Making (S)Trax In The Snow

In 1995, I gave myself a holiday gift of sorts:  a Bontrager Race Lite mountain bike frame.  I just happened to get a really good deal on it and transferred the upgraded parts from my Jamis Dakota. I still had most of the Dakota's original parts, which I re-installed before gifting that bike to someone who was even poorer than I was.

Anyway, just after the New Year, I took the Race Lite on a ride Keith Bontrager, from his base in Santa Cruz, California, may not have envisioned.  One of the biggest snowstorms in the history of New York City dumped about two feet of the white stuff.  A state of emergency was declared, which meant that the only motorized vehicles on the streets were pushing plows or spreading salt.  But, as happens in such storms, the streets filled with snow, it seemed, seconds after they were plowed.  

The Race Lite--or, more precisely, the tires--made tracks along deserted Flatbush Avenue to Prospect Park which turned into, if you'll pardon the cliche, a winter wonderland. I giggled as I twisted, turned and tumbled--sometimes on purpose--into still-pristine beds of snow.

I can remember only a couple of snowstorms to rival that one here in the Big Apple.  So, unless I move to some place where such snowfalls are normal--and where the ground is therefore covered with snow for longer periods of time--I probably won't have use for something I'm about to describe.

The Austrian company FasterBikes has just released the S-Trax Snowbike Conversion Kit.  Included is, not surprisingly, a ski that replaces the front wheel.  It's paired with "crawler" unit that replaces the rear wheel. Not surprisingly, that "crawler" has snowmobile-like lugged rubber track and rollers.  It also has some new "twists":  a mechanical disc brake and an Enviolo Extreme hub-incorporated stepless gear system.  One chain runs from the bicycle's existing crankset to that hub on the drivetrain side, while another chain runs from the hub down to the track on the non-drivetrain side.

In some ways, this setup is similar to another made by Canadian manufacturer Envo.  The main difference is that, unlike the Envo setup, S-Trax doesn't come with a motor.  So, if you don't have an electric mountain bike with a mid-mount motor, you will be propelling your snowbike the way I rode my Race Lite:  on the power of your legs.

Oh, and FasterBikes doesn't recommend using the kit with a carbon-fiber frame 

Clouds And Cuddles

Cold and rain.  Then, cold and wind.  

That is how Fall has been turning into winter.  The clouds' whites and grays, and even the blue that occasionally breaks through them, take on the hardness and clarity of ice. 

Long Island Sound at Fort Totten seems to open itself for the purpose of ferrying away the memories, the flickerings, of autumnal hues and sunsets.

I'm not sure whether Marlee can appreciate such things.  She, however, wonders why I want to go for a ride when it's cold and windy and overcast. She can't understand why I'd want to leave, if only for a while, when she's dozing off in my lap.

I explain that I will return--and the sensory details of my ride make her cuddles all the more comforting.  And, I suspect, my riding makes me more cuddle-able, if only for the body heat a ride generates.

Ride My...

I've got a bike, you can ride it if you like...

Ride my see-saw...

So what would you get if you combined Syd Barrett's and John Lodge's  "invitations?" 

 

His Little Town

 I grew up, first in a large city, then in a town that was large geographically but small in population.  That town would later become, in essence if not in fact, a suburb in the  metropolitan area of the city where I lived until I was on the cusp of puberty

So I guess I can't say what it might've been to grow up  and ride around in  "my little town."  My image of such a childhood is a collage of stills and short clips from old calendars, movies and TV shows like "Andy Griffith."  I can see a kid riding past wooden houses with yards where clothes flapped in the breeze on my way to a store to pick up a loaf of bread for my mother and some penny candies for myself.  Or to the library, to return an overdue book and pay the four-cent fine.  Then, past some more houses, barns and fields and on to another store, where the kid in my mind's eye would stop for a bag of potato chips and a bottle of Coke before rolling down to a park.

That's more or less a sketch of the ride William T. Hamilton Jr took in Hopkinton, Massachusetts--"circa 1950."  I wonder whether his account of the ride came from a diary he kept as a kid--or whether he's recalling it seven decades later.  Either way, his recall of details is amazing.

You just have to love anyone--whether a kid, adolescent or adult--who can end the story of his ride with this:  "I take a left onto College Rock Road and go to College Rock to enjoy my chips and Coke. Then it's back on the bike for the 3 mile ride home--most of it uphill."

