Workers On A Late-Day Ride

Three weeks after the autumnal equinox, days grow noticeably shorter.  That, I feel, makes late-afternoon rides even sweeter:  Sunlight simmers into shades of sand, stone and rust just before the sun begins to set.

And, it seems, I notice things anew, or for the first time, along familiar routes.  Today, I pedaled a loop that skirted the edge of LaGuardia Airport and wiggled through an industrial waterfront area.  I had one ulterior motive: to climb the local version of Mount Ventoux.  It's nowhere near as high as that iconic French peak that has served as a "statement" climb for Tour de France winners and leaders, but the hill erupts, seemingly out of nowhere, from the cauldron of Berrian Boulevard and up 41st Street.  

After my second climb, I coasted back to Berrian, where a building I'd passed a number of times before caught my eye:

It's a waste water treatment plant, which is why it's surrounded by a chain-link fence.  The ship portal-style holes are telltale signs of an Art Deco-influenced Works Progress Administration building.  Other similarly-styled and -detailed buildings stand in other parts of this city.  This one, though, must have the least conspicuous location as well as purpose of such buildings.

WPA public works buildings like this one often feature some interesting bas-reliefs, often depicting scenes of workers, if in stylized or romanticized ways.  Ironically, works like these were made at about the same time  "social realism"--which also featured stylized and romanticized scenes of workers--was taking shape in the former Soviet Union.

The late day light and air would have been enough of a reward from my late-day ride.  But they highlighted something I noticed, for the first time, along a familiar route. 

Moving Forward: Cultural Unity--Or Clash?

 In case you were wondering how I resolved the Columbus Day/Indigenous Peoples' Day dilemma:  I cooked both spaghettti and spaghetti squash.  Well, sort of:  I cooked pasta, but it wasn't spaghetti:  Instead, I made penne with a medley of vegetables in olive oil, swirled with some mozzarella cheese.  And I baked a spaghetti squash.  Ironically, it does look like translucent spaghetti when you scoop it out of its husk.  Even though it is native to the Americas, I doubt that the indigenous people called it "spaghetti squash," because they never saw spaghetti.  Ironically, I topped it off with tomato sauce and rationalized it with the knowledge that tomatoes are also native to the Americas. (Europeans didn't have tomatoes--or potatoes--before they exploited the Americas!)

Anyway, I enjoyed both, and ate leftovers from both, today.  I'm happy.  Now I need to get on my bike.  I'm not complaining!

On something entirely unrelated:  Accompanying the umpteenth "Will the pandemic bike boom last when the pandemic ends?" I've seen was this illustration:

I don't know why it was chosen, but I like it!

What Day Is This?

Today is the holiday commonly celebrated as "Columbus Day."  Recently, it's also come to be known as "Indigenous Peoples' Day."

As someone of mostly Italian-American heritage, I am conflicted.  I mean, for years I like many others of my background, thought of this day as "our" day, when we celebrated our pride in our heritage. There are parades, parties and lots of eating and drinking.  

I enjoyed those things, even though I knew Columbus didn't "discover" America (people were already living here) and doubted that he was the first person to arrive here after crossing the Atlantic.  Plus, he didn't even get here on purpose.  

Our culture has turned out Michelangelo, Galileo, Leonardo da Vinci, Dante, Verdi, Sophia Loren and Tullio Campagnolo--and we celebrate a guy who got lost?  That never made any sense to me.

Now, calling this "Indigenous Peoples' Day," I can understand. Of course, I have no business being any part of a celebration, as I have no Native American blood in me.  I do, however, have respect and empathy for the way they've endured, so maybe that's something to celebrate.

Those of us who have Italian heritage just need to get another holiday!

So...What will I do today?  Well, after doing some work and taking a ride (if the downpours we're experiencing taper off), I'm going to make--spaghetti or spaghetti squash?  I guess I could make both! 

Look At What Landed On My Bike

Two weeks ago, we may have witnessed the absolute low point of American political history.

After that debacle involving the president who wants to hold onto power even more than he wants to win the election and the fellow who's trying to replace him, the event involving Mike Pence and Kamala Harris seemed like an Oxford-style intellectual exchange by comparison.  Although they were more civilized, and Harris displayed more intelligence than the other candidates combined, I wouldn't call either event a debate.

