They Rode Like They Were On Rails

Some of you have benefited from the work of the Rails-To-Trails Conservancy.  As their name indicates, they have worked to convert disused and abandoned railroad right-of-ways to paths for cycling, hiking and other non-motorized means of transportation.

Like canal towpaths, railbeds make for all-but-ideal bike paths.  They are usually flat; if there is an incline, the grade is gradual and even.  Plus, towpaths and railbeds are usually well-conceived and well-built, at least in part because the best engineers of their time worked on them; the Pennsylvania, New York Central, Union Pacific, and Baltimore and Ohio railroads attracted, and paid for, scientific and technical acumen as the major automobile manufacturers and aerospace companies would in later years.

Also, many old railroad viaducts, bridges and overpasses have endured because, ironically, in the early days of railroad engineering, nobody really knew which materials and methods were most suitable.  So, the early railroads--particularly the Baltimore and Ohio, erred on the side of caution and used what they thought were the strongest materials--as often as not, granite and iron.

What all of this means, of course, is that to make a good trail, sometimes it's not necessary to do much more than remove the tracks.  

Or maybe not even that.  

Believe it or not, in 1891, one Frank Brady of Chicago, Illinois got a patent for a bicycle much like that one.






Apparently, he wasn't the only one to patent a railway bicycle.  This one sprung from the mind of Allegheny, Pennsylvania native Henry Mann, and was patented a year after Brady's contraption:

Given that the 1890s were a Golden Age for both railroads and bicycles, it's no surprise that Brady and Mann weren't the only ones who, in that era, thought that "pedal to the metal" meant a velocipede on rails:




Note that in all of these patents, the vehicle in question is referred to as a "velocipede".  That was the common term for any pedaled vehicle; the Teetor vehicle in the 1898 patent has four wheels.  



Also note that the Teetor vehicle is referred to as an "inspection car".  Can you imagine how the world would be different if our cars were like that instead of the ones we have now?  Would our Interstate system consist of rails of steel rather than ribbons of asphalt?

Apparently, as the Bike Boom of the 1890s and early 1900s ended, so did attempts to make bikes that rode on rails.

Where Was Everybody? I'm Not Complaining!

I swore that I wouldn't ride to any beach areas on weekends this summer.   Well, I broke that promise. It was just so hot and humid I couldn't think of anywhere else I wanted to ride--or go by any other means.

Actually, I didn't ride just to one beach.  First, I heeded the Ramone's advice and rode to--where else?--Rockaway Beach.  I worried when I encountered a lot of traffic on the streets near my apartment--at least some of which seemed headed toward Rockaway.

But, as soon as I passed Forest Park, traffic started to thin out.  By the time I crossed the bridge from Howard Beach to Beach Channel, the streets started to look like county roads in upper New England or routes departmentales in the French countryside--at least traffic-wise, anyway.  And, oddly, there seemed to be less traffic the closer I got to the Rockaways. I thought that, perhaps, whoever had planned to be on the beach today was already there.

What I found when I got to Rockaway Beach invalidated that hypothesis.  Although temperatures reached or neared 100F (38C) in much of Queens, Brooklyn and Manhattan--and humidity hovered around 90 percent--there actually was space to stretch out on the beach!  I've seen days where people were literally at arm's length, or even less from each other.  That's what I expected to, but didn't, see today.

I didn't see this. (Apologies to Francisco Goya.)

What's more, I could ride in more or less straight lines along the boardwalk:  I didn't have to swerve or dodge skateboarders, or families with men and boys in shorts and tank tops, women in bathing suits and cover-ups and little girls in frilly dresses--or dogs on leashes that seem to span the length of the boardwalk.

After soaking up sun, surf and sand (perhaps not in that order), I ate some of the salsa I made and tortilla chips from a local Mexican bakery.   Thus fortified, I decided to ride some more.  

Along Beach Channel Drive, I encountered even less traffic than I did on the way to Rockaway Beach.  There were even empty parking spaces along the street, all the way to Jacob Riis Park.  The beach there was slightly more crowded than Rockaway, but still nothing like what I expected.  The streets from there to the Marine Parkway Bridge were all but deserted, and the bridge itself--which spans an inlet of Jamaica Bay and ends on Flatbush Avenue, one of Brooklyn's major streets (it's really more like a six-lane highway at that point)--looked more like a display of Matchbox cars than a major thoroughfare. 