Trash Bins Blocking Our Way

If it's happening in New York, it's happening (or has happened) in Portland.  At least, that's how it is in the world of cycling.

Even in that Bike-o-topia on the Pacific, some folks aren't above using bike lanes for parking, picking up or dropping off passengers or dumping debris.  Some folks who do such things are careless or thoughtless.  But in the Rosebud City, as in my hometown, some acts of bike lane blockage are pure malice.

I'm thinking now of something Jonathan Maus, the editor and publisher of Bike Portland, pointed out in the latest issue: trash cans blocking bike lanes.

I'm not talking about the stray bin a storm blows into our paths.  Rather, I'm referring to folks who lay multiple receptacles across or along the lane.  If you're riding in the dark or in the rain, it's easy to miss them. And if you're riding in a lane, but in the opposite direction from auto traffic (as I do when I pedal north on the Crescent Street lane that passes in front of my building)--and something is also blocking the sidewalk, as is often the case--you have to thread an extremely thin line between the lane and the traffic that's coming at you.

One of Maus's readers reported that workers who work for her building's management company were among the guilty. When she brought the issue to their attention, her concerns were "repeatedly dismissed." 

Then a car struck the bins.  She emailed the Oregon Department of Transportation, which manages the section of lane in question, and the Portland Bureau of Planning & Sustainability, who are in charge of waste and recycling.  "I shudder to think what would have happened had a cyclist approached this sudden wall of cans in the dark rainy weather and darted into traffic to avoid them," she wrote.

A day later, a PBS staffer responded.  The staffer said they contacted the building's management, who said the bins would be placed upright on the sidewalk, and out of the lane.  

As Maus points out, the city should handle such matters automatically "through a mix of marketing, educating, design and enforcement."  But, until that happens, the burden will be on us--whether we're in Portland, New York or anywhere else--to file complaints.

If You Throw Your Bicycle…

 Don’t.  Just don’t.

That’s what I say to throwing your bicycle.  Even if it’s a Huffy or some other department-store special.  Even if you’re really, really angry about something—or at someone.

My advice, however, might not have swayed Mohammad Noor Iszuan Noordin. I can understand how having a name like that—and having to say, spell or write it—can frustrate somebody. Still, it’s not the reason why he tossed a 25 kilogram (55 pound) bike from a 14th story window in Singapore nearly two years ago.

So what motivated him to fling his yellow tank on wheels (It was indeed a bicycle, not an ebike!) into the urban horizon?

An argument with his wife. 

Now, I grant you that if one must take out one’s frustrations, it’s better done on an inanimate object than an intimate partner. (Trust me, I know:  I’ve been on the receiving end of such an attack!) Still, I’d rather that a bicycle flies (if only metaphorically) with a person aboard than turns into a potentially-deadly projectile.

So, what was the subject of the argument that drove Mr. Noordin to send his bike plummeting to a Singapore sidewalk?  Something that would have altered the course of their lives together:  the attire for their upcoming wedding reception.

Marriages have ended, or been cancelled, over less.  Still, the couple wed. If nothing else, it grants visitation rights: Earlier today, he was sentenced to a month in jail for “committing a rash act endangering the personal safety of others.”

The prosecutor sought a longer sentence. While conceding that Mr. Noordin has “borderline intellectual functioning,” she noted that he hadn’t checked for passerby when he heaved the hulking machine.  But defense lawyer Anand Nalanchandran used that fact to argue that Noordin tossing the bike was “an emotional reaction “ and that had he looked for passerby, things could have been worse.

So is the moral of this story that if you throw your bike out a window, be sure not to check for anyone who might be unlucky enough to walk by?

Connections In (And To) The CIty Of Brotherly Love

 If you've been reading this blog for a while, you know that some of my pet peeves include New York's, and other US cities', follies in creating "bicycle infrastructure."  Often, it seems that those who conceive, plan, design and build bike lanes and other facilities haven't been on a bicycle since they got their driver's licenses, or at all.  

Evidence that I am not engaging in conspiracy theories or am simply a chronic complainer can be seen in the routing of bike lanes.  Too often, they put cyclists in more danger than they'd face while riding in traffic. They force cyclists to cross intersections where drivers--sometimes of buses and trucks--are making right turns in front of them.  Or they are simply poorly marked and maintained.