I mean, what people might remember about it is the fly that landed on Mike Pence's head--and stayed for two minutes.

I couldn't help but to think about the insects that have landed on me while I was cycling--usually, when I stopped for a red light or some other reason.  Those bugs have included flies, beetles, mosquitoes and ladybugs.

Of course I don't mind the ladybugs.  I wonder, though, whether they land on me because I'm appealing or they have to go somewhere and figure I'm a free ride, for at least part of the trip.

None of those bugs will ever have have the celebrity of the fly that landed on Mike Pence's head.

We're Riding. How Many Of Us Will Keep It Up?

Early in the history (all 10 years) of this blog, I wrote about the ways some people reacted to me, a woman on a bicyce.  It was particularly interesting to me because I started this blog a little less than a year after I had my gender reassignment surgery and was, at the time, was taking my first rides as a post-transition after nearly four decades of cycling as male.

The reactions ranged from encouragement to hostility and rage; a few folks--Hispanic men, mainly--admonished me to "be careful."

In the neighborhoods where I encountered such men--in the Bronx, eastern Brooklyn and Queens neighborhoods like Corona (a less-than-ten-minute ride from my apartment), I was also the only female cyclist in sight.  On the other hand, in communities like Brooklyn's Park Slope, Manhattan's Upper West Side and my own neighborhood of Astoria, I encountered other women on bikes.  Some were riding to stores, classes, jobs or yoga classes; others were riding for its own sake.  But even in those neighborhoods, we were distinctly in the minority.

The pandemic is changing that picture, however slowly.  Even the Times is taking note, but what I've heard from Transportation Alternatives and WE Bike--two organizations of which I'm a member--corroborates my observation.

According to the Times, the new COVID-inspired "Bike Boom" has been fueled largely by female cyclists, not only in New York, but in other cities.  The author of the article, however, asks two of the questions that have been on my mind:  Will the "boom" continue once things return to "normal?"  And will women continue to ride.

As the article points out, a lot of people started cycling, not only because they didn't feel safe in taking subways and buses, but also because the lockdown-induced decrease in automobile traffic made people feel safer in riding a bike.  But now that some people are returning to their offices and other workplaces, their distrust of mass transit is also causing them to drive more---or even to buy cars for the first time.  

I have noticed the increase in traffic--and agression of drivers.  It's fair to wonder whether new cyclists, female or otherwise, will continue to ride if traffic continues to increase in volume and hostility--especially if this city (and other US communities) continue to build a disjointed system of poorly-conceived and -constructed bike lanes and other bike infrastructure.  

Remembering Him As He Remembered His Bicycle

 As a kid I had a dream: I wanted my own bicycle.  When I got the bike, I must have been the happiest boy in (his hometown), maybe the world.  I lived for that bike.  Most kids left their bike in the backyard at night.  Not me.  I insisted on taking mine indoors and the first night I even kept it in my bed.

I omitted the name of this person's hometown because I didn't want to give away his identity just yet.  I'll give you a related clue:  The international airport of his hometown is named after him.

Oh, and he would have been 80 years old today.

He is, of course, John Lennon.  It's hard to believe he's been gone for almost as long as he was alive:  He was murdred on 8 December 1980, two months after turning 40.

That he was shot to death by someone who claimed to be inspired by Catcher In The Rye is a tragic irony on several levels.  For one, Lennon preached peace in his songs and his everyday life. For another, Catcher is as much about youthful alienation as anything else. (Not for nothing was Mark David Chapman  not the first, nor the last, killer to claim the novel as his muse, as it were.) While some of John's, and the Beatle's, songs expressed anger or sadness, they were never disengaged from the lives of the speakers, or the writers or performers, of those songs.

I mean, how alienated can someone be if, late in an  all-too-brief life in which he accomplished so much, he could count getting a bicycle as a child as one of his happiest and most important memories.

Happy birthday and R.I.P., John!

(The airport is officially known as Liverpool-John Lennon International Airport, International Air Transport Association Code LPL.)

A Wrong Turn And A Good Man

I've cycled under, around and by the new Kosciuszko Bridge any number of times.  I've admired its light show, through all of the colors of the rainbow.  But I hadn't actually crossed the bridge's walkway/pedestrian path.

Until last night.  Actually, I pedaled about half of it.  I followed 43rd Street and made what I thought was the turn onto the path. 

