Riding The High Life

Are you just spinning your wheels on your rollers?

Does riding on your trainer feel tepid?

Do you feel like you're really going nowhere on your stationary bike?

Or are you falling behind on your Peloton?

Lately, I've heard that sales of dressy clothing--suits, dresses and the like--are increasing.  The theory behind that is that people who've been stuck at home are tired of slouching around in sweat clothes and pajamas.  Perhaps there is a corollary in the world of cycling:  People are tired of pedaling in place while looking at screens--in their sweat clothes.

Well, the folks at Hendrick's Gin are looking at you. They've found, in the words of HG national brand ambassador Vance Hendricks, "the bells and whistles you see on your home workout equipment" are "entirely unnecessary."  

Hendrick's, therefore, is introducing something in line with its customers' tastes--or, at least, an image the company is trying to project.  "We at Hendrick's prefer milder forms of exertion," explains Henderson, "coupled with intellectual stimulation, complemented by a delicious cocktail."

To sate the thirsts, if you will, of their cultivated clientele, they created Hendrick's High Wheel.  

If I hadn't seen this photo, I wouldn't have believed the description:  An iron-framed stationary bike, styled after a high-wheeler ("penny farthing") of the 1880s, equipped with a golden fender carved with roses and cucumbers and flanked by golden curlicues, perched atop a patch of artificial grass strewn with rose petals.  

The real and fake vegetation and the bike's decor allude to the gin's rose and cucumber flavor.  So it makes sense that one mounts this contraption on four cucumber-shaped steps. Also logical, given the bike's intended ridership, is that the direct-drive front wheel (like the rear of a modern fixed-gear bike) has no resistance, which allows riders to break "the ever-so-slightest of sweats." (Note to the folks at Hendrick's:  A lady doesn't sweat; she glistens!  That's what I was told when preparing for my debutante ball.) Oh, and the the pedaling output powers a headlight, which will make your rides safe if there's a power outage in the royal suite.

If you simply must have a Hendrick's High Wheel, act now:  Only three will be made and sold.  

If one can afford something, one doesn't have to ask what it costs.  Since I am one of the hoi polloi, I shall do what the intended clientele would consider to be unspeakably gauche:  I will reveal its price.  For $2493.11, you get an HHW complete with a book stand (no screen here!), a horn to alert your butler to bring you canapes and cocktails, and a handlebar-mounted water bottle holder.  Perhaps it's rude of me to ask whether a bottle of Hendrick's is included.

Oh, if you're buying this, you'll want to let your interior designer know that HHW takes up a floor space of 38.5 by 76 inches of floor space.  After all, one shouldn't clutter one's ballroom, should one?

Recovery , In June And Now

Because I felt so good after my Saturday ride, I thought I could go a little further on Sunday.  So I pedaled down to DUMBO and looped along the waterfront under the Manhattan Bridge.  In all, I cycled for about an hour and a half--about half an hour longer than I rode on Saturday.

To give you some perspective, my Saturday ride was about as long as my commute was, round trip.  So, while Sunday's ride was longer, it still barely seemed like a "baby" ride, at least in comparison to what I'm accustomed to doing.

Yesterday, I mentioned all of this to my orthopedic doctor. I also told him that immediately after my Sunday ride, I felt good but late that night I started to feel pain where my muscle strained.  "You have to listen to your body," he said--specifically, that part of my body.  "It's still healing," he reminded me.  So are my gashes, though more rapidly. "They're looking good."

There's an irony in all of this:  The injuries from my June accident were more serious, but my recovery from this mishap might be slower.  Because I'd crashed face-first and there was slight bleeding by my brain, there was the potential--which, thankfully, wasn't realized--of some real damage.  But after going about three weeks without headaches (and never having experienced dizziness), I was ready to ride and built myself back to something like my earlier condition in a few weeks.  On the other hand, my recovery seemed more certain this time, but my injuries are in my leg, so it affects the pace of my cycling more than my earlier injuries.

My doctor counsels patience.  I trust him but, damn, I want to go back to riding as many miles as I did before the accident!

Late In The Day, Late In The Season

I'm still limited to short rides.  But my time in the saddle has given me no end of visual delight:

Saturday I rode to Roosevelt Island again and, from there, down the waterfront. November sunsets are so vivid--and bike rides so fulfilling--because of the darkness, the cold, that is ready to descend, just as trees are their most colorful at the moment before the wind strips them bare to the long, dark nights ahead.