One of the hazards, which seems like a mere inconvenience to anybody who doesn't cycle, is the way some lanes begin or end seemingly out of the blue:  what I call the bike lanes from nowhere to nowhere.  When such a lane begins or ends abruptly--in some cases, in mid-block--motorists and cyclists alike are caught unawares, which probably does more than anything else to increase chances of a tragic encounter.

Those lanes from "nowhere to nowhere" also help to foster the attitude among non-cyclists that we're a bunch of entitled whiners engaging in a frivolous recreational activity.  While I do ride for recreation (or, more precisely, physical and mental health), I also ride for transportation.  So do many other riders in this city, and others:  They go to work or school,  visit friends and family members as well as museums and other venues, or the store, on their bikes.  Some might go a few blocks, but others--like me--venture beyond our neighborhoods and even our cities.

It must be said that I have been cycling for most of my life and in this city for about four decades.  I rode to school and work when none of my peers did; I pedaled through neighborhoods and towns when I was the only adult cyclist most residents had seen.  So, for me, the absence or presence of cycling "infrastructure" won't affect my decisions to ride or not.  

But, for a prospective, new or less-experienced cyclist, it might.  They might decide to pedal to their classrooms, workplaces or any other place they want or need to frequent if they felt there was a coherent system of bike lanes or other routes that could take them safely for all or much of their trip.  Not only would such a system allow them to ride with fewer worries about traffic, it would make navigating a route easier.

The Schuylkill River Trail

The Bicycle Coalition of Greater Philadelphia seems to understand as much.  That is why they have been working with the city's Circuit Trails network to fill in the "gaps" between some of the lanes within the City of Brotherly Love--and the communities surrounding it.  The stated goals of the program are 500 miles of trails by 2025 that will be--and this, to me, is the more important goal--that will be part of an integrated system.

Such a network, I believe, might entice some people who live in nearby suburbs--including a few, like Cherry Hill, across the Delaware river in New Jersey--to commute or take pleasure trips into the city by bicycle.  

This Veteran Was A True Hero

 The more I am opposed to war, the more respect I have for veterans.

As counterintuitive as it may seem, my opposition to war is exactly the reason why I believe that veterans—especially if they have been in combat—should never want for anything.

That said, I don’t think that the uniform is a halo.  As much as I respect military service, I’m not naive enough to believe that all former service members are heroes in civilian life.  And I don’t think that said service should be a “get out of jail free card.”

Which brings me to Paul Whelan.  I feel for his family, who are about to spend another holiday without him. On the other hand, I think that false equivalencies have been made, and blame has been misplaced, since Britany Griner has returned home while he’s still incarcerated in Russia.

The Trumpists are blaming Biden.  Truth is, Mango Mussolini didn’t do a damned thing to help Whelan, who was arrested four years ago. And, although I’d like to see Whelan returned home, he’s not quite the hero Fox News and other right-wingers have made him in light of his military service—from which he was less-than-honorably discharged.

On the other hand, Steve Pringle was a hero. The Army Veteran started Build A Bicycle-Bicycle Therapy on Michigan’s Upper Peninsula.  The shop’s name reflects Pringle’s purpose or, more precisely, mission: He wanted to help veterans who, like him, had trouble re-integrated into civilian life.  It grew to include programs for rehabilitated prisoners, people with disabilities and others who have trouble finding employment.  

Steve Pringle gives a bike to Kadence Horton of Iron Mountain, Michigan.  Photo by Ryan Gorza, Detroit Free Press.

Money was never his motivation, he said.  That is why he often offered steep discounts and gave bikes away.  His work would range beyond his home base:  He was delivering bikes in Florida, where he operated another shop like his “home “ shop in Michigan, to children and families whose lives were upended by Hurricane Ian.

In a terrible irony, he became another victim of that storm. He drove the bike-laden truck into an intersection, where another vehicle struck with such force that the truck reportedly hit a pole and rolled over.

That intersection didn’t have a “Stop” sign:  Ian’s winds blew it away.

Paul Whelan’s military service didn’t make him a hero. Nor did Steve Pringle’s.  But Pringle became a hero to many who died in the service of the people who have the most reason to revere him.

A Ride Into Winter

I saw winter coming in this weekend.

I think I rode into it the other day.

