Where You Want To Leave It

One of the best ways to get people out of their cars is to make cycling and mass transportation more efficient and convenient--and to facilitate links between them.  

One way to accomplish that is to make to provide safe bicycle parking at transportation hubs.  That means more than simply installing a few racks.  Bikes should be treated with the same care and respect as other parked vehicles.  That involves sheltering bikes from the elements and damage from other bikes and vehicles.

A facility that provides safe bike parking should also be environmentally sustainable.

The Tengbom architectural firm seems to have accomplished all of those goals with its bicycle parking garage at the Uppsala Central Station in Sweden.  The eco-consciousness of the design is not limited to its energy sources:  The materials are also sustainable (and few in number) and the building's design allows for optimal use of light that enters it.

Best of all, it has a restrained, but elegant aesthetic that fits, not only with the immediate surroundings, but an overall Nordic mentality.

Send lead architecht Cecilia Oberg--and Tengbom--here, to New York and the USA!

Man Falls Off Bike--And Is Bitten By Alligator

 If you fall while riding your bike, how and where you land--which may or may not be in your control--has much to do with whether, or how severely, you are injured.  (Wear your helmet!) 

Whatever you do, try not to land on an alligator!

That is what happened to a cyclist in Stuart, Florida, a town near Port St. Lucie.  The man, described by Scott Lorraine of the Airborne Mountain Bike Club as an "experienced" cyclist, lost a tire while rounding a curve in Halpatiokee Regional Park and slid into the water, where he landed atop an 8-foot female gator.

The spot where the man fell of his bike and was attacked.  Photo by Charlie Shannon

Charlie Shannon was walking his dog when he encountered the man.  "He was hanging on roots like five feet below," Shannon recalled.  He used his dog's leash as a makeshift tourniquet, which he and others used to lift the man out.  "It was hard to get him out," Shannon said.

The gator, not surprisingly, wasn't happy.  But, according to John Davidson, who trapped the animal, gators can be "extra aggressive" at this time of year.  That might explain the severity of the bites all over the man's leg.

John Davidson, with the gator he captured.

I have seen alligators while cycling in Florida.  I hope I never have an encounter closer than the ones I've had!

He Didn’t Waffle On This Ride!

 Most races and other organized rides are named for the places in which they’re held, sponsors or a person or event commemorated by the ride.

Now, it seems, the name of one California race describes, if unintentionally, its terrain.

On Sunday, Peter Stetina won the men’s Belgian Waffle Ride, which includes single-track, sandy trails and roughly-paved roads near San Diego. That last feature—rough roads— makes me think the Paris-Roubaix race could be named for the beloved snack or breakfast food, depending on your point of view.

(What would a mousse ride look like?  A pizza ride?)

If Peter Stetina’s name looks familiar, you follow bike racing or are about my age.  His father, Dale, and his uncle, Wayne, were part of a generation of cyclists who, during the 1970s, helped to pull the United States out of what Sheldon Brown has called it’s “Dark Ages” of cycling.

It’s fun to imagine that family celebrating—with waffles, of course! 

More From The Fires

 

This morning I rode under more of the haze that blanketed yesterday’s ride.  That’s one reason I limited my saddle time to the morning:  Even before I heard the weather advisory, I knew the air quality wasn’t good.  Also, the forecast included heavy thunderstorms for this afternoon.

That’s the sky I saw at the end of my ride, as I made the turn onto Crescent Street.  Just as I reached my door, I heard the first rumbles of thunder!

Echoes Of Fire

 I have just ridden to Point Lookout, again.  Here, and in other coastal locales, one can ride under overcast skies, or into a misty horizon with no threat of rain.

But today’s haze is something else: smoke from the massive fires that have burned in much of western North America.  

The haze has been the backdrop of my ride, from my apartment 

to the Jamaica Bay Refuge

Rockaway Beach

and here, drawing a curtain just beyond Point Lookout.

Cloud Chase To Connecticut

 Yesterday was, for me, a great day to ride:  A predawn thunderstorm dissipated the heat of the previous few days, and masses of clouds moved across the sky, revealing the sun just long enough to brighten up the ride without bearing down on my melanin-deprived skin.