Instead, I found myself on the shoulder of the roadway.  That might not have been so bad if the speed limit were less than the posted 45 MPH:  the same limit posted for the rest of the Brooklyn-Queens Expressway, a.k.a. Interstate 278.

No drivers pulled over to the shoulder.  But I could see that it ended with the first exit, where a steep off-ramp snakes its way down to Meeker Avenue in Brooklyn.  For once, I actually hoped a cop would stop me.  Even if I got a ticket, I figured, at least I'd be riding in a patrol car down to the street or the precinct.

That wasn't an appealing prospect.  So I stopped about halfway across the bridge and started to hoist my bike over the four foot-high concrete barrier that separates the shoulder from the path.  An Indian man was walking in the opposite direction, with his wife.  He grabbed the right fork and seat stay, boosted my bike and set it down on the path.  Then he reached for my hand, but I was able to climb over.

I thanked the man.  "No problem, ma'am.  Be safe."  His wife smiled.

A Discount, Because "They're Owed"

 When Willie Mays played stickball with the boys in his neighborhood--Harlem--the media spun it as a story about his love of kids, and how they loved him.

While they certainly had affection for each other, the real reason "The Say Hey Kid" was hitting and catching what those kids hit and threw wasn't that the Polo Grounds, then the Giants' home field, was only a few blocks away.

Rather, he was on those upper Manhattan streets because, even with all his celebrity, he couldn't live anywhere else:  Realtors in other neighborhoods, or other towns, wouldn't rent or sell to him, not because they were Brooklyn Dodger fans, but  because he's black.

Although New York didn't have Jim Crow laws, there was nothing to stop them  from such practices--or to charge a black buyer more than they'd charge a white client.

While it's not possible to change the past, some people are trying, in the ways they know how, to make amends.  Grant Petersen, president and founder of Rivendell Bicycle Works, is one such person.

He's offering "reparations pricing" on some of the company's bikes and frames.  In a way, it's a revival of a practice Rivendell engaged in for two years until the COVID epidemic:  Black customers were offered discount for purchases in the company's Walnut Creek, CA store.  Starting on Monday, 12 October, that discount will be offered on select bikes, nationwide.

Petersen's response to those who object that some customers will "pretend to be black" is, in essence, "I don't care."  He's offering the discount to Black customers, he says, "not because it's a nice thing to do" but because "they're owed."

I'm not surprised that he's getting backlash about this:  Some folks believe that others "deserve" similar discounts for all sorts of reasons, such as being first responders.  I don't disagree with them, but Petersen says that he's trying to keep things "simple."  How simple it will be to identify Black customers, I don't know.  But I respect him for trying to achieve some measure of justice in some segment of the world.

I Should Be Happy For This, But...

This is what I see, now, outside my window. 

It's an urban millennial's dream.  I'm supposed to be happy. 

I'm not the only one who isn't--and not only because I'm not a millennial.  Some of my neighbors hate it. I can't say I blame them, even if their reasons are very different from mine.

A few weeks ago, the Crescent Street bike lane "opened for business," if you will.  On paper, it sounds like something every cyclist in northwestern Queens (and, probably, other parts of this city) dreamed of:  a direct bike route from the Robert F. Kennedy to the Ed Koch (or Triborough to 59th Street, to old-time New Yorkers) Bridges.  

Now, if I were still riding to the college every day, or I were still working in Midtown or Downtown Manhattan, I might have welcomed the lane--had it taken a different route and been constructed differently.

One common complaint was that drivers on Crescent routinely exceeded the speed limit by a lot.  It's not hard to see why:  This stretch of Crescent is a long straightway not unlike some race tracks.  And, as I mentioned, it connects the two bridges--as well as the Grand Central Parkway (which goes to the airports) to the Brooklyn-Queens Expressway and, in effect, four of the city's five boroughs.  That is one reason it was so much used by taxi and car-service drivers, many of whose "home" offices and garages are near the RFK Bridge.

Even so, I didn't mind riding on Crescent:  Because the street sliced through the neighborhood like an exclamation point, and I knew the drivers' habits, traffic was predictable.  Plus, the drivers who regularly used Crescent knew that the neighborhood is residential and  we--cyclists and pedestrians--also used the street.