That is not a complaint.  In fact, I enjoyed my ride to Point Lookout because there wasn't much traffic, even on the main thoroughfares.  And the boardwalks along the Rockaways and Long Beach were all but deserted.  Ironically, there were more surfers than dog-walkers or strolling couples.

Temperatures dropped steadily from Thursday onward.  On Saturday, the light and air changed, within an hour--about the time it took me to get to Rockaway Beach, riding into the wind, with a potty stop--from nippy late-fall to steely cold.  By the time I got to Point Lookout, the sky turned into a veil against the sun's warmth and radiance.

As much as I like the sun, I enjoy cycling to the shore under a sea of clouds.  Sunny days bring people out; chilly, overcast days when the ocean pours itself in brings me to myself and to those with whom I am close, whether or not they are present.

Also, I feel a kinship with the folks who are out walking, cycling or surfing--or just out--on a day like the one that took me on a ride from the end of wall to the beginning of winter. 

How Do The "Helpers" Get To Their Jobs?

The first time a curious toddler wonders why four people in red suits and white beards are on the same block, the parent (or whatever adult is accompanying the kid) might explain it this way:  "They're Santa's helpers."

Now, when Santa is shown on his sled towed by eight reindeer, we never see the "helpers."  Even though I stopped believing in Santa Claus, probably, the day I saw four (one of whom was Black) on the same block of 18th Avenue in Brooklyn, I still wonder how those "helpers" get around.

A Race, A Marathon, A Derby: Georgia, 1949-50

What was an American bike race like in 1949 or 1950?

One could be forgiven for thinking such a thing never happened.  Sheldon Brown has referred to the two decades or so after World War II as the "Dark Ages" of American cycling.  Schwinn was the only US manufacturer with even a pretense of quality. High-quality, high-performance bikes were difficult to obtain:  One either had to special-order them from abroad or be a member of one of the small, close-knit clusters of cyclists in Boston, New York and a few other cities where small-time custom builders did their work.  

Outside of those communities of folks who rode in Central, Fairmount and other urban parks, few American adults rode bicycles.  The moment a teenager got a driver's license--sometimes sooner--his or her bicycle was discarded or passed on to a younger sibling.  Knowing that provides context for the story I'm about to relate.

On 12 May 1949, this headline appeared in the Bulloch (Georgia) Herald:  "Bill Hollingsworth Wins Bike Race."  The accompanying article reported that he "pedaled the 10-mile course from Brooklet to Statesboro in 27 and 1/2 minutes to average more than 20 miles an hour. Forty-five seconds later Buck Barton (ed: Does that sound like a Southerner's name, or what?) rode in for second place."

The article continued by listing the other finishers and mentioning this:   "The winner was presented with a new bicycle by John Denmark of the Denmark Candy Company."

If you are beginning to suspect something about the contestants, it will be confirmed by the announcement of the following year's edition of the race.  No, there wasn't doping.  The riders were actually notable, yet typical for that time because, as the 9 March 1950 issue of the Bulloch Times and Statesboro and Statesboro News announced, "boys living near Pembroke can get their entries from the Pembroke Journal."

The race, organized by the Statesboro Recreation Department, was "open to all boys who are not at least 13 years old."  Once again, the first prize was a new bicycle--"super deluxe"--to which the Statesboro Elks Club added a $25 cash prize.  They went to the previous year's runner-up, Buck Barton who "pedaled 24 miles in 78 minutes in a driving rain."

In a role-reversal, the previous year's winner was the runner-up, Bill Hollingsworth.  For his efforts, he received "a baseball glove, cap and ball given by the sponsor and a swell Bronson rod and reel given by Watson Sporting Goods."

Somehow I don't think the Statesboro Bike Derby looked like this.  Photo by Martin Young.

In addition to the ages of the riders and the prizes, something else about the coverage of the races stands out to me:  It was referred to, interchangeably, as a "race," "derby" and "marathon."  I guess anybody who rode more than a mile or two was riding a "marathon," and any sort of contest could be called a "derby."

I don't know whether the race, derby or marathon was held after 1950.  The following year, Jackie Simes and Jack Heid pedaled a Schwinn Paramount tandem (believed to be the first one ever made) to victory in a tandem race through Johnson Park in New Brunswick, New Jersey.  It would be the last professional race in the US for nearly a quarter-century.

What were the prizes in that race? I'm confident that they didn't include a baseball glove, a "swell" rod and reel or a "super deluxe" bicycle.

