obvious but, more often, I suspected them but had no idea of how to fill them in.

As an example, we were taught that Hawaii became the 50th, and newest, US state. We were never told, however, why it was a colony for more than half a century before—or how the US got hold of it in the first place.

Likewise, the story of the First Thanksgiving required a few leaps of faith, or no curiosity, to accept. That the Pilgrims landed at Plymouth Rock on the first day of winter and half of them died by Spring seems plausible.

But how the new settlers managed to find a “friendly” native who spoke English taxes even the most vivid imagination and credulous mind. What neither our teachers nor our textbooks told us is that he was kidnapped, sold into slavery in Spain and escaped to London—where he learned the language well enough that the new settlers understood him perfectly.

From all accounts, he taught the Pilgrims how to plant corn, squash and beans. They were part of that first Thanksgiving feast.  They also ate, according to William Bradford, “fowl and deer.” Whether that “fowl” was turkey is not entirely clear.

I have often thought that their repast would also have included seafood.  After all, they were on the coast and, l’m sure that if the Pilgrims didn’t know how to fish, Squanto would have taught them. 

I got to thinking about all of that yesterday morning, when I took a ride to burn the calories I’d consume in the Thanksgiving meal that afternoon. My ride took me to the Canarsie Pier where I know that while some angle for fun, others do it for not only the Thanksgiving dinner, but also other meals throughout the year.

Happy Cranks-giving!

 Happy Thanksgiving!

How would I feel about today if I were a turkey?

Cranky, perhaps?

I Hope This Doesn’t Give Us A New Group Of Adversaries

 Sometimes I think urban planners are infected with Trump-itis. Like the former (forever, I hope) President, they seem to have a penchant for pitting one group of people against another.

Now, to be fair, that might not be the intention of traffic engineers and bike lane designers. But I don’t think I’m being paranoid or hyperbolic when I say that I can feel more hostility from drivers, pedestrians and other non-cyclists every time a piece of municipal “bicycle infrastructure “ is unveiled. 

Some of that ire comes from an attitude that most people (I include myself) have at least some of the time:  The world is a zero-sum game.  In other words, if I get something that benefits me in even the smallest way, it must have come at their expense.  For example, any time a jurisdiction passes an ordinance that allows redress for people like me if we’re attacked or denied housing or employment because of who we are—or if we specify which pronouns we use (I know straight cisgender people who do so)—we are taking away the rights of people who never had to think about exercising them until we got them.

And so it is when the city in which I live, and others, build bike lanes.  Some span a couple of bike widths between the curb and the parking lane, which is in turn separated from the bike lane by a “neutral” strip.  In theory, it allows drivers or passengers to enter or exit their vehicles without “dooring” cyclists.

Some complain about having to look both ways, as if they’re crossing an intersection. But for the most part, that system works.

Notice that I said “most of the time.”  Some folks in Washington DC claim that a lane impedes their access to, or their ability to alight from, their vehicles.

They are handicapped, and a suit on their behalf is being brought against the District of Columbia.  They say the impediment to entering or leaving their vehicles is a violation of the Americans With Disabilities Act.

Photo by Keith Lane for the Washington Posr

I’ m not a lawyer, so I won’t comment on their suit.  But I am in sympathy with their complaints.  The Crescent Street bike lane, which passes in front of the building where I live, also passes an entrance of the Mount Sinai-Queens hospital. Vehicles frequently pull into the lane to pick up or discharge patients and visitors. I often encounter people in wheelchairs or who use canes or walkers. Ironically, they are the only ones who apologize for entering the lane.  

I won’t say that my own interactions with disabled people during bike rides are emblematic of the relationship between cyclists and people who use ambulatory devices. But I hope that suit I  Washington DC isn’t a harbinger of hostilities to come.

The Massacre In Colorado Springs

Today I will invoke the Howard Cosell Rule.  That is to say, I am going to write about something that has little, if anything, to do with bicycles or bicycling. 

You've heard about it by now:  Some time before midnight on Saturday, a young man dressed in a military-style flak jacket and armed with a long rifle and a handgun--both of which he purchased-- entered Club Q, an LGBTQ night spot in Colorado Springs.  

