A Short Ride On The Longest Night—And The Day After

Last night, I took my Winter Solstice ride.  Although I didn’t plan anything about it—except for one thing, which I’ll mention—I more or less knew I wouldn’t ride a lot of miles or climb. So I rode Tosca, my Mercian fixed gear bike.

The one planned part of my ride took me to a house about a kilometer from my apartment:

The residents of that house, on 23rd Street near the RFK Bridge, turn their porch into a kind of miniature Christmas village every year. The electric trains actually run on their tracks; the Ferris wheel turns and some of the figures walk, dance and even sing.

A few minutes later, I came upon another display that, while not as dynamic, filled the street with its lights and colors. 

I continued to ride. I’m not sure of which motivated me more: those lights and colors, the crisp cold air or the complete absence of traffic. 

About the latter: It was a proverbial “calm before the storm.” Not surprisingly, the holiday rush began this morning: A seemingly endless stream of cars crawled and honked down my street and, it seemed, everywhere: When I took a ride out to the Malcolm X Promenade today, it seemed like everyone in the world was entering or exiting LaGuardia Airport, the Grand Central Parkway or any street leading to them.

As I rode today, I couldn’t help but to think about last night’s ride—and a man who sold fruits and vegetables from a stand in Jackson Heights. I stopped and bought a bunch of red Swiss chard, a string of tomatoes and a small bag of cherries because they looked good—and out of respect to that man who, like me, was outside on the longest night of the year.

At The End Of The Shortest Day

 This year’s Winter Solstice will come in two hours.

I’m going for a ride to celebrate it—and the end of the semester.

There are organized rides—some in places where the weather’s even colder than it is here. (1C or 33F) Last year, the organizers of such a ride had, I believe, a really good idea.

To Prevent Another Invasion

 Nearly two weeks ago, an alien clad in green, white and red landed in the middle of Paris, bearing artifacts eagerly anticipated by a line of people 1.5 kilometers (almost 1 mile) long who came to greet it.

No, the alien wasn’t Italian and the artifacts weren’t vital links to a distant galaxy. They are, however, prized in the place from which the aliens came.  And the people who so anxiously awaited an encounter with them had seen them, until that moment, only on large, glowing screens in darkened halls.

The alien’s colors were not of a flag or spectrum. Rather, they represented the emblem of the alien’s homeland—something known in the galaxy as a “chain “ or “corporation.”

Those folks in the queue were waiting to try something they’d seen in images from a faraway land—one where Ford F-150s roam.

By now, you might have surmised that the customers in Les Halles were waiting to try something that doesn’t exist in the galaxy of Parisian pâtisseries—a Kree-spee Kréme beignet.

I guess I shouldn’t have been have been surprised. Owing largely to movies, television and music videos, American popular culture is, especially for the young, a kind of yang to the yin of haute culture, couture and cuisine. Les jeunes have grown up watching Americans dig into iconic Krispy Kreme boxes.

The company says it plans to open 500 “access points”—which will include vending machines and kiosks as well as actual stores—all over France in the next year.

I mention this development because I hope that Krispy Kreme isn’t a sign of more, and worse, trends crossing the pond, just as seeing the Shake Shack font is a harbinger of the worst things about gentrification coming to your neighborhood.

Guardian Europe columnist Alexander Hurst describes America as a “hellscape” in which folks go for their fix of glazed donuts—in their SUVs and amped-up pickup trucks.

To be sure, I have seen such vehicles in Europe.  They are, however, smaller than their US counterparts. Also, when I took bike tours in the countrysides of France and other European countries, such vehicles were used by farmers, carpenters and others engaged in work that requires hauling a lot of equipment and cargo.  Even the SUV-like vehicles I saw on recent trips in Paris, Athens and Rome were usually emblazoned with the name of a store or some other business.

