A Very Expensive Rest Stop

How much home can you buy for $2 million?

You might wonder why I'm raising such a question here. It's not that I'm getting rich from writing this blog:  In fact, I haven't made a cent from it.  Then again, I've never made any attempt to monetize this site.  

The question entered my mind because of something I saw during my ride yesterday.

In some parts of this nation, two million dollars can buy you a veritable palace, or at least a mansion.  I have to admit, of the ones I saw in this article, I am partial to the ones in Poulsbo, Washington and Block Island, Rhode Island.  Perhaps those high wispy clouds tinged by the sunset make the one in Washington State seem even more beautiful than it is.  And I just might like the one in Rhode Island because I'm generally partial to New England.

So...what does $2 million get you in New York?

Yes, a toilet. 

This public restroom facility (I think that's the official name for structures like it.) is in Gravesend Park, Brooklyn.  While growing up, I spent a fair amount of time in that park, wedged between the 18th Avenue shopping area and a Department of Sanitation garage.

Can't beat the location, right?  Maybe that's why it cost $5000 per square foot:  more than it would take to buy the most expensive apartment in Trump Tower!

And, no, there are no gold-plated fixtures or marble ceilings.  It's just a basic public restroom with steel stalls and fixtures.  At least it was clean, which is all I ask when I stop to take care of my needs during a ride.

In case you were wondering:  It took seven and a half years to complete.  I bet it didn't take nearly as long to build this:

or the train line that ascends from, or descends to, the tunnel to the left of the photo. And I'll bet it will all last longer!

The World Won't End--Yet. I Just Hope This Journey Doesn't.

The tides rolled in, higher and higher on the rocks--closer and closer to me and Arielle, who took me to Point Lookout on one of the loveliest afternoons we've had this year.  

She was up for it, wind and all.  We rode into the wind all the way out, literally.  It blew from just the right spot on the compass--somewhere between East-Southeast, South-Southeast and East-East South, I think.  Whatever it was, it blew us all the way back to my place.

While she was soaking up the sun and wind--and I was getting burned by them, in spite of my third application of sunscreen to my arms, face and the back of my neck--I paid a visit to another old friend:

The Point Lookout Orca is a myth  of my own creation.  Which is to say, of course, that it's a rumor that, to my knowledge, has gone no further than this blog.  I had to assure him, Arielle and myself that whatever the tide was bringing in was no more dangerous--at least, not yet--than anything that might result when two thin-skinned, impulsive guys lead their countries.  One of them has a Twitter account.  The other has, according to scientists, an Intercontinental Ballistic Missile (ICBM).

I fully expect the guy with the Twitter account to use it to exclaim that he has a bigger, stronger missile.  But, because he needs the support of religious conservatives to undo everything Obama did, he can't let his warhead show.  At least, not too much.

That was not a dirty joke.  At least, I hope it isn't.  If it is, then I've just dirty-bombed.

Anyway, it might seem frivolous to some that I am off riding my bike when we might be in the most serious situation this country has seen since the Cuban Missile Crisis.  But,really, what else is there to do--besides peace, whether it's in one's own life or with others.  And, yes, I've been doing as much of the latter as I can.  The rides I take alone, like this one, enable me to do so as much as the rides I do with others--and the marches and everything else in which I participate.

Do They Teach That In The Academy?

If you head to Tampa from Daytona Beach, you will most likely pass through a city called Lakeland.  

I have to admit that I'd never heard of it until my parents moved to Florida.  Then it became a name on the weather map of the local television newscasts:  The temperature in Lakeland would be shown, along with those of Winter Haven, Titusville, Daytona Beach and a few other locales in the middle of the Sunshine State.

Since then, I've learned that the headquarters of Publix, one of the largest regional supermarket chains, is in Lakeland. (If you've spend any amount of time in Florida, you've almost certainly shopped in a Publix store.)  I have also learned another interesting fact about the city:  The canine unit of its local police department is regarded as one of the best in the United States.  One of its dogs, Nox, took first place in the annual USPCA Police Dog Trials (the largest event of its kind), while another one of its police pooches--Bruno--won the event in 2012 and 2013

Knowing about their canine unit got me to wondering how the police officers themselves are trained.  Something told me that their training must be pretty good . After all, studies have confirmed something I've always suspected:  Developing a rapport with an animal helps people in their relationships with other people.  Now, I realize that a police officer doesn't have the same sort of relationship with a German Shepherd in the unit as a civilian has with a pet poodle.  But I think that the ability to communicate with an animal requires intuition, which is certainly useful in human relations.