By the time a couple of patrons subdued him, he'd killed five other patrons and wounded 17 others. At least one of the victims, Ashley Green Paugh, wasn't even a member of the LGBTQ community:  She was with a friend with whom she'd spent the day.  Now there is a girl without a mother and a man without a wife--in addition to the partners, familys and friends who no longer have Daniel Aston, Kelly Loving, Raymond Green Vance and Derrick Rump in their lives. 

The last I heard, authorities were "trying to determine whether" the slaughter was a "hate crime."  Even if the suspect, Anderson Lee Aldrich, didn't know that Sunday was Transgender Day of Remembrance, and some patrons were in Club Q to commemorate it, I don't know how any other motive can be ascribed to him.  After all, if he wanted to kill people just because, there were plenty of other venues he could have chosen, especially on a Saturday night.

As if it weren't enough of a terrible irony or coincidence that it happened on the eve of TDoR or that one of the victims is named "Loving," it turns out that Aldrich, who committed one of the most lawless acts possible, is the grandson of an outgoing California legislator.  Randy Voepel, who lost his re-election bid earlier this month, reacted to the January 6 insurrection with this:  "This is Lexington and Concord. First shots fired against tyranny."  He added, "Tyranny will follow in the aftermath of the Biden swear in (sic) on January 20."

Now, I know some will say that there isn't a direct link between grandfather and grandson when it comes to attitudes about using violence.  But it's hard not to think that Voepel is at least emblematic of some sort of value Aldrich imbibed. Oh, and in June 2021, Aldrich was arrested for making a bomb threat in his mother's home.  Perhaps neither his grandfather nor anyone else in his family taught him that doing such a thing was OK, but I can't help but to think that from somewhere or someone in his environment--whether in his family, community or elsewhere--he got the idea that it's OK to use force and threats thereof to get his way. After all, even the crankiest and most recalcitrant baby isn't born knowing how to do such things.

That he made the threat in his mother's house has been mentioned. So has the fact that, in spite of doing so, he evaded Colorado's "red flag" law, which is supposed to prevent people with criminal convictions from purchasing firearms.  But the media has only hinted at other issues that the slaughter highlights.

Photo by Scott Olson, for Getty Images

One of those issues is that a place like Colorado Springs needs a place like Club Q.  I have spent exactly one day in the city:  I was passing through on my way to someplace else.  The city always touts its proximity to Pike's Peak, which is visible from just about everywhere.  I must admit that made me long, for a moment, to live there, if for no other reason that I'd probably be a better cyclist--or, at least, a better climber--than I am.  

But I also knew that, had I stayed in Colorado Springs, I would be living a very different life. Actually, I might not be living at all:  Aside from being a cyclist, it would be very difficult to be the person I am.  Like many "blue" or "swing" states, Colorado has its red, as in redneck, areas where some have longings like the one a taxi driver expressed to me:  to be in Alaska, Montana, Wyoming or some other place where people live, as he said, "like real Americans."  

Colorado Springs is in that red zone.  But its conservativism is amplified by some of the institutions in and around the city.  The most prominent and visible is the United States Air Force Academy.  There are also several military bases nearby.  And the town is also home to Focus on the Family which, like other right-wing Christian organizations, uses its "focus" on the "family" as a smokescreen for a homo- and trans-phobic, misogynistic, anti-choice agenda.  Several people who were interviewed, including a few lifelong residents, confirm the impression that I have about the city.

As in any place else, kids grow up in the closet. For them, a place like Club Q is the only place where they can safely be themselves.  And there are adult LGBTQ people in places like Colorado Springs because of work or family ties--or simply because they like living in the mountains.  Where else would they meet people in similar circumstances but in a place like Club Q.

Anyway, I couldn't think of much else besides the tragedy in Colorado Springs.  The most terrifying thought of all, though, is that it probably won't be the last.

How Many Can Ride Your Bike?

 Now I am going to separate the guys from the girls.

Wait, why would I do that?

Actually, I am going to separate the generations. If you can remember what I am about to mention, you’re definitely not a Milennial and possibly not of Gen X.

Back before we got cell phones, if you needed to make a phone call away from home, you went to a phone booth.