 

Yesterday I took another, slightly longer ride.  I didn't take any photos, but I'll have something to say about it tomorrow.

Tuber Alles?

 Most of us know at least one couch potato. Some of us were CPs before we took up cycling. 

Is it possible to be a Bike Potato?

Thief Stopped, Too Late

 During my dim, dark past, I did a few good deeds.  One of them, some three decades later, fills me with pride and glee:  I stopped a would-be bike thief.  

After watching a film--My Left Foot--I left the old Paris Theatre, just across 58th Street from the Plaza Hotel.  A burly guy hunched over a Motobecane locked to a sign post.  Normally, I wouldn't have given someone like him any more notice, but my glance lasted just long enough to see him twist that bike.  

He was trying to pop the lock.  I'd heard that it was an M.O. of bike thieves, but that was the first time I'd seen it in action.  My rage rose; I could have shouted but I crept behind him--and tapped him on the shoulder.

Then, I was still a guy named Nick.  I rode, literally, everywhere and every time possible--including, of course, to the Paris Theatre.  In those days, I was also lifting weights, so I was solidly muscled throughout my body.  And I wore a full beard.

Now, the guy was built like me though, perhaps, he wasn't doing as much to keep in shape as I was.  But he must have believed that whatever he saw in my face, or the way I stood--or, perhaps, the rage that radiated from me--was a more powerful force. Or, maybe, it was just scarier.

He took off faster on his feet than most people could have on any set of wheels.  Good thing for him that just past the Plaza is Central Park!

The pride I felt was in knowing I saved some fellow cyclist, whom I've most likely never met, from losing his or her means of transportation, fitness or simply pleasure.  The glee came later, when I recalled the expression on the perp's face after I tapped him and he turned around.

But, given that I confronted that guy in a New York of record-high crime rates (think of Fort Apache, The Bronx or Hill Street Blues), things could have ended differently.  I could have met the fate of Brent Cannady.  

On the night of 5 August 2019, he and his friend left his  apartment in Bakersfield, California.   There, 29-year-old Marvinesha Johnson wheeled a bike-- one belonging to Cannady's friend.  

They grabbed it and headed back to the apartment. Ms. Johnson followed, threatened to kill 37-year-old Cannady and pulled a gun from her bag.

She fired four shots.  All of them hit Cannady.  He died the next day.

Marvinesha Johnson

The other day, she was found guilty of second-degree murder and resisting a peace officer. At her sentencing hearing, scheduled for 10 December, she faces 40 years to life in prison.

Fortunately for me and the owner of a Motobecane, my confrontation of a would-be thief ended with someone keeping his or her bike and a perp with his tail between his legs, if only for a moment.  I can only wish that things could have ended as well for Brent Cannady and his friend.

  

A Few Weeks After A Summer Ride

Lambent sun rays flickered through leaves and skittered on rippled water.  I pedaled languidly along the canal path after wandering nearby streets, stopping near a steel footbridge to munch the cheese, bread and tomato, and drink the bottle of water, I picked up along the way.  Flirtation ensued:  I won't say whether they or I instigated it!

Afterward, I wheeled the bike to a cafe and enjoyed a cappuccino--and more flirtation.

You may have guessed, by now, that I was in Paris.  (Did the flirting give it away?) I achieved, without trying, a perfect--or at least postcard image--day in the City of Light. It was all but impossible to think about death, let alone any carnage leading to it.

A few weeks later, however, darkness descended.  On this date (a Friday the 13th, no less!) in 2015, the deadliest and most infamous terrorist attacks struck the city.  Just a couple of tables away from where I enjoyed my cappuccino--at Le Carillon--other patrons, possibly sipping on cappuccinos or cafe espessos--were shot dead.

Even though I've suffered two accidents and injuries just weeks apart, I am still fortunate.  After all, I'd been cycling for about half a century--including that perfect summer day by the Canal Saint Martin-- before my misfortune struck. If only those patrons at Le Carillon could have continued their journeys!

When Not To Ride With A Parent

The COVID-19 pandemic has canceled many holiday observances and celebrations.  Although it wasn't postponed, Take Your Children To Work Day wasn't marked in the usual ways, as many people couldn't (or simply didn't) go to their regular workplaces.  Then again, a lot of kids got to see their parents' work, even if those tasks were performed through a laptop on a kitchen table rather than a console on a desk.

Some parents, however, should not bring their kids with them to work because, honestly, there are some kinds of work no kid should ever witness. An example is what Jason R. Anderson did.