I got to thinking about those things when I came across a story about a police officer in Lakeland who helped a little girl fix her bicycle chain.  Items like that catch my eye, in part, because you would never see them in New York Metro Area media.  Also, according to the story, the girl calmed down from the temper tantrum she lapsed into when her bike chain jumped off its sprocket.  That's not a reaction one normally associates with seeing police lights flashing here in New York, especially if one is a member of a marginalized community.

I couldn't help but to wonder whether her reaction--and, for that matter, the fact that Shane Stinson stopped to help the girl--was a result of training, Officer Stinson's personal qualities or the community's relations with the police (which are probably a result of those other two factors), or some combination of them.

Whatever the answer, Officer Shane Stinson of the Lakeland, FL Police Department should be commended.

It also has me thinking about whether they should teach bicycle repair in police academies--and elementary schools!

On The Fourth Of July

From Ladyfleur.bike

Happy US Independence Day!

I hope that this isn't the last year we'll be able to use the word "independence" in reference to this day.  With the Orange One in the Oval Office, I have to wonder just how independent we'll be next year.  Or whether we'll be here at all.

On a lighter note:  Oliver Stone made a film about me.  Really!  At least, the title applies to me.  

I am thankful that I could come to the convictions I share with Ron Kovic without having to come to them the way he did.  

Next Fourth is a round-number birthday for me.  And the Mercian Vincitore Special I've ordered is the gift I plan to give myself--and ride!

Who Are We?

We're white.  We're male.  After our training rides in the park, we wheel our flashy carbon-fiber machines under canopies of luxury condo buildings.

We're male, too.  But we're brown and black.  We pedal dilapidated-looking-bikes--or bikes that we're not supposed to be able to afford because, well... We don't speak English well, or at all.  We're probably undocumented, to boot,

We are also male--and could be white, brown or black--but we're not likely to be yellow.  We are riding bikes because...we can't afford to drive.  Or we can't drive because we've lost our licenses, or couldn't get them in the first place.

The Rev. Laura Everett describes each of these stereotypes about cyclists in her Daily Beast editorial, "We Need To Ditch All The Old Cliches About Cyclists."  She makes a very good case against each of those cariactures, using data (e.g., that the majority of cyclists are indeed poor, but don't necessarily fit into the second and third stereotypes) from various studies I have mentioned in some of my earlier posts.

She also makes a very interesting point:  During the two previous "golden ages" of cycling in the US--1890-1910 and the 1970s--cycling was seen as a pastime of the leisured class.  And, once it lost that status, cycling fell into a steep decline.  The first "boom" ended when automobiles became affordable to average working people. (Interestingly, during the 1890s, a bicycle cost what an average worker earned in year!)  The second declined with a deep recession fueled by a spike in petrol prices and suffered its death blow when the election of Ronald Reagan ended the first major environmental movements in the US.

She sees that we are in a third "golden age" of cycling. In order to sustain it, she says, all of the stereotypes have to be shattered. Cycling will never become mainstream if it is not seen, by planners and the general public alike, as a vital link in the transportation system.  That, in turn, will not happen if cycling is seen only as a leisuretime activity of the privileged or as the "last resort" of the poor, nonwhite or criminal classes.

For her part, Rev. Everett says she began cycle-commuting because she was a poor recent graduate who was just starting her career.  Seven years later, she continues to ride because, as she says, it really is the best transportation option for her--and because she enjoys it.

To me, she sounds like the kind of cyclist the public needs to know more about if cycling is to become mainstream  And, I must add:  She's a woman.  Thus, she can't help but to break the stereotype.  I  like to believe that I am, too.

If Eddy Mercx Had Been A Sculptor....

For as long as there have been bicycles, artists have been riding them.  Of course, at the end of the 19th and beginning of the 20th Century, bicycle riding was pretty much de rigeur.  But even after automobiles changed the landscapes of much of the world, artists continued to pedal.  Many have ridden, and still ride, for transportation, as many live in cities where it's the most practical way to go.  But others have also ridden as part of their creative process, or simply for fun.

Then there are those artists who were inspired by the machine itself:

From BicycleFriends

Now It's Vera's Turn

It's getting to be a habit for me...