I am told that for a time, there was a fad among college students: They crammed as many people into one of those booths as they could.  I don’t know whether I wish I’d seen it, but I am glad I never participated in such lunacy:  I’m pretty claustrophobic.

(So what, you ask, am I doing in New York, living in an apartment?)

Anyway, I got to thinking about all those bodies stuffed into glass boxes when I saw this:

आज दुनिया की आबादी 8 अरब हो गई, इस उपलब्धि को हासिल करने में ऐसे इंसानों को बहुत बड़ा योगदान रहा है👇 pic.twitter.com/Fiq62o0OiK

— Jaiky Yadav (@JaikyYadav16) November 15, 2022

How many people can ride a bicycle built for one? I don’t know whether the limit is nine.  Then again, I’m not sure I want to know!

Abandonment

 About three weeks ago, after a long day of work and errands, I was pedaling home when I flatted.

Rain and darkness were falling. I decided I’d rather fix my flat at home than on the street.  So I took the subway.

While waiting for the train, I saw this:

I’ve seen other shoes on the track bed. None were in as good condition, let alone as vibrantly colored.

Oh, and I’ve never seen another  shoe stand so prominently and conspicuously in its surroundings, in a trackbed or anywhere else.

It, of course, begs the question of how it got there, in such good shape and standing as proudly. Was it placed there deliberately?  If so, for what purpose?  So someone like me could babble about it on her blog?

Or was some street performer fleeing from law enforcement?  Perhaps he or she was playing Jean Valjean in a modern update of Les Miserables.  I mean, why not the New York City subways instead of the Paris sewers?

I haven’t been back to that station:  Cortlandt Street/World Trade Center on the R line.  So, of course, I don’t expect to see that shoe again. I hope, though don’t expect that it’s reunited with its mate—and, perhaps, the foot that dropped it!

She Survived Kyiv—But Not Bethesda

 In 2020, I crashed and was “doored” barely three months apart. A few people asked whether I’d give up cycling.  A couple said I should.  But, as I pointed out, I had been a dedicated cyclist for nearly half a century, with no mishaps that caused serious injuries, before those experiences.  Other people drove for less time and had more serious accidents but didn’t give up driving.

A cycling calamity cost Dan Langenkamp even more than both of my crashes cost me, because the price he paid is permanent.  

He was a press attaché and spokesperson for the U.S. Embassy in Kyiv.  His wife, Sarah, was a diplomat. They cycled in and around the city with their son, to work and school and for pleasure. Cycling had been such a part of their lives that Sarah gave him a bicycle with the words “It’s been a great ride!” painted on it.

Along with other Americans, they were evacuated from Ukraine when Vladimir Putain’s, I mean Putin’s, forces invaded the country. They returned to Bethesda, Maryland and worked in nearby Washington, DC.  They continued their bicycle-centered lifestyle until August, when Dan and Sarah were riding home from an open house at their kids’ elementary school. 

A flatbed truck made à right turn. The driver “wasn’t looking,” Dan said.  He made it home but she didn’t.  That truck “crushed” Sarah. He used that word to convey the “violence “ of what happened.  “It was as if the war followed us,” he lamented.

He’s since left his State Department job to advocate for “road safety.”  He understands that agitating for “bike safety “ or “driver awareness” is not enough.  Better road and lane design is also necessary.  So are safety features on trucks, he notes.

He is beginning his campaign today, with a bike rally which includes a ride that will re-trace Sarah’s last.

People in his life have asked him whether he thinks about not riding anymore. Some have implored him to do so.  Of course, he won’t.  Giving up cycling because of bad, careless or malicious drivers, he insists, would be “like changing your life because of terrorists.”

Mary Louise Kelly did a sensitive interview with Dan that aired yesterday:

So...while stealing one bike might or might not be worse than stealing another, it's hard to think of a more morally bankrupt bike theft than that of a disabled veteran's wheels--or a "ghost" bike.

The Heroes In A Veteran's Story

One hundred four years ago today, the treaty to end "the war to end all wars" was signed.  For years after that, this day was known as Armistice Day.  Then it came to be Remembrance Day, as it's observed in much of the world.  But here in the US, it's Veterans' Day.