But now there's only one traffic lane, so drivers can't maneuver--and become very short-tempered and resentful, sometimes endangering cyclists out of spite. Worse, they can't see you behind the row of parked cars.  These are  real problems when taxis, livery cars and other "work" vehicles pull into the lane to discharge or pick up passengers, as they often do by the hospital.  If you're riding down from the RFK bridge, and you don't run into red lights, it's easy to build up speed. When an ambulance or truck pulls into the lane, you have no choice but to take a hard right into the traffic lane--or to end up in back of the ambulance!

One more thing:  When cars parked along the curb, where the lane is now, they served as a buffer between traffic (bicycle and motor) and pedestrians crossing the street. Even if a careless pedestrian wandered, mid-block, into traffic, he or she had to cross through the parked cars.  Now, those same pedestrians step directly into the bike lane as they're looking at their screens, oblivious to their surroundings.  

Some of my neighbors would love to see the lane removed.  I agree with them, almost.  They complain that it's less convenient, or even "impossible" to park.  To me, it's more dangerous--for me, for them and for pedestrians.  The Crescent Street lane, I believe, would be better on another street:  one that parallels Crescent (28th or 30th come to mind) from the RFK Bridge to Queensborough Plaza, where it's easy to access the Ed Koch Bridge.

 

Garrett Lai, R.I.P.

His desk was a yard sale of books, magazines, bike parts, assorted sheets of paper, journals and probably at least one classified Pentagon report.  

No, that's not a description of my work space though, at times, it would have come close to being one.  Rather, it's how "Padraig" of The Cycling Independent recalled his friend and onetime colleague Garrett Lai.

If that name sounds familiar, you probably were reading Bicycling! and Bicycle Guide during the 1990s and early 2000s, when he was an editor at each of those publications.  Or, a few years earlier, you might've been perusing copies of Road and Track magazine.  You may also have been one of the world's more arcane subcultures (this, coming from someone--yours truly--who's spent time in the academic world):  the California community of vintage typewriter enthusiasts.

(Garrett Lai, left, with Yeti Cycles co-founder John Parker)

I was unaware of that last group of people until today.  But it makes perfect sense that Garrett Lai was part of it:  He was all about anything mechanical and anything that could be expressed in, or used to communicate, words.  A self-described "failed engineer" who could make the most technical details comprehensible, and even readable (much like the much-missed Jobst Brandt and Frank Berto), Lai had, in Padraig's words, "more sides than a round-cut diamond."

But he passed away, at age 54, last week.  The coroner is still determining his cause of death. 

How Fast Did You Ride Today?

This is why I don't use electronic devices while cycling:

 

Will They Demand To See Our Papers?

 "Rob in VA," who's commented on some of my posts, notes increased aggression from drivers.

A couple of days ago, I posited that some of that aggression--and the increased hostility we, and peaceful protesters, are experiencing -- has at least something to do with the President's implicit wink and nod to haters.

If you think I'm being paranoid, check out what happened to someone who tried to ride through Portland's Delta Park:

Earlier in Delta Park, some yelled ‘get him’ to a bicyclist passing through and then pursued and stopped and harassed him - before letting him pass thru pic.twitter.com/I5KUReLQ0R

— Maxine Bernstein (@maxoregonian) September 26, 2020

 

Those folks had no authority to do what they did. Later that day, though, some people with authority--namely, Portland Police Bureau officers--shoved a cyclist off his bike and onto the ground for no apparent reason.

The Gem, The Beaver--And The Evergreen--Stop

How would you like to get something your neighbor has...

...had since 1982?

Well, I have to admit: That question hasn't crossed my mind because, well, I didn't know my current neighbors in 1982.  And my neighbors in 1982...well, that was a different world, wasn't it?

Anyway...Last year, one state got something its neighbor had 37 years earlier.  And, yesterday, another neighbor got it. 

So, which "neighbors" am I talking about?  They aren't the folks in the house or building next door. Rather, they're three northwestern states in the United States.

What they all have now is named for one of those states.  I've mentioned it in earlier posts:  a cyclist's right to ride through a stop sign if the coast is clear.

In our world (i.e., cycling and transportation circles), it's often referred to as the "Idaho stop."  The Gem State legalized it the same year Michael Jackson's "Thriller" was released.  Since then, other jurisdictions, including a few towns in Colorado and Paris, France, have instituted versions of it. But it took Oregon, Idaho's southwestern neighbor, 37 years to do the same.