So I took a ride to Greenwich, Connecticut.  Along the way I felt I was playing hide-and-seek with the sun and clouds.  The clouds caught up at the Greenwich Common, where they retreated behind the Veterans’ Monument—and trees like the ones on the Connecticut state quarter—in full bloom.

Perspective

For many of us, cycling is (among other things) therapeutic.  One reason is that riding helps us to put things into perspective.

From Redbubble

If you can get over the hill, you're not over the hill:  You're a Midlife Cyclist!

From Work To Pleasure On The Island

 On Tuesday, I rode to Connecticut.  Otherwise, it's been a week of local rides, mainly because I've tried to get home before early afternoon, when the heat and humidity is usually worst.

Yesterday fit that pattern.  It also fit another: I rode with a neighbor with whom I hadn't ridden before.  The difference between Kevin, with whom I rode yesterday and Lillian, whom I mentioned in an earlier post, is that she is re-discovering cycling after 40 or so year, whereas Kevin is a lifelong cyclist who raced.

I didn't get a photo of him, and I'll say more about him (and Lillian) in later posts.  I did, however, take some images of a ride that combined the old and the new for me.

The old:  We pedaled along the East River waterfronts of Queens and Brooklyn to the Williamsburg Bridge, which we crossed onto Manhattan.  We continued to the "bottom" of the island, where ferries dock.

 

We took one of the boats I'd never before ridden:  the one to Governors Island.  Being in a place where you're never more than a few hundred meters from the water is, of course, perfect on a hot day.  If and when I go back, I'll pack a picnic lunch and circle the island a couple of times, as Kevin and I did.

I enjoyed riding with him, but I had the same sense of irony, tinged with a bit of guilt, I feel when I ride along Red Hook, Bush Terminal or other parts of the Brooklyn waterfront.  Riding there is, of course, all about pleasure, and if I exert myself, it's an attempt to augment whatever training I might be doing.  During my childhood, and before, some relatives of mine and kids I grew up with worked that waterfront--long, hard hours, most likely without much thought for the beauty of the water or waterfront--or the Manhattan skyline, so close but in another world.

Well, I had the privilege of other folks on the ferry:  We were entering Governor's Island as civilians.    My father didn't have that privilege:  Whenever he went to the island, it was part of his duty as a Coast Guard reservist.  He didn't enjoy it, in part because he was going there to perform repetitive tasks. But, more than anything, it was an inconvenience:  When the island was a military installation, access was limited, as it is on other bases.  What that meant was that only a couple of boats made the trip to and from the island every day, and if you missed the last one, you were stuck.  On the other hand, today the boats make the crossing every 40 minutes starting at 10 am.  

To be fair, my father might've appreciated some landmarks like the Castle or the officers' houses for the history behind them.  But neither he nor anyone else went there to cycle, walk, picnic, camp or do anything for fun or recreation back in the day.

 

I plan to return, as I ride along the Brooklyn waterfront for fun. But the irony of my presence there, or on Governors Island, is not lost on me.

A New Use For A Dutch Bike Lane

 If you’ve ridden with a dynamo-powered light, you’ve converted your pedaling power into electricity.  Some cyclists have also turned their RPMs into amps that ran everything from toasters to tuners.

Now a Dutch province (where else?) is using the bike path itself to generate ecologically sustainable electrical power.

On Wednesday, elementary school students in Maartensdijk, a village near Utrecht, became the first to ride the 330 meter path. Its prefabricated concrete blocks are embedded with solar cells and coated with a transparent layer that allows sunlight to reach the cells as it protects the path. 

Solar bike lane in the Netherlands 

Arne Schaddelee said, “you have to dare to use innovation” to reach goals like the one the Netherlands set for itself: being climate-neutral by 2040.  “And this is very innovative,” the provincial official declared. 

But it’s not innovation for innovation’s sake. “We have a very full province,” he explained.  “For that reason you have to try dual use.”  

His pronouncement could also apply to his country: The Netherlands is one of the world’s most densely populated nations.

Purple Reign On Herkimer Street

Today I took another morning ride to beat the heat.  I had no particular destination:  I crossed the Kosciuszko Bridge into Brooklyn, where I followed the Graffiti Mural Trail (OK, there is no thoroughfare so designated, at least to my knowledge!) through Greenpoint, Williamsburg, Bushwick, and Bedford-Stuyvesant into Ocean Hill, Brownsville, East New York and back into Queens.