Now, I have nothing against a day to commemorate veterans.  This might sound counter-intuitive, but as I've become more anti-war,  I have become more pro-veteran.  Whether or not the cause was right--which, in recent wars, means whether or not the war was based on any sort of fact or truth--no veteran should ever want--especially if that veteran was disabled in any way as a result of serving in the armed forces.

Forty-four years ago, Kevin Hebert was 19 years old and in the Air Force.  The latter would change when he suffered a broken neck, which left him paralyzed from the neck down.

Eventually, he learned to walk with leg braces.  Then he took on another challenge:  riding a bike again. 

Perhaps not surprisingly (though it may have been a disappointment to him), the Wilmington, North Carolina resident wasn't going to ride a bike like mine or, probably, yours.  Yes, it's propelled only by his feet spinning pedals.  And, at first glance, it looks like a recumbent; it differs in that it has three wheels.  But its most distinguishing trait might be the grip bars that allow him to get into or out of the seat by himself.  He was adamant about having that feature which, he says, "is independence for me."

Well, if in the immortal words of Tom Cuthbertson, stealing a bike is one of the lowest things one human can do to another, stealing a bike (or anything) from a disabled veteran drops someone a rung lower in Dante's Hell. You can tell that Hebert, even after what he's been through, isn't a cynical New Yorker like me:  He assumed that someone "borrowed" the bike.

His faith in humanity may have been well-placed after all:  Someone spotted the bike, returned it--and refused the reward Hebert offered. Oh, and the cops found the perp who took his bike.

Kevin Hebert isn't being immodest when he says he's "accomplished a lot."  That's why I am happy that he got his bike back, not only because it's his bike, but for what it's allowed him, as a disabled veteran to accomplish.  I don't know him, but I suspect he, being the veteran he is, would say that he's not the, or even a, hero in this story.

By the way, today is the 100th birthday of the author who wrote one of the best novels about a soldier's experience in World War II--and of PTSD, although nobody was calling it that when the book was published.   I'm referring, of course, to one of the first writers I fell in love with (as a writer, that is): Kurt Vonnegut, whose Slaughterhouse Five was published in 1969.

Channeling Their Aggression Into Fraud

It’s bad enough that most bike lanes in this city are poorly-conceived, -designed, -built and -maintained—and that too many go from nowhere to nowhere.  On top of all that, the placement and routing seems designed to spark the aggression of motorists and anyone who’s not using four wheels and a motor.

I have had close calls with drivers who park, pass or stop to drop off or pick up passengers in the bike lane.  I’ve also seen other drivers toss their trash—including bottles that shattered on impact—onto the lanes.

Oh, and as I was pedaling down the Crescent Street path from my apartment, a group of people planted themselves in the lane -and stood, smoking and talking to each other, as I and other cyclists tried to pass.  The sidewalk to the left of the lane was clear.

Perhaps I should be grateful that nobody here has—at least to my knowledge—expressed their hatred for cyclists in the same way as some folks in Toronto have. 

They’ve posted notices saying that certain vehicles are allowed to park in the lane on Bloor Street. That might not be a problem if those posters didn’t look like they came from the city of Toronto—which, along with the Bloor-Annex Business Improvement Area, is using social media to make people aware of the fraud.

When A Sinking Ship Isn’t Metaporical

 

You probably heard about the luxury car-laden ship that sank in the Atlantic this past winter. Turns out, the bike world isn’t immune to such mishaps.

A year earlier, another ship carrying 700 containers full of, among other things, bikes from China sank off the Mexican coast.  Now Trek, Bell and a few other companies are suing Maersk, the ship’s operator, and other related companies for damages.

Aside from the losses Trek, Bell and other companies incurred, the ship sinking affected the cycling world in another way:  It exacerbated the COVID-induced bicycle and parts shortage.  That, of course, drove up prices and simultaneously created a boom for some dealers while driving others, who couldn’t get inventory, out of business.

Deliver Your Vote!

Today is Election Day here in the US.

I have already voted and I exhort you to do the likewise.

If you've been reading this blog--or simply know anything at all about who I am, in addition to being an avid cyclist--you probably can guess how I voted.

