Across Rivers, Oceans--And Aeons

It's funny how a bit of travel can make you see a familiar bike ride in a new way.

So, for that matter, can doing the ride with new partners--or with partners if you'd previously done it solo.

That's how I found myself seeing the roads and trails of the Palisades when I pedaled them with Bill and Cindy the other day.

It's also the first time I've ridden with either of them in a while:  They've been spending their weekends in a secret hideaway they told me about. 

Seeing this plant--a giant fern, a small tree or something else--made me visualize, if for a moment, some of the flora and fauna I saw while riding in Cambodia.

And this sheer rock face made me forget--even though I've seen it before--that it's just across the river from the Cloisters--which, in turn, can make you forget that you're in Upper Manhattan.

The further you ride into the trails, and the closer you get to the river, the easier it is to feel you're not within a few kilometers of the George Washington Bridge.

But something one of them said really made me see this old familiar ride in a new way:  "You can almost imagine what it was like when the native people lived here."

Yes, sheer rock faces and colorful plants seem like eons as well as worlds away from the West Side Highway.  It almost seems possible to remember that whatever structures were in the area weren't made of steel or glass--or even brick.

As we were imagining people who are long gone and vistas changed, I found myself thinking back to Cambodia, where most of the population are Khmers, the people who have lived on that land for milennia.  Much of their landscape hasn't changed in centuries, whether in jungles that haven't been touched or the Angkor Wat and other temples, which were standing for centuries before the land we rode yesterday was called "New Jersey" and the other side of the river was named "New York", or even "New Amsterdam."  

Those temples still stand today, seemingly as much a part of the land as the rock face we saw.

Note:  The penultimate photo was not, of course, taken on the New Jersey Palisades.  The others, however, were.

The Angkor Wat photo, as well as the first two in this post and the "blueberry" photo near the end, were taken by me.  Bill took the others.

A Journey For Life

Here's something I never would have guessed:  This year, as many firefighters have died by suicide as in the line of duty.

That, apparently, shocked Denny Ying, too.  That, and a friend who took her own life.

They spurred the 36-year-old Marine Corps veteran into taking a ride across the United States.  Yesterday, he stopped at Denver Fire Department  Station #21, having pedaled 1000 miles out of the 3800 he plans to ride.  

While his goal is to raise awareness of suicide prevention, he says his ride was borne out of his own struggles with depression. That is one reason why his journey, if you will, won't end with this ride:  He plans to start a cycling team of survivors.

All of this is even more impressive when you realize that, earlier this year, Denny Ying didn't even own a bicycle.

How Did This Little Piggy Get To Market?

If you grew up in the English-speaking world, you almost certainly heard this Mother Goose nursery rhyme:

This little piggy went to market,
This little piggy stayed home,
This little piggy had roast beef,
This little piggy had none.

This little piggy went
Wee, wee, wee
All the way home!

A piggy eating roast beef?  Hmm... What, if any, are the ethics of that?  Sometimes I still feel guilty about laughing when Matt and Trey Parker, the creators of South Park, fed bacon to Macon.




Did Macon stay home after that?

And what about the piggy that went to market?  How did he/she get there?

Let's hope that the piggy on the back of that bike didn't become Macon's lunch!

Or was that Macon on the back of that bike?

The Heights Of Fall

Today is the first day of Fall.  And it feels like it, in a pleasant way:  Billowy but thin clouds waft over cool breezes.

A few hundred kilometers north of here, the leaves have begun to change color. Here, though, they're still green.  So if we want Fall colors, we must look elsewhere:

People who don't know the area don't associate these houses with Harlem.  But they line Convent Avenue, a street that bisects the City College campus in a part of Harlem known as Hamilton Heights.  

I was all smiles on my bike, and everyone and everything--including the stones of these houses--seemed to smile back.

The Skies, And Days Off

If you are in North Carolina, my sympathies are with you.  Up here, in the Big Apple, we've gotten only hints of Florence.  The worst came on Tuesday, when torrents alternated with steady, driving rain.  I'm sure, though, that we didn't experience anything nearly as tumultuous as what folks in the Tar Heel State witnessed.