I did see some great murals. One, though, stopped me in my Continental tire tracks.

Oh, Prince, Mr. Elegant One, we would welcome any rain, purple or otherwise, on an afternoon as hot as this one has become!

Driver Who Plowed Into Arizona Race Charged, Cyclist Dies

 Today is Bastille Day.  On this date in years past, I have written about two of my favorite topics:  cycling and France.  Today, however, I shall relate a story I wish I didn't have to tell.

Last month, a driver plowed his pickup truck into Masters race that was about to start in Arizona.   Nine cyclists suffered serious injiuries.  On Monday, the family of one, 58-year-old Jeremy Barrett, announced his death.

Jeremy Barrett, R.I.P.

The driver has since been idenitified as 38-year-old Shawn Michael Chock. Turns out, he has a long history of encounters with law enforcement, including DUI charges.  After it was determined that he intentionally drove into the group of cyclists, he was charged with nine counts of aggrevated assault with a deadly weapon.  In addition, he was charged with fleeing the scene of an accident and unlawful flight.

Those charges, however, were brought against him before Barrett passed away. Now his family and friends are calling for additional charges. I am with them:  It's about time that folks like Chock stopped getting away with murder when it comes to cyclists. (I mean, what exactly is someone's intention when he plows into a group of cyclists with his pickup truck?)

It's bad enough when cyclists are killed or injured by intoxicated or simply careless drivers, as happened in Michigan five years ago.  But it's time for folks like Chock to be brought to account for willfully endangering and killing cyclists and pedestrians.

He Wants To Make It A Place Where It Doesn't Happen (Again)

His city has a "denser, older urban core that was laid out before the automobile."  Around it, though, are neighborhoods that were "designed around cars."

That could be a description of many cities, perhaps yours.  But Tanner Thompson was describing Norwalk, Connecticut, where he is the Chairman of the Walk/Bike Commission.  He adds that as cars have gotten bigger and streets have gotten wider, cyclist and pedestrian fatalities have increased across the nation.

Shameka Fisher is relieved that her 15-year-old son did not become one of them--but understandably angry that he could have.  Last month, he was riding along Connecticut Avenue at Taylor Avenue when a Toyota RAV 4 struck him from behind.

  

The boy, who is "recovering nicely," jumped off his bike but collapsed off-camera.  He called his mother, who rushed him to the hospital, where police met them. One officer said they should have remained at the scene of the crash, but, as Ms. Fisher said "the mother in me" caused her to act on reflex, just as her son probably did when he jumped off his bike.

The bicycle ended up under the SUV.  The driver, whom the police are seeking, backed off it and sped away.  Thompson said the hit-and-run is "horrifying" but the Bike/Walk Commission is committed to "making Norwalk a place where this doesn't happen."

That is a goal I can get behind, and I wish Thompson well--and a good recovery for the boy and his mother, who probably is suffering from some degree or another of PTSD.

Making A New Friend As She Rediscovers An Old One

 About a month ago, I snapped up a bike I saw on Craigslist.  The woman from whom I bought it said she'd posted it only a few minutes earlier.  And, given how bike prices have skyrocketed, it was a bargain.

The bike, a Mongoose Switchback from about 20 years ago, wasn't for me.  I picked it up for a neighbor I've gotten to know better since the pandemic started.  

She hadn't ridden a bike "in about 40 years," she said, and wanted to start again. So I figured a bike like that would be a good "starter."

I've taken a few rides with Lillian.  They weren't long treks, but I've enjoyed them.  So has she. It's nice to see someone taking up cycling again.  Somehow I feel that she's rediscovering an old friend, if you will, as I'm making a new one.

How We Began

 I have to admit that there was a time in my life--before my midlife!--when I looked down on anyone on a bike not made of name-brand tubing (Reynolds, Columbus, Vitus, Tange, Ishiwata) and not sporting high-end components.

These days, I am happy to see anyone on a bike, even if it's something I wouldn't have test-ridden when I worked in shops and the person riding looks as if they* hadn't been on a bike since they got a driver's permit. The more who ride, for whatever reason or purpose, the better.

