Fleeing And Avoiding

 If you’ve written for a newspaper, magazine or any other publication—whether in print or online—you have had this experience: You covered an event or researched a topic. You verified your sources and took care to be fair and balanced. Oh, and you took care not to do violence to the Englsh language (or whatsoever language you write).

Then someone tacks on a headline that is silly, confusing or clumsy—or has little or no discernible relation to your article. 

At nearly all publications, articles and their headlines are written by different people—who may never meet each other. I suspect that as often as not, the headline writers are working with a one- or two-sentence summary of your 750-word article.

I thought about the frustration I felt upon seeing incongruous, incompetent or simply inane headlines on the world-changing (mmm hmm) exposés I penned when I saw this:

Drug dealer avoids jail despite fleeing on bicycle from pursuing police.

So what was the wayward wordsmith trying to say?  To me, “flee” implies a successful escape: For example, my ex’s family fled the Castro regime. I would therefore think that if Bradley Axford managed to flee police in Warrington (Northwich, UK), he wouldn’t have been concerned with jail time.  Or, conversely, he would be in jail if he hadn’t fled. 

Or would his situation have been different had he fled, or tried to flee, by any means other than the black bicycle he rode through a red light. (I have to admit I liked seeing that detail in the article, even if it was meant to sway readers’ opinions against him.)

Oh well. I guess I shouldn’t be too hard on whoever crafted that headline.  After all, that person probably was underinformed or underpaid, or both.

Her Way?

 Is she trying to coast on a fixed-gear bike?

A Tragedy Leads To Action, But More Needs To Be Done

 Nine years ago today, the Kalamazoo, Michigan area bore one of the most horrific incidents of a motorist running down cyclists I’ve ever heard about.

Nine members of a local riding group who called themselves “The Chain Gang”—all experienced cyclists over the age of 40–were out for a late-day ride on Westnedge Avenue in nearby Cooper Township. Police received a call about a blue Chevy pickup truck being driven erratically. About five minutes later, that truck plowed into the cyclists. Four would survive, albeit with significant or serious injuries. Debbie Bradley, Melissa Fevig Hughes, Tony Nelson, Larry Paulik and Suzanne Sippel did not.

The driver, Charles Pickett Jr., was—perhaps not surprisingly—intoxicated. In 2018, he was found guilty of 14 felony charges, including second degree murder. He, at the age of 50, was sentenced to 40 to 75 years in prison and won’t be eligible for parole until he’s 90.

Since then, Kalamazoo has taken steps to become more “bike friendly” and safer. While I laud their efforts, I think more needs to be done, there and elsewhere, to educate drivers and create deterrents against, and stiffer penalties for, endangering or killing cyclists and pedestrians.

Donuts and D-Day

 Today is National Donut Day here in the US.

I wonder whether it was someone’s idea of a marketing gimmick or sick joke—which are more or less the same thing—to merge a day devoted to sugar consumption with one the anniversary of a pivotal campaign in a war that consumed so many lives.

I’ll admit that I am not so ideologically or dietetically pure that I didn’t partake of a promotion:  I bought a cup of coffee—enough to entitle me to a freebie—and picked one of the most decadent-looking sugarbombs in the display case at the Fordham Plaza Dunkin’ Donuts: a chocolate cake ring with chocolate icing and pink stripes.

Now, did those (mostly) young American, Australian,  British, Canadian, Czech, Dutch, French, Greek, Norwegian, Polish, South African, Southern Rhodesian and New Zealand fighters risk—and in some cases lose—their lives so we can enjoy sweet baked goods? Of course not. But I did think about them because I think about them, and other like them, whenever war is commemorated. 

And I think about them precisely because I am (mostly) a pacifist. I believe, as Kurt Vonnegut (himself a WW II veteran) said, that Hitler was “pure evil” and had to be stopped.  But the conditions that fueled his rise to power—the devestation wrought by “the war to end wars” could have been avoided had the “haves” not wanted more from the “have nots.”

Am I the only one who thinks about stuff like this while riding? Or was it the sugar rush I got from that free donut which may have been responsible for the sprint I pedaled along the Bronx River Greenway.

How Mucb Good Will It Do?

New York City Mayor Eric Adams has just announced that he plans to implement a 15 MPH (25 KPH) speed limit for eBikes.

According to Citibike General Manager Patrick Knoth, the Adams administration hadn’t contacted the bike share program about the proposal. While eBikes comprise 37.5 percent of Citibike’s fleet, they constitute 65 percent of the trips taken.

Call me cynical, but I have to wonder how much a speed limit will affect Citibike rentals. For one thing, the shared eBikes have a top speed of 18 MPH (30 KPH), two MPH slower than the current speed limit. For another, if my own observations are indicative of conditions on the the street, most of the scofflaw eBikers aren’t on Citibikes.