I've stripped another one of my bikes.

My latest "victim" is Vera, my green Miss Mercian mixte.

Like Helene, the last bike I stripped, Vera is going away.

But fear not...she'll come back.

I'm sending her on this trip as a kind of reward, a spa treatment.  She's been good to me.  Now she's going to get some TLC.

You see, I've been riding her with a shim in the seat lug.  I think someone tried to jam a 27.2mm diameter seatpost into the frame, which takes a 27.0.  So I'm having that fixed.

Also, the cable guides are going to be replaced with shifter bosses--which can also be used for those bolt-on cable guides used with "brifters", in case I ever decide to install handlebar end shifters.  But, for the foreseeable future, I'm going to use down-tube shifters, which I ride on all of my geared bikes.

And, finally, her new finish will make her more like the rest of the family.   She won't be painted the "flip-flop" purple/green (#57) of Arielle and Tosca, the Mercians I have now. Nor will she be adorned with the Lilac Polychromatic (#17) paint and Deep Plum Pearl (#56) headtube and seat tube panel I've requested for the Vincitore Special I ordered.     

Instead, I'm ordering Mauve Pearl (#53), without any panels or bands:  It's hard to do those on a mixte, especially one with twin laterals, without cluttering the frame.

Vera deserves the treatment.  Also, I think seeing her renovated will be a kind of appetizer for the Vincitore Special.

Why You Need To Read About The Paris Sewer System

So why am I beginning this post with a photo of a house in France most Americans have never seen?

Well, if you've been reading this blog long enough, you know that I'm a bit of a Francophile.  Yes, just a little bit.  One way you know that I'm American is that I am also something of an Anglophile and see no contradiction!

Anyway, the house is in a French city most foreigners (except, perhaps, from neighboring countries) never visit.  That's a shame, really, because it reveals so much about France that people don't experience during the three or four das they spend in Paris as part of their European trips.

You can probably guess one reason I included the photo:  I have cycled to that house.  And to this one:

Now, that's one tourists are more likely to see.  It's in Paris, on one of the city's most elegant squares, the Place des Vosges.  There's a nice little park in the middle of the square where Parisians take lunch breaks or walk their dogs or kids, or just loll around on the grass.  And folks like me ride or walk there, baguette and hunk of cheese in hand.  

One great thing about the Place des Vosges is that it's next to one of the most historic parts of Paris--le Marais--and literally steps from all sorts of interesting museums, galleries and shops.

Anyway, the house in Besancon and the one in Paris share something:  specifically, someone who lived in them.

I'll give you a hint:  He wrote the novel more people know about without actually having read.  In the English-speaking world that has much to do with a musical--a musical!--made out of that novel.  You may have seen it.

That novel is, of course, Les Miserables, written by none other than Victor Hugo.

Just as more people know about Les Miserables than any other novel without having read it, more people lie about having read Moby Dick than any other novel.  Now I'm going to tell you a secret:  If you're ever at a dinner party with a bunch of snotty pseudo-intellectuals, you can more or less bluff your way through a discussion of MD if you've read Old Man and the Sea! 

But I digress.  No, it's not really a digression:  It's part of what I'm going to say, just like all of those hundred-page long asides about the Paris sewer system or whaling in New England are integral to LM and MD, respectively.

You see, such seeming digressions are part of some of the best bike rides.  You might start with a destination in mind or that you are simply going to ride a certain distance or amount of time.  Unless you're riding strictly for training purposes, the parts of the ride you'll remember are the things you encountered along the way.


In the case of Besancon, I found myself there because of a challenge.  In the summer of 1997, I bought a round-trip ticket to Paris--with a return date of a month after my departure--and brought my bicycle, among other things.  I had no particular plan except to visit my friends in Paris and get on my bike. In those days, I used to take trips like that, staying in hostels or pensiones--or simply rolling out my sleeping bag--wherever I found myself when I stopped riding for the day.

I was talking to Jay and Isabelle, whom I've mentioned in other posts, when Isabelle asked, "Ou n'avais pas visite en France?"  As I tried to think of some place in France where I hadn't been, Jay blurted "Alpes"!

"Les Alpes?" Even though I understood perfectly well, I just had to make sure.

They both nodded. So did I.