The "workplace"?  A Kohl's department store in Batavia, New York:  about halfway between Buffalo and Rochester.  The "job"?  No, he wasn't stocking shelves or helping customers.  Instead, he helped himself to some of the store's merchandise.

His method of transportation? A bicycle, which he parked outside, where his 6-year-old daughter waited with her own bicycle.

She followed him as a he fled.  So, in addition to larceny and possession of burglary tools, Anderson has been charged with endangering the welfare of a child.

It wasn't Anderson's first arrest.  One assumes that his daughter won't consider following his line of work--and hopes that she won't see the bicycle as a means of committing nefarious activities.

To Truly Honor Them

We call today Veterans' Day.  When I was growing up, many people still referred to it as Armistice Day.  In other countries, it's called Remembrance Day.  

That last name would be attached to this day if I were President.  Too often, at least here in the US, anything associated with veterans is, too often, used to glorify war and military power rather than to honor the sacrifices of those who served.  

As Danny Sjursen has written, "The best way America can honor its veterans and fallen soldiers is to create fewer of them."  He would know:  Tours of duty in Iraq and Afghanistan left the West Point alumnus with PTSD severe enough that the Army retired him early, with the rank of Major.

I mention that because I reckon that PTSD is even more common among veterans than any of us realize. While nobody knows how to "cure" it, there are ways to cope.  One of them is, of course, bicycling.  A number of organizations offer free bikes, whether of the conventional types or modified machines, to veterans. They also sponsor rides and other cycling-related events as part of their recreational and therapeutic programs for veterans.

There is, however, an organization in Chamblee, Georgia, devoted exclusively to mountain biking for veterans.  Appropriately enough, it's called MTB Vets.

 

Vets need more such organizations and programs and, to paraphrase Major Sjursen, less platitudinous praise or trite thanks.      

Two Hours of Light Rides

Yesterday I made a confession to my doctor.

Well, all right, he's not my primary care physician or gynecologist (yes, I have one of those), so my revelation wasn't as life-changing as you might expect.  I was, you see, a little bit naughty.

I told the orthopedist about this:

The other day was one of those utterly glorious fall days that seems to exist in postcards and catalogues that peddle someone's idea of New England country life. (You know, flannel shirts, apple-picking and the like!)  Even though I only had to wait one more day (actually, less) for my appointment, I went for a ride.

I pedaled only for an hour, along one of the easiest routes I could take:  down the new Crescent Street bike lane to 36th Avenue and the bridge to Roosevelt Island, which I looped twice.  I ended the hour with a ramble along a few side streets back to my apartment.

It was only an hour, but it was enough to lift my spirits. Maybe it had something to do with the softly smoldering late-day sunlight where the East River (misnamed, by the way) splits into Long Island Sound and the Harlem River (also misnamed) and separates Queens (where I live) and Manhattan from the North American mainland.

I did not feel separated from anything.  Maybe that's why I felt comfortable in "confessing" it.  The orthopedic doctor said it was fine; I am recovering well but I should "proceed slowly." Which I will, of course.

In fact, that's what I did today:  another late-day, one-hour ride, this time along streets that wind along the shoreline between my neighborhood and LaGuardia Airport.

The Hell Gate Bridge is always a nice frame for the sunset at Astoria Park--especially with fallen leaves in the autumn light.  But who knew a side street--26th, to be exact--in Astoria could seem like a gate of heaven?

Of course I want to go on the longer rides. But if one-hour rides can fill me with such light and color, I guess I can be a little bit patient.

Wins

I've held off on saying anything about the election results because, you know, I didn't want to be accused of "stealing" it by calling it "prematurely."  Or someone might think I stuffed my panniers with ballots from dead people and brought them to the Queens County election office.

Seriously, though:  I think you know the way I feel.  Just about anybody has to be better than El Cheeto Grande for, well, almost anything you can think of--including bicycling.

Speaking of which:  According to People for Bikes (an organization I heartily endorse), this year Americans voted more than $1 billion for projects, including lanes and trails,  that support cycling.

From People for Bikes

Although I have complained about the faulty conception, design and construction of many bike lanes (including some I ride regularly), I am glad when a lane or other piece of bike infrastructure is created, or an education program is launched.  Even when these things are done poorly, I try to keep hope that they're steps to "getting it right."  Too many planners don't yet understand cycling; I figure it will take time for them to learn--or to be replaced by people who have experienced our realities.