Yesterday, cyclists in Washington State, just to the north of the Beaver State, received the same right. 

Kudos to Washington Bikes for its work leading to the passage of the law, sponsored by Senator Andy Billig and Representative Joe Fitzgibbon.  The Evergreen State lawmakers, and the Seattle Department of Transportation (SDT), cited a study documenting decreased bicycle injuries and improved overall bicycle safety in jurisdictions that implemented versions of the "Idaho Stop."  One reason for the improvement in safety is that the "Idaho Stop" reduces the confusion--which sometimes leads to collisions--that results when cyclists stop at signs or motorists give cyclists the right of way when, for example, traffic is entering the intersection from another direction.  

Interestingly, the study cited by the SDT also mentions that cyclist safety improves because, in riding through "stop" signs, cyclists spend less time in intersections, where air pollution is greater. Also, cyclists are less likely to suffer overuse or other injuries from continuous stopping and starting.

Now there's a question to be researched: How much does strain and stress increase the risk of cycling accidents?

 

She Was Afraid Of Breaking The Chandelier

When I was growing up, one of the most derogatory things anybody could have said to me was, "You throw like a girl." Or "you run like a girl."  

In my heart of hearts, I wanted to say, "Of course!  What did you expect?"  But, because I was being raised as a boy, I couldn't respond that way.

Any more than I could have smiled and thanked someone for telling me I rode a bike "like a girl."

Now, if the people around me knew anything about cycling, I could have retorted, "Like Nancy Burghart?" Or "Like Rebecca Twigg?"

Or Viola Brand: 

Forget about the latest Tour or Giro or Vuelta winner.  This young woman  from Stuttgart, Germany is my new cycling hero!  I mean, if you can pirouette on a bike, you are a real athlete--and artist.

She said that while doing her pirouettes, "I was afraid of breaking the chandelier."

I don't think it would be very difficult to replace.

What He Enables

I'm no political junkie.  But it's hard to imagine a lower point in the political history of this country than last night's debate.

I think Joe Biden did about as well as anyone could have in the circumstances.  He kept his composure about as well as anyone could have in the presence of Donald Trump.

Note a phrase I repeated in the previous paragraph:  "about as well as anyone could have."  The thing about Trump, I believe, is that he knows, deep down, he can't win a reasoned intellectual argument.  So he lies, gaslights, impugns character and otherwise attacks people in ways that can't be responded to under Robert's Rules of Order, or even the Marquis of Queensbury rules. 

Why am I writing about this on a blog about bicycling?  Well, I think Trump's behavior has implicitly given permission for folks who have power and strength--whether it's financial, institutional or purely physical; whether it's sanctioned by the State or some other recognized authority--to wield it deliberately or without discretion against those who are more vulnerable than themselves.

An example of what I'm talking about took place in Seattle, where a police officer rode his bicycle over the head of a protester:

Amazingly, that protester, known locally as "Trumpet Man,"  didn't end up with anything worse than some shoulder and neck pain.  Some might say the officer did what he did unintentionally.  Even if he did, he should be called to account:  At the least, he can use some re-training.  If his actions were deliberate, of course, he should be fired.  While most of us would assume--rightly, probably--that Trumpet Man was lying down as a form of peaceful protest, he could just as easily have been, as he pointed out, a mentally ill or addicted person who was having a seizure.

In several of my posts, I have pointed out that motorists very often don't realize (or care) that they are operating a potentially-deadly weapon, especially if they drive it into the path of a cyclist or pedestrian.  Well, to be fair, I am going to call out anyone who uses a bicycle in a like fashion--especially if the State bestows upon him the power of life and death.

A First Time In Blue

This is one sure sign of Middle Age, with the Capital M and Capital A:  going for a colonoscopy. 

I last had one ten years ago, just nine months(!) after my gender reaffirmation surgery.  The procedure hasn't changed much (at least from what I can recall):  They knock you out for a few minutes and look for polyps

The good doctor didn't find any.  A week and a half ago, during our preliminary appointment, he told me I'd need a ride home, as the anesthetic would take a few hours to wear off.  

But he said nothing about getting there: a few blocks from the Intrepid Air and Space Museum.  That's about 7 kilometers from my apartment.  Despite the MTA's assurances, I still don't want to take the subway or a bus.  So, I did something that, in all of my years of living in New York, I had never before done.