And so I pedaled south and east from Paris.  That is how I found myself, five days later (spending days in Troyes and Chaumont) in Besancon, on the edge of the Jura mountains, which are a kind of sub-range of the Alps.  A few days after that I was in Chamonix and hiked up part of Mont Blanc.

Anyway, Victor Hugo was born in the house in Besancon.  That house, amazingly enough, is in a square that also contains the houses in which painter Gustave Courbet, writer Charles Nodier and the Lumiere brothers--considered the "fathers" of cinema--were born!

And, of course, I've cycled (and walked) to the Hugo house on Place des Vosges any number of times during my stays in Paris.

So why am I thinking about Victor Hugo now?  Turns out, on this date in 1862, he completed Les Miserables.  It was published soon after and became popular with soldiers on both sides of the US Civil War.  "I've been reading Hugo's account of Waterloo in Les Miserables and preparing my mind for something of the same sort," wrote Wilky James of the Massachusetts Free Black Regiment in 1863.  "God grant the battle may do as much harm to the rebels as Waterloo did to the French."

The funny thing is that the sections about Waterloo--and the Paris sewer system--are what got the novel both praised and lambasted.  But Les Miserables could no more exist without them than Moby Dick could without al the stuff about New England whaling practices--or our favorite ride without whatever you encountered along the way.

A Currency Of Pleasure

Now tell me:  Is there a surer sign of an early summer day than this?

It was a little cooler than normal (high temperature of 27C, or 80F) but I didn't mind.  From that tree, you might know where I rode:  Connecticut.  

(I have to admit, I couldn't help but to think of the quarter coin dedicated to the Nutmeg State--one of the prettiest pieces of currency ever issued.)

Anyway, the sky was as bright and blue as my cell-phone photos make it seem.  I rode into a fairly stiff wind on the way up, which meant, of course, that I had it at my back on my way home.

I couldn't have asked for anything better. Nor could Arielle, my Mercian Audax.  

In Theory, At Least...

Some things simply don't make any sense.  

On the other hand, there are many more things that make sense to somebody--but not to me.  Maybe they make sense to you, or someone you know.  Or perhaps not.

The category of things that make sense to somebody is comprised, in part, of ideas and inventions that make you scratch your head.  They make sense to whoever came up with them, and they might work "on paper" or in some alternative universe.  

One such idea/invention is a bicycle that's pedaled with both feet together.  How or why anyone came up with it is beyond me.  

For one thing, pedaling with both feet together means standing up, then sitting back down to propel one's self. Now, I realize there are people who ride that way normally, but they are almost always novices and, if they continue to ride, eventually shed the habit.

The creators of "Swingbike" refer to it as "The Athletic Perfection."  The reason, as I understand it, is that in standing up and sitting down through the pedal stroke, the rider has to pump his or her arms.  I guess that's somebody's idea of a "full body workout."

I don't know whether the "Swingbike" was ever produced.  Perhaps it was made under another name:  After all, there are many other machines with the same name; in some cases, they're called "Swing Bike" (two words).  Or, perhaps, it was aborted by copyright laws!

Does The Driver Hate Cops--Or Cyclists?

Someone wasn't feeling the love in the City of Brotherly Love.

Around 2:30 yesterday morning, three Philadelphia police officers on bicycle arrived at the intersection of I Street and Erie Avenue to help with the arrest of a carjacker.

Suddenly, a black sedan--possibly a Nissan Altima--with tinted windows bore down, at high speed, a group of Philadelphia police officers on bicycle patrol.

Fortunately for the men in blue, they hopped off their bikes before the sedan tangled them into a mess of twisted spokes and sped off.

According to a Philly.com report, "Police said the driver's actions appeared to have been deliberate."  No! Really?  What I'd like to know is whether the driver of the sedan knew the carjacker, or simply had a grudge against cops--or cyclists.

Receding Waves And Raising Imagination

Another beautiful early summer day means...a ride, of course.  This one took me to Point Lookout.  I pedaled against the wind most of the way out and with it most of the way back.  

When I got back, I talked to my mother and told her I "looked like a tomato."  She asked whether I'd used sunscreen; which, of course, I had.  In fact, both of my stops were for the purpose of applying "beach grease".

What was most striking about the ride, though, was that the tide at the Point had receded further than I'd ever seen before.  I can't recall the sandbars stretching as far and wide as the ones that were exposed yesterday.