Stranger still, I saw only two other cyclists on the lane that parallels Flatbush, and none on the path that rims the bay along the South Shore of Brooklyn to the Sheepshead Bay docks.  From there, I encountered one other cyclist on the way to Coney Island--a bicycle patrolman!



Surely, I thought, I'd see throngs of strollers, sunbathers and swimmers at Coney Island.  Throngs, no.  People, yes--but, again, not as many as I expected.  

I didn't complain.  I finished the salsa and chips.  They were really good, if I do say so myself.

Today: Shared Streets And Summer Streets

Today is Shared Streets Day.

No, it's not another one of those holidays created by FTD or the publishers of calendars and greeting cards.

Instead, it creates an almost traffic-free environment on what are--on weekdays, anyway--some of the busiest streets in the world.  Cars will have access to them only through checkpoints, and will be asked to drive at no more than five miles per hour (8kph).  Cyclists and pedestrians, on the other hand, will be able to enter and leave them freely.

From DIY Biking

The restricted streets will comprise a 60 square-block area south of New York's City Hall.  Most of them are in Manhattan's Financial District, which normally doesn't see a lot of traffic on weekends, especially in the summer.  In fact, I've taken dates and out-of-town visitors on rides in that area when the Stock Exchange and financial institutions are closed, and everyone marveled on how oddly bucolic it seemed.  It was as if the glass and steel towers were holding the noise and haste at bay.

Shared Streets area.

I'd bet that even most native New Yorkers have never enjoyed that part of town on a summer weekend.  For that reason alone, I think that area is a good place for Shared Streets Day.  Plus, it includes some of Manhattan's most historic sites, including the Customs House (ironically, now the home of the Museum of the American Indian),  Coenties Slip and the Woolworth Building.  It also includes such notable monuments as the Louise Nevelson Park and 9/11 Memorial and, well, tourist traps like the South Street Seaport.  

This event is being held today in addition to the Summer Streets Program, which took place last Saturday and will return next Saturday.  Nearly seven miles of major Manhattan Streets, running from Central Park at East 72nd Street to the Brooklyn Bridge, will be closed to traffic.  There will be rest stops as well as performances and other cultural events, as well as bike repair stands, along the way.

A Summer Streets stop, 2015.

While today is the first Shared Streets Day, the Summer Streets program has been held every August since 2008.  Not surprisingly, some drivers have complained about Summer Streets, although not as many as one might expect:  although not as quiet as the Shared Streets are on weekends and during the summer, traffic is generally lighter on the Summer Streets routes during those times.

Perhaps the most interesting aspect of Shared Streets, though, is that it encompasses the oldest parts of Manhattan (or, at least, the first parts to be settled and built upon by European colonizers).  Thus, for most of its history, it was traversed mainly by pedestrians; only horses and, later, bicycles would break the monopoly walkers would enjoy over the area.  Now that area of the city is being returned, mostly, if only for a day, to human-powered transportation.

How Do You Sell Cycling In Amsterdam?

You've probably heard the expression, "He/She could sell snow to the Eskimos/Inuits/Laplanders/any other native of a cold climate".

Believe it or not, Snowbrokers was "set up a few years ago to service the need of online snow sales for the Inuit community of Alaska".  Wow!  I wish I'd thought of that!  I guess it's another one of those opportunities to get in on the ground floor of something that'll reach the sky that I missed.  

Then again, people have come up with even crazier ideas for businesses. Like an Uber for hitmen:  surge pricing is always in effect.  Or an online social network for people who don't use the Internet.  Or one of my favorites:  an a capella singing group that only does death metal covers.  All right, that's not technically a business idea, unless you believe that performers start groups only in the hope of making money. (And we all know that no performer with any integrity would ever think of that, right?)

OK, so at least we know  Snowbrokers, Uber for hitmen, the social network and the a capella groups are jokes--just like the Swiss Navy. (I didn't find out until I tried to join! ;-))  Unfortunately, there are some things that sound like jokes but were conceived without irony or mirth, such as The Flat Earth Society and more than a few political campaigns. (Of the latter, there are some that we wish were jokes.  I won't mention any names as I am trying to remain, ahem, apolitical.)  Oh, and a Creationist theme park.

Hmm...Would all of these schemes have been funded by selling snow online to Inuits in Alaska?  Hmm...Maybe the Samis of Norway would be a more lucrative market.

Or, perhaps, selling cycling in Amsterdam.