Photo by Seth Wenig for AP

Perhaps more to the point, enforcement of the existing speed limit—or the prohibition of eBikes on most city bike lanes is non-existent. I, and other cyclists, have been “buzzed “ by riders—many of them delivery workers—on eBikes. And I have seen riders, mostly young, riding two-wheeled machines with no pedal assist—as one commenter calls them, “electric motorcycles.” I don’t think a speed limit—at least one without enforcement—will change the behavior of those at whom the proposed law is aimed.

Another Winner Rides The Victory Loop

Yesterday was World Bicycle Day.  I had some business to take care of but I wheeled out Tosca, my Mercian fixed gear bike, for a glorious afternoon ride.

People in my building see me as if I’m an Olympic racer because, as a few have remarked, “You’re always on your bike!” I do ride more than any of them, and most people they know, but I am (and was) hardly a world-class athlete.

But yesterday a world-class athlete took a break from “business” for a bike ride. And he did it in the setting for some of cycling’s most iconic moments.

Novak Djokovic is in Paris for the French Open. Less than 24 hours before he was scheduled for a second-round match, he was pedaling around l’Arc de Triomphe, clearly enjoying himself. Someone called out, “I love you!”  “I love you, too,” he responded.

He was on a joyride, taking in the sights. But, in a way, it made perfect sense that he took his turn around l’Arc:  Just as he has achieved some of his greatest victories in Paris (at Roland Garros stadium, specifically), so did Bernard Hinault, Greg Le Mond and other legends of cycling who culminated their Tour de France wins in one of the City of Light’s most iconic locations.

Quinceañera

 So why, you may be wondering, is this post titled “Quinceañera?”

If you are familiar with Latin American cultures, you have heard of “Quinceañera”—or, perhaps, been part of one. Basically, it’s a “coming of age” party for a girl who’s turned fifteen years old.  I guess you could say it’s a Hispanic version of “Sweet Sixteen,” one year earlier.

Of course, I am not writing this post because I’ve turned fifteen. When I was that age, it never would have occurred to me that I was in midlife, or any other particular stage of life.  I probably was as self-absorbed as (or possibly even more self-absorbed than) other kids of that same age.  Now I realize that it, like much about adolescence that is denigrated (“oh, that’s so adolescent!”) is actually normal: Kids are trying to figure out a lot of things as their bodies are changing in ways for which they’re unprepared. In my case, my solipsism had to do with those things and, ironically, something I was trying to avoid—and wouldn’t make any attempt to resolve until decades later, when I realized that I was in midlife but would soon be at the end if I didn’t resolve it.

The resolution of that conflict became part of the basis of a blog I started two years before this one:  Transwoman Times. Writing it led me to start Midlife Cycling: Someone who read  TT noticed that some of my posts were about cycling and suggested that I start a blog specifically about cycling.

So, on this date in 2010–fifteen years ago—I wrote the first of 4754 posts I’ve  written on this blog. Back then, I had no idea of how long I would keep up this blog: Would I run out of things to say? Do I have undiagnosed ADHD that would distract me from this and cause me to start another blog, or some other project? Or would I stop “fooling myself,” as some might say, with the notion that I’m in the middle of my life as long as I don’t know when I’m going to die and finally admit that I’m old?

The answer to that last question is an emphatic “NO!” As long as I can ride, I am not “too old” for, well, anything—including a Quinceañera, if only for this blog.

So, I thank all of you who have been reading—and following me as I cycle through my midlife and this blog’s Quinceañera!

Alternative Energy Source?

 Is this what they mean by “wind power?”

Let Then Have My Power!

 As an educator, the worst thing I can do is to do something for you. In other words, I can’t interpret the poem or write the essay (or poem) for you.  The best I can do for you, or anyone, is to impart skills and knowledge you can use to do those, and other, things.

Librarians do something similar: They don’t do your research for you; they enable you to do your own research. That is one reason why they are some of my favorite people.

The phrase “knowledge is power” (“sciencia potentia est”) is attributed to Francis Bacon, to whom four centuries of crackpots have attributed Shakespeare’s works. To be able to come up with such a pearl of wisdom takes, well, knowledge. That particular kind of knowledge,however, was available almost exclusively to men—and to men of the leisure classes, at that—in Bacon’s time. So, with all due respect to my male readers, I will say that women have a unique understanding of what Bacon has passed on to us. And it took affirming my own gender identity, as a trans woman, to see that.

Now you can understand the joy I felt over reading about the Iowa City Bike Library’s Women’s/Trans/Femme Night.

Iowa City Bicycle Library. Photo by Natalie Dunlap.