I'm keeping my fingers crossed about that--and the Senate: If it's split evenly between the Democrats and Republicans, Kamala Harris will be the tie-breaker.

Double Trouble?

I've ridden tandems only twice in my life.  Each time, I rode with a different partner.  So I never had to think about the logistical challenges tandem-cycling couples face:

From HipPostcard

A Cyclists' Bridge To A City's History

Providence, Rhode Island billed itself the "jewelry making capital of the world."  For nearly two centuries before the 1980s, that claim was justifiable: In 1978, when the industry peaked, 33,574 people worked in 1,374 Rhode Island companies that were classified as making "jewelry, silverware and miscellaneous notions," according to the state's Department of Labor and Training.

Not coincidentally, during that time Providence was an important shipping port:  second only to Boston in New England.  Of course, not all maritime cargo was related to rings and amulets, but a significant portion certainly was.  So, the decline of the industry and the port were, to some degree, tied together.  But another reason why fewer ships entered and left Providence's harbor in 1990 than in 1890 was Interstate 195.  The I-195 span replaced the Washington Bridge, a bascule (movable) span. In addition to blocking ships from the inner harbor, I-195, like other Interstates, hastened the decline of traditional ports like Providence, Boston, New York, San Francisco and Los Angeles that did no have easy access to the highway.

I mention all of these aspects of Providence's history because, in addition to being a jewelry-making center, Providence, like other industrial cities, had a thriving bicycle industry during the 1890s.  As in other American cities, bike-making declined (or ceased to exist) after World War I and few adults pedaled.  

But now, as in other places, cycling in Providence has undergone a renaissance, fueled largely by young people who have moved to the city.  As in nearby Boston and New York, those new cyclists complained about the lack of safe streets and driver awareness.  This has led to the construction of bike lanes and other efforts, misguided at times, to make the city more "bike friendly."

One such effort seems practical.  Whatever else it may be, it's certainly picturesque.  I'm talking about the newly-opened Providence River Pedestrian and Bicycle Bridge.  The span allows cyclists to pedal between the city's Fox Point neighborhood and the waterfront parks on the edge of the Jewelry/Innovation District.  The span is at least as lovely as some of the brooches and necklaces made in the city:  The bridge's curved edges are clad in wood, evoking the designs of ships that plied the harbor.  Better yet, its surface is lined with a wildflower garden and benches that allow passerby to pause and take in the cityscape.

Oh, and the bridge is built on granite piers that supported an I-195 viaduct before the highway was rerouted during the 1990s.

Photo by Steve Kroodsma/Kroo Photgraphy

So, the new Providence River Pedestrian and Bicycle Bridge spans, not only a body of water, but a city's history--and serves the needs and wants of present-day urban dwellers.  It sounds like a "gem" to me.

Georgia On My Samajwadi Mind

 

Right now, I have Georgia on my mind for a good reason:  It might deliver the presidency to Joe Biden.  Poll workers in the Peach State are still counting ballots, but some time in the wee hours of this morning, the lead shifted to Joe.

I still think about him riding rings around a Fox reporter a few weeks ago.  Trump, on the other hand, keeps at least a few tire rotations from bicycles.  Even if people hadn't seen Biden on Bike or Trump treading on cyclists, they might more readily associate bicycles and cyclists with Democrats than with Republicans.  That makes sense if you look only at the two major parties.  Me, I'd associate bikes with the Green or Working Families party first, but if I had to choose between the donkey or the elephant, I would remember that it's easier to ride--or just get things done--on the former rather than the latter.

(But, really, you shouldn't interpret what I've just said as an endorsement of any candidate, I swear--with my fingers crossed behind my back!)

Whichever American political party you associate with two wheels, two pedals and a set of handlebars, none can compare India's Samajwadi Party:  Its symbol is a bicycle.

Riveted To The Race

 What's the worst thing about not being able to ride my bike on a beautiful fall day?

Well, if it were any given beautiful fall day, I'd have a long list of choices:  the glow of the early November sun on fallen leaves, the crisp air, the energy of this city.  But because I'm sidelined during the Presidential election, the choice is simple.  It's simply excruciating to be surrounded by talk about vote counts and who wants them to continue--or end.

It's been about 40 hours since all of the polls closed.  Trump wins South Carolina--no surprise, really--but I, and millions of other people--wait with bated breath when Michigan and Wisconsin and Pennsylvania are mentioned.  Biden won the first two, but count in the Keystone State could go on for days, according to pundits.