Anna Luten, Amsterdam's "bicycle mayor"

"It is harder than it sounds," says Anna Luten.  She would know better than perhaps anyone else:  She is the "bicycle mayor" of the Dutch capital. She was chosen for the voluntary position (Her "real" job is that of brand manager for Giant's LIV line of bicycles for women.) last month by a jury of city officials and bike advocates.  

In a city where there are as many bicycles as people, "Cycling is so normal for us that it becomes boring for us, and we neglect it," she explains.  Because cycling is  "not an identity like it is in other countries, it's just the way we get around", she says, in essence, that cyclists take their position ("because we ride a bike we own the roads"), and that of the city as a bike haven, for granted.  Amsterdam's cycling infrastructure "has to improve for future generations", she asserts, because "There are almost too many cyclists and bikes."  If things continue as they are, she says, "people will stop cycling because it won't be safe".

People will stop cycling because there are too many bikes on the road?  That makes me think of Yogi Berra's observation about a restaurant:  "Nobody goes there anymore because it's too crowded".

Seriously, though:  She has a point.  I mean, in how many other cities  are there bicycle traffic jams?  (In New York, where I live, and other cities, one of the reasons why we ride to work is that we can pedal around traffic jams instead of getting into them!)  Also, because so many people ride to work, there aren't enough ferries, bridges and tunnels to take cyclists across the city's waterways.  Starting more ferry lines isn't an ideal solution for those who depend on their bicycles to get to work, as the ferry rides --though picturesque and free for commuters-- are time-consuming.  Building a new tunnel would be a very expensive and lengthy process, given the city's marshy soil.  And talk of building a new bridge angers harbor boat operators, who fear they--especially those who conduct cruises--could lose out.

Finally, for all the publicity Amsterdam receives as a cyclists' utopia, one only has to cross the city's boundaries, or go into neighborhoods like Nieuw West with large immigrant populations-- to find people who don't share Anna's--and other Amsterdamers'--connection to the bicycle.  Many of the immigrants come from places where people (especially women) didn't ride bikes. Others simply see cycling as unsafe and drive their kids to school. "[W]hen those kids hit 16, they get motor scooters, not bicycles," says Maud de Vries, who runs the Cycle Mayor program.

(I noticed something similar in Paris:  When I cycled through la Goutte d'Or,  into suburbs like Saint Denis and Montreuil (not to be confused with Montreuil-sur-mer) or even the bike lane on Boulevard Barbes, I did not see any other cyclists. In fact, I saw  motor scooters--and a lot of pedestrians--in the Barbes bike lane.)

Some would argue that Copenhagen has overtaken Amsterdam as the world's most bicycle-friendly major city.  To Anna Luten, "the rivalry isn't important, so long as each city is a good place to cycle."  Her efforts, and those of people like Maud de Vries, come from the belief that "cycling has the power to transform".  Such a transformation, she says, would mean that there are "more cities like Amsterdam, where cycling is so normal and accepted that we are not even aware of it."

Then, maybe, no one would have to sell cycling in Amsterdam--or anywhere else.

The Heat Wave I Escaped; What I Couldn't

The day I got to Paris, it was hot and humid.  At least, it was hot by Paris standards--or it seemed so because I wasn't expecting it.  But for the rest of my trip, the weather was mild to pleasantly warm.  The rain waited until I wasn't riding because, well, I made it wait.  (You didn't know I had such powers, did you?  I can do all sorts of things just by twitching my nose! ;-)) Thus, I had lots of nice weather for cycling, walking and picnicking along the Seine when I wasn't visiting museums and friends.

When I got back, my friend Millie--who takes care of my cats--told me I'd "dodged a bullet", if you will.  "You missed the worst heat wave," she informed me.  So, in addition to reveling in the good time I had during my trip, I counted my blessings:  I was glad not to experience temperatures high enough to melt lycra.  

I got to thinking about the first trip I took across the Atlantic:  the one in which I rode for three months in England, France, Belgium, the Netherlands, Germany and back into France before deciding to stay there.  I took that trip during the summer of 1980, which was said to be the coolest and rainiest for at least a generation in most of Europe. (The weather aggravated the tendinitis in Bernard Hinault's knee and caused him to withdraw from that year's Tour de France after the twelfth stage.)  I didn't mind:  the cycling was pleasant; so were a lot of other things.  On the other hand, that summer was one of the hottest on record in much of North America, including New York and New Jersey.  And, from what I heard and read, the heat and humidity continued until October that year.