They Didn't Try This At Home

When I came across this image, I thought it was a joke or someone's attempt to create "art." 

Turns out, it had an illustrative purpose.  Apparently, in Baldwin Park, California, it is illegal to ride a bicycle in a swimming pool.

Note that I used the present tense: "it is illegal."  Yes, that law is on the books, though it's (thankfully) not enforced and no one is sure of whether it ever has been.

From what info I've gleaned, the law against riding on or in was passed in the 1970s, when BMX cycling and skateboarding were popular, mainly among adolescent and young adult males.  The real purpose of the law, I think, was not to keep kids from pedaling in their families' backyard swimming pools.  No self-respecting teenaged boy in California (or most other places) would have done such a thing.  Rather, I suspect that the law was passed in response to complaints after those young rebels broke or cut into fences surrounding larger pools.  

But the young and restless weren't looking to turn their bikes into amphibious vehicles or their skateboards into water-skis. Instead, they broke in during the fall and winter, when those pools were drained and became, in effect, rinks. So, as often as not, the owners of the properties didn't discover the "crime" until weeks, or even months, after it was committed.

I strongly suspect that at least some of California's current law-makers and -enforcers broke that law at some time in their youth.  And that is the reason why the law hasn't been repealed:  Part of the fun of being an adolescent is rebelling against something (or, at least, feeling as if you are) and getting away with it.  So, while living in such a mindset, what could be better than breaking a law and knowing that you most likely will get away with it.  And what loving parent wants to deny their kid that pleasure?

I Hope Santa Doesn't Leave Coal In My DeFeet Socks

Am I so influential as a blogger that I now have a curse or jinx?

Or is my internalized Catholic Guilt kicking in?

The other day, I wrote about Anthony Hoyte, a.k.a. the Pedaling Picasso, whose rides have been making images of Santa Claus, Frosty the Snowman and other Christmas-related motifs on Strava.

Well, Santa and his reindeer aren't bringing good tidings or shiny new bicycles to some folks who work for the company that gave us the app 100 million cyclists, runners and other athletes use to record and share their rides and workouts.  

The company got caught in the crosshairs, if you will.  The COVID-19-induced surge in demand for bicycles, tech products and services and all things related to both has cooled off.  Also, three years after the pandemic began both industries have been plagued with supply-chain issues and some of the sharks have swallowed the guppies--or, as the business media likes to say, there have been "consolidations."

It's not clear as to which forces, specifically, have led Strava to laying off 40 employees, or about 15 percent of its workforce.  But, being both a bike- and tech-related company right now is, I guess, a bit like being a real-estate and finance company in 2008.

If I jinxed or cursed those now-former Strava employees, I am really, really sorry.  I hope Santa doesn't leave coal in my DeFeet wool socks--though, I imagine, it's difficult to leave some of the sustainable energy sources.  I mean, even though I have pretty big feet, a wind turbine--even a teensy weensy one--probably won't fit!

Did They Blow Up The Bike Lane?

Eighty-one years ago today, Japanese forces attacked Pearl Harbor.  

Most histories record it as a "surprise" attack.  That it probably was to most people, though various accounts claim that military intelligence officers, diplomats and, possibly, FDR himself, ignored warning signs.  Whatever the truth is, the attack drew the US into World War II.

On that day, about 2400 military service members died.  I grew up seeing commemorations, some of which included survivors of the attack, in part because one of my uncles was an American Legion post commander.  Until fairly recently, I saw many more observances:  Queens County, where I live, had (and, possibly, still has) one of the largest populations of veterans in the US.  

During the past few years, I've heard little, if anything, about the attack.  There aren't many Pearl Harbor veterans left, and the youngest would be about 98 years old.  And, understandably, those who served in later wars don't have quite the same connection to Pearl harbor or World War II.

I understand that it's possible to cycle to Pearl Harbor on a designated bicycle and pedestrian lane.  If I ever go to Hawaii (something I have never had any inclination to do), I'm sure I'll check it out.  Yelp reviews of the lane are mixed.  More precisely, they seem to range according to whether the reviewer is a resident or tourist.  And they seem to be cyclical:  Sometimes people rave about the ocean views and the fact that it's flat; other times they lament that the path looks and feels as if it subject to the attack 81 years ago--and hasn't been fixed since.  