I remind myself that we all started sometime, somewhere, somehow!

Another Way Across?

O Sleepless as the river under thee,
Vaulting the sea, the prairies' dreaming sod,
Unto us lowliest sometime sweep, descend
And of the curveship lend a myth to God.--

                            From  --"To Brooklyn Bridge" by Hart Crane

In this town (New York City), there are some things in-the-know cyclists never, ever do. One of them is to pedal across the Brooklyn Bridge.  Even if it's the Sistene Chapel or Notre Dame of bridges, it's best seen while riding across the Manhatan or Williamsburg Bridges.   

On its upper deck, the Brooklyn Bridge has a wide lane that's off-limits to cars and trucks.  Although that lane is wider than the ones on some of the other bridges, cyclists have to share it with pedestrians, scooters, skaters and all other manner of tourists who might stop dead four feet in front of you to take a "selfie."

I'm not complaining about the tourists:  Many are on once-in-a-lifetime trips to the Big Apple.  I'd just prefer not to dodge them if I'm riding to get to someplace, or even for fun. (Forget training:  You can't keep any kind of a steady pace on the bridge!)

All of that will soon change.  Construction has begun on a protected bike lane in the center of the bridge.  Manhattan-bound drivers will lose one of their lanes for the two-way bike lane.

When completed, it will mark the first reconfiguration of the Bridge, opened in 1883, since the trolley tracks were removed in 1950.

I hope that the lane includes a safe and easy transition to the street.  Too often, I've seen bridge bike lanes that "dump" cyclists into chaotic traffic intersections.

Otherwise, the best option for cycling across the East River, in my opinion, will remain the Williamsburg Bridge, which I take whenever possible. 

Daring Elsa

Yesterday wasn't quite as hot as Wednesday was, but the humidity was even more oppressive.  That's one reason why I took another morning ride which, I hoped, would bring me home before the early afternoon heat.

That part of my "mission," if you will was accomplished, even though I continued in one direction when another would have taken me home for, oh, a couple of hours.  

The weather forecast was dire:  Tropical Storm Elsa was bearing up the East Coast of the United States.  Sometimes I "play chicken" with the rain:  I ride as if I'm daring the rain to start falling on me before I finish my trip.  Yesterday, the stakes were higher:  The rain would cascade from those heavy gray clouds moving across Staten Island and New Jersey on their way to Brooklyn and Queens.  

Those clouds might have moved even faster than the traffic across the Verrazano Narrows:  They don't have to pay the toll on the bridge!

Seriously, though, I reverted to a youthful delusion:  That I could actually hold bad weather at bay becasue, well, I was pedaling.  Even when the sky and the waters of New York Bay all but matched the steel and glass hues of the Manhattan skyline, I was not ready to turn around.  After all, the brownstones and blue-collar brick row houses of Sunset Park hadn't been consumed by the the gray colussus.

On 31st Drive, one block from my Astoria apartment, rain began to fall.  It cascaded into a torrent just as I wheeled Tosca, my Mercian fixed gear, into the door. 

What If He’d Seen This?

 Yesterday morning, I pedaled along the North Shore.  On my way back, I stopped in Fort Totten.  Like many military bases-turned-recreational areas, it sits on some “mighty fine” real estate.  The site makes sense when you get a glimpse of the panoramic views:  Continental troops could have seen Royal Navy ships approaching from a good distance away.

Were they stationed there yesterday, they would have seen mist.  Would enemy warships have veiled themselves in it—and drawn closer than they might have otherwise?

Yesterday the mist portended something odious, if less sinister:  humid heat.  Very humid and hot, in fact—if less so than much of the West Coast last week.

Of course, being a writer and English teacher, I have to ask: What if Jay Gatsby had gazed across the cove and seen mist instead of a green light lover Daisy’s dock?

Now, I could get all pseudo-intellectual on you and blather about how hopers (Is that a word?) and dreamers, and the desperate, see that faint veridescence on the horizon and not the fog that shrouds it.  Too late! Oh well..

At least I had a nice ride—and picked up some fresh Greek yogurt from Kesso  on my way home.