Although it’s called a “library,” you can’t check out books. But you can borrow a bike—for a deposit. And the knowledge you can gain doesn’t come from scholarly journals or online sources. Rather, it emanates from staff members and volunteers who have a “hands-off” policy: They will show patrons how to fix something rather than doing it for them.

Such knowledge translates into power in all sorts of ways. The most obvious is that with it, you don’t have to “take it to a dude mechanic who’s the only person who can fix this,” as ICBL board member Clarity Guerra (You can’t make up a better name than that!) says. Perhaps more important, the confidence that comes with knowing you can fix your flat tire or brakes can encourage you to ride more, and even to see your bicycle as your chief means of transportation or recreation.

Such knowledge can be especially empowering for female-identifying people who have experienced domestic violence or who are members of racial and ethnic “minorities.” So it’s not surprising that ICBL has groups and programs to include them—and trans women. Or that it provides child care and snacks.

ICBL was founded in 2004: the year after I began my gender affirmation process. At the time, I didn’t know any other trans-identifying people who were cyclists, let alone who had worked as bike mechanics. Now in New York (where I live) there are rides, workshops and other bicycle-related events geared (pun intended) toward us.  That makes me happy, and I participate whenever I can because I want to share at least some of my knowledge and experience—which I gained while living as a boy and man. Other female-identifying cyclists won’t have to go to the “dude mechanic” (my younger self!) or macho racer wannabes (ditto). Let them have my power!

Bike Patrols Are Good. But He Thinks They Need To Be Better

 Many cities and college campuses employ bicycle patrols. Experts on public safety vouch for their effectiveness: Constables on bicycles can reach places like alleyways and paths in large parks that are inaccessible to police officers in cars. Cops on bikes also can arrive at the scene of an emergency more quickly than those on foot patrol or, sometimes, even those in motor vehicles.

For those reasons, and others, I have been in favor of bike patrols.  Now I must admit that I knew little about the training those officers receive—or don’t receive.

Apparently, the last three words of my previous sentence apply to more patrols than I realized.  At least, that’s an impression Clint Sandusky left with me after I read his article on Police 1. 

E-Bike Workshop, IPMBA 2022 Conference in Fort Worth, Texas.

He obviously believes that bike patrols are not only effective, but also a vital part of law enforcement. He reveals that there is a set of “best practices “ regarding the amount and type of training officers should receive, and what sorts of instructions should provide that instruction. Unfortunately, he says, some departments are failing short, and that can prove especially problematic as eBikes become more common.

Would Santa Claus Ride It?

 Are snowmobiles allowed on it? Dogsleds?

Are “Reindeer Crossing” signs posted?

Those questions came to mind when I heard there’s a bike lane to North Pole.

Now you know that I missed something:  One end of the path ends in North Pole, not the North Pole.

Even though I got 100 on a test of Alaska geography (at least, that’s how I remember it), I didn’t know that when you remove the definite article, you get the name of a city in The Last Frontier.

Anyway, there is a new bike lane connecting the city, known for its year-round Christmas displays, to Fairbanks.

If I ever get to Alaska, I’ll ride the lane—named for local cycling enthusiast Matt Glove, who lost his life sun a commute—just so I can boast that I cycled to the North Pole. Anyone who didn’t get 100 on Sister Virginia’s Alaska Geography test in 1969 (if I remember correctly) will be none the wiser!

He’s Not Just History

 Today I am going to do something I’ve never done before:  I am going to invoke my Howard Cosell rule two days in a row. In other words, this post won’t relate to bicycling. And while some of you may think I had a better reason to write such a post yesterday, I hope you will find this one interesting.

Perhaps no other athlete ever became as much of a worldwide celebrity and cultural icon as Muhammad Ali. In the world of cycling, it’s difficult to find an equivalent: Lance Armstrong might have attained such a status were it not for the allegations, and his admission, that he doped and bullied teammates into doing it or covering up for him.

An extremely small number of athletes have become icons, or have been deemed significant historical figures, even of their own culture.

Maurice Richard, who played for the Montréal Canadiens for 18 seasons and was their captain for the last four, is one such person. When I was in North America’s ville aux cent clochers, I was struck by not only how many statues, murals and other homages to “Le Rocket” I saw, but their seeming ubiquity. Here in New York, you’ll find such tributes to Babe Ruth, Joe DiMaggio and other legends mainly in and around Yankee Stadium. But in la belle ville, I encountered likenesses of Richard in nearly every part of town.

So I was not surprised when I learned that today, on the 25th anniversary of his death and 65 years after he played his last National Hockey League game, Québec government officials announced that he had been designated an historic figure in the province.