Since then, we've had three days of almost uninterrupted overcast skies.  A few stray showers have passed over us, and late yesterday afternoon the sun played peek-a-boo.  That, combined with the drop in daytime high temperatures from about 27C to 21C (80 to 70F) since the weekend has made for some very pleasant riding weather.

Oh, and I have to thank the Jewish people for giving me a couple of days off so I could enjoy it.  The funny thing is that, where I teach, Jewish faculty members probably outnumber Jewish students by about 20 to 1.  If anything, we probably should have Muslim--or Hindu--or, hey, maybe Buddhist--holidays off.  What about pagan feasts?  

Hmm...I'd have a lot of time to ride.  But I'd have a hard time making a living--unless, of course, those holidays were paid!

Do I Want To Believe?

I have never been a fan of science fiction or anything having to do with the paranormal.  Still, one of my favorite television programs of all time is The X Files.

Really, Fox Mulder is a modern-day Captain Ahab:  He is obsessed with finding something elusive.  His obsession, like Ahab's is borne of a personal tragedy:  Moby Dick bit off part of Ahab's leg, and Mulder's sister was abducted by aliens.  The show's mantra--The truth is out there--could also have been the novel's epigraph.

Apart from that story, what I also liked so much about the show is the interplay between Mulder and Agent Dana Scully.  While Mulder seems willing to believe in just about anything, Scully is a seeming contradiction:  She is, essentially, an empiricist who believes in God.  Actually, she isn't just a Deist:  She is a full-blown devout Roman Catholic, which is even more mystical or irrational, depending on how you look at it, than Mulder's world (or should I say extraterrestrial) view.

I'm thinking about that now because I think the sky I saw near the end of my ride yesterday had something to do with the ride I took today--into Connecticut.

Turns out, I had the day off.  And the overnight morning rain brought the temperature down from yesterday's levels, which were somewhere between late summer and early fall.  Clouds blanketed the sky, but I knew (even without listening to the weather report) that there was no threat of more rain after 10 am. 

So why Connecticut, you ask.  Well, if you are a regular reader of this blog, you wouldn't ask that, as rides to the Nutmeg State have been part of my repertoire.  But you can ask anyway because I have yet another answer.

You see there have been 64 UFO sightings this year.  Why are they flying over Connecticut?  Maybe it's because aliens don't know yet that they can ride a bike up the ridge from Port Chester to Greenwich.  All they need are bikes that fit.

Do I believe that people sighted UFOs in Connecticut, or anywhere else?  On a purely semantic level, yes:  I am sure that those people actually did see things neither they nor anyone else could identify moving through the sky.  Now, as to whether they're flying saucers with alien life forms:  I don't know.  

If you are a fan of the show, you remember the "I Want To Believe" poster on the wall of the X-Files office.  Do I want to believe? No:  I have no desire one way or the other.  But I am willing to believe, if I see something I find convincing.

I didn't find it today.  But that's not why I rode to Connecticut--140 kilometers round trip--today.

Seaside Archaeology

We're just a couple of days from the autumnal equinox.  I've noticed the decreasing amount of daylight although, interestingly, about two weeks ago, the days weren't much shorter than they were when I was in Siem Reap, which is around the 13th parallel north of the equator.

But I know that in the coming weeks it will be more difficult to "sneak in" a long afternoon ride. (I'm not afraid to ride in the dark; I just prefer to ride in daylight.)  So, today, I set out for the ocean and made it to Point Lookout.

I wonder when "construction" of the Lookout spot--and beach--will end.

It looks more like destruction to me.

Perhaps, one day, whatever life forms are living on this planet will chance upon sites like these and wonder what sort of creatures roamed this land.

Of course, they would never surmise that such beings ambled forth on conveyances like this:

into vistas like this:

  

What's He Protecting?

The moment anyone with power uses the word "protect", I reach for my trusty frame pump.  Not only does it get my tires up to pressure in a pinch, it's great for swatting away stray dogs and other threats and nuisances.

You see, I've come to realize that any powerful person who thinks he or she can "protect" anyone or anything he or she hasn't met is delusional or lying.