There was a time when I didn't vote because I "didn't think it mattered."  I can understand why people--including you, perhaps--might feel that way.  After all, your ballot is one of millions.  And you might live in a jurisdiction where one candidate or party or another is "safe."

Well, let me tell you, no district is as "safe" as it seems.  The past few elections should have taught us that.  I can recall hearing, in early 2015, that Hilary Clinton was a "shoo-in" for the Presidency and Donald Trump's candidacy seemed like a joke. Right now, here in New York State, the gubernatorial race is much closer than anyone had anticipated--and I have seen many more signs for Zeldin than for the incumbent Hochul.

Even if you don't think reproductive rights or even bodily autonomy, let alone equality for women, LGBTQ people, immigrants or any other marginalized people are relevant to you, I assume that, since you are reading this, you are a cyclist or have some sort of interest in bicycles.  While most candidates don't mention cycling or bicycle infrastructure specifically, there are a host of other issues that relate directly to what we love.  They include, of course, the environment and transportation.  But cycling also intersects--to borrow Kimberle Crenshaw's postulation--with economic and social justice in all sorts of ways. We need not only to encourage people to trade four wheels and one pedal for two and two whenever possible, we must also make communities--and jobs--safe and affordable so that people who aren't athletes can ride bikes to work or school.

Anyway...these Boy Scouts (confession:  I was one in my dim, dark past!) are delivering the message in more ways than one:

Two Views As The Fall Turns

Here in the New York Metro area, we've just had a weekend of warmer-than-normal fall weather, punctuated by showers late in the morning and early in the afternoon on Sunday.  I did a fair, but not unusual (for me, anyway) amount of riding.  

Saturday brought me and Dee-Lilah, my Mercian Vincitore Special, to Point Lookout.  In previous rides to the Point, instead of "the rocks," I've made another beach area, known mainly to residents, my turn-around point.  While it doesn't have as commanding a view as "the rocks" (where there are now large mounds of sand), the quality of light--a scrim of sea mist across a screen where blue meets blue--is serene.  It reminds me that when I'm cycling (or reading or writing) alone, I feel further from loneliness than I've felt in some of my relationships and in social situations.

I rode into the wind just about all the way to the Point--which meant, of course, that I had the wind at my back on my way home for my last ride before the end of Daylight Savings Time.

Yesterday I got out later than I'd planned.  Since I figured (correctly, it turned out) on taking a shorter ride, I hopped on Tosca, my Mercian fixed-gear bike.  I had no particular destination in mind.  My ride turned mainly into a series of dodges around the street closures and crowds gathered for the New York City Marathon.

On my way back, I pedaled up the Vernon Boulevard bike lane, which detours through Queensbridge and Rainey Parks.  Just past Rainey is an ersatz "beach" and kayak launch site below street level--where, less than a mile across the river from the Manhattan skyline, an autumnal vista more reminiscent of the New England seashore presented itself.

The weekend marked, to me, the end of one part of Fall.  Now another begins.  The light will be different, I am sure, but still beautiful.

Back In The Day, We...

 I admit that I've made, oh, a joke or two about Millenials and avocado toast. 

Now that I've confessed as much, I'll say that I actually respect what folks like me in, ahem, midlife call "the younger generation."  They think differently because they know they need to, and I think they'll be fine as long as we don't cook the planet.

That said, I must also say that whenever I see them while I'm riding, there's a good chance they're looking at an iPhone, Android, Garmin or some other electronic device clipped to their handlebars.  I wonder if they can imagine riding without those gizmos.

I mean, how is she going to find her way to Starbucks?

Back in the day, we...

Riding Into The Season's Light

Sometimes I ride into sunrises.

Sometimes I pedal into sunsets.

Sometimes the day dawns as it ends.

Sometimes the day ends as a season continues.

And they're all journeys of light.

The other day, after work, Dee-Lilah--my custom Mercian Vincitore Special--took me into such a journey.

From a block away, I felt as I could see the day, the season, coming to us as we approached this tree

and it filled me with its light.

Do I need a better reason to ride?