It is almost impossible to overstate what Maurice Richard has meant to the province’s people and to Francophones in other parts of Canada. Although they are roughly three-tenths of the nation’s population, for about two centuries, they and the province had, at best, second-class status. Québec lagged well behind neighboring Ontario and other provinces in economic terms as well as status.

About the latter: While other French Canadians excelled in sports and other endeavors before Richard came along, none carried the pride of his culture as he did.When he scored a goal, when he helped to defeat the Boston Bruins or Toronto Maple Leafs, it was a victory not only for him and the Canadiens, but also for the everyday Quebecois who, as one put it, had to “hang up” their “hat and customs” when they went to work every day—or for natives of the villages and farms north of Québec City who spoke nothing but French but were conscripted to fight for the Crown during World War II.

Some have argued that he helped to usher Québec’s “Quiet Revolution,” which campaigned for, and won, greater autonomy for the province—and modernized its educational system, which had been controlled by the Catholic Church. While it may not have been a direct consequence of Richard’s career or retirement, it could be argued that the pride be engendered helped to elect Jean Lesage as Premier of Quèbec in the same year “The Rocket” retired. Lesage, for whom Québec City’s international airport is named, is credited with modernizing the province’s educational system (and guaranteeing equal access for females) and economic system. He understood—correctly, I think—that preserving the province’s culture and language, and therefore its autonomy, would not be possible if Quebecois and other Francophone Canadians didn’t have the same educational and economic leverage as their Anglophone neighbors.

While Richard didn’t take overtly political stances as Ali did, he was fearless and proud. And, let’s face it, his looks didn’t hurt: handsome and fierce, he always seemed to be camera-ready, whether on the ice or in a boardroom.

Remembering

 I am about to invoke my Howard Cosell Rule.

Today is Memorial Day in the US—at least, officially. While it is a Federal holiday—banks and government offices are closed—some states have taken it upon themselves to declare their own “Memorial Days.” Some are being celebrated today. Others have chosen other dates: For example, in North and South Carolina, 10 May is Confederate Memorial Day: On this date in 1863, Confederate General “Stonewall” Jackson died after being accidentally shot by his own soldiers; in 1865, Confederate President Jefferson Davis was captured.

Given what we’ve seen so far from the Fake Tan Führer, I wonder whether he’ll try to end the current Memorial Day and replace it with the Carolinas’ (or some other state’s) Confederate holiday. Of course, it would include a military parade that wouldn’t honor the “suckers” and “losers.”

Unhoused veterans occupy 30 tents on the Veterans Row encampment in front of the West Los Angeles VA campus in April, 2021. George Rose/Getty

Me, I wish this day’s memorial were more about the tragedy of dying young (and, sometimes, for a questionable cause) rather than a celebration of “heroism”—or simply another shopping orgy. Oh, and wouldn’t it be nice if we made sure that those who served got the mental as well as physical health care they need—and that we don’t create more veterans who live under highway overpasses. Avoiding war and turning “swords into ploughshares” would be the best—perhaps the only—way to ensure that.

Women’s Work?

When I rode with the Central Jersey Bicycle Club, more than four decades ago, not many women were dedicated cyclists. Save for one who was, probably, close to the age I am now*, they were usually accompanied by boyfriends or husbands.

In most couples, the male cyclist spent much of the ride “drafting” his partner: He rode a few meters ahead of her so she could pedal in the slipstream. There was, however, one couple who “flipped the script.” At first—being young and not knowing otherwise—I thought he followed because he liked looking at her from the rear. (Hate me, if you will, for saying this: I couldn’t blame him.) After a few rides, though, I realized she was the stronger cyclist.

I thought about them, for the first time in ages, when I saw this:

*—I was less surprised by her skill and dedication than I was by her husband, who seemed completely sedentary.

“We Should Charge More For It!”

 When I worked at Highland Park Cyclery, more than four decades ago, deep-V aerodynamic rims and Cinelli cork ribbon (Don’t call it “handlebar tape” to a purist!) were new. As we soon discovered, they had, shall we say, their idiosyncrasies. 

Because the “aero” rims didn’t have eyelets in the spoke holes, spoke nipples easily fell into the space between the rim “well” and the outer V shaped section. That meant shaking the rim or wheel and chasing errant spoke nipples on the floor. Also, because the distance between the “well” and the spots where the spoke entered was greater than on other rims, it was more difficult and time-consuming to thread the nipples and spokes together:  Spoke nipple tools weren’t long enough to reach, and when you couldn’t see the nipple as you inserted it.

Given what I have described, some shops (but not HPC, as I recall) charged more to build wheels with deep-section rims. They also levied an additional fee in addition to the usual cost of wrapping handlebar tape when the customer requested Cinelli cork ribbon because winding it around