In the middle of the journey of my life, I am--as always--a woman on a bike. Although I do not know where this road will lead, the way is not lost, for I have arrived here. And I am on my bicycle, again.
When I wrote for a newspaper, a cop told me that he and other officers catch many criminals because they trip themselves up. One common way, he told me, is that the perps try to commit the same crime again. This is particularly true, he said, of thieves.
Such was the fate of a would-be two-time bike thief in University Circle, Ohio. A man caught him in the act of trying to steal his girlfriend’s bike.
The crook was on a bike: the one he stole from the man a month earlier. He was arrested and oh, by the way, had a warrant for his arrest—for yet another theft case.
The 12th of February. When I was in elementary school, this day was a holiday, in honor of Abraham Lincoln’s birthday.
Less commonly known, at least in the US, is that he shares a birthdate—in 1809–with someone who changed the course of history, if in a different way.
I am talking about Charles Darwin.
Now that I think of it, they have more in common than having been born on the same day. Darwin’s theory explains how life forms adapt and change in response to their conditions. Lincoln’s work was both a cause and effect of the ways in which his country was changing and in which human minds and spirits were changing, and still must change.
So, perhaps, we could say that while Darwin gave us the theory of physical evolution, Lincoln understood and worked for mental and spiritual evolution.
I would love for this date to be celebrated as Lincoln’s birthday. And I dare Texas, Florida or any other state—or this country—to commemorate Darwin on this day!
A San Jose automotive shop owner’s appearance in court has confirmed something many of us have long suspected.
From April 2020 until April 2021, a series of residential burglaries in SanFrancisco targeted bicycles costing between $3000 and $9000. Those machines were brought to Victorio Romero’s shop, where they were photographed and disassembled before they were sent to a co-conspirator in Jalisco, Mexico.
That co-conspirator re-assembled the bikes and used a virtual private network (VPN) to ensure that only people in Mexico could see his Facebook advertisements.
According to accounts the co-conspirator kept —from which Romero took a share of the profits—the bikes sold, on average, for $1000.
Romero has been charged with one count of conspiracy to transport goods in foreign commerce, which carries a maximum sentence of five years in prison. In addition, he been charged with two counts of transportation of stolen goods in foreign commerce. Each of those charges carries a maximum sentence of ten years.
So, Romero faces up to 25 years in prison. The court may also order him to pay a fine and restitution. Once he is released, the court could also order an additional term of supervised release.
He has been released on bond to reappear in court on 10 April.
We’ve all seen sprockets and other small bike parts turned into pendants and charms that dangle from necklaces and bracelets made from bike cables and chains.
Some components, however, better lend themselves to what people in India call “jugaad:” creating a unique solution to a day-to-day problem. You probably have have used blown-out inner tubes to tie things down—in essence, turned them into hookless bungee cords. And Pedro’s turned trashed tubes into “Blowout” tool bags and other bike accessories and tools.
Now a video of a man using a major bicycle component as a piece of furniture is making the rounds. I’m not talking about the Brooks saddles turned into bar stools that had a moment about 15 years ago. Rather, the man—considerably less bourgie, it seems, than anyone who would’ve bought one of those bar stools—is using a major part of a bicycle as a major home furnishing.
I have to say that man certainly has ingenuity. Not only did he turn (pun intended) a bicycle wheel into a rotating table. He is exploiting its qualities In service of the particular qualities of an Indian meal. Small bowls and plates containing dal, sabzi, curry, chilies and other foods and spices are balanced on the spokes.
Because the wheel is balanced on an axle, he can rotate the table and not have to leave his seat or stretch across the table to reach any of those plates or bowls. I would guess that he left the tire on the wheel because it’s easier to grip and turn than the metal rim.
I would love to see something like that the next time I go to an Indian restaurant. I wonder whether the man realizes there is a market for his innovations. Who knows: Maybe he’ll make enough money to buy his next table at Sotheby’s!
Once again, I will invoke my Howard Cosell rule to write about something that doesn't directly relate to bicycles or bicycling.
At least this time, I am invoking that rule to commemorate a joyous occasion.
On this date in 1964, four young "lads from Liverpool" stepped off a Pan Am flight in a recently-renamed airport. In a scene that couldn't be replicated today, millions of young people thronged the terminal and spilled onto the tarmac. (Post-9/11 security measures would not allow such a thing.) According to witnesses, those youngsters--mainly girls--squealed and cheered so loudly that one couldn't hear planes taking off.