And so it is with El Cheeto Grande.   He's passed another round of tariffs because he's, once again, got his knickers in a twist over China.  

Of course, the tariffs will not "protect" American industries because...well, they don't exist anymore, if indeed they ever did.  

(Besides, all you have to do is look at Smoot-Hawley to realize that tariffs almost never have their intended consequences.  But that would be the subject of, not just another post, but another blog--or a book!)

To wit:  Back in the Clinton administration, I tried to put together an all-American bike.  Of course, I did it on paper.  Frames and forks weren't hard to find, though they were almost always more expensive than imports.  Ditto for the Chris King headset, as great as it is. Yankee-made handlebars, stems and seatposts were available, but they were mainly "boutique" items.  

The other components, on the other hand, were a lot more difficult to find.  Sun was making its rims, and Wheelsmith its spokes, in the USA.  And there were a number of small companies fabricating hubs here in the USA, such as Phil Wood and Chris King.  They, of course, cost far more than even Dura Ace or Record stuff, but at least they kept my exercise going.

That is, until I tried to find tires.  To my knowledge, none have been made here since Carlisle ceased production, apparently some time in the early '80's.  Goodyear, Firestone and other rubber companies had exited the non-motorized trade long before that.

OK, I thought:  The tires are just one part (or two components, depending on how you look at it.). Surely, I could make the rest of the bike into a Yankee Doodle Dandy.

Then I tried to put together a drivetrain.  Mind you, this was during the days when it seemed every 25-year-old in California or Colorado who had access to a lathe was turning out lightweight (and very expensive) cranksets and derailleurs in a rainbow of colors.  I thought cassettes would be my next hurdle but, as it turned out, some company--in Massachusetts, I think--was making titanium bits--including cassettes.  

Eight speeds were the standard at that time.  If you remember anything about Shimano's 8-speed equipment, you knew that not everything was interchangeable between gruppos.  Namely, a Dura Ace hub would take only Dura Ace cassettes--not Ultegra, 105 or any other.  Turned out, the titanium cassette was made only for Dura Ace--which, I supposed, made sense, given what Dura Ace and titanium equipment cost.

(Aside:  Shimano's 9-speed stuff was interchangeable.  So Dura Ace hubs could take Ultegra cassettes, which weighed a bit more but cost about half as much.  And the standard 9-speed Dura Ace cassette was made of titanium, which pre-empted aftermarket stuff.)

But there were no chains made stateside.  Back in the day, the baloon-tired coaster brake bikes had American chains; however, as far as I know, no derailleur-compatible chain has ever been made here.  Nor were any pedals, save for the rubber-block variety found on said wide-tire "bombers".

Oh--and there were no American-made saddles.

Today it would be even more difficult to put together an all- (or even mostly-) American machine.  And almost very few bike accessories are made here.  Yet they are all subject to tariffs.

And it's all but impossible to find some items made anywhere besides China.  Almost anything electronic--lights, computers and the like--come from Cathay.  

So do helmets.  Interestingly, they have been exempted from tariffs.  It's ironic when you realize that one of the rationales for the tariffs is to protect against intellectual property theft--and nearly all helmets are designed in the US!

Of course, bicycles are far from the only things to be affected by the tariffs.  I'm not sure I'd want to be a farmer who raises corn, soybeans or hogs right about now.  But I have yet to hear anyone explain how any job or industry will be "protected" in this country.  

Faster Than An Airbus A340--Or Any Guy

I wrote one of my earliest posts about Beryl Burton.  Half a century ago, she held cycling's 12-hour time trial record.  No, not just the women's record, the record.  Over that historic half-day, she pedaled 277.25 miles (446.2 kilometers).  That was a full five miles (eight kilometers) more than the record she broke.  That margin enabled her to keep the record for two years--a geologic age in that world.

Now I am getting to write about someone who I see as one of her heirs.

Yesterday, Denise Mueller-Korenek rode a bicycle 183.93 miles (296 kilometers) per hour.  Like Burton, she broke not only a women's record--she broke the record.  