No, I didn't visit the Statue of Liberty.  Rather, I rode a Citibike.  

The irony of that is that in addition to living in New York, I've visited several cities with bike share programs.  In those places, however, I rented bikes from shops and when I'm at home, I ride my own bikes.  Also, I repaired and assembled Citibikes a few weeks after the program started.  But I'd never ridden my handiwork, if you will.

The bike was about what I'd expected:  very comfortable but not very fast or maneuverable.  That, of course, is how they're built: to take the pounding of day-to-day use on city streets.  

In all, it wasn't bad.  The hard part, for me, was buying the pass and unlocking the bike, which I did via a Lyft app.  I don't think the problem was the system, as lots of other people seem to use it easily.  Rather, I am a bit of a techno-ditz:  Any time I use a new app or program, it's as if I'm re-inventing the wheel (pun intended).  Also, when I arrived, some of the docks at the nearest station weren't working properly (or was I not using them properly)?  I had to try a few before I heard the "click" and the green light flashed.

Although I don't expect to be a regular Citibike user, understand why it's popular, and I wouldn't dissuade anyone who doesn't have his or own bike (or a safe place to park it) from using those blue two-wheelers.

(Another bit of good news came out of today's procedure--or, more precisely, the screening:  My weight is the lowest it's been since I took my bike tour of the French and Italian Alps in 2001.  I guess I shouldn't be surprised:  For the past few months, I've cycled or walked just about everywhere I've gone, and one unanticipated, but welcome, side-effect of not going into the college is that I'm eating healthier food.)

Ya Gotta Start Somewhere, Right?

Could this be why some bike shops don't allow test rides?

Cycling Into A Season

 This weekend is the first of Fall.  Leaves have not yet begun to change their colors, and the air does not brace one's skin. Still, there are some unmistakable signs the season is changing:  Sunlight flickers rather than glares against the surface of a sea still nearly as warm as the air on the beaches and boardwalk, which were nearly as deserted as they'd be on a winter's day.

A couple of guys took to the water on Point Lookout, the destination of my day's ride.  So did a few boats.

Amid the sorrow and chaos of the past few months, today's ride gave me moments to reflect.  Riding itself has rarely felt so good.  I could hardly ask for more.

Cyclist Struck By Hate

It’s one thing when a motorist strikes a cyclist accidentally.

It’s something else when done with intention.

But I’ve heard of few things more despicable than this:



The driver not only drove into a Black Lives Matter protester on a bicycle intentionally; she made a point of expressing her hate.

The latest report says the cyclist’s injuries are not life-threatening. But he may have emotional scars that will take a long time to heal, if they ever do.

I am no lawyer, but I reckon that the woman should be charged, at the very least, with assault with a deadly weapon.

Out Of Line In The Lane

After taking a late-day bike ride, eating a dinner and reading, I dozed off, with Marlee curled up on me.  A couple of hours later, she woke me for some food and water. Then I  stepped out of my apartment for a few-minute ride on the deserted streets and bike lanes.

Well, they weren’t totally  deserted:

The cops were looking at their smart phones.  I’ll give them the benefit of the doubt and assume that the NYPD is using those devices to communicate with their officers.

I will write about that bike lane soon.

 

How Long Could He Hold It?

It boggles the mind to realize that on the last day of a three-week race, a lead of less than one minute in overall time (for the whole three weeks) is considered "insurmountable"--unless, of course, you're Greg Lemond or Tadej Podacar.

The one explanation I can come up with is from my own (admittedly) very limited experience with racing:  It's a lot harder to make up time than to lose it. Really, it doesn't take much to give up a minute or more to an opponent:  a flat tire or other malfunction, a slip or fall,  a miscalculation of an opponent's move--or simply a wrong turn.

At least, those are the things we hear about in race reports.  I wonder whether riders have lost races due to events that would be inconsequential in daily life.  

Specifically, I'm thinking of "nature calling."  If we're not racing, we stop when we find a place to "let go." But I suppose that's not possible in a race.

Or if you're being pursued by cops.  

On Saturday night, a 38-year-old man was riding light-less on a Yakima, Washington street.  A constable pulled up toward him, intending to talk to him about the dangers of what he was doing.  But when the officer turned on his bright lights, the man took off. 