Some argue that "fangirls" and, to a lesser extent, "fanboys" were born that day. Whether or not that was true, it's hard to imagine such a raucous reception for any other group or performer.
I am talking, of course, about the Beatles. The airport where they first set foot on American soil was formerly known as Idlewild but had recently been re-christened as John F. Kennedy International Airport.
The timing of John, Paul, George and Ringo could hardly have been more fortuitous. Just two months and two weeks earlier, JFK was gunned down in Dallas. I was a very young child during that time and didn't understand the events, but I could feel the grief that filled the air after the President's death and the joy--a catharsis (a word I wouldn't learn until much later) that the "Fab Four" released.
Now, as a lifelong Beatles fan, I will say this: Those early tunes were sappy love songs. So were many hits from the pioneers of rock'n'roll--who by that time were nearing, or had recently passed, 30 years of age. They wouldn't have looked or sounded right doing songs like them but Elvis, Chuck and others from the "doo-wop" generation hadn't yet found their new directions. The "lads," on the other hand, were still young enough for such things. And, I believe--with the benefit of hindsight--that people wanted those songs and, more important, the youthful, upbeat energy the Beatles exuded at that point.
Of course, their music would become very different. But I think their energy was exactly what was needed to move rock'n'roll music forward so that it could absorb such diverse elements and influences as the sitar, Bach and Scottish folk ballads. Oh, and they even would do a song with lyrics in French--a language none of them spoke. (Jan Vaughan, a French teacher and the wife of an old friend of Paul's, wrote them.) So, it might be said that the Beatles made, or at least helped to make, rock'n'roll into an international musical genre.
Also, the Beatles helped to change fashions in hair and clothing--and, more importantly, to influence the ways we see gender and sexuality. Even though they were undeniably straight cisgender men, they were criticized and mocked because their hair and clothing didn't comport with the expectations of men at that time.
Now that I think of it, they may have had a role, however small, in sparking or stoking the '70's Bike Boom in North America. The Beatles themselves, especially John, seemed to enjoy cycling. That was not unusual for adult men--in England, their home country. But not so in the US: the bicycle was seen as a toy or, if an adolescent used it for transportation, he or she passed it on to a younger sibling or neighbor, or a parent discarded it, once the kid was old enough to drive. And at that point in their lives, young people were expected to act and dress "like grown-ups": coats and ties for men, skirts or dresses and high heels for women.
That the Beatles would, in time, appear on stage and for recording sessions in jeans and T-shirts or dashikis no doubt showed millions of other people, mostly young, they could do the same. And, let's face it, even if your bike has full fenders and an all-enclosing chainguard, you'd rather ride in comfortable clothing that can be easily washed. Oh, and who wouldn't want to ride with "Here Comes The Sun" as an earworm?
I must end this post, however, by noting that I formulated the Howard Cosell Rule because of one Beatle in particular--or, more precisely, how he met his demise. Cosell interrupted his play-by-play commentary of an NFL game to announce that John Lennon had been murdered on the night of 8 December 1980. Cosell and Lennon were friends and, I am sure, influences on each other.
When I first heard of a town called “Normal” in Illinois, I wondered whether it was, well, normal. That might’ve been before I asked what “normal” means.
I’ve never been to the town, so I couldn’t tell you whether it fits an O.E.D. or D.S.M. definition of “normal.” Actually, the D.S.M. doesn’t so much define “normal” as it dictates what isn’t. In one edition, I wasn’t; in the next—current—edition, I am.
But I digress. The town was named, apparently, for a “normal” school located there. “Normal schools”—which are still so-named in Mexico and other countries—are now known as “teacher training colleges “ in the US.
So why were they called “normal” schools? Well, they were designed mainly to train elementary school teachers and their curricula concentrated on enforcing societal norms of behavior, for the teachers-in-training (almost all of whom were young women) as well as their prospective pupils.
I don’t know what norms, if any, are being reinforced in today’s Normal. It has, however, been recognized for practices that will, I hope, become normal. The League of American Bicyclists has acknowledged the town for its efforts to be a more bicycle-friendly city.
Could it be that one day, when a community makes efforts to be bicycle-friendly, it’s becoming Normal—or normal? I hope so.
Recently, I heard someone refer to cyclists as "narcissists."
Of course, my reaction was to think, "It takes one to know one." I think that person was saying that we are entitled or a privileged class because we now have bike lanes--never mind that riding on some of them, at least here in New York, is more dangerous than cycling on the streets.
That person might have been right, in a way. Narcissus saw his own reflection.