From the Wall Street Journal

Electoral campaigns are called "races" and elections are described with analogies to sports.  Such language and imagery are apt, but there is a major difference:  I may want a particular rider to win the Tour or Giro or the local crit, or one team or another to win a game, but if someone else emerges victorious, I may be disappointed but my life will go on.  In contrast, one candidate or another winning an election can make a real difference in my life, and the lives of many other people!

I just hope my guy, and team, win!

A Free Ride Ahead of Vanilla ISIS

 Today is Election Day here in the US.

In case you're wondering:  Yes, I voted--a month ago.  On the first of October--the same day I got my flu shot--I rode my bike to the Queens County Board of Elections and delivered my absentee ballot.  I didn't want to take any chances with mail delays or any of the potential hazards (COVID-19, voter intimidation) of waiting in line at the poll site.

Speaking of riding to vote:  Roam NRV, the bike share company of New River Valley, Virginia (home of, among other things, Virginia Tech University), is offering free rides today.  According to Roam NRV operations manager Cat Woodson, the Roam NRV the goal of the offer, dubbed "Rolls to the Polls, is to "minimize friction points" in getting to the voting place.  "Maybe instead of taking two bus trips, it takes one bus trip and a bike ride or maybe it is a little bit of a walk and a bike trip," she explains.  The bike ride, for many, would cut down on the amount of time--and, perhaps more important, hassles--associated with getting to the polling spot.

I wholly endorse Roam NRV's action.  I don't, however, openly endorse candidates (Yeah, right!).  So please don't try to infer my polling  choices from this video:  

Because He Would Not Stop

Today is Dia de los Muertos, or Day of the Dead.

Emily Dickinson, was a great a poet, but I doubt she had any contact with Latinx culture. Most likely, she never rode a bicycle, either. So, when she penned

           Because I could not stop for Death-- 

          He kindly stopped for me

I don't think she had this in mind:

Enjoy the day!

No Superstitions Here!

A black cat crossing my path?

At least it's not a car door.

Happy Halloween! 

Worse Than Getting "Doored"

I know I could've been hurt even worse than I was when I was "doored" last week.  That should make me grateful, or at least feel better, I suppose. 

So should the knowledge that she had no intention of hurting me:  Had she not opened the door of her 2015 Toyota into my side, we probably wouldn't have interacted in any way at all.  If she'd noticed me at all, I would have been just another cyclist.

I guess that knowledge should make me feel a little better, but it doesn't.  If anything, it's just as disturbing, to me, as the knowledge of what happened to Michelle Marie Weissman in Las Vegas on Sunday.

The 56-year-old was pedaling down south on the Hollywood Boulevard bike lane around 7:30 that morning.  As she passed a couple strolling on the adjacent sidewalk, she greeted them: "Good morning."

At that moment, a 22-year-old,  identified as Rodrigo Cruz, drove a 2015 Toyota Sienna van"50 to 60 miles an hour, according to his own admission. He was racing other drivers, he said.  

For reasons he hasn't explained, he swerved into the bike lane.  His passenger, identified only as "Gio", leaned from the windowsill in an attempt to strike the couple.

He missed. But a little further down, he shoved Weissman to the ground.  She wore a helmet, but it wasn't enough--probably, nothing would have been--to save her from the impact of being pushed to the pavement by a guy in a speeding van.  Witnesses tried to give her CPR, but that wasn't enough, either, to save her life.

Michelle Marie Weissman (l) and Rodrigo Cruz

In school, we all learn Newton's Third Law of Motion:  For every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction.  One thing "Gio" probably thought about was that he wasn't exempt from that law:  The momentum of his hitting her pushed him backward, out of the Sienna's windowsill, and onto the pavement.  He met the same fate as Ms. Weissman.

Cruz fled the scene but, based on information from witnesses---including three women who'd been following the van in a gold Ford Focus before the incident--tracked him and the Sienna down.  He initially denied he'd been driving the van but finally admitted that he didn't go back to check on "Gio" because he was "scared."

He had good reason to be.  He's being held without bail, not only for murder and leaving the scene of an accident, but for a parole violation.

Of course, none of this does Michelle Marie Weissman any good.  But at least if he is charged with murder, it will be good to know that the authorities, somewhere, have taken serious action against someone who turned his vehicle into a deadly weapon against a cyclist.