 

I Have Seen What He Sees, And I Don't Like It, Either

I wouldn't call myself a "retrogrouch."  Yes, I ride steel frames. None of my bikes have disc brakes, tubeless tires, clipless pedals. "brifters" or Ergo-levers, threadless or integrated headsets, press-fit bottom brackets, "anatomic" handlebars or any carbon-fiber parts. Heck, I even ride with full-size frame-fit pumps.  Three of my bikes, however, have indexed shifting (wit h downtube levers), three have dual-pivot brakes and four have modern low-profile cranksets.

Now, I am not opposed to all new innovations, even if they're resurrection of old ideas.  But I don't feel I need to have the newest and latest of everything. If it works for me, I'll continue to use it.  And I prefer things I can fix myself:  about the only kind of fix I won't do myself is a frame repair.

I think I found someone who thinks more or less the way I do in Eben Weiss.  He authored the "Bike Snob" blog and now writes columns for Outside magazine.  In his latest piece, "I Can See The Future of Bicycle Technology and I Don't Like It," he decries what I'll call the Apple-ization of the bicycle industry.

What he and I detest is what almost everybody hates about the company that gave us the iPhone. (Full disclosure:  I have one.)  If you use it, or one of the firm's computers or pads, you know that they consist of specialized parts and accessories that aren't compatible with their counterparts from other tech companies and can only be repaired by Apple-approved technicians working in authorized dealerships.  That is, if they can be repaired:  Too often, parts and even entire units are made to be disposable--or Apple makes it so expensive or logistically onerous to fix your phone or computer that you just give up and buy the newest, latest model.

Now, to be fair, Apple is engaging what other companies in other industries have been doing for decades. It's called planned obsolescence.  Unfortunately, it's come to the bicycle industry.  Worse, it sometimes seems that bicycle, component and accessory manufacturers are making their products more technologically complicated for its own sake--or to impress people who mistake complication for sophistication or refinement.  An example is electronic shifting systems or other systems that can be operated only with phone apps.

Oh, while I'm at it, I'll complain about another unfortunate trend that I encountered in reading Weiss' article:  a paywall.  That wasn't an issue for me, as I am an Outside subscriber.  But you are forewarned: about that and what's come and coming to a bike near you.

It Doesn't Make Sense, And I'm Not Surprised

 If something is logical, it doesn't necessarily make sense.

I don't remember where I read, or from whom I heard, that.  But it has helped me to understand some strange and unusual developments--and to feel equal parts of shock and disgust but absolutely no surprise.

One such development is this:

The GMC Hummer EV All-Wheel-Drive e-bike is the Frankenstinian offspring of the maker of the world's most over-the-top motor vehicle and Recon Power Bikes.  

Before I say anything else, I should point out that a bicycle cannot be all-wheel-drive.  "All" refers to entities of three or more; then again, I guess "both-wheel-drive" doesn't have the same macho appeal.  

Now that I've done my writer/English teacher duty, I want to explain how this contraption makes perfect sense.  I will start by laying out an axiom that comes from years of observation:  The fancier the van or pickup truck, the less likely it is to be used for any sort of work.  So those souped-up diesel-powered rigs with the most unnecessary  accessories and flashy (or garish) paint jobs are, more than likely, being driven by some 20-year-old (whether chronologically or emotionally) dude who's overcompensating for how little he contributes to society and where he's lacking in his body, if you know what I mean, as well as his mind.

The ridership of fat-tire electric bikes is very similar to the drivership of those begirded, bejeweled (well, at least it's jewelry for the ones who drive them) behemoths.  By straddling a two-wheeled vehicle that has pedals, even if they're used only to start the engine, riders of those machines think they're projecting an image of hard work and toughness.  Put them on a bike without a motor and even I, at my age, could run rings around most of them.

Anyway, if a Hummer driver is going to bring a bicycle with him, I don't think it would be a light, airy road machine or even a high-end mountain bike.  Such bikes simply won't do for someone who's trying to compensate for, well, all sorts of things.  If he's going from four wheels to two, he simply cannot give up that feeling of invincibility he gets from the roar of an engine and the width of his tire tracks.

So...In its way, the new Hummer eBike is completely logical, at least given its target market.  But does it make sense?  Probably not, to or for anyone not in that target market.