Of course, we won't fall onto the pavement while kissing an image of ourselves. At least not intentionally.
A few years ago, a bicycle freeway opened in Beijing. Similar elevated bike lanes have been built, or have been proposed or planned, for other cities in Europe and Asia.
Turns out, bicycle highways and freeways aren't a new idea. Nor is one of the motivations for them. And they weren't exclusive to bike-friendly countries like the Netherlands and Denmark.
In fact, a bike highway once linked a sleepy town with the city that, some would argue, is the birthplace of car culture. (Is "car culture" an oxymoron?)
All right...At the time the lane was built, that city--Los Angeles--hadn't become synonymous with "freeway." And the town the lane linked to it--Pasadena--hadn't even begun to host the Rose Bowl.
In fact, automobiles were still a novelty item and the Model T was more than two decades in the future. For that matter, asphalt wasn't in use as a paving material.
In that environment, a fellow named Horace Dobbins (who would become Pasadena's mayor) saw the need to get to downtown L.A. quickly. Interestingly, getting to and from various destinations in China's capital was a design feature of the bike freeway built in that city a few years ago.
Dobbins envisioned an elevated bicycle highwaystretching nine miles (about 14 kilometers) between his home town and the bustling metropolis. His proposal was embraced and the first section of the bike highway--complete with a tollboth!--opened in 1900. A mile long, stood twenty feet (seven meters) in the air, had wooden railings on its sides and linked Pasadena's Green Hotel with the base of Raymond Hill, near the city's Glenarm Street.
The view north on the Dobbins Veloway
That year is often seen as a "tipping point," not only because it was the turn of the century. Many then-current and developing events, ideas and inventions would shape the rest of the century and this one. One of those inventions was, of course, the automobile.
And cars are, not surprisingly, why the Dobbins Veloway, as it was called, was never completed. Within a few years, the lane--the two miles of it that had been built--was torn down. Ironically, the land rights that had been secured to construct it were used to build the Arroyo Seco/Pasadena Freeway, commonly recognized as the oldest freeway in the United States.
Punxsutawney Phil, the world's most famous weather forecaster, has made his prediction: He didn't see his shadow so, according to folklore, an early Spring awaits us.
While I don't mind winter--and this one hasn't been especially cold--I would welcome an early Spring. Whether the temperatures remain low or rise well above normal, the days are growing longer. But Spring-like weather makes the skies seem brighter and blooms more vibrant. Plus, I would be happy to ride with fewer layers of clothing.
Neither Marlee nor any other cat who's been in my life has been able (or willing?) to ride with me. I've seen people ride with their dogs. I wonder what it would be like to cycle with a ground hog--if such a thing is possible.
I have always loved winter rides along the coast. Even on a day that’s mild for the season, few people are strolling the boardwalks, and even fewer are on the beach, if it hasn’t been closed. The people you see, whether they’re walking with dogs, families or friends, or cycling, might be called anything from “hardy” to “crazy” by those who prefer the warmth of their living rooms to brisk winter air or the glare of screens to the subdued light and subtle colors of the littoral horizon.
If nothing else, we are independent spirits who are introverts at heart, even if we return to the company of the sedentary.
Speaking of independent spirits:
This one knows what they (I can’t be cisgenderist, can I?) want. And their ability to eat oysters and other fresh shellfish—and leave a deposit on a shiny new vehicle—has nothing to do with their personal assets.
A year or so into the COVID-19 pandemic, some bicycle shops—including Harris Cyclery, Sheldon Brown’s “home” shop—closed for business. They were, ironically, casualties of the COVID-19 Bike Boom: When their inventories sold out, no new merchandise was available because lockdowns disrupted supply chains.
Now a long-established bicycle shop may close due to a lack of inventory. Its situation, however, has nothing to do with the pandemic.
About two weeks ago, Najari Smith opened the doors of his shop, Rich City Rides, as he had every day for the past ten years. However, that day’s shop opening would be unlike any other.
He saw, “all the display cases emptied out.” Looking around, he noticed “all the inventory we had on the wall,” which included lights, locks and other accessories, “was gone.”
Now, his shop is far from the first to experience a burglary. But losing about $10,000 worth of merchandise “hurts on a different level,” he explained, “because we’re not a big box store.” The impact is so great that Rich City Cycles will have to shut down “for the foreseeable future,” he declared.
Such a theft not only affects the livelihood of Smith. It also has a negative impact on a community. Smith has organized and led numerous rides. Also, he has been in business long enough that “kids you meet at 15, they have their own kids now.” In other words, he is a mentor and probably a friend to many in his community.