Two decades later, I spent a month cycling in France and Spain.  Once again, I "dodged" an extended heat wave in New York.  To be sure, I experienced a couple of hot days during my trip, but none like the ones that were baking the Big Apple that year.  When I returned, people told me how they sweltered on the city's concrete and asphalt; I have to admit that I felt a kind of guilty pleasure, as if I were a kid who'd just had ice cream when she wasn't supposed to.

When I got home from that tour, about a month of summer remained.  As I recall, we didn't have any really hot weather--or much rain-- for the rest of that year.  I rode a lot, long and fast and often, as far as I could from what I'd escaped--or, perhaps, merely avoided.  I was "safe"-- at least for another year, until my next trip, which would be the last I'd take in the life I'd led up to that time.  Of course, I didn't know--couldn't have known--that.

This year, going away allowed me to "dodge" one "bullet", if you will. But not another:  today the temperature reached 33C (92F) and, according to weather forecasts, will increase by a degree or two every day until Sunday.  And, as the temperature is rising, so is the humidity.

I have to admit:  I punked out today.  I didn't go for a ride, except to the college where I teach, about 10 kilometers from my apartment.  OK, I got on my bike and pedaled, but it doesn't count as a real ride, does it?  

Was my old self asking that question?  Who says every ride has to be an escape or a dodge--or that it has to be ridden at the speed, or with the intensity, of one that will never be done again?

Bersaglieri: Italian Light Infantry, On Bicycles

I have written several posts on how armed forces throughout the world have used bicycles and deployed troops on bicycles.  I trust--or at least hope--that no one has inferred from them that I, in any way, wish to endorse--let alone glorify--war.  Rather, I hope that showing how bicycles have been used, both in and out of combat, can highlight their versatility.

Also, as paradoxical as this may seem, the more I oppose war, the more interesting the history of armed conflicts becomes.  But I am not concerned with the "drum and bugle" aspects of military history, or in a mere recounting of battles.  Instead, I am interested in the ways war--as well as preparation for it, whether or not it's actually fought--affects technology, societies, cultures and history.

Ironically, I came to think about the things I've mentioned--actually, I learned of their existence--when I was a cadet in my college's Army ROTC program. (So you thought my life as a guy named Nick was the biggest, dimmest and darkest secret I've shared?  Ha!)  At the same time I was enrolled in  the "leadership seminar", I took a class called "Literature and the Great War", taught by one Paul Fussell.

Now, when I signed up for that course, I knew that Professor Fussell had won the National Book Award a few years earlier for The Great War And Modern Memory.  It's the sort of book that seems not to be written anymore because graduate literature programs don't turn out scholars like Dr. Fussell anymore.  The man was every bit as erudite as I'd hoped he would be, and was an engaging lecturer.  Actually, he didn't lecture so much as he talked about the works we'd read, as well as his own reflections--at least some of which were based, no doubt, on his experiences as a soldier in World War II. (He was wounded in France and won a Purple Heart.)  Best of all, he spoke--and wrote--in plain language, without any jargon.  That would not fly in any graduate school today.

Anyway, I mention him and that class because, from them, I also came to realize that I could appreciate the beauty of poems, stories and images borne of combat, whether experienced or observed.  Moreover, that appreciation was heightened by my realization of the horror and futility of war:  things Paul, as a combat veteran, understood as well as anybody could.  

I don't know whether he ever saw this photo of Bersaglieri (Italian light infantry) on Montozzo Pass in 1915:

From The Great War Blog

Their bikes are probably state-of-the-art, or close to it.  So, no doubt, are their weapons.  But something is totally incongruous:  their headgear.  Military uniforms, with their drab colors and lack of ornamentation (save for medals), were developed during World War I.  But these troops are wearing feathered hats.  

What makes those hats seem even more out-of-place (and their time) is their broad brims.  Trench warfare and the emphasis on greater mobility served to streamline military uniforms.  This brigade may well have been one of the last to wear such wide hats.

What was the purpose of those wide brims?  To ward off cavalry swords.  Yes, you read that right. I imagine they were about as good for that purpose as the old "leather hairnets" were at protecting the heads of cyclists who crashed.

I think that riding fast--which, I'm sure, they could do--probably did more to protect them from cavalry swords, or any other weapons the Austrians could use against them!

What Are They Trying To Say--And To Whom?

Unless you do all of your cycling on unpaved surfaces, you are bound to see road signs during your rides.