Should The Pedaling Picasso Become A Planner?

Who is an artist?

More specifically, what makes an artist an artist?

OK, I know that you (some of you, anyway) don't come to this blog for answers to questions like those.  Greater minds than mine can't come up with them, so I won't try to formulate any on this blog, let alone in this post.

There are, however, cyclists who make, if not objets d'art, then at least conceptual creations when they ride.  

Anthony Hoyte, a.k.a. The Pedaling Picasso, created this Strava image of Pere Noel in and around Paris.  While pedaling 109.7 miles over 13 hours and 19 minutes does not yield an impressive average speed, you have to remember that works of art, great or not, take time.  In Hoyte's case, he probably spent much of that time simply navigating his route.

Likewise, his GPS must have worked overtime as he pedaled sketches of Frosty the Snowman, a reindeer, Santa's head and the words "Merry Christmas in and around London and Birmingham.

If he could make street-level route maps of those images, they would be more useful than some of the "bicycle infrastructure" built lately:

I mean, what is the point of a "roundabout" in a bike lane? An intersection with signal lights synchronized so that cyclists cross before the traffic would be infinitely  more practical--and safer. 

A true artist would know better, I think.

Voyage En Rose

 In  2000, I did a bike tour through the Pyrenees, from France into Spain and back.  I started in Toulouse, where I spent four days.  To this day, it's one of my favorite large cities.  The people are friendly and it has all of the other things to love about French cities and towns:  great food, beautiful public spaces and interesting art.  But the thing that leaves me with a warm glow (please indulge me in this analogy/pun) is the light at the end of the day.  So much of the city softly blazes as the sun sets among brick buildings.  For that, Toulouse is often called la ville rose.

So why did I think about that while riding yesterday?  (Well, why wouldn't I?)  As we near the winter solstice, the days are growing shorter.  So any given ride has a greater chance of ending, or even continuing, into the sunset, under twilight.  After riding to the Rockaways and Coney Island, I passed through Clinton Hill--a neighborhood just east of the Brooklyn Academy of Music and Atlantic Center.  

The area is probably best known for its old stone churches, brownstones and the Pratt Institute.  Nestled among them is a smaller but well-respected university:  St. Joseph's.  As a longtime presence, it--not surprisingly--shares the neighborhood's architectural and other visual delights.  

Those buildings, on Clinton Avenue, are adjacent to St. Joseph's and share many characteristics with its other buildings.  They are not, however, part of the university.  The exteriors have been almost unchanged since they were built in 1905, in part because the block is one of the city's first designated historic districts.

Whoever lives in those buildings comes home to a maison rose at the end of the day.  That might be reason enough to live in them, as so many other parts of this city have less rose and look more and more like they're built with neutral-tone Lego blocks. 

The Authority Of This Blog

 We've all heard the expression, "Don't believe everything you read."

Well, you can ignore it when you read this blog.  Really, you can believe everything you read here.  Here's why:

Will There Be Another Bicycle Man--Or Woman--In Fayetteville?

I don't know at what moment, exactly, I stopped believing in Santa Claus.  I'm guessing that it came when I was about four or five years old and I saw four "Santa Clause"s on the same block of 18th Avenue in Brooklyn.

If my belief held on beyond that moment, it probably would have ended when I realized that Santa Claus would've been centuries old.  At least, he would have been the  Santa who piloted a reindeer-drawn sleigh across the sky and descended chimneys for kids like me was the same one that did those things for my parents, grandparents and other kids who came before them.

On a more serious note, it's hard not to wonder how many programs ,especially the informal ones, that distribute bikes and other things to needy kids survive beyond their founders or volunteers.

Moses Mathis, the Bicycle Man, with a kid whose Christmas he brightened.

That question entered my mind when I saw a news story about such a scheme--one that I'd mentioned in a post five years ago. One day, Moses Mathis asked a little boy in his Fayetteville, North Carolina neighborhood what he got for Christmas. "A raggedy old bicycle," he said.

"Bring it up here and we will fix it."

Word got around and other kids came by. The next thing he knew, the Mathis' garage was full of bikes. 

That's when the idea of a bike giveaway came to Moses. So, thirty-two years ago, Moses Mathis began a beloved holiday tradition  that earned him the moniker "The Bicycle Man." A few days before Christmas, he allowed kids to choose from among the bikes he'd fixed--without any adult, besides him, present.  He continued this holiday ritual every year until he died in 2013.  Ann, his widow, kept her promise to continue his legacy until she couldn't.