Whatever Is In The Water, She Knows More Biking Leads To Healthier Bodies

Flint, Michigan has become synonymous with its water crisis.  It's emblematic of all sorts of racial and economic divides--as well as governmental corruption--in the United States.  The city, once a kind of "mini Detroit," experienced the de-industrialisation--and resulting-- and resulting economic decline-- of the "Motor City" some 110 kilometers (68 miles) to its southeast. 

So, like many other "Rust Belt" cities large and small, its children and young adults have suffered the same kinds of inequities and truncated possiblities experienced by their peers in cities like Camden, New Jersey as well as neighborhoods like Mott Haven in the Bronx and Brownsville in Brooklyn.  One result is poor health outcomes:  Children in those places suffer from all sorts of diseases, including asthma, obesity and diabetes, that were once provinces of their parents and grandparents.  One reason for that is the lack of exercise:  Their parents or caretakers fear, often with justification, letting them stray much beyond their abodes.  Or, the kids may not have access to spaces or even the most rudimentary equipment that would allow them to not only burn off their often-poor diets, but also some of the stress and trauma of growing up in such places.

Also, in such places, young people grow up with little more than a comic-book knowledge of their cultural history. (Disclosure:  Almost all of my knowlege of the histories and cultures of non-white people has been gained through reading, experience and self-study.)  Knowing who one is, and from whom, what and where one came, is the only way to become a subject and not an object--which is to say a decider and not a victim--in one's own, and in the arc of, history. Which is also to say, the only way to claim and reclaim one's identities.  Trust me, I know a thing or two about that!

So does Angela Stamps.  That is why she founded the Kentakee Athletic & Social Clubs while she lived in Los Angeles.  She chose the name, she said, because she wanted to serve the African American community--
"specifically adolecents," she says--"and to teach them about our history prior to the slave trade." During that time, she also became a bike commuter.

Angela Stamps. Photo by Tom Travis, from the East Village Magazine

She returned to Flint, where she was raised, in 2010 to start educational and athletic programs for underserved youth.  Two years later, that purpose led her to start bicycle programs, including the Berston Bicycle Club.  It's so named because participants, aged 10 to 18, meet in the city's Berston Field House, where they discuss everything from bicycle safety to the best foods to eat while riding.  

The club also offers a bicycle and helmet loaner for participants who don't who don't have them.  Berston also has a nine-week program (the next session starts on the 12th), which includes bike safety and maintenance sessions as well as daily bike trips in all directions on the compass.  Participants aim for a goal of 270 miles (about 420 kilometers) and, upon completing the program, get a new bike, helmet and extras.

And, Ms. Stamps hopes, "healthier bodies."  That is not a minor goal in a place like Flint.

What We Lost With Them

 It’s always tragic when someone loses his or her life in a cycling-related incident. Today I write, not to rant or assign blame.  Rather, I want to talk about a particular dimension of such losses.

Just as people ride bikes for a variety of reasons, cyclists come from nearly social and economic background. Some ride dilapidated machines rescued from dumpsters because they can’t afford to drive or even take mass transit; others pedal to well-paying jobs to stay fit or have some time to themselves, or simply because they enjoy it.  Still others ride just for fun, whatever that means to them.

And, just as some who ride out of necessity because they lack the education or skills (including, in some cases, language), I suspect that people with advanced educations may be more represented among cyclists than in the general population.

They included Allen Hunter II and Swati Tiyagi. Hunter was an Air Force Academy alumnus who earned a PhD in Physics.  After leaving the Air Force, he worked for Los Alamos National Laboratory and a tech company from which he retired. Tyagi, four decades younger than Hunter, was “one of the smartest postdocs I’ve ever had in my lab,” according to Martin Hetzer, Vice President and Chief Science Officer at the Salk Institute.

They were known in the San Diego area’s large scientific community.  And, unfortunately, both were cut down by drivers while cycling on San Diego County Roads.

While Hunter was retired, his contributions in laser development and other areas have proved valuable in and out of the military.  And Tyagi, who had just been promoted to a staff scientist position at Salk, was studying the human genome. “Her work is relevant for cancer, but also aging and neurogenetive diseases,” Hetzer said.