Harley Plugging Into E-Bikes

 Is an e-bike really a bicycle?  What about a motorized bicycle?  What's the difference between a motorbike and a bicycle with a motor?  And, at what point did a bicycle with a motor attached to it become a motorcycle?

That last question certainly would have been relevant, or at least interesting in the first years of the 20th Century.  That's when the first "motorcycles" were introduced.  More than a century later, they look more like fat-tired "cruiser" bicycles (like the ones Schwinn and Columbia made before the 70s Bike Boom) with motors attached than, say, something one might expect to find in a Harley-Davidson showroom.

Unless it's this Harley: 

Although it comes from H-D, it's not called a "Harley."  Rather, the company has called it--and the division that will offer it--Serial 1.  The machine in the photo is a prototype of what will be available in the Spring of 2021, according to the company.

It's interesting that Harley is going "full circle" in an attempt to renew itself.  I can remember when riding a Harley was a sign of marching (OK, riding) to one's own drummer: Think of Wyatt (played by Peter Fonda) and Billy (Dennis Hopper) in Easy Rider.  These days, though, the guy perched on a Harley is more likely to be a dentist who's, oh, about my age than a young, footloose rebel.  Harley-Davidson sales have been all but nonexistent among millenials and not much better among Generation X.  

Could a Harley, rather than a DeLorean, be the vehicle that brings young people back to the future?

No Saddle, But Plenty Of Seats

It's one thing to be forced off my bike.  It's another to be forced into this:

I know, I could have hailed a cab or Uber, or called a friend for a ride. But it seemed simpler to take the train, especially since it took me almost to the entrance of where I needed to be.

It had been at least eight months since I'd been on the subway.  I know that because I hadn't been on a train, or a bus, since at least a month before everything shut down and I started working from home.  Now that I think of it, I think my last subway trip, before yesterday, was in January, when I picked up a pair of wheels.  I've carried wheels on my bike before, but it's easier to take a train or bus.

I never imagined that while living in New York, I'd go for so long without using mass transit.  But we had a mild, dry winter before the pandemic struck, so I managed to ride to work every day.

It was almost surreal to be on the N train at the tail end of the morning rush hour and see empty seats everywhere.  And the MTA isn't even restricting the number of riders who can enter or blocking off seats:  There are just fewer people riding.

Still, I'd rather be on my bike.  I hope the more-optimistic prediction I got from the orthopedic doctor comes true!

Recovery, X2

Yesterday I saw an orthopedic doctor.  My muscle strain, though painful, is not serious, he said:  "Take it easy, it'll heal itself."  He took some of the stitches out of my leg and substituted surgical tape.  

I don't know whether he's a cyclist, but he deals a lot with sports injuries.  So he understood when I complained that not cycling--when, it seems, everyone else in the world is turning their pedals and spinning their wheels through streets and paths dusted with red and gold and brown leaves fluttered down from wizening boughs--is driving me totally nuts.  "About two more weeks, if this keeps up," he said about my recovery.  That, to be fair, is a bit more optimistic than what the folks in the Long Island Jewish emergency room told me.  "That makes sense," he said.  "In ERs, they're zealous with their treatment and advice."

Of course, I don't mind now that the ER doctors and nurses were "zealous":  It may be the reason why I'm recovering well, so far.  But, oh, I want to get back on my bike.  And I don't want to gain back the weight I've lost during the last few months!

One irony in all of this is that the day after I got home from the hospital, I got a call from a doctor at the Westchester Medical Center Brain and Spine Center, where I ended up after my June accident.  The bleeding near my brain had cleared up, he said, and the latest images show no residual damage.  But, he admonished me to "be careful" because another impact to my head can magnify the trauma I suffered in the first accident.

"I will," I promised.  I didn't tell him why.

(Thank you to everyone who checked in on me!)

Not Again! Is There A Conspiracy?

I don't believe in curses or conspiracy theories--most of the time.  All right:  When I read about "Vote for Trump or Else" e-mails some voters have received, I have to wonder whether the person/people who sent them saw the "endorsement" in my previous post.

After posting that "Demo-cats" video and doing a few other things, I went for a ride through southeastern Queens and Nassau county to the "Nautical Mile" of Freeport.  I was pedaling back along streets that zigzagged back and forth along the Nassau-Queens border when--bam!--I was knocked to the pavement of Lefferts Boulevard in Elmont.  

I'd just experienced one of cyclists' worst nightmares:  the driver of a parked car opened her door right into my side.  