Ann Mathis, in blue top and black jacket, with some of "her" kids.

Well, that day has come.  She has announced that this year's bike giveaway will be the last.  When she started working alongside Moses, she was "a young girl," she explained.  "I'm old now."  After many years of service to her community, she wants to spend more time with her children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren.

The last day for donations will be the 15th of this month, and kids will be allowed to choose their bikes and helmets on the 17th.  

Will there be another "Bicycle Man" or "Bicycle Woman"--the local version of Santa Claus for three decades--in Fayetteville, North Carolina?

You'll Never Believe Where She Got This Ticket

A decade ago, a driver upbraided me for not riding in a bike lane.  None was present along the avenue where we encountered each other.  I pointed out that out to her. Still, she insisted, I should have been riding in the lane (where nothing but a line of paint separated cyclists from motorists) on a nearby avenue which parallels the one I was riding.

I politely told her I was going someplace on the avenue where we crossed paths. (Pun intended.) "Would you drive along a street that doesn't take you where you want to go?"

She then launched into a lecture about how riding on the path is safer than riding on the street, which revealed that she wasn't a cyclist.  Her claim that she had to go somewhere at that moment revealed that she'd lost the argument.

The reason why that exchange stays with me is that it revealed one of the many misconceptions that guide, not only everyday motorists, but too many planners and policy-makers.

Even in that supposed cycling Nirvana of Portland, Oregon.

On Monday, a police officer pulled over and cited a woman for not riding her bike in a lane.  To be fair, the law she, a daily bike commuter, violated was not specific to the city but, rather, an Oregon state law. ORS 814.420 states that "a person commits the offense of failure to use a bicycle lane or path if the person operates a bicycle on any portion of a roadway that is not a bicycle lane or bicycle path when a bicycle lane or bicycle path is adjacent to or near the roadway."

Photo by Jonathan Maus, Bike Portland

When folks like me don't use the bicycle lanes--including the one that runs right in front of the building where I live--we are accused of being "reckless," "entitled" or worse.  Truth is, sometimes it's more dangerous to ride in the bicycle than in a traffic lane.  Too often, drivers park or pass, or pick up or discharge passengers, in bike lanes.  I've even seen cops munching on their donuts or sandwiches in the cruise cars they parked in a bike lane.

If I am headed northbound on the Crescent Street lane, I am riding against the direction of vehicular traffic. (Crescent is a one-way southbound street.)  If a car, van or truck pulls into the bike lane, for whatever reason, I have two choices. One is to detour onto the sidewalk.  That option, however, is negated when the vehicle in question is from a contractor or utility company and construction or repair work on a building or power line obstructs the sidewalk.  Such a situation leaves one other option:  to veer into the edge of a lane where the traffic is going in the opposite direction.

Also, I've ridden along too many lanes that make it more dangerous for a cyclist to cross an intersection than crossing from a traffic lane would.  To make matters worse, some folks like to end their evening revelries by smashing their booze bottles, or dumping other debris, onto the lane.  And some lanes are hazardous simply because they're poorly constructed or maintained.

As I have never been in Portland, I don't know about the bike lane the ticketed woman was "supposed" to ride.  But, because she has commuted by bicycle on that same route for eight years, I don't doubt that she has encountered some or all of the hazards I have described, and possibly others.  If only the police in Portland--that supposed Mecca for cyclists--and Oregon lawmakers understood what that woman, or I, encounter regularly, they might finally understand that simply building a bike lane is not enough to ensure the safety of cyclists--or motorists.

Bike Banks: A Solution To A "Hidden Poverty?"

I haven't been to the Netherlands in a while.  So my firsthand memories of it aren't as clear as they are of countries I've seen more recently. But an impression I formed during my time there has been reinforced in all sorts of ways:  It is a country of contradictions and paradoxes.  You can see it in the art:  Few countries can claim as many renowned artists, in proportion to its population. Those artists include Rembrandt and Mondrian; Vermeer and Van Gogh (though the French love to claim Vincent as their own, as he lived and did his best work in Arles).  

Another paradox is that it's the country that, some historians and economists argue, created modern capitalism--or, at any rate, exported it to the world. Yet it was one of the first nations to institute a comprehensive--or, if you like, socialist-- safety net for all of its citizens.  