Speaking of exposure:  I could just barely see that couple on the sandbar.  It didn't look like they were wearing a whole lot, though it looked like they were doing quite a bit.  One of the things they were doing, of course, was leaving something to the imagnation!

What else might we lose if and when sea levels rise?

Priorities

Trust me:  I do!

Bike Share In "Dutch" Country

Yesterday, I wrote about two bike-share programs that went bust.

One of them, Pronto, was based in Seattle.  Its demise came as a surprise to some, including yours truly, because Seattle has long had a reputation for all of the things one associates with cities that develop successful share programs.  For one thing, it had an active, vibrant cycling community long before Portland or other cities developed their reputations as two-wheeled utopiae.  For another, it also has a large population of young, educated and creative people:  the very sorts of people who are most likely to be bike riders in urban areas. 

In other words, it seemed to have a lot in common with other cities in Europe and North America where share programs have succeeded.  Some blamed the failure of Pronto on Seattle's climate, which may have been somewhat of a factor, although other places where share programs are popular get as much rain (or as little sunshine, depending on your point of view) as the Emerald City.

When we think of the cities where bike share programs have succeeded, we think first of the US coastal cities and European capitals.  But they have also worked well in "second" cities like Lyon, France (whose "Velo'v" is often cited as a model) and  Hamilton, Ontario.  Even a town like Chattanoga, Tennessee has managed to support a thriving program.

But most people, I think, wouldn't expect to find the ingredients of vibrant cycling communities or successful bike share programs--let alone attempts to develop other kinds of cycling infrastructure--in declining industrial cities like Reading, Pennsylvania (which I mentioned in an earlier post). Or nearby Lancaster.

I have to confess that when I think of Lancaster, I think of the Pennsylvania Amish Country or "Dutch Country".  My family took a trip there every summer, where we would visit farms and the so-called "Dutch Wonderland".  In those days mega-theme parks like Six Flags were either new or in development, the Dutch Wonderland and Hershey Park still could capture a kid's short attention span.

We would simply pass through the city itself which, even then, seemed to consist mainly of factories and old buildings that didn't seem to be used for anything but no one had gotten around to declaring as historic landmarks.  I liked the train station--which served the Pennsylvania and Reading Railroads, and now is an Amtrak stop--mainly because I liked trains and the Reading still had some of the old steam locomotives.

But Lancaster, like Reading, has witnessed the loss of its old industries and a population that has grown poorer, darker and older--though, to be fair, not to the same degree as Reading.  Interestingly, Lancaster has earned a new nickname: The City of Refugees.  It's believed that refugees make up a higher percentage of the population in Lancaster than in any other US city.

This is not what one normally associates with cycling:  Indeed, even today, when I ride through blue-collar and immigrant neighborhoods and suburbs of New York, I see no other cyclists. But, when you think about it, such places--like Lancaster and Reading--are exactly where cycling should thrive.  After all, generations of working-class people all over Europe, Asia and other parts of the world were, until recently, the vast majority of the world's cyclists.

So, in a way, we shouldn't be surprised that Lancaster is launching a bike share program.  What surprised me, in reading about it, is the degree to which the city is trying to develop a cycling infrastructure.  While I am not always enthusiastic about bike lanes, it seems that planners are at least trying to make them practical:  They lead to places like the train station and there seems to be some notion that a bike lane isn't just a few lines painted on asphalt or concrete.

Almost nobody believes that Donald Trump can actually deliver on his pledges to revive moribund industries.  After all, even if some company decided to build a steel mill or open a coal mine in Pennsylvania or West Virginia, it would be more automated than the ones that closed.  Thus, fewer workers would be employed--and few, if any, of them would be those men in their 50s and 60s who got laid off during the last economic downturn.  Instead, almost anybody who's not a direct adviser to Trump says that such workers should be retrained in the new technologies of the "green" or "greener" industries.  

It's not as much of a stretch as one might think:  People in industrial and rural areas tend to have more mechanical, and other practical, skills than MBAs or lawyers.  If we think of bicycles as part of the "green" economy, it's not hard to imagine employing workers from a variety of other industries--or simply folks who don't have the aptitude or desire for university--in them.  

One might say that nearby Reading--which I described in an earlier post--is attempting to do that, if on a small scale, with its efforts to make cycling more accessible for the working-class, poor and unemployed of that city.  Such efforts almost inevitably involve employing, directly or indirectly, the very people such programs try to put on bikes.  Perhaps something similar will happen in Lancaster.  If nothing else, as in Reading, Lancaster's new bike share program and infrastructure could make cycling affordable and practical for people who could benefit from it.