Another way her ride, though much shorter, parallels that of Burton is that she didn't beat the old record by a hair or a fraction of a kilometer per hour.  Rather, she rode a full 17 miles (27.3 kilometers) per hour than the previous record-holder--Dutchman Fred Rompleberg--who accomplished his feat in 1995.

To put it another way:  Ms. Mueller-Korenek rode nearly ten percent faster than the previous record holder.  And she rode faster than an Airbus A340 taking off.

What makes her record perhaps even more astonishing than Burton's is that Miller-Korenek is 45 years old and took 23 years off from cycling to raise her three kids.  But her coach isn't so surprised.  "I've been coaching mostly women, including Denise, for the past 35 or 40 years," he said. "My theory is that women are able to push that aging envelope a little further than men and are more capable of long-distance peak performance."

Denise Mueller-Korenek, center, with coach John Howard and Shea Holbrook, who drove the race car that paced her.

Her coach is John Howard. If that name rings a bell, it's because he was, arguably, one of the first world-class American cyclists since the days of the six-day races.  Oh, and because he held, for a decade, the very speed record Rompelberg broke--which, in turn, Denise Mueller-Korenek shattered yesterday.

Follow That Diet

When I first became a dedicated cyclist, the term "energy foods" didn't exist.  During rides, we ate granola, GORP (good ol' raisins and peanuts), bananas--or, perhaps, other fruits or chocolate.

Of course, some made ridiculous claims for some food or another--usually one that wasn't widely available.  One was "Tiger's Milk".  The joke was, of course, that you don't need to drink Tiger's Milk: Instead, you should find out who milked the tiger and eat whatever he or she eats.

I would say the same for whoever harvested this:

After he was stripped of his 2006 Tour de France victory, Floyd Landis tried to claim that the unusually high testotsterone count found in his blood was "natural" and not the result of consuming any substance.  Then he tried to blame it dehydration caused by drinking whisky.  Maybe he should have told the anti-doping agency he'd been eating Shark Balls. 

Everything In Australia Is Trying To Kill You!

When I was delivering newspapers on my Schwinn Continental many years ago, dogs chased me.   Deer crossed my path as I rode in the Bronx(!) as well as on rural descents in New Jersey and Vermont.  On another descent--in Switzerland--an Alpine ibex darted across my the road in front of me just after I flatted at about 90 KPH on a bike with loaded panniers.  A few years later, I had a close encounter with a mountain goat while pedaling--again, with loaded panniers--in the French Pyrenees.  

This summer, while cycling in Cambodia, I became wary of the monkeys after seeing one set on a tourist for her food and a pack of them attacking a dog.

And I've had cats, racoons, and other lil' critters come close to entangling themselves in my spokes.  I must say, though, that I've never had an encounter with an animal quite like the one a cyclist in Australia experienced:

Imagine being swatted on your helmet by--a magpie!  I won't accuse the filmer of paranoia when he exlaims, "Everything in Australia is trying to kill you!"

From Her Saddle To A Seat On The Board?

I'll admit I've flipped off, um, a few drivers in my time.  More than likely, anyone who's cycled in New York can say the same thing.

I'll also admit there were times I could have been more temperate.  But I'll also say that there were times when said motorists deserved my wrath.

A woman we saw back in October could say the same for someone who passed her:





That is how she greeted El Cheeto Grande.  As a result, she lost her job.

Juli Briskman's suit against her former employer, Akira LLC, was dismissed.  She then saw two options:  Keep on fighting an uphill battle in court, or try to change the laws herself.  "After lots of conversations I decided I would be more effective on the board," she recalls.

She's talking about the Board of Supervisors in Loudoun County, where she lives.  She plans to run in the Northern Virginia locale where the Board is mostly Republican but voters often choose Democrats, as they did for Hilary Clinton in 2016.

People have told her that even though his views aren't hers, she should respect the office of the president.  She disagrees, saying "I think the Constitution grants me that privilege" of expressing her opinion as she did on that day while the President headed back to the capital from the Trump National Golf Course in Virginia.

Would you vote for her?  I would.