Moreover, the shop, like others, “represents a culture,” according to Contra Costa County Supervisor John Gioia, who represents the district. That culture is one of health, environment, working with young people and young adults,” he elaborated.
Such values are badly needed in Richmond, California the shop’s locale. The city, on the northeastern shore of San Francisco Bay, seems to have been untouched by the tech fortunes that have transformed San Francisco, Sm Jose and other community in the area. While Richmond includes suburban-style middle-class neighborhoods, it also has the notorious “Iron Triangle” and other areas afflicted by crime and poverty—and few options for healthy food and recreation.
Smith and his business partner hope to re-open their shop—and provide its tangible and intangible benefits it has provided the community.
Jank Components, however, is quick to point out that their new bracket is a “pump holder.” They explain, “Instead of a tire pump, it holds a mood pump.
Well, they both begin with the same letter. And they're capitals: one of a nation, the other of a US State that was once, albeit briefly, a nation and sometimes acts as if it still is one.
Otherwise, I'd guess that they don't share much. Then again, I haven't been to the Dutch city in a while, and I've never been to the center of the Lone Star State.
I have just learned, however, that they do share a trait that most people wouldn't notice, unless they were cyclists. It has to do with bike lanes.
In New York, San Francisco and other American cities, they're painted green. That color was chosen because it stands out against the rest of the pavement and isn't easily confused with, say, a parking or bus lane. While it's great for visibility, it makes a bike lane more expensive to build and maintain because it's a coat of paint over asphalt, which wears away even when it's covered with a clear sealant. Also, the particular shade of green used on bike lanes is more expensive to make than other colors.
And there is another problem: Depending on the paint used, the surface can become slippery in wet weather. That might be one reason why Amsterdam doesn't paint its lanes green--or any other color. Instead, a red pigment is mixed with asphalt to yield a rather lovely terra cota hue.
Photo from the City of Austin
I don't know whether Austin's planners were looking to their Dutch counterparts when they designed their city's bike lanes. They did, however, adopt the same system--and color--for the bicycle byways. One reason is the aforementioned cost. But just as rain wears paint away, so does heat--which, from what I understand, Austin experiences for months on end.
While the terra cota shade is not the kind of red used to denote Texas politics, it's still rather ironic that the color is used on bike lanes in one of the state's "blue" islands.
The Tumbleweed Bicycle Company has just introduced its Big Dipperdrop handlebars.
They may well be the most comfortable long-distance bars ever created, and I just may try them.
Of course, with any new drop bar, there's the question of what kind of tape--and which color--you'll use to wrap it. Most of the time, I use cotton cloth tape, which is available in a variety of hues. "Basic black" is usually the safe choice, as it doesn't show dirt or clash with most bikes. Some people like to match their saddles, if that's possible.
Or, you could be adventurous
Photo by Ron Frazelle
and make your handlebars look like a piece of '60's Op Art.
Well, it may not have been a law where I committed the evil deed. But a man did the same thing in another locale and was arrested.
To be fair, there was a warrant for his capture. And the violation was just one charged to him when he was apprehended.
The cops who effected the bust were based in barracks in a town with one of the most quirkily beautiful toponyms I’ve heard: Shickshinny, Pennsylvania. Imagine answering the query, “Where are you from?” with that.
Anyway, the benighted soul they ensnared, 51-year-old David Thomas Totten of Wilkes-Barre, was riding a bicycle eastbound in the westbound traffic lane of West End Road in Hanover Township. It was just after midnight on 4 September 2023 and Totten didn’t have any lights on his bike.
Now, some officers might ignore such breaches of bicycle safety protocols. And unless the officers on duty had been involved with whatever led to Totten’s warrant—or there’s some tagging technology we don’t know about—they couldn’t have known about that warrant . So the question remains of what prompted the ones on duty to stop Totten and conduct a search that yielded a cigarette pack hiding suspected methamphetamine and a syringe.
Now, I’ve never smoked, owned or used a syringe or anything that could be construed as methamphetamine or had warrant for my arrest (that I know of!). I’ll concede that I’ve ridden in the dark without lights or reflectors, though not within the past few decades. So what, exactly have both Mr. Totten and I done that resulted in an arrest for him, but not me.
He was carrying a table when he was stopped. I’ve done it, too, on more than one occasion. I’ve also carried chairs and bookcases—and a framed art pieces, including one that measured at least 2 feet by 3 feet (61 by 91 cm.).