That system, which includes single-payer healthcare, is one reason why Dutch society isn't as socially stratified as the US.  While there are some very rich people, few (if any) approach the level of affluence seen in the wealthiest Americans, Russians or the economic elite in other countries.  Yet, there is still a stigma attached to a particular kind of poverty or hardship: the kind in which parents have difficulty providing for their children.  Even in a time or near-record inflation, including energy costs that have doubled, people are expected to "just shut up and get a job and don't complain," as one person put it. 

Some Dutch people and families, like their counterparts in other countries, have to make difficult choices.  So one of the things that might be sacrificed is--even in nation where it's said, only half-jokingly, kids learn how to pedal before they learn how to talk--a bike for a kid. Not having a bike, for a young person, can result in taunts and bullying--and make a commute to school even longer and more arduous.

That is where Dutch "bike banks" come in. Think of them as a cross between a program like Recycle-A-Bicycle and a food bank.  They Royal Dutch Touring Club ANWB has created a scheme in which volunteers train people, including teenagers who have dropped out of schools, to make second-hand and discarded bikes ride-worthy.  Those bikes are then distributed to kids in need.  

The biggest problem is that even in the Netherlands, where bikes outnumber humans at roughly the same ratio that guns outnumber people in the USA, there aren't enough bikes to meet the demand. One bike bank in Amsterdam has received 1200 applications for 400 bikes.

The "bike banks," some of which are found in low-income neighborhoods of cities like Amsterdam and the Hague, not only spare kids from taunting and parents from shame.  Bicycles are ingrained in Dutch life in ways that few Americans can understand. "In Holland, you need a bicycle to join in," said Inge Veliscek of ANWB.  A bicycle is necessary "to go to your football, or to your friends or the school of your choice," she explained.  

Photo by Anna Holligan for the BBC.

As an example, a girl named Sanna picked up a sky-blue cruiser. "It's pretty," she exclaimed.  But even more important, according to her mother, it will allow her to ride to a better school in a better neighborhood. Knowing that, it's easy to imagine that having a reliable bicycle can result in a better job or living situation--or to have a job at all if paying transit fares every day is too much of a strain on the budget.

A bike "makes your world bigger," Ms. Veliscek said.  Not having one is a "hidden poverty."

Perhaps understanding that last phrase is key to creating, not only a bike culture that does more than fetishize accessories, but a transportation system in which bicycles are a key component.  Such an endeavor seems anathematic to "law and order" American politicians, but completely logical  to the Dutch, who prize order as much as anyone in the world.

Why Bike Theft Should Be Taken More Seriously

Perhaps it should surprise no one that in New York and other American cities, bicycle theft isn't a high-priority crime for police departments.  If your bike is stolen, you probably won't see it again and the cops will tell you there's "nothing" they can do.  And they might give you a lecture in which they tell you to do the things you'd already been doing.

Depressingly, that is the case in other cities throughout the world.  A case in point is London.  According to a report the BBC cited, about 18,000 thefts were recorded in the city between November 2021 and October 2022. Only 206 resulted in a charge or caution, the latter of which is the British justice system's of saying, "You've been caught; don't do it again."

The BBC news item offered an interesting analysis of the situation.  According to experts, the report goes, many stolen bikes end up on auction sites and those sites should be doing more to stop it.  The report also calls bike theft an "entry level crime," that often leads to bigger crimes.  I wonder whether that separates London bike theft from its counterparts in American cities, which tends to be a crime of opportunity or done by professional thieves.

But aside from losing bikes and contributing to overall lawlessness, bike theft has another undesirable effect. According to Tom Bogdanowicz, a senior policy officer at the London Cycling Campaign, about a quarter of all bike theft victims never cycle again.  This, he said, is "not good for the city" because "if there's less cycling, then there are more emissions from cars, more congestion and people's health isn't improving."  Moreover, he said that while building bicycle infrastructure encourages cycling, if people have their bikes stolen, then you lose customers."

Then, of course, motorists will complain that "their" traffic lanes were "taken away" for bike lanes that "nobody uses."

Thus, not taking bike theft seriously adversely affects public health and exacerbates the already-adversarial relationship that too often exists between motorists and cyclists.  None of that can be good for anybody, I think.