Slasher(s) Targeting Bikes In Seattle

If you ride a bike from a bike-share program, you might want to check it out--especially if that bike is from one of the dockless share companies like LimeBike or Ofo.

An 18-year-old man in Seattle learned that the hard way.  The other night, he was riding a Lime bike near University Bridge when the brakes failed.  He crashed into a tree and landed in a hospital.

Shortly after the incident, a news crew from local station KOMO went to the scene. There, they found a Lime bike with its brake cables slashed.  Reporter Gabe Cohen said that on that day, he found four Lime bikes with their brakes slashed or ripped out entirely.

That is a particular problem in Seattle, according to Garrett Berkey.  "There are some big hills," says the Recycled Bicycles employee.  "You want to be sure you can stop safely" before riding a share bike, he adds.

Seattle police say that Tuesday's incident is just the latest in a series of brake slashings this summer. LimeBike says, however, that less than one percent of its Seattle fleet has been vandalized.  The company's phone app also allows users to flag a potentially dangerous bicycle, which is immediately deactivated. Or, you can call 1-888-LIME-345 if you see a problem.

It seems that lately, for whatever reasons, cyclists have been the targets of road rage and other kinds of hostility because some motorists believe we are taking "their" lanes and parking spaces.  I have to wonder, though, whether the person(s) who disabled the brakes on the LimeBikes were targeting cyclists or the bikes themselves.  Dockless share systems have drawn ire in other cities because users can leave their bikes anywhere when they're finished, which has led to complaints about bikes left on sidewalks and other public areas. 

At Least It's Mist

It seemed weirdly appropriate that, on the day after 9/11, I should encounter this on my way to work:

Well, at least I was going to work, not trying to escape.  And I had the expectation, as I do nearly every day, that I will leave and make it home.

Nearly 3000 weren't so fortunate on that day 17 years ago.

No Identity For Delivery Worker

Unless you've been living under a rock for the last 17 years, I don't have to remind you that today is the anniversary of one of the most tragic events in US history.

On this day in 2001, four flights were hijacked.  One crashed into a Pennsylvania field after some passengers tried to subdue the hijackers.  Another hit the Pentagon and the others, as everyone knows, crashed into the World Trade Center.

Even at this late date, remains are still being recovered and victims identified.  But there are some that, perhaps, may never be known. 

One of them, it is said, delivered breakfast sandwiches to office workers in the Towers and never came out.  His bicycle became an impromptu memorial:

Photo from Raisch Studios

To this day, no one seems to know his name.  More than likely, he was an immigrant, possibly illegal.  I can't help but to think that status, as well as his the fact that he was "just" a guy making deliveries on a bicycle, made him a low priority for those in charge of identifying victims.

I also can't help but to wonder how many more like him died that day, after pedaling down lower Manhattan's valleys of asphalt and glass to bring orders of bacon-egg-and-cheese-on-a-roll to folks at their desks.

Recycling Bicycles: For Them, It's Play

One day back in the mists of time (or, at least, before I met her), my friend Millie saw a cat on her way home from work.

She took that cat home.   By the time I met her, she had a few living in her yard and basement.  Also, she was going to an industrial area near her house to feed the strays--where she rescued a few more cats.

Among them were Max, my loving orange friend who died last year, and the second cat named Charlie I've had in my life.  Other people also have feline companions Millie found--sometimes on her own, other times as a volunteer with a local animal rescue organization.

(Marlee was also rescued from that same industrial area, but by some workers in a bakery who, in turn, gave her to one of Millie's friends who was, at that time, rescuing animals.)

So, what does that story have to do with a blog about bicycling?  Well, just as my friend Millie became a "cat lady" because a chance encounter with a stray, Michael and Benita Warns now oversee a bicycle rescue program, if you will, that started with a bicycle they salvaged from scrap. Or, more precisely, a chatty 6-year-old neighbor named Zeek asked whether Michael could fix a bike he found in the trash.

Fast-forward eleven years, and Mr. Michael Recycles Bicycles is, every year, giving away hundreds of bikes assembled from the 10 garages full of bikes and parts they have in St. Paul, Minnesota.