After making a few turns, he ditched his bike and backpack and started running down a driveway.  He tripped on a low fence.  The officer threatened to use his Taser on him if he tried to continue his flight.

Then, according to the officer, the man put his hands up and exclaimed, "I just need to poop."

Later, when the police searched the bag the man tossed, the found three cell phones, brass knuckles, a pill cutter, $240 in counterfeit currency, more than 100 blue oxycodone pills laced with fentanyl, nine suboxone strips, two pipes, a scale, knives and some suspicious checks.

Oh, and the police discovered the guy had felony warrants for a Department of Corrections violation, possession of heroin and identity theft.

This leads me to wonder:  What if he'd just "held it" a little longer--and stayed on his bike? 

Time And A Time Trial

The other day, it looked as if the Tour de France would end with its first Slovenian winner.

It did.  Except that the winner wasn't the Slovenian most observers expected.

Going into the race's final stage, it seemed that Primoz Roglic would bring the race's maillot jaune home:  His 57-second lead seemed all but insurmountable, especially since the final stage was a time trial up a mountain:  the sort of event in which he usually does well.

Primoz Roglic (in polka dots) and Tadej Podacar

And he did.  Except that Tadej Podacar, all 21 years of him, did even better.  Two years after winning the Tour de l'Avenir, and one year removed from his third-place finish in the Vuelta a Espana, Podacar became the Tour's youngest winner.  

His final push has been compared to that of Greg Lemond in the 1989 Tour.  Entering the final day of the race, Lemond trailed Laurent Fignon, who won in 1983 and 1984, by 50 seconds.  And the race's final stage was a time trial:  an event in which Fignon tended to do well.

Well, Lemond rode the time trial of his life and earned his second Tour victory.  

The plot outline of Lemond-Fignon is thus a close parallel to that of Podacar-Roglic, except for one thing:  Fignon and Lemond were both well-established cyclists in the prime of their careers.  Roglic, at 30, is about the same age as Fignon and Lemond were during their epic duel, but it's hard to say where he is in his professional career, which he began at 24:  several years later than is normal.  On the other hand, it will be interesting to see whether Podacar's  victory signals the beginning of a long road, if you will, to canonization in the cycling world.

Only time will tell.  On Sunday, a time trial determined the winner of the world's most famous race.

R.B.G.: Hearing The Shofar As I Pedal

As you know by now, Supreme Court Justice Ruth Bader Ginsburg passed away on Friday night.

I heard the "breaking news" on the radio that evening, as members of an observant Jewish family were returning from shul to their home just up the block from me.  Rosh Hoshannah had just begun.  In times past--and in some Orthodox communities--it's heralded by sounding a shofar:  a horn made from a hollowed-out ram's tusk.

The shofar was, and is, still used to call attention to significant events, and to warn of danger. RBG's passing seems like a shofar blast.

She didn't single-handedly keep women from living out the nightmare of The Handmaid's Tale. But very few people did more to bring the status of women and girls--and, by extension, others who have been disenfranchised--closer to equality with that of men and boys.

While I didn't know her personally, I have the sense that she did what she did because of something she understood, perhaps viscerally, and which I came to understand during my gender transition:  Anyone who doesn't have agency over his or her body and mind is a slave.  

When I understood that, I believe, I truly became a feminist.  Before that, I supported a woman's right to choose, in all areas of life (including reproduction), and equal opportunities.  But, until I started living as a woman, they were merely "issues."  Once I began my transition, I realized they were matters of my own life:  Even though I never have been, and never will be, pregnant--and, thankfully, do not have to worry about having a hysterectomy without my consent--  I realize now that I could choose to take medications and undergo medical procedures to align my body with my psyche without having to ask permission from any man--or worrying about being imprisoned for violating a law written and enforced by men.

I could also continue cycling for the same reasons.  Until recently, women weren't allowed to ride--or drive--in Saudi Arabia.  In other societies, women and girls are discouraged, or even intimidated, away from such things.

My life--which includes cycling--is possible, in part, because of Justice Bader Ginsberg's work.  Her passing is, among other things, a warning, or at least a signal, that I cannot take it for granted:  a shofar blast, if you will.