Tyagi and Hunter were both very smart, talented people. Moreover, Hunter’s children and grandchildren are mourning his loss. Likewise, Tyagi’s husband is grieving her—and is now the single father to their 11-month-old son.

Pedals Into Ploughshares In India

Now I'll reveal what a city girl I am:  Until a little while ago, I didn't realize how much farmers the COVID-19 pandemic has affected farmers.  The same things that have caused people in other businesses and professions to lose work and income are causing distress to the growers of our food:  lockdowns, disrupted supply chains and labor shortages. 

It seems that all of those factors have been exacerbated in India.  In contrast to that of nations like the United States where corporate agribusiness dominates, agriculture in India  is still in the hands of family-owned and other small farms. They depend on seasonal migrations of laborers to the countryside. Moreover, many farmers have no Internet access. So they obtain credit, supplies and equipment mainly through face-to-face transactions.

COVID-19 lockdowns disrupted the flow of workers--and closed banks, shops and other businesses. That cut off their credit and their access to all sorts of other necessities.  And,  unlike large farms that own tractors and such, most small farmers in India rent their equipment.  With rental shops closed, Nagaraj and Alex Pandian could not get even basic equipment to till their father's field.

After losing last year's crops, they had no choice but to try again.  "This land is all we have," said Alex.  "We cannot sell it."  They decided to plant Sammangi flowers, used in garlands for temple offerings.  And, to till the fields, Nagaraj appropriated the only piece of machinery in his household:  his 11-year-old son's bicycle.

From the photo, it looks as if the front wheel and fork, cranks and saddle were removed, some sort of device with a blade was attached to the seat post, and the bike was flipped over before a harness was attached to it. 

Dhanacheziyan, who says he "loves to farm," was happy to help.  To help his father, "I hold the press" and his father "pulls the plough." 

I hope that they have a harvest that allows them to make it through this year.  I also wish future prosperity to them--and that Dhanacheziyan can use his bicycle as a bicycle again!

Independence Today!

Happy Fourth!

Today is American Independence Day.  

You might say that on this date last year, I celebrated a kind of  independence:  I took my first ride after the crash that landed me in Westchester Medical Center for a weekend.

Today, I plan to do a somewhat longer ride before meeting friends for a barbecue.

Oh, and it just happens to be my birthday.  I won't reveal my age.  All I'll say is that I'm not about to change the name of this blog.

Enjoy!

Photo by Aimee Ferre

 

A Ride To Modern Art

Say "bicycles" and "modern art," and the first work that comes to most people's minds is Marcel Duchamp's "Bicycle Wheel."  Next might the "bull's head" Pablo Picasso made from a bicycle saddle and handlebars.

Ricardo Brey, "Joy" (2018)

But even when artists aren't creating objects from bike parts or images of bicycles, the forms, motions and technology of two wheels propelled by two pedals have inspired creators for as long as there have been bicycles.  "Almost every one of the Surrealists, Dadaists and Futurists did something with a bike," according to David Platzker.  

Nina Chenel Abney, "Ridin Solo" (2020)

He has curated, in collaboration with Alex Ostroy (of the NYC bicycle clothing line that bears his name) Re: Bicycling, a group exhibition in New York's Susan Inglett Gallery.  Spanning the period from the Industrial Revolution to the present, the show includes more than 20 works and pays homage to, not only the bicycle itself, but its potential for autonomy and freedom.  The artists past and present, according to Platzker, "took it to heart" that the bicycle is "a means of self-powered locomotion."

Ebecho Muslimova, "Fatabe Dirt Unicycle" (2021)

For that reason, he says, "Modernism--and modern art--would never exist without bicycles."

Claes Oldenberg and Coosje Van Bruggen, "Bicycle Ensevelie, Fabrication Model of Pedal and Arm" (1988)

 

Passing, From Old Dominion To The Peach State

'Tis the season.

It seems that many new laws take effect on 1 July.  It may have to do with the fact that in many jurisdictions, the fiscal and legislative years begin on the first of July and run until 30 June.

A few days ago, I mentioned that new cycling-related laws took effect in Virginia on the first.  Turns out, a new set of bicycle safety regulations also commenced on the same day.  Interestingly, one of those mandates is very similar to one that just took effect in the Old Dominion.