Michael and Benita Warns. Photo by James Walsh for the Minneapolis Star-Tribune

Benita, a retired postal employee, is the president of the organization.  Michael does the mechanical work. Both are mechanical engineers by training, so they were able not only to put bikes together, but also figure out ways to make them work better.

Their project really took off after they volunteered for their neighborhood clean-up.  When they saw how many bicycles ended up in trash heaps in their neighborhood, they figured--correctly--that lots of bicycles were also being discarded in other neighborhoods.  

The way their project differs from other recycle-a-bicycle programs is that anyone can get a bicycle from them.  There are no forms to fill out.  They don't ask about your income; if you call, they ask only your height, gender and what type of bicycle you want.  It really does seem magical.

The Warneses don't take a salary, and volunteers help them, there are still expenses.  As an example, even with all of the bikes and parts they have, they occasionally have to buy stuff.  As someone who's worked in a bike shop, I'm guessing that they often need tires and tubes, which are the most commonly unusable parts from old bikes.  

To help pay for their program, they run a small shop where they sell some of their bicycles, as well as parts and accessories.  They also do repairs for $20 an hour--a bargain in today's economy.

For all of the labor they put into this project, the Warneses always want to make one thing perfectly clear.

Benita:  "Nobody works in this place."

Michael:  "We play with bicycles."

Splish, Splash

Cleaning your bike isn't easy:

He Was Stopped For....

Lots of people claim to have been in Northern California bin the 1970's, when Keith Bontrager, Gary Fisher, Joe Breeze and other mountain bike pioneers were barreling down fire trails in Marin and Sonoma County.

I wasn't there, so I'm not going to try to settle the question of who "invented" mountain bikes or mountain biking.  But as with anything in which the earliest developments weren't--and probably couldn't have been--documented, a lot of legends and folklore have arisen.

From a couple of people who probably were there, I've heard that some folks who bought some of the early mountain bikes that were made for the purpose (as opposed to the DIY machines Bontrager, Fisher, Breeze and their peers fashioned from salvaged baloon-tired bombers) used their rigs to transport what was often called "California's biggest cash crop".  And they weren't talking about wine grapes or almonds.

Of course, that cash crop is now essentially legal in the Golden State and in other places.  That, like the end of Prohibition, has put smugglers and bootleggers out of business.  But, as in most places, there are other substances that aren't legal. And there is a demand for those substances, which means that some folks will try to make a living by transporting them.

(Disclosure:  When I was a bike messenger, I found myself making repeat trips to questionable locations with small envelopes and packages.  I didn't ask or tell.)

And, yes, some will transport them by bicycle. That, apparently, is what Terrent Dowdell was trying to do.  Now, the police claim they stopped him for not having "a reflective light" on the front of his bicycle.  I also couldn't help but to notice that Mr. Dowdell is, well, black--in Columbus, Georgia.

Whatever the constables' motivation, they found "drug related items" and arrested him for possession of marijuana and heroin "with intent to distribute."  

"Green Boxes" In Grand Rapids

One of the hazards of many streetside bike lanes is that they make it dangerous for cyclists to proceed through intersections, especially where motor vehicles are allowed to make right turns on a red light--or where trucks or buses are making right turns.

In fact, I once made this argument with a police officer who insisted that he was himself a cyclist.  I told him that at some intersections, it's all but impossible for a cyclist to proceed through the intersection if he or she doesn't get out ahead of the motorized traffic--which means proceeding just before the light turns green.

It's even worse when the lane is next to the center median on a multilane road, as it is in the recently-constructed lane on a section of the Grand Concourse in the Bronx.  If you need to turn onto a side street from that lane, you have to cross two lanes of traffic.  And most drivers aren't going to wait for you to turn in front of them when they have the green light.

The Grand Concourse lane in the Bronx.

(Of course, things are even worse when the lane ends.  Then, you have no choice but to turn--or to ride in a traffic lane.)

American cities that are trying to make themselves "bike friendly"--or seem that way--almost never seem to take such things into consideration.