Part of that has to do with the higher cost of gasoline in Europe. Another factor might be the narrower streets and roads. But Hurst believes that France and other European countries must do more to prevent this:

Ford F-150 through  the years,
 1970s-2020s.Graphic by Will Chase for Axios

The bloat in American vehicle sizes, he observes, is not only an “environmental disaster.” It’s also a hazard for pedestrians and anyone operating a smaller, less powerful vehicles—including bicycles.

As I have pointed out in earlier posts, SUVs and the pickup-trucks-on-steroids (driven by guys who could use Viagra) give us little or no room to maneuver if the driver turns, swerves or veers. Moreover, their increased height makes cyclists and pedestrians (especially small children) less visible and their higher grilles are more likely to strike someone in the upper body or even head, which is more likely to result in paralysis or death than a blow to the lower extremities.

Mayor Anne Hidalgo has proposed tripling the parking fees for SUVs in central Paris and doubling them in the rest of the city. If her proposal passes, it will be a good start. But more needs to be done—in her city and country, and the rest of Europe—in order to prevent an invasion of alien vehicles grown and fueled by Krispy Kreme’s.

Late In The Day And Semester

 

In the US, you don’t have to be on the West Coast to ride into a sunset on the ocean.

Here in New York City, you can go to the south shore of Brooklyn, Queens or Long Island, or certain parts of Staten Island, for such a ride. Actually, a ride to Battery Park in Manhattan also counts, as New York Bay—where the Hudson River ends—is technically part of the Atlantic Ocean.

A narrow passage of the Bay separates the tip of Manhattan from Red Hook, Brooklyn, where I took a late-day ride to celebrate the end of a torrent that inundated this city for nearly 36 hours—and to take a break from reading papers and other end-of-semester duties.

Because Nutrition Matters

 Some of the most comic failures of my life have involved my efforts to be a vegetarian. Now, I don’t believe that no meal is complete without beef, chicken, fish or some other animal flesh. But my intentions of going to an entirely plant-based diet always seem to be derailed by some unforeseen event—like the andouille that found its way into the cornbread stuffing for the turkey I was, uh, cooking for other people. 

Or a barbecue that presented itself along my ride.  Because you know that I never, ever would intentionally ride to a feast of wings, drumsticks, sausages and patties singed on a hot grill.

And when I am riding to such a massive repast—unintentionally, of course—I am never tasting, in my mind, those succulent accompaniments to succotash. (Gotta eat a balanced diet, ya know?)

Sometimes I am visualizing those tasty morsels so vividly that I am, in my mind, grilling them as I ride.

What Were They Riding From?

 

Some elite racers continue to ride after retiring from competition.  Then there others—like Jacques Anquetil, the first five-time winner of the Tour de France—all but stopped cycling. From the time he retired in 1969 until his death in 1987, he mounted his bike only three times. “I have done enough cycling,” he declared.

Following in his footsteps or tire tracks, it seems, is Sir Bradley Wiggins, who won the 2012 Tour.  He says he no longer rides a bicycle, although his reason is different and he coaches his son in his racing career.

That last fact is very interesting when you consider the first British TdF winner’s reasons for hanging up his bike.  “A lot of my cycling career was about running from my past,” he explains. “It was a distraction.”

That past included a father—who just happened to be a six-day race champion in Australia—who was absent until Bradley, at 19, was beginning his career. The elder Wiggins showed up in Belgium, where the young rider was racing. 

Bradley described it as “probably the hardest day of his life” even though spectators at the track in Ghent were cheering him.  His father, broke and broken, regaled him with stories of how he “beat everybody in Europe.” Then, while, squeezing his newly-found son’s arm, he delivered a verbal coup de grâce: “Just don’t forget, you’ll never be as good as your old man.”

(Is that the start of an Oedipal conflict, or what?)

Reading that reminded me of someone I knew who ran for the track teams of her high school and college. She told me that one day, she was out for her daily training run—a ritual she continued after she graduated and no longer was competing—when she stopped in her tracks and wondered aloud, “Why am I doing this?” She realized that she, like Sir Bradley, was running from a traumatic past—which, in her case, included sexual abuse from her brothers.