As I mentioned in Tuesday's post, Virginia drivers are now required to change lanes when passing cyclists unless the lane is very wide.  Motorists in Georgia now have the same requirement as long as it's safe and legal to chage lanes.  The Peach State added another stipulation:  If it's not safe or legal to change lanes, the driver must slow down to 10 MPH below the speed limit or 25 MPH, whichever is higher.

Furthermore, Georgia drivers must allow three feet between their vehicles and cyclists they pass.  The "three-foot rule," which some other states and jurisdictions have, now applies in all situations when a motorist passes a cyclist. Previously, the "three foot rule" applied only when it was "feasible."

I will repeat the same observation and comment I made on Virginia's law. I haven't cycled in Georgia, but I suspect that riding there has some similiarties with Florida, where I've done a fair amount of cycling. Specifically, I suspect that it's more auto-centric than, say, New York and that in rural and even suburban areas, there might be only one road--a state or county highway--between where someone lives and works or shops.  Sometimes cyclists simply have no choice but to ride alongside two-ton hunks of metal zipping along at 50 MPH.  So, I think the new law is a good idea, as long as it's observed and enforced.

Bilingual Bonehead Busted

I really try not to be a mean, vindictive person.  I know it's wrong to wish harm to other people, but...  

There are some people who really deserve to become candidates for the Darwin Awards. The problem is that instead of removing themselves from the gene pool, they harm others.

I am thinking in particular about the spectator who, with her back to the peloton, stepped into its path while holding a banner of bilingual banality:  "Allez Opi-Omi."  Allez, is of course, a French greeting or wish for good luck, while Opi-Omi is a German term of endearment for grandparents.

The latter part of the sign led authorties to believe that she was German or, perhaps, Alsatian or Swiss.  Turns out, she's a local woman, and the gendarmes took her into custody in Landerneau, where the first stage of this year's Tour de France ended.

About 45 kilometers from the first stage finish line, her stupidity, vanity or egocentricity, depending on how you see her action, resulted in one of the worst crashes in recent Tour history.  Eight riders were involved, and one, Marc Soler finished the stage but abandoned the race after fractures were found in both of his arms.

According to local law in Finistere, northewestern France, the woman could be fined 1500 Euros (about 1800 USD), provided that the crash doesn't cause the riders more than three months of inaction.  She could face stiffer penalties, however, if individual riders take action against her.  Soler says he might try to sue her, and Tour organizers say they're considering that option.  

Whatever comes of their actions, the woman will have few, if any, rivals for sheer thoughtlessness.  One can only hope that she doesn't pass on that trait.

The Need Remains; They Want To Keep On Delivering

Back in February, I wrote about Bicycle Meals and its founder, Mike Pak.

Last year, on a Monday, he put up a flyer on Instagram, calling for help in assembling and distributing packets to the un-housed of Koreatown, the Los Angeles community he calls home.  The following Friday, 20 strangers rolled up to his apartment, ready to help.

Bicycle Meals volunteer getting ready to deliver. Photo by Angel Carreras, from KCRW.

The volunteers included people of varied backgrounds, including graphic designers, audio producers and former chefs.  Most were either working from home or not working at all, so they were able to contribute much time and energy--and, in many cases, their own money (to purchase food and other items).  They assembled packets containing sandwiches, fruit, snacks, masks and hand sanitizer--in the apartments of Pak and Bicycle Meals co-founder Jacob Halpern.

They have since moved the assembly operation to the basement of a nearby church.  Halpern notes that this has made the operation more efficient, but there is another problem:  As pandemic restrictions loosen, many volunteers have returned to their old workplaces and schedules, which doesn't leave them as much time to be, well, volunteers.

The need for their services, however, has not decreased.  Nor is the need for food and supplies.  Local businesses supplied some of them, but much also came from the volunteers themselves.  Some of the businesses can't donate as much as they did at first because they've lost so much revenue, and some of the volunteers are tapped out.  So, Pak and Halpern are hoping to engage more of, and beyond, the community for help--not only with money and material resources, but also help in accessing social services and job placement.

It seems that with all of the changes, Pak and Halpern are still trying to deliver.