How I Don't Want It To End

In my will (yes, I have one of those), I have specified, among other things, that I want my body used for medical or scientific research. Beyond that, I don't care what happens to me or how anyone chooses to memorialize me.

Well, all right, I don't care much.  There are some things, though, I don't want:

I mean, I like sports as much as the next person.  But a funeral party in a sports bar?   People actually do such things?  

You learn all kinds of things while bike riding! 

1000 Books For A Bike

As a Scout, I earned a merit badge for reading.

Until I saw it in Clayton and Magee, the Red Bank, NJ  men's and boys' clothier  that sold Scout uniforms and equipment, I didn't know that such a thing existed.  Nor did my scoutmaster, or anyone else in the troop.  To get the badge, I had to document that I'd read at least 12 books in a year--something I normally do--and write reports, reviews and critiques on them.  

My English teacher, Mrs. McKenna, was also unaware of the badge until I mentioned it. She happily signed off on it and mentioned it to the rest of the class, which included a few other Scouts.  To my knowledge, only one other kid pursued that opportunity.

I don't remember exactly how many books I read, but I know that I easily exceeded the requirements.  I don't think I read 1000, though.

Ayan Geer and Kristopher Depaz did, however.  For their achievement, the Riverhead, Long Island residents got a reward that I never could have dreamed of:  new bicycles, presented to them the other night at their town's public library.

Not to take anything away from their achievements, I will mention that Ayan's favorite books were "Crocodile and Hen" and "Pete the Cat." Kristopher didn't specify a favorite, but mentioned that he loves playing soccer with his father and wants to be a professional player when he grows up.  
One more thing I should mention:  Ayan and Kristopher each read 1000 books before starting kindergarten.

Forget about a merit badge:  They should get medals.  Solid gold ones.  And bicycles for life.

E-Bikes On The Boardwalk?

It looks like electric bikes, or e-bikes, are here to stay.

Although I don't plan to start riding one any time soon, I have nothing against them.  If anything, they're good for people whose knees are giving out on them, or for other people who--whether through aging or some other cause--don't have the strength or stamina they once had but still want to pedal two wheels.

What makes them controversial, though, is their relationship with unmotorized bicycles, other motorized vehicles--and traffic, whether it consists of pedestrians, cyclists or motor vehicles. Specifically, should they be subject to the same rules and regulations as, say, motorcycles?  Or should they categorized with non-motorized bicycles and be allowed to share designated bike lanes and paths with them?

Cities, states and other jurisdictions are coming up their own mandates.  Beach resorts and towns face another question:  Should electric bikes be permitted to roll alongside regular bicycles on boardwalks?

The City Council of Ocean City, Maryland will have to come up with an answer to it when it meets on Monday.  Last week, Councilman Tony De Luca introduced an ordinance that would have amended the city's traffic and vehicle codes to allow Class One motorized bikes--ones that stop assisting the rider when a speed of 20 MPH is reached--on the boardwalk.  Class Two and Three e-bikes, which have a throttle and can reach higher speeds,  would have been banned.

DeLuca's proposal didn't garner enough support to become part of the city's law.  On Monday, the Council will hear opposing recommendations from the Bike Committee and the police commission.  The former cites e-bikes' usefulness for people who are rehabilitating from an injury or have bad knees, while the latter points to difficulties in enforcing e-bike rules and the fact that cities like Virginia Beach ban them altogether.

 

I Don't Want To Be A Guinea Pig Again

This morning my father and I were talking about one thing and another.  "If they come out with a vaccine (for COVID-19), would you get it?" he asked.

"That depends.  If it comes out before Election Day, or even Inauguration Day, I'd have to wonder whether its approval was rushed."

Afterward, I found myself thinking about some of the worst bike parts I've ever used and owned. They were introduced as the lightest, best, strongest or "must-have" in some other way.  I can't help but to think that I, and some riding buddies who also experienced problems like the ones I incurred, were "guinea pigs" for the makers of those components.  

Of course, my collapsing Nuke Proof hubs weren't quite as catastrophic as a faulty vaccine might be.  The shop from which I bought those hubs replaced them with other hubs and equipment. But what do you do if the vaccine causes some physical or medical problem that can't be reversed? 


Note:  If the typeface in this post looks different from that of my other posts, it's because Blogger, in all of its infinite wisdom, decided to change its page and make it impossible to use whatever typefaces you've used before.