Speaking of which:  before the “reunion” with his father, he had been sexually abused—at age 12, by a youth cycling coach.

In a strange, terrible way, Sir Bradley Wiggins has—besides his Tour de France victories and World Championships—something in common with Anquetil and other cyclists who rode little or not at all after retiring from competition.  Jacques and other riders—almost none of whom attained anything near his level of success—grew up poor or working-class. For them, the bicycle was a vehicle of escape from the farm or factory.  Once they could afford a nice house and car, the bicycle became a symbol of a past from which they were trying to ride away—just as it was for Sir Bradley Wiggins.

Stopped In My Tire Tracks

 Has something ever stopped you in your tire tracks?

While commuting, touring, day-tripping or doing just about every other kind of riding except racing, I have stopped when I’ve seen something unusual or interesting. I more or less expect to make such stops when I’m somewhere I’ve never been before:  Whether I was seeing the chateau at Amboise or an elephant in the wild for the first time, I knew that such sights—or a marketplace that only the locals know—is as much a reason for my ride as, well, pedaling on unfamiliar terrain.

Perhaps nothing is quite as surprising, however, as pedaling through a part of my neighborhood I hadn’t seen in months and encountering something that not only differs from its immediate surroundings, but would stand out almost anywhere.

While spinning the pedals on Tosca, my Mercian fixed-gear bike, along 36th Avenue, I couldn’t have missed a house with such a paint job.  I know it had to have been built recently because, while the stoop and other fittings seemed to match those of adjacent houses—at least at first glance—they didn’t have the nooks and crannies (like Thomas’s English Muffins) of bricks that have weathered seasons and been painted over.

I saw a name plate by the front door.  Looking it up, however, was fruitless because it’s a name common to the Indian-Bengali community in that part of the neighborhood. My guess is that it’s the name of the person or family who built it. Whoever they are, they’re probably rich and eccentric.

At first glance, it reminded me of a Buddhist temple. Perhaps the nearby spice shop and Punjab restaurant and bakery had something to do with that. (I know: Punjabi people are as likely to be Sikhs, Hindus, Muslims or even Christians. My Eurocentricity is showing!) Then, for a moment, I thought of San Francisco about 35 years ago, before tech money remade it: Victorian houses were painted in colors you never would see on similarly-styled houses in Brooklyn, Boston or Montréal.

I believe that if I’d seen that house anywhere, it would have stopped me in my tire tracks.

The Lesser Offense?

 A few years ago, one of my students disappeared a couple of weeks into the semester.  She re-appeared near the end of semester, begging me to allow her to make up the work she missed.  I relented.  She submitted the essays and research paper a week before the final exam. 

I didn’t have to read much to confirm my suspicion:  She hadn’t written those essays or the paper. On the day of the final exam, I returned her work with red “F”s scrawled across them, along with the web addresses where I found “her” work.

“I didn’t plagiarize.”

“So why did I find these papers on the web?”

“I didn’t plagiarize them.  My friend did it for me!”

This week’s “Sunday funny” reminded me of that episode. Just as my former student thought she was not violating the college’s academic integrity policy because she hadn’t done the plagiarism herself, a public official tried to save face by claiming that he was behaving more responsibly by riding his bicycle rather than driving after a night of drinking.

Ty Ross, a Fernandina Beach (Florida) City Manager, had been in his post for only two weeks when police found him lying beside his bike on a roadside. 

Whether or not getting on two wheels instead of four is more responsible behavior after drinking, the officers decided he hadn’t committed a citeable offense and offered him a ride home, which he accepted.

If I recall correctly, my former student failed my class but the college didn’t expel her. That didn’t upset me. But I wonder whether she refined her sense of what is right or wrong—or whether Ross will.

Had he caused or suffered any harm, he would’ve been a candidate for a Darwin Award.

From The Bicycle Man and Bicycle Woman to the Bicycle Medea

 

People in Fayetteville, North Carolina still talk about “The Bicycle Man.”  For more than two decades, Moses Mathis repaired bicycles and gave them to kids in the community, many for Christmas. In its heyday, the charity he and his wife Ann—“The Bicycle Woman”—founded gave away 2500 bikes a year.

He passed away ten years ago. Ann took over and kept the program going with volunteers and donations.  She retired last year. 

Fears that the program would not continue were allayed when Bernie Bogertey-Harvey took the baton.  For years, she has been on the board of The Bicycle Man Foundation.  She has, however, another connection:  More than thirty years ago, her son received one of the first bikes Moses gave away.

Her grandkids have dubbed her “The Bicycle Medea.” While the program is smaller (It no longer has its warehouse.), she hopes to build it back up.  “This year, we’re targeting ages one to seven,” she said.

While it’s too late to register for a bike at this year’s 16 December giveaway, the project is still taking donations.

As one of her grandkids says,”The spirit of the Bicycle Man lives on” in Bernie Bogertey-Harvey.

John Lennon and Howard Cosell

Today I am invoking my Howard Cosell Rule because of an event that led to its creation.

On this date in 1980, Cosell was, along with Don Meredith and Frank Gifford (before he was married to Kathie Lee), calling a Monday Night Football game between the Miami Dolphins and New England Patriots.  It was near the end of the fourth quarter. Patriots’ kicker John Smith took to the field to kick the potential game-winning field goal.

“Remember, this is just a football game, no matter who wins or loses,” Cosell intoned. “An unspeakable tragedy, confirmed to us by ABC News.” With that, he announced the murder of John Lennon.

“Hard to go back to the game after that news flash,” he said with uncharacteristic understatement.

The End—Or Just Change?

 

The past few days have been hectic.  It’s “crunch time” at work and I’ve had to attend to a few things that might lead to a change in my life. Whether that will be good or bad, or just change, I don’t know.

I did manage to squeeze in a late-afternoon ride to and from Fort Totten the other day.  I rode Tosca, my Mercian fixed gear, as I often do on short rides. On my way home, I stopped to enjoy the end-of-day light from the Malcolm X Promenade, which rims mFlushing Bay from LaGuardia Airport.

As much as I enjoyed the spectacle, upon looking at a photo I took, I can’t help but to wonder whether it portends what will come from the change, should it come to pass.

Off The Rails

 When I had a mountain bike with suspension, I thought I could ride over anything.

That included railroad tracks. I assumed they were abandoned…until I heard a low rumble, clackety-clack and blaring horn.

It’s a good thing my reflexes were great. (I was younger!)

Even with suspension, riding those tracks was rough. Perhaps this is what I needed:

Destroying What They “Didn’t See”

At the end of my block—where Crescent Street meets Broadway in Astoria, Queens—there is a row of on-street bike racks.

Like other such racks in New York and a few other cities, it’s at the end of a parking lane that’s supposed to serve as a “barrier” between the bike and traffic lane.  Too often, though, drivers turn it into a passing lane.  On one occasion, a ride-share driver barged into the Crescent Street lane a couple of SUV lengths behind me, blaring his horn and his mouth. I have seen other incidents like it.

That is the reason I don’t use those racks:

I don’t know whether the driver who “taco’ed” that rear wheel and frame did so deliberately. If they did and were caught, I can imagine their defense: “I didn’t see it!”

That is what a driver in Portland claimed after causing this:

That bike was its owner’s sole means of transportation. Worse yet, she—Cole—witnessed its destruction from across the street. In talking to the driver who made the claim she deemed “dubious,” she noticed  that his SUV, which took out a whole row of bikes in addition to hers, had no license plates. She got his name and contact information and contacted the police who, not surprisingly, didn’t seem interested.

She would appreciate monetary help in buying a new bike. I have to wonder whether the owner of the wrecked bike at the end of my block could replace it. I don’t have to wonder, however, about this: whether other bikes have met untimely ends in supposedly “safe” bike parking corrals.

If you want to contribute to Cole’s next bike, you could send to her CashApp account—$colesodcash—or to Jonathan Maus, the etditor and publisher of Bike Portland, who will forward it to her.

(The first two photos are mine. The others are from Bike Portland.)

Kevin Duggan Knows

 

Great minds think alike.

So I've heard.  Now, I am not going to tell you that I am a "great mind."  But I know when someone is thinking like a cyclist--in particular, a cyclist in New York City.

Kevin Duggan is such a person.  His latest article in Streetsblog NYC tells me as much.

In it, he lauds a new series of bike lanes I've already ridden a few times.  But he also said they are part of the "groundwork" for a "much-needed safe transportation network in the neighborhoods of Western Queens.

Astoria, where I live, is part of Western Queens.  There is already a lane--which is far from ideal--on my street and a few others.  But those extant lanes do not form a coherent network that would allow a cyclist or, for that matter, anyone not driving, a safe, reliable and efficient way to traverse the area between its bridges, schools, workplaces, shopping areas, parks, museums and the residences of people like me.

Nor do the new lanes about which Duggan writes.  Oh, one of them, along 11th Street, is protected by concrete barriers along some stretches and a lane of parked cars along others.  And it connects, if not seamlessly, with two other lanes along other major thoroughfares--Jackson Avenue and 44th Avenue-- in the neighborhood.  But they don't offer something else they could:  a safe and easy way to access the Pulaski Bridge, which connects the Queens neighborhood Long Island City (an area about 4 kilometers south of my apartment) to Greenpoint, Brooklyn--and has a protected bike lane.

Moreover, the Jackson Avenue and 44th Avenue lanes, which run east-west, doesn't connect (yet) with the lane along Vernon Boulevard--a north-south lane like 11th Street.  And there is no lane to connect Vernon or 11th to Crescent Street or other lanes that take cyclists to the RFK Memorial Bridge and other useful, relevant and interesting places.

Kevin Duggan understands.  I can only hope that the planners will, some day soon.

(Photo by Kevin Duggan for Streetsblog.  Map from New York City Department of Transportation.)

Faster Than A Speeding Merckx?

Did Eddy Merckx ever get a speeding ticket?  

I don't mean for his driving--which I never hear about.  Rather, I ask whether he was summonsed while on his bicycle.

Somehow I doubt it.  Even in his home region of Flanders, which has produced more than its share of great racers (especially sprinters), I don't think there's anyone who could have caught him, on a bike or in a car.

So what brought the question of "The Cannibal" being fined for exceeding a posted speed limit to my mind?

This:  The other day, Flemish Mobility Minister Lydia Peeters announced that new speed cameras and average speed checks will be installed on bicycle streets by Spring 2024, pending approval from the Flemish government.

Bicycle streets differ from bike lanes in that cars are allowed in them, but drivers must give way to, and cannot overtake, cyclists. According to Peeters, the cameras will help to enforce that rule--and the speed limit of 30kph (18.64 mph).  

Yes, bicycles have to adhere to the speed limit, as well as cars. Ultimately, Peeters says, the goal speed limits and cameras is to make cycling safer which, she believes, will encourage more people to ride. While identifying motorists who break the rule would be easy enough, it's less so for cyclists, who don't have license plates.  Somehow, though, I imagine that Eddy, even at his advanced age, is one of the more recognizable--and identifiable--people in his homeland.

Does The Fourth Amendment Apply To Us?

 

Seven years ago, I became one of many cyclists subjected to “phantom law syndrome:” A police officer pulled me over, claiming that I violated a law that didn’t exist. Whether he mistakenly believed the law existed (like the driver who claimed that I shouldn’t be driving on “her” street because a nearby street had a bike lane) or simply made it up, I hadn’t, in any case, violated it!

I got to thinking about that incident when I heard about another cyclist whom the police stopped.

Nearly a decade ago, Lance Rodriguez, then 20 years old, was riding his bike in Far Rockaway—a neighborhood I often ride through.  A passing cop thought he saw something “bulky” in Lance’s pants. (Make what you will of that statement. I won’t judge you for having a dirty mind!) To be fair, that “bulky” thing was indeed a gun. 

One thing was arguably unfair:  Rodriguez was arrested and served two years in prison.  In contrast, Bernhard Goetz shot four young Black men whom he claimed were trying to rob him. One was paralyzed. Goetz served eight months of a one-year sentence for possessing an illegal gun, but was acquitted of the attempted murder, assault and reckless endangerment charges.

Another unfair aspect of Rodriguez’s arrest and incarceration, according Hannah Kon, it is that they probably wouldn’t have happened had he been driving a car, or in some other space. Not to mention that, according to Kon—who represented him in his appeal—his imprisonment disrupted the career he was starting as a chef.

A majority of judges on the Court of Appeals agreed with Rodriguez’s contention that his Fourth Amendment rights (to not be searched without “probable cause”) were not respected because, in essence, he was more exposed and vulnerable to force on his bicycle than he would’ve been in a car.

The minority of judges who voted against the decision claim that it will keep police from conducting the searches that are sometimes necessary in order to prevent crime. Kon disagrees:  “Police can still pull over anyone on the road who’s violating a traffic law.  Including cyclists,” she noted. “They can pull over anyone on the road who they reasonably suspect who has committed or is about to commit a crime. The decision doesn’t change any of that.”

The decision—or more precisely, Rodriguez’s arrest and incarceration beg the questions of what “probable cause” is—and whether it means something different for cyclists from what it means for drivers or—dare I say it—for white or non-white cyclists. Or, more to the point, will police officers continue to find “probable cause” on cyclists—especially those of us of color—because they can, because we’re more exposed and vulnerable? 

Oh, and will “probable cause” continue to include alleged violations of phantom laws?

What I Thought They Meant

 The first time I heard of “electric bikes,” I pictured something like this:

A Path Through Vermont?

 

Image by Markus Spiske via Pexels

Someone, I forget whom, quipped that the definition of a Canadian is someone who lives as close as possible to the United States without living in it. That makes sense when you realize the country’s largest cities—Toronto, Montréal and Vancouver—all lie within 100 miles of the border.

That same wag might’ve said that the idea of US Route 5 might’ve been a highway as close as possible to New Hampshire without actually crossing into the Granite State. That is exactly what the thoroughfare does for much of its Vermont segment along the Connecticut River, the Green Mountain State’s boundary with New Hampshire.

Route 5 is extremely popular with tourists, as it passes through many towns and villages that are more picturesque than any place has a right to be. It also links the rest of New England with Québéc.

And, having cycled in Vermont, I can’t recommend it highly enough, whether in the spring, summer or its incomparable fall foliage season. The one drawback I could see is that being mainly a rural state, you have to know it—or go with a local—if you want to ride the less-trafficked roads. That can make it more difficult to plan a multi day tour or even a commute and, perhaps, keeps cycling from being even more popular than it is.

Now the Vermont Agency of Transportation, commonly known as VTrans, is taking feedback from municipalities along Route 5 for a possible bike route that would parallel the corridor from Vermont’s southern boundary with Massachusetts to its northern border with Québéc. The route would consist of separate protected lanes for some of its length and on-road painted lanes in other parts.

One of the difficulties in building such a route is that it would require the cooperation—financial and otherwise—of the many towns and villages along its way. While some balk at the possible cost and time commitments, others—like Fairlee—also see an opportunity because such a bike route would link already-existing bike routes as well as the towns themselves.

My hope for such a project is that actual cyclists are involved in planning, designing and building it.  Too many bike lanes I’ve ridden seem to have lacked the understanding that comes from spending time in the saddle.

The Cloud Over Black Friday

 

Yesterday was Thanksgiving Day in the US.  Today is “Black Friday,” the unofficial  start of the Christmas shopping season. Online as well as brick-and-mortar retailers offer “sales” on popular items.  Too often, “sale” prices aren’t much, if at all, less than what people  can find without much trouble when they aren’t pumped up with  Black Friday hype. That’s why I don’t participate in the spectacles that, too often, seem like the running of the bulls when store doors open and throngs of shoppers charge through .

The concept seems to have spread beyond this country’s borders and shores—and to online retailers.  The bike business seems to have been pulled into it—by necessity, some industry insiders argue.  The COVID pandemic Bike Boom seems to have gone “bust:” After the shortages of bikes and anything related to them that caused some shops to close in 2020 and 2021, remaining distributors and dealers stocked up as soon as merchandise became available again. But the demand of the peak pandemic year’s didn’t continue: People who thought about cycling during the lockdowns abandoned such thoughts when gyms and other venues re-opened. Oh, and whatever economists (or TV personalities who play them on Fox News and CNBC) tell us about a “robust” economy, many cyclists (including yours truly) don’t have much spare cash or even credit.

That said, there are good deals to be had.  Even if I were swimming in green, however, I don’t think I’d be shopping: I have what I need (at least when it comes to cycling) and I don’t want more things. Most of all, I don’t want to follow the imperative to “buy until you die.”

JFK: What If?

 

I hesitated to write this post.  But even if what I say seems irrelevant or simply wrong, I have to say it.

As you’ve heard by now, sixty years ago today, President John F. Kennedy was assassinated.

I was a very, very young child that day.  My memories of that time are not of the event itself, but of people expressing grief or—to use a word that I wouldn’t learn until many years later.  Even in Brooklyn, where I lived at the time, there were people who hated Kennedy as much as any Klan member, and for the same reasons.

I would say, though, that grief or, at least, shock. He was the first Roman Catholic to become President, and most of the people in my neighborhood shared his faith or, at least, attended the same kinds of churches.  Most of the non-Catholics in our community were Jewish—working-class, like us—and felt as much as we did that JFK “belonged” to them.

I’ll spare you all of the hackneyed rhetoric about the youthfulness and optimism he radiated. And I won’t insult your intelligence by repeating that oft-echoed canard that the nation “lost its innocence” that day.  This nation was never innocent; nor was any other, ever.

And for all that he accomplished, his re-election in 1964 probably wouldn’t have been a “slam-dunk.” People referred to the states south of the Mason-Dixon Line as the “Solid South:”  Democrats had won most elections, from those for Congress and governors’ mansion all the way down to dog-catcher, for the century that had elapsed since the Civil War. But the “Dixiecrats” had completely different ideas about race relations and other issues from those of Democrats like Kennedy and Franklin D. Roosevelt. They, however, needed Dixiecrats’ support not only to win elections, but also to pass legislation.

It almost goes without saying that if JFK had lived and won the next election, we would be living in a very different—and, I believe, better—country. For one thing, it would be easier (though not easy; it never is) to be non-White, non-male, non-heterosexual non-cisgender and non-wealthy. I think legislation intended to guarantee the rights of people I’ve mentioned (who include me) would have passed sooner and wouldn’t have been weakened.

I also think we’d be in a “greener” country.  JFK was the first President since pre-war JFK whose guiding principles included environmental consciousness. Most of his efforts focused on coastal landscapes because those were most familiar to him as someone who sailed from Cape Cod. But I believe that his consciousness about the natural world would have expanded—which would have helped to foster an environment that encouraged research and development of cleaner energy sources—at least in part because of his friendship with Rachel Carlson.

Who knows?  If Kennedy had lived and served longer, the bicycle might be seen as a mode of transportation and not a toy for kids-or adults. Might we have more and better bike lanes? Would my hometown of New York be the new New Amsterdam?

Snark Alert: If You Can't Find An Apartment You Can Afford, Blame Bike Parking

Three years ago, the city of Portland, Oregon implemented bicycle parking requirements for new residential buildings.  Last week, the city's Planning Commission voted to recommend rolling back key provisions of the mandate.  

The campaign that led up to the vote included allegations by members of "community associations" that bike parking spaces come at the expense of low-income housing.  That, of course, is a classic "divide and conquer" strategy:  pitting two vulnerable groups of people (the cyclists because of their relatively small numbers, low-income people because of their lack of resources) against each other by creating a false equivalency.

As pointed out by more than one person who objected to the roll-back--which would include decreasing the number of bike parking spaces per housing unit--would increase the number of new apartments (or other housing units) by a tiny number, and the number of units available to low-income people by even less.  

Another objection to bike parking spaces is cost.  But, as Bike Portland's "Todd/Boulanger" explains, bike parking spaces and facilities end up costing more than they should because it's usually the last item on a project, which increases implementation costs not only because the cost of everything related to a project tends to increase over the lifespan of the project, but also because the installation of racks and other facilities, which should be simple, often has to be worked around other things, such as HVAC systems, that have already been done.  

To me, both arguments sound like variations of the " take "You take up too much space!" complaint drivers who are the sole occupants of their SUVs make when they have to share the road with a cyclist.

Light At The End Of My Ride

 I’m still getting used to the sun setting before supper time in Florida. (I’m not sure I ever could get used to eating the last meal of the day an hour or two after most kids’ schooldays end!) So I have to remind myself not to linger over my bagel and coffee if I want to do a 120 or 140 kilometer ride and get home before sundown.

Mind you, I have lights and reflective garments.  I am not against night riding:  It has been thrilling, surreal and revealing for me. I simply prefer to end a ride of more than a couple of hours in daylight.

Yesterday’s ride to Point Lookout and back—on LaVande, my Mercian King of Mercia—got me home just before high wispy clouds began to flicker with orange rays.  The light at the Point was even more of a harbinger of winter than the early sunset that would follow my ride.

Somehow I Don’t Think Kool Herc Envisioned This

 For the 50th anniversary of hip-hop, the world needs….another Epic Rap Battle. 

Just imagine how much more interesting the Presidential primaries would be if Nikki Haley and Ron De Santis rattled off rhymes…oh, never mind. I mean, even if either of them were capable of rapping (or if De Santis were even capable of being anything other than a psycho-sexual-spiritual black hole), I’m not sure I’d want to hear it.

But these guys might’ve been fun, whatever one might’ve lacked In versification virtuosity and the other might lose in translation.

Somehow I don’t think Kool Herc envisioned anything like it.

Will They Try To Ground Star Trek?

 I have owned a few Treks and ridden a few more.  I liked their rides, for different reasons, and was happy to have well-crafted frames made in the USA. 

As much as I liked my Trek bikes, I didn’t like the company quite as much.  While working in the bike shops that sold Treks, the company seemed, at times, to have the attitude that you should be very, very grateful to have one of their bikes.  Warranty claims took forever to settle and the sales rep whose territory included Highland Park Cyclery when I worked there remains one of the most obnoxious people I’ve met. 

So I wasn’t surprised when Trek tried to stop Washington State resident Christina Isaacs from using a trademark—Ranger Trek—for backpacks, T-shirts, jackets and other items that would be sold mainly in National Park stores.

She tried to register the trademark in 2016. Trek appealed to the Trademark Trial and Appeals Board, claiming that consumers could conflate their brand with hers.  The rationale for the Trek’s attempt to keep Isaacs from using her brand name is that the bike manufacturer has used its name to market backpacks, other bags and even lunchboxes. Also, Trek claimed, its bicycles are closely associated with parks.

When Trek lost their appealat the Board, and it wouldn’t reconsider, they brought Isaacs to court. Last Wednesday, the Federal Circuit  Court upheld the Board’s ruling.  

That Trek would keep Isaacs tied up in litigation shouldn’t come as a shock.  On a list of “Trademark Bullies” maintained by Trademark.com, Trek ranks number 4, just behind Kellogg’s, Apple and Monster Energy.