One of those exceptions is Grand Rapids, Michigan.  The city has just implemented "green boxes" at two downtown intersections:  where Lyon and Pearl Streets meet Division Avenue.

I could not find a drawing or photo with those boxes. I was, however, able to find a Google map of the Pearl Street intersection.  It's pretty easy to see where the "green box", if it's done right, would be:

Proof That It Ain't So

Every 15 years or so, this rumor circulates:  Cycling causes male infertility.

And, not long after the story circulates, a study disproves it. 

Sometimes I think that there's a conspiracy afoot:  The rumor starts, and scientists (young and trying to get tenure someplace, I imagine) get grants to do those studies that, in fact, cycling does nothing to affect men's ability to spawn progeny.

Let's see...Eddy Mercx, Bernard Hinault, Jacques Anquetil, Fausto Coppi and Laurent Fignon each had two kids. So did Stephen Roche, by his first wife--as Ferdi Kubler did by his second. I suspect that was a choice on their (or their spouse's) part , as it was for many Europeans of their generation.  Or, perhaps, they spent so much time training during their most fertile years that they didn't have the time--or energy--to devote to, uh, extracurricular activities.

Gino Bartali and Greg Lemond each had three.  So did Pedro Delgado. 

So, all right, if I haven't convinced you that cycling doesn't cause male infertility, maybe this will:

or, more precisely, that bike sculpture in Devon, along the route of the Tour of Britain, was re-formed:

Hmm...Maybe the bicycle really can be part of a man's manhood after all.

Me, I don't have to wonder whether or not cycling causes male infertility.  At least, I haven't had to worry about it since I underwent my transition! 

Mind The Gap!

The crazy things we do when we're young are funny when we think about them years later--at least, if no harm was done.

I'm thinking now of the time I raced through the gates of a drawbridge and actually managed to make it across just as the bridge was starting to open.  So I had a slight incline for the last part of that ride.  I was stupid enough to be proud of myself for maneuvering through the gate at whatever speed I was riding at that moment.

Apparently, a woman in Wisconsin thought she could pull the same trick:




I don't know how steep or swift that water is, but falling into it would probably be terrifying enough.  But getting stuck between the plates of that bridge is probably even worse.  

Actually, I was even more scared for the folks who rescued her:  I thought about one of them getting crushed if that bridge were to close up!

Why Was He Targeted?

A 65-year-old immigrant is riding a bicycle in a lane through a gritty working-class neighborhood on the border between Queens and Brooklyn.  

He is pedaling home from his job as a dishwasher.

A group of ATVs and motorcycles approaches from behind.

The lead ATV strikes the cyclist.

The lead ATV flees the scene.

Four days later, the 65-year-old immigrant who was pedaling home from work is taken off life support.

"If they did it to my dad," lamented Angelica Xelo, "they're going to do it to someone else."

Little did she know that the assault--which  at least one news outlet called an "apparent collision"--was captured on about a dozen surveillance videos.  Or that some of them caught that same group of motorized thugs doing the same thing to another cyclist a few minutes later.  

That victim, whose name hasn't been released, wasn't seriously hurt.  But police believe that cyclist, like Eucario Xelo--a 65-year-old immigrant father and grandfather, was targeted.

I would like to know:  on what basis?  In Xelo's case, being an immigrant might be an obvious rationale.  But I have to wonder whether it's also a case of drivers using two tons of metal to express their resentment at people on two wheels "taking" "their" traffic lanes away from them, just as immigrants are "taking" "their" country.

Either way, I can't help but to think that ATV driver and that group feel emboldened by the current political situation.  How much difference is there, really, between white male entitlement and motor vehicle entitlement?

Either way, the result is the same:  a 65-year-old immigrant father and grandfather pedaling home from his job as a dishwasher in a restaurant ended up dead. 

 

That, in a neighborhood a little less than 10 kilometers from my apartment--and which I came to know well in my days of writing for a local newspaper.  

Perhaps that's the reason why, even though I never (to my knowledge, anyway) met Eucario Xelo, I feel as if I've lost someone I know.  Of course, it's much worse for Angelica:  She lost her father.  She is sad and angry: She has a right to both, and much more.