A Lump Of Coal In The Emerald City And The Land Of Jade

A couple of years ago, bike-share programs seemed like "can't-miss" propositions. 

Most municipalities with programs--whether they're funded by cities or corporations, or are not-for-profit organizations, have reported great success.  Share programs have expanded steadily in just about every place they've been introduced, and other cites--some of which you might not connect with cycling--are clamoring to start their own share programs.

Bikes from Pronto, Seattle's late bike-sharing program

One rare exception has been Pronto, Seattle's bike-share program.  It closed on 31 March, citing low ridership.  Several reasons have been cited for the program's failure.  One is that the Emerald City has a mandatory helmet law.  Cyclists who ride without head armor can be fined $102.  More important, getting on a share bike is, as often as not, a spur-of-the-moment decision, and few people carry helmets with them when they're not on bikes.  Many bike-share users are tourists; even those who are active cyclists at home aren't likely to bring helmets with them because, especially if they don't normally wear them.

Three other cities with share programs also have mandatory-helmet laws:  Vancouver and the Australian metropoli of Melbourne and Brisbane.  Share programs in the latter two cities  struggled until they followed Vancouver's lead in including helmets and disposable liners with the bikes.  In 2015, Seattle installed helmet dispensers by the Pronto kiosks, but potential users seemed to find it an inconvenience.

Other factors cited in the Seattle program's failure are the city's terrain and climate.  Now, I can understand why people wouldn't want to pedal a heavy share bike up a hill.  I can even understand why someone wouldn't want to ride in the rain.  But long before Portland became the iconic "bike friendly" city, Seattle had a vibrant cycling community.  In fact, it once boasted more bike shops, per capita, than any other major US city.  The weather didn't seem to put a damper (pun intended) on cycling then, or now.

Then again, I can also understand why a tourist might not want to ride in the rain--especially if he or she is accustomed to more sunshine at home.  If you're used to, say, Florida, and you're only going to be in Seattle for a few days, you might decide to simply wait until you get home to start riding again.

While the causes of the Seattle share program's failures might be debatable, Lei Houyi knows exactly why his bike-share company is closing shop.

These bikes belong to Oko, one of the apps-based Chinese ride-sharing systems.

In contrast with its western counterparts, many Chinese bike-share programs can best be described as "Uber for bikes":  Riders can pick up, or leave, bikes on the streets, without having to look for a port or dock.  Wukong Bikes, based in Chongqin, also followed this model.  But they didn't follow a practice common to other Chinese share companies:  It didn't install GPS devices on their bikes.

The result was all too predictable:  Most of Wukong's 1200 bikes were lost or stolen.  By the time the company realized it needed tracking devices, Houyi said, it was too late:  The bikes were gone and the money had run out.

But, he says, even before his bikes started to disappear, the company was struggling because the bikes were of inferior quality to, and more easily damaged than, those of Ofo and Mobike, the leading Chinese bike-share companies.  The services of those companies are completely app-based.  So, while bikes left in remote locations can still be difficult for customers to locate, they are rarely lost, and when they are damaged, they can be fixed relatively quickly.

So, while I think bike share programs will continue to grow in popularity, they are not "sure-fire bets", even in the most seemingly "bike-friendly" environments, unless technological as well as cultural and legal factors are considered.

Into The Hole--On A Sugar Rush And Killer Bread!

After the torrential downpours (I could barely see past my window!) on Monday, we've had two days of glorious, sunny weather.  It was warm, but not overly humid, with little wind--except in one part of today's ride:

I saw this same puddle/pond/wetland back in February:

Now, it wasn't my destination.  I just hopped on Tosca, my Mercian fixed-gear, and zigzagged through some side streets between my apartment and Howard Beach.  One of them dead-ended on top of a hill or mound, from which I had a view of the turbid body of water:

It looks to be the same size, shape and depth I saw four months ago.  A group of people--I assumed them to be a family because they were a man, a woman and two young children--were breaking up some concrete and dirt in front of a battered house.  They surprised me with their "hello's"; soon after, a man driving an old BMW eyed me suspiciously.  

But another man, seemed to study me from the trailer colony across the pond, decided (correctly) that I'm not any sort of official and gave me a smile.