The latter was a delivery I made, as a Manhattan bike messenger, from a Soho gallery to Judy Collins (yes, that one) on the Upper Wear Side. I made similar runs with oversized objets d’art and home furnishings in the steel and concrete canyons. I also hauled them as part of a move from one neighborhoods to another.
Of course, the prints, tables and such didn’t fit into my messenger bag, backpack, panniers or whatever I was using to haul stuff on my bike. So, of course, I had to carry the item in one hand and navigate the bike with the other.
Such practices, it turns out, are transgressions against Chapter 35, Subchapter A, Section 3506 of the Pennsylvania vehicle code:
“ No person operating a pedal cycle shall carry any package, bundle, or article which prevents the driver from keeping at least one hand upon the handlebars.”
I guess it’s a good thing I was in New York and New Jersey when I committed my foul deeds—unless, of course, the Empire and Garden States have statutes like the one in the Keystone State. Then again, if said laws exist, I would guess that the statute of limitations has run out. (Is that one of the benefits of getting older?)
Last week, we in New York City got our first measurable snow in nearly two years. A couple of lighter snowfalls followed and the temperature didn’t reach the freezing point for almost a week.
During that time, snow fell, it seems, over every part of the United States not named Florida or Hawai’i. Cyclists, wheelchair users and pedestrians thus had the complaint I am about to mention.
While the Department of Sanitation quickly cleared streets and most property owners promptly shoveled and salted their sidewalks and other common areas, bike lanes and even the rightmost part of traffic lane were patchy or sheets of ice. I didn’t take any long rides—just commutes and errand runs. But at times, those rides seemed like expeditions. I actually got off my bike and walked one stretch of the Williamsburg Bridge when it’s lane was impassable. And I resorted to riding on sidewalks—something I all but never do—for stretches of half a block or so.
I didn’t take any photos. But the folks at Bike Portland documented a similar situation in their city.
I sometimes take an early morning or late afternoon ride down through Sunnyside and Maspeth and cross the Kosciusko Bridge into Greenpoint and Williamsburg.
The entrance to the bridge flanks a cemetery and offers one of the more foreboding views of the skyline, especially in winter.
In my childhood and adolescence, I imagined England as a quintessential cycling country. After all, those Raleigh, Dunelt, Philips and Dawes three-speed bikes—“English Racers”—took people between homes, farms, factories and schools. At least, that was the image of the country we got from movies and magazines. And those “English Racers” seemed, on the eve of the ‘70’s Bike Boom, as exotic as the latest Tour de France or World Championship track bike looks today—never mind that three-speeds bore as much relation to those bikes as a hay wagon to a Formula 1 car.
In other words, to neophyte cyclists like me who had never been more than a state or two—let alone an ocean—away from home, Albion seemed like today’s Amsterdam or Copenhagen.
Of course, my first trip there—the first part of my first European bike tour, in 1980–would change that image for me. To be sure, I saw more people riding for transportation and recreation than I encountered in New Jersey, where I had just graduated from Rutgers College. But people, while helpful, wondered why an American would come to their country—to ride a bicycle.
Perhaps that experience, and subsequent visits, make something I read more plausible: According to a newly-released government survey, 7 out of 10 Britons never ride a bicycle.
Perhaps even less surprising are the reasons why people don’t ride and what might persuade them to get on the saddle. They’re less surprising, at least to me, because they’re the same reasons I hear in my home city and nation of New York and the United States.
The chief reason why people on both sides of the pond won’t ride, they say, is that they wouldn’t feel safe. Where perceptions might diverge a bit is in what might make them safer. While a majority New Yorkers and Americans say bike lanes might entice them, only 29 percent of English respondents cited them. On the other hand, the two most common improvements—safer roads and better road surfaces—were cited by 61 and 51 percent, respectively, of English people.
What accounts for their perceptions? I think it might be that even if the vast majority of English people don’t ride bicycles, many still have memories of parents, grandparents or other adults pedaling to the shop or classroom on the same roads used by motorists. In other words, they didn’t see cyclists segregated from traffic.
Few Americans have such memories. Moreover, they grew up inculcated with the idea that bicycles were for kids who weren’t old enough to drive.
So, the British survey is interesting in that it shows a common perception—cycling isn’t safe—but a difference in the perception of what could make it safer and therefore more appealing.
Today I am invoking, once again, my Howard Cosell Rule: This post won’t be about bicycles or bicycling.