We don't notice, or think about, most of them because we see them so often.  Others simply don't apply to us.

But some are really strange. For example, there was the one that said, "Graffiti is a crime camera enforced".   Was that sign trying to tell us that graffiti is camera-enforced?  Or that graffiti is a camera-enforced crime?

Then there was the one that warned us, "Use of cameras prohibited and strictly enforced".  Now, perhaps I'm not the smartest person in the world, but I can't, for the life of me, understand how something can be prohibited and strictly enforced.

Some signs leave you wondering who is their intended audience and what, exactly, they are trying to tell said audience.  I saw an example today not far from my apartment.

About a kilometer from my place, next to the East River (which isn't actually a river), there's a Con Ed power plant.  It's located on Vernon Boulevard, which rims the river, just south of the bridge to Roosevelt Island.

(Interestingly, there's a Moishe's storage facility across Vernon Boulevard that used to be a factory that made Loft candy.  Now I wonder how much I--and members of my family ate!  Well, I guess I shouldn't worry yet:  Nobody's glowing in the dark!)

Anyway, a bike lane now runs along the western edge of Vernon.  As it happens, the lane directly crosses the path of the Con Ed plant's driveway, through which trucks enter and exit.

The traffic lane that borders the bike lane handles southbound traffic.  A driver headed in that direction would not be able to read the sign, except perhaps in a rearview mirror.  The northbound traffic is so far to the right that most drivers probably wouldn't see the sign.  Even if they did, it probably wouldn't matter, as neither the driveway nor the bike lane enter, or intersect with, the northbound traffic lane.

The bike lane is sub-divided into a northbound and southbound lane.  As with the auto traffic, southbound riders wouldn't see this sign.  Even if they glanced back to look at it, the sign would be useless to them, as they would have already crossed the driveway.

So, I have to wonder:  For whom was this sign intended? (Or, in market-research speak:  Who is the intended audience?)  And what was the sign's creator trying to tell the intended audience?

You have to wonder what some people are thinking when they make and post signs.

Like Another Day Of Riding In Europe--Well, Sort Of

In addition to Paris, I have cycled in other parts of France, including the Alps, Pyrenees, Loire Valley, Normandy, Alsace and Vosges.  I have also pedaled through other European countries:  England, Spain, Belgium, the Netherlands, Denmark, Switzerland, Germany, Italy and the Czech Republic.  

Something occured to me today:  In all of those places, I never felt as tired after a day of riding as I sometimes do after a day of cycling near my home.  It didn't matter whether I was riding through hills and mountains, through valleys or along sea coasts:  Even the days I spent climbing the Tour and Giro peaks didn't leave me as spent as a day of riding up North American peaks.

Now, you might be thinking that it has to do with the excitement I feel about being in another country.  That certainly is true:  I savored the experiences of riding through medieval villages as well as the streets of the capitals because they were different and because I knew that I might never see them again.  On the other hand, when I ride to, say, Point Lookout, I enjoy it but I know that chances are that I'll be doing it again fairly soon.

But now I realize something else about riding in Europe leaves me less tired:  The sun, even in most parts of Italy and Spain, isn't as strong as it is here.  Most people are surprised, as I was, the first time they look at a map or globe and see, for example, that London lies at almost exactly the same latitude as Calgary, or that Rome is actually a degree further north in latitude than New York City.

Not only is the sun less intense in most of Europe than it is in most of the 'States; it is also more likely (except, perhaps in some of the Mediterranean regions) to be shielded, partially or wholly, by clouds.  

Arielle

Which brings me to today's ride--on Arielle, my Mercian Audax.  It started sunny, but about an hour and a half into it, the sky thickened with cumulus clouds.  They even darkened a bit, but there did not seem to be an imminent threat of rain.

And the day warmed up to 31C (88F):  not a "scorcher", but a couple of degrees warmer than what we normally experience in this part of the world at this time of year.  Normally, that combination of cloud cover and heat means one thing:  high humidity.

From I Love Bicycling

Except that wasn't the case today.  The weather reports said we won't experience high humidity until the day after tomorrow.   If what I felt during my ride is any indication, those reports weren't lying:  Even though I was riding in higher gears and at higher RPMs through much of my ride, I wasn't sweating nearly as much as I would expect.

Back to the sun:  I slathered myself in sunscreen before I started my ride, and I brought a vial of it with me.  But I never used it and didn't notice any burn at the end of my ride.  In fact, one way I know I've absorbed a lot of sun on my skin is that I feel sleepy afterward.  At the end of my ride, however, I had the energy to play with Max and Marlee, and to make dinner rather than order it.