The last time I saw this place, I could've sworn a wind blew that I didn't feel before I arrived or after I left.  Today, I had the same sensation.  In fact, I was even more sure of that wind, as it flickered my hair and braced against my bare arms and legs.  The last time I rode down that way, my arms and legs were covered.

Hmm...Could it be that The Hole has its own microclimate?

If what I saw in The Hole was an incongruity or a riddle, something else I saw along the way was a joke:

I looked for the driver of this truck.  I really wanted to ask whether Dave's Killer Organic Bread--which I had never heard of until I saw that truck--was actually being delivered in the same vehicle as Tastykakes.

Perhaps one day I'll try Dave's Killer Bread and, if I survive the experience, tell you about it!  It's organic, so I suppose I'll live through it.  On the other hand, KandyKakes--especially a version they made with chocolate cake and peanut butter--was one of my favorite sugar rushes when I was a little kid.  I liked those butterscotch crimpets, too. 

 Later, when I was riding with a bunch of guys who pedaled hard and treated themselves with, um, non-prescription painkillers, I became an aficionado of Tastykake fruit pies.  I loved their cherry and blueberry pies; I probably would like them today, too, as those are my favorite pies (along with strawberry rhubarb--but, as far as I know, Tastykake has never made that!).  But my favorite--again, for its sugar rush, was their Glazed French Apple.

Of course, Tastykake Glazed French Apple pie is about as French as that bottled bright orange salad dressing sold in big-box stores.  The French aren't shy about sweet flavors, but I don't think they could come up with a sugarbomb like Tastykake Glazed French Apple Pie even if they wanted to.

Although I haven't eaten it in years, I'm still getting a sugar rush from thinking about it.  The apple filling, sugary to begin with, was further sweetened by raisins and I-don't-know-what-else.  And it was topped by a thick strip of that white icing that makes Twinkie fillings seem like grapefruit.

It looks like Tastykake's current French Apple Pie isn't glazed.  Still, I'm sure it would provide quite the sugar rush--maybe almost as intense as a glazed Brown Sugar Cinnamon Pop Tart!

Maybe those Pop Tarts are delivered in the same trucks as Laughing Giraffe Cherry Ginger Granola. (With a name like that, I simply must try it!)

They Weren't Planning To Have A Funeral For Him

When you raise a kid, you don't plan on having a funeral for him when he's 20.

I remember hearing that when I was about ten years old.   The person who uttered it was a relative of a classmate--who was the younger sister of the 20-year-old in question.

That relative was, of course, trying to deal with the grief he and his family were feeling just after a memorial mass.  Even though he, and others, knew the dangers the 20-year-old faced as a soldier in Vietnam, they were shocked to learn of his death.

I hadn't thought about that episode in a long, long time.  What brought it back for me today was a news story that came my way.  In it, Stephanie Groh Doersam says, "People don't plan to have to do a funeral for a 20-year-old."

She is a friend of Aaron Michael Laciny and his family.  Yes, Laciny is the 20-year-old to whom she is referring.  But what struck him down wasn't mortar fire.  Rather, it was automotive bumpers.  Yes, bumpers in the plural.

Around 10:30 Monday night, he was riding south on Charles Street, near the intersection with Charlesbrooke Road, in Balitmore.   There, a car struck him and drove away from the scene.  

Then a second vehicle struck him.  The driver of that one, at least, stopped and called the police.  But it was too late for Laciny:  He was taken to nearby Greater Baltimore Medical Center, where he died.

According to police, he was wearing a helmet but his bike didn't have lights or reflectors.  They are looking for the first vehicle that struck him, which "may have front-end damage to its bumper."  They are also reviewing private security video footage from the area.

Aaron Michael Laciny

Aaron Michael Laciny had just recently graduated from Baltimore City Community College and was interning at the Johns Hopkins Nano Energy Laboratory, where he was working to design and build new materials for inexpensive solar cells.  Questdrion Threat, a friend and classmate, said that Laciny--who friends jokingly referred to as "Bill Nye", in reference to the television science personality--wanted to "do research that would make the world a better place."

Neither Threat nor Groh Doersam--nor, for that matter, any of Laciny's other friends or family--expected to plan on having a funeral for him.  Or for any other 20-year-old doing nothing more perilous than riding a bike on a Baltimore street at night.