Almost any someone breaks a barrier—whether it’s based on race, gender, social class or some other trait—that person is referred to as the “Jackie Robinson” of their field. In fact, I had that title bestowed on me when I was the first person to “change” gender in my workplace.
I took that both as a compliment and a warning: I think some were trying to alert me to what I might (and indeed did) face. On the other hand, I felt honored to be compared to someone I so respect as a human being as well as an athlete.
That respect and admiration is not abstract or idolatory: I actually met the man when I was very young and—as I could not have known—he was a few years away from the end of his too-brief life. Years later, I met his widow Rachel, a beautiful and formidable woman.
The man I am about to mention also, when he was very young, met Jackie. At that time, Robinson was in the prime of his baseball career. And the subject of the rest of this post would embark on his own athletic career, in a league where no one like him played before.
Oh, and he just happened to be the first Black player in the history of the National Hockey League. That night, Willie was trying to prove himself and win a permanent roster spot in the sport’s top league. “I did not realize I had made history,” he recalled.
Somehow it seems fitting that he is a descendent of slaves who escaped from the United States into Canada via the Underground Railroad. His family was one of two in Fredericton, the capital of the Canadian province of New Brunswick. Like many of his peers, he grew up as a fan of the Canadiens.
What kind of person would steal a kid’s lunch money?
Probably the same kind of person who would take a bike from a kid who just got it—on the day before Christmas Eve, no less.
That is what happened to not just one child inside Fowler High School in Syracuse, New York. There, the Central New York Bike Giveaway—one of the largest of its kind—put 1500 bikes into the hands of kids who wouldn’t have otherwise had them. But some people, apparently frustrated by waiting on a long line outside the school, snatched bikes away from the youngsters as they left.
“This is really a sad situation,” said Jan Maloff, who said “this has never happened before” during the 30 years he’s held the event.
Still, he declared the event a success and sent his volunteers back to where he had “another 200 to 300 bikes prepped” when the bikes ran out.
He plans to continue the event for next Christmas but “will probably bring in á private security force” in addition to Syracuse police so that “something like this does not happen again.”
After all, who can be happier than a kid getting a bike for Christmas—or sadder than a kid who’s had it snatched away from them?
My childhood included TV shows with premises that, even to my jejune sensibilities, seemed wildly improbable or just plain stupid. I mean, who gets shipwrecked on a deserted island during a three-hour tour?*
You have to admit, though, that some of the characters and the actors who played them were fun,even lovable. They included Grandpa Munster, portrayed by future Green Party gubernatorial candidate (in New York) Al Lewis.
I mean, how can you not love a guy who wears his normal work clothes while riding a bike?
No Lycra for him!
*—There was a show about a recently-departed woman who’s reincarnated as an antique car her son buys. She talks to him, and only him, through the car’s radio. One of my uncles told me, years later, that I squealed, “A grown-up thought of this?” during the one episode we watched.
That’s how long had passed since our last “measurable” snowfall.
I used quotation marks because “measurable” is the term used by weather forecasters. I’m not denying its appropriateness. Rather, I am wondering how else they could have described whatever snow we’ve had: I think many people didn’t even know that any had fallen. For that matter, I can’t remember the last real (I know that’s even more vague than “measurable!”) snow we’ve had.
If Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. were with us, he would be 95 years old today.
Although I believe he would be on the right side of just about any cause you can think of, I try not to speculate too much because, well, we can’t know for sure. For example, many in the LGBTQ community, and our allies, have made him into one of our would-be advocates. I think he would have spoken up for us, but he would have joined with us slowly and carefully, as he did when he voiced his opposition to the Vietnam War. He was, after all, a pastor in a church that included many socially conservative congregants and clerics. Even many of his more secular political allies saw homosexuality, let alone any sort of gender variance as a pathology or even a form of criminality.
I have little doubt, however, that he would have endorsed, or at least approved of, bicycling for transportation as well as recreation. After all, he was known to ride—and he looked happy on his bike. But more important, I believe, was his growing awareness that he was working for economic justice. (This is a reason why some believe that he might have joined forces with Malcolm X had they not been assassinated.)
He probably would have seen the bicycle as a vehicle, if you will, for achieving those goals. Not only are bicycles relatively inexpensive and accessible, they help to reduce the environmental ills that disproportionately affect people of color and with low incomes. Also, cycling, like other forms of exercise, helps to combat diseases that—wait for it—also afflict the poor and people of color.
Hmm…Perhaps Transportation Alternatives and other cycling-related organizations should have a portrait of Martin hanging in their headquarters.