The best part, though, is that I rode longer than I intended:  I turned a 120 kilometer (75 mile) ride into 165 (a little more than 100) by making a couple of "wrong" turns.  Furthermore, I rode up a ridge and over a couple of chains of hills I wouldn't have encountered had I stuck to my original plan, such as it was.  In fact, I spent an hour and a half doing nothing but riding up and down hills.

Near the end of my ride, clouds parted and the sun shone brightly.  Even with my fair skin, though, it didn't sap my energy.  It was almost like extending my European trip by another day!

This Explains Everything--Or Me, Anyway

Some of the experiences I've recounted in this blog are part of my "previous life", if you will.  In fact, my other blog--on which I haven't written much lately--started as a kind of journal or diary about my transition from that life to the one I'm living now.

When people learn that, for many years, I moved through this world as a guy named Nick, the question they most often ask is, "When did you know?"  Like so many things in my life, I knew about it long before I had the words for it.  

Another piece of self-knowledge that came to me before the language I needed to describe or explain it is that of my sexual orientation.  Even after I came to terms with my gender identity, I still struggled to explain, in any way that would make sense to anyone else, my attractions. Gay, straight, bi, homo, hetero, lesbian, pansexual, asexual: None of those terms seemed to fit.

But maybe, just maybe, I've finally come across le mot juste (Pardon my French, s'il vous plait!):

From Pinterest

DIY Facial Surgery

I'm not going to name any names.

Could these be the faces of those older white guys* who would vote for a rich right-wing racist demagogue?

Could they be the ones who are in danger of losing their jobs--or have already lost them, or never had them in the first place--and vote for the very candidates who destroy their jobs or send them overseas?

Could they--children or grandchildren or great-grandchildren of immigrants, all of them--vote for someone who wants to build a wall between this country and its neighbor, and wants to ban all adherents of the world's largest religion from entering the United Sates?

Could those folks--half of whom would have trouble coming up with $400 to meet an emergency expense--be the ones voting for someone who would make it easier for employers to get away with paying less than minimum wage to immigrants?

Could they--whose schools, hospitals and infrastructure are crumbling--vote for someone who'd slash funding for such things--just to make sure "freeloaders" from other countries can't have them?

Tell me:  Do they really, knowingly, go into the voting booth and cut off their noses to spite their faces?

*--Disclosure: Had it not been for my transition, I'd be an old (or old-ish) white guy!  

What Makes Her Think She Can't?

After eating a tasty, thoroughly unhealthy, Original Stromboli--one of those foods you live on when you're a twenty-year-old student precisely because it's so tasty and unhealthy, in addition to filling and cheap--I managed to ju-u-ust miss a train back to New York. 

It was nearly dark by that time, and riding back would have meant pedaling another 40 kilometers or so (I'd already done about 120).  I didn't mind the distance, but the last part of that route would have taken me through desolate industrial and post-industrial areas near Newark-Liberty Airport.  

I seriously wonder whether the lights on the streets in those areas are turned off after trucks make their last deliveries--or disappear into one of the potholes in those streets.  Seriously, those craters can make the Ho Chih Minh trail seem like a magic carpet.  I've cycled those streets in the dark.  If some of my Catholic school education had stuck, I might've been fingering a rosary strand (what we used to call "worry beads").

No, she's not me.  From San Diego Magazine

The time-table indicated that another train would arrive in bit more than half an hour.  I didn't want to wait that long, and I could've wandered around New Brunswick and discovered other old haunts that have been turned into sushi restaurants or ice cream parlors.  But I figured that doing so would cause me to miss another train.

So what to do?  Well, I knew that if I crossed the bridge over the Raritan and continued up Route 27--something I did many times in the old days--I probably could catch the next train a little further along the line.  

The next stop is Edison, a small station that the trains skip sometimes.  Besides, it wasn't very far:  I could make it in ten minutes without trying.  After that, there was Metuchen--"the Brainy Borough".  I knew I had plenty of time to get there and that, if I channeled the inner racer I never had, I could make it to Metro Park, the station after that.  Along the way, I'd burn off at least a little of the mozzerella cheese, cappicola, salami, peppers and onions stuffed into Italian bread dough (I told you it was unhealthy!)  I downed before missing the train in New Brunswick.