I watch very carefully for such things, but there was no way to anticipate--or avoid--her action:  I was directly alongside the driver's side door when she opened up.

Instead of pedaling home to feed Marlee and myself, I was carted to Long Island Jewish Medical Center-Valley Stream.  Thirty stitches and three X-rays later, I was sent home.  

This year has been awful in all sorts of ways, from world and national events to personal crises, for almost everybody I know.  In half a century of cycling, I have had two accidents that resulted in my needing medical attention.  I suffered both of them this year, only four months apart.

The doctor said I could be off my bike for anywhere from four to ten weeks, as the gashes were deep and the tissue will take time to recover. (Some of the stitches I needed were internal.)  Although my lower back, knee and shoulder hurt (and still hurt), the X-rays revealed no fractures or spinal damage.   She said I should recover "just fine," but it will "take time."  But she expressed confidence:  "You're tough. And you look great for your age."  The attending nurses agreed.

If I have to wait two and a half months to ride again, that means the rest of this year is gone.  But, if I my recovery goes more quickly, I might be able to salvage some late-fall riding.  

Now, I know logically that the timing of my accident has nothing to do with my endorsement of Donald Trump's opponent.  Or does it?

The Purr-fect Endorsement

 You know I would never, ever use this blog to endorse a political candidates.  Really!  I have, however, no compunction about showing cats, whether Marlee or another, whether or not they're related to cycling.

So please don't read anything into my posting this tweet:

We’ve got to come together to defeat Donald Trump –– Democrats, Independents, Republicans, and yes, even Demo-cats. pic.twitter.com/LtsTWy7MmI

— Joe Biden (@JoeBiden) October 17, 2020

I've already voted.  I  won't tell you who I voted for because I don't endorse candidates. Really, really, I don't! (Try not to notice my nose growing longer.)

All I'll tell you is that the major candidate I didn't vote for probably doesn't like cats--or any other animal he can't or won't eat.

Bringing Up Baby (Carrier)

According to an urban legend, red cars get more speeding tickets than vehicles of other colors.  That's almost true:  Red cars came in second to, interestingly, white cars in a recent study.  Surprisingly (at least to me), gray and silver came in third and fourth, respectively.

I thought of that study when I came across a report of a Belgian study.  According to researchers, bicycles with baby carriers attached to their rears are given a wider berth by motorists, whether or not there's a baby in the carrier.  Cyclists with child-towing trailers are also given more room by drivers, according to this study.

Carlton Reid, the excellent transportation reporter for Forbes, makes an intriguing (and, I believe, valid) point:  Drivers, whether consciously or unconsciously, might give more room to cyclists they deem more "worthy."  Someone riding with a child or baby in tow is seen as doing something that contributes to the welfare and mental health of that child or baby, while the single cyclist--especially if he or she is young--incurs the resentment, and even wrath, of drivers who see us as "privileged."

Photo by Constance Bannister, New York State, 1946

Hmm...Maybe I should attach a carrier--or trailer--to one of my bikes.  Can you see someone weighing down his $12,000 S-Works rig with one?

"Real" Men...

Sometimes I feel the Reagan administration had truly arrived when Real Men Don't Eat Quiche was published.

Of course, Bruce Feirstein wrote it tongue-in-cheek. (After all, a real man never would have written such a book, right?) It spawned all sorts of "real men don't" and "real men do" lists.

So what does--or doesn't--a "real" man ride?

Far be it from me to tell you what a "real" man needs, or doesn't, need.  While "real" men might not need motors, more than a few dudes I know absolutely revere pistons.

(Tell me "I'm in Love With My Car" isn't a masturbation song.)

Now, I will state with absolute certainty that the sentiment expressed on the T-shirt is right. Moreover (Would a "real" man ever use such a word?), I can tell you, with absolute certainty, that real men ride steel frames.   

As if I know about "real" men....    

From Watts To Lumens...To Lux

Until recently, we chose light bulbs according to watts because the wattage of an incandescent bulbs correlated to its size.  The number of watts, however, was an expression of the amount of energy it used.

During the 1980s, halogen bulbs replaced incandescent bulbs in bike lights. Still, bike lights were rated by wattage.  That designation continued even after Light Emitting Diodes (LEDs) replaced incandescent and halogen bulbs about twenty years ago.

Since LEDs use so much less energy, watts aren't a useful way to measure a bike light.  Bike lights thus came to be rated in lumens, which a measure of their light output.  (One lumen equals one candle.)  However, Kryptonite, which has just introduced a new line of bike lights, argues that lumens don't tell the story:  While a lumen count tells us how much illumination a bike light emits, it doesn't measure the effectiveness of the beam.  We want a light that allows us to see or be seen, but doesn't blind someone driving in the opposite direction.

That is why Kryptonite is rating its lights by a new unit:  the lux, which measures the illumination of a surface at a specific distance. According to the company, this measurement takes into account the quality, rather than mere quantity, of light because it takes into account how the light is focused.

Note:  I have not seen Kryptonite's new lights, so please don't take this as an endorsement of them.  However, I use, and have used, their locks.  If their lights are as well-designed, I think they'll be very, very good.

More Riders+ Not Enough Bikes=Theft

 For as long as there have been bicycles, there have been bike thieves.  That's my guess, anyway.

I also reckon that bicycle thefts increase along with the popularity of cycling.  As I've mentioned in other posts, I became a dedicated cyclist as a teenager, late in the North American Bike Boom of the 1970s.  Until that time, there didn't seem to be much bike theft and the loss of a bicycle was seen like losing a toy, mainly because almost all bikes at that time were ridden by kids.

During the "boom", for the first time in about half a century, significant numbers of American adults were riding bicycles.  While most pedaled for recreation or fitness, a few rode to work.  That, I believe, the reason why bike theft was taken more seriously.

That is, by everyone except the police.  If you were to report your stolen bike, you'd be told, explicitly or implicitly, that you wouldn't see it again.  They had bigger fish to fry; never mind that the person might have been using the bike to put food on his or her table.

History repeats itself, plus ca change, or whatever how you want to say it.  Bike sales have surged.  So have bike thefts.  Worse, methods that haven't been seen since the "bad old days" of high crime have made a comeback.  There  are reports of bikes lifted, along with the railings to which they were locked,  from the insides of buildings.  And, in the Bronx, eight men attacked a 15-year-old boy and took the bike he was riding.

Stealing the bike may not have been the ultimate goal in that attack, though the bike was a worthwhile "haul" for the perps.  Some of the other thefts may have been "fenced" for quick cash.  But, according to reports, some of bikes may have been stolen because of the current shortage, caused by a spike in demand combined with a disruption of supply chains.

Lighting--And Measuring--The Way

Soubitez and Huret.

What do they have in common?  Well, for one thing, they're both French.  For another, they made parts and accessories found on constructeur bikes as well as basic ten-speeds from the 1970s Bike Boom.

Huret was best-known for its derailleurs, though it made other parts.  Soubitez, on the other hand, was renowned for its bicycle lights, most of which were dynamo-powered.

So, other than being French and found on many of the same bikes, Soubitez and Huret wouldn't seem to have much in common--or much reason to collaborate.  Or would they?

In addition to derailleurs, shifters and frame fittings (such as dropouts), Huret also made some cycling accessories.  Perhaps its most famous was its Multito cyclometer, which ran quieter and registered more accurately than other bicycle odometers because it used belt-driven pulleys rather than the wheel-and-striker system of more traditional devices like the Lucas. 

Before the Multito was introduced, in the late 1970s, Huret made speedometer/odometers that attached to the handlebars and emulated similar devices found on motorcycles and in cars.  Huret sold it under its own marque, but bike makers like Schwinn rebranded it, which is how it ended up on countless kids' "muscle" bikes of that time.

Schwinn and other companies also rebadged Soubitez lights and dynamos, including the extremely popular "bloc" dynamo-light combo that attached to the front fork. (I had one on my Continental.) 

Even with the seeming ubiquity of Soubitez lights and Huret speedometers and odometers, I don't think it ever occurred to me (or anyone I knew) to combine a light with a speedometer or odometer.  Apparently, though, it was done.  

I tried to find more information about the Soubitez 941 K N.  It may well have been exported to the US and I missed it, but I don't recall seeing it anywhere back when so many of us rode with Soubitez blocs and Huret speedometers (and derailleurs:  the one on my Continental was a re-branded Huret Allvit).  The 941 K N seems to have been supplied with a Huret speedometer cable and driver.  They may well have been the power source for the light.  Or, judging by the shape of the light, it may have housed dry-cell batteries.

If that driver and cable were indeed the light's power source, it's not hard to imagine that the Soubitez 941  K N may well have influenced modern bike computers. Otherwise, it's an interesting curiosity.