I played it safe, getting to Metuchen with about ten minutes to spare.  The train I boarded was nearly empty.  At the next station, a friendly black woman boarded and sat across from me.

She wanted to charge her smart phone.  I pointed to what looked like--turns out, what was--a port.  She admired my bike and asked where I'd been riding.

"You can actually ride a bike that far?" she wondered.

I assured her that it's not only possible, but that I've done even longer rides, and other people have done rides that were longer still.

"I couldn't make it around the block, let alone do what you did."

I explained that nobody rides that long on his or her first ride; you build yourself up to ever-increasing distances.  And, really, if you keep on riding, you don't even have to plan on building yourself up; it just happens as a matter of course.

She explained that she'd "have a hard time riding" because her legs were "shot" from years of playing racquetball.  I pointed out that if she has a bike with gears, she can shift to a lower gear and get as much exercise as she gets from racquetball or any other sport, without the stress on her knees.

"I don't know how you do it!" she marvelled.

I find it interesting that people who engage in all manner of athletic pursuits simply can't fathom the idea of riding a bike more than a few blocks.  Even long-distance runners I've talked to don't believe they can ride a bike as far, let alone further, than they run.

But the woman I met last night was even more astounding than any of them.  Not only was she a racquetball player, she is, from what she told me, an accomplished medical researcher.   I don't doubt it:  I mentioned that my sister-in-law is a microbiologist and she was familiar with, not only the kind of work she does, but the institute in which she conducts it.

I don't know about you, but I think that if I were involved in cutting-edge research and could play racquetball, I'd be pretty confident in my ability to do just about anything--including a bike ride!

We disembarked at Penn Station. ("Lead us not into Penn Station"?)  She was going to meet her boyfriend.  I wonder whether she told him about the crazy cyclist she met on the train, and whether he believed anyone would ride as much as I did. 

A Ride Along Another Canal: A Path To Memory

Today it was Vera's turn.

I took my green Miss Mercian mixte on a ride to, and along, the Delaware and Raritan Canal towpath.  I used to pedal along that path when I was a Rutgers student; last year I rode it for the first time since those days.

Today I rode it just a week after pedaling and walking by the  Canal St. Martin through what has become a district of young artists and animators--and interesting, quirky restaurants and cafes--to the city's "little Africa".  Years ago, I also pedaled a section of the Chesapeake and Ohio Canal towpath near Washington, DC.  Like the D&R towpath, its surface (at least on the section I rode) is dirt and clay, with pebbles in some areas. A section of the St. Martin has a path with a similar surface, while another part is cobblestoned.

Towpaths along canals were constructed so that horses or mules could tow barges from the shore. Even if their surfaces are not paved, they make nice bike lanes as well as hiking trails because they are usually table-flat, or close to it.  The engineering that went into building them--not to mention the canals themselves--has seldom been bettered.

It's interesting that one reason we like to ride along canals is that they seem peaceful.  Their still waters reflect and refract light in sometimes-painterly sorts of ways, whether the canal courses through Paris residences or old factories in New England--or winds through stands of trees and follows railroad tracks in central New Jersey.  One often sees couples riding or walking, or simply sitting, along canal banks:  Canals and their paths are often among the most romantic sites in their locales.  

I also find it interesting that some canal towpaths are seen as "natural" sites.  Along some parts of the Delaware and Raritan, as well as other canals, trees and other vegetation have reclaimed the land from the remains of abandoned factories and other structures.  Areas along canals have also been turned into, or become, sanctuaries for various animals and birds.  But as lovely as all of those animal habitats, and all of the flora and fauna, are, they are no more "natural" than the canal itself. 

In saying what I've just said, I do not mean to diminish the aesthetic or recreational value of such sites.  I just find it ironic that we now ride along canal towpaths like the Delaware and Raritan to get away from the sometimes-dreary, or even grim, industrial and post-industrial landscapes those canals helped to create, or were built to serve.  

In fact, the city of New Brunswick--the locale of Rutgers University, located at one end of the canal--is such a place.  I don't know whether the term "post-industrial" had been coined by the time I attended university there, but it certainly would have fit:  A number of large and small enterprises had gone out of business or simply left:  Johnson and Johnson was threatening to do the same.  In fact, even some Rutgers administrators, and New Jersey state officials, talked about abandoning the Old Queens campus and moving all of the university's facilities across the Raritan River to Piscataway, where Rutgers already had some of its research laboratories as well as a residential campus.

Instead, they decided to "revitalize" the city.  In essence, they made it just like the downtowns of so many other cities, with all of the same chain stores and restaurants. (I mean, what town worth its salt would do without Starbucks, right?)  So it doesn't look as run-down as much of the town did when I lived there, but it has all of the character of a Sunbelt suburb.

And, of course, my favorite places--except for one--are gone.  Those places include what remains, to this day, my favorite music store I have ever encountered:  Cheap Thrills, on George Street. The prices were indeed cheap, which allowed me and many other students to buy albums (vinyl!) of all of those esoteric bands and kinds of music we learned about from each other.  

(That shop, and a Pyramid Books, which I also loved, were part of the Hiram Market district, which was designated a historic district, then de-designated because, as one architect put it, the area didn't fit into Johnson and Johnson's "clean desk" mentality.)

The only "old favorite" of mine that remains is a restaurant called Stuff Yer Face.  Of course, the menu includes all sorts of things we couldn't have imagined in those days. It also has a bar with an enormous beer selection.  Back in my day, they didn't (couldn't?) sell alcohol, but we could bring it in.  Of course, most of us did!

I ordered an Original Stromboli, for old time's sake.  The young woman who took my order and the one who brought it to me were, no doubt, not even born the last or first time I ordered one.  It was every bit as good--and unhealthy--as the first one I ate in 1979 or thereabouts.  A bargain, frankly, at $6.75. 

At least there was that--and the canal towpath.  They made the ride more than worthwhile.

Happy To Ride Them Again

Today I luxuriated in riding another one of my own bikes.

Yesterday I took flight on Arielle, my Mercian Audax.  Today I spun the pedals on Tosca, my Mercian fixed-gear bike.  

Tosca

For over a week, I rode a relatively heavy hybrid/city bike with a geometry more relaxed than on any bike I own.  I understand why rental centers choose such bikes:  They stand up better than road racing or touring bikes to the rigors of city streets--which, in Paris, often include cobblestones.  Also, they are more responsive than mountain bikes.

The bike I rode in Paris this year, like the one I rode there last year, has a dropped-bar ("ladies'") frame made of oversized aluminum tubes.  The bike I rented in Montreal in October was also aluminum, but with a "diamond" ("men's") frame configuration.  Long-accepted wisdom (or dogma, depending on how you look at it) says that diamond frames are inherently more responsive than those with dropped bars because they are more rigid. My experience confirms that notion, at least for me.  I notice such differences on steel bikes, but they don't seem as pronounced as on the aluminum bikes I rode.  I wonder whether oversized aluminum tubes exaggerate the differences between these frame designs.

The Paris Bike Tour machine I rode this year.

Now, of course, my Mercians are lighter than those rental bikes, even though I made no effort to save weight in building my bikes.  And, even 700 X 28 tires--which both Arielle and Tosca sport--are narrower and much lighter than the rubber on the rentals.  So it's no surprise that my bikes would feel livelier.

But perhaps the most differences of all have to do with fit and my personal preferences.  Mercian custom-built the frames of both Arielle and Tosca for me, to fit the idiosyncracies of my body and riding preferences.  No amount of fiddling with the saddle and handlebar positions on rental bikes will make them fit me as well as my Mercians. 

Also, no matter how the handlebars are adjusted, the rental bikes all left me in a more upright riding position than even my most upright bike, the Schwinn LeTour that's become my beater/commuter.  Moreover, even that bike has a narrower and less-cushy saddle than any of the rentals had--and my saddles, all of which are leather (Gyes on the LeTour and Brooks on my Mercians) are broken in.

The Paris Bike Tour 

Then again, my riding in Paris did not have speed or even long distances as an objective.  I stopped frequently, whether to look at interesting things, shop or eat.  I suppose most people who rent bikes or use Velib (Paris' bike share program) are riding in similar ways.  

The bike I rented from Velo Urbain in Montreal

Don't get me wrong:  The bikes I rented this year and last from Paris Bike Tour were pleasant to ride and well-suited to their intended purposes.  So was the bike I rented from Velo Urbain in Montreal.  I would rent those bikes, from those places, again.  Still, I'm very happy to be riding my own bikes--especially Arielle and Tosca.

For Love And Hunger

The other morning, before going out for a ride, I went to see my friend Mildred.

She had another visitor:

The cat has been a "regular", and Mildred feeds her.  I would, too.

Perhaps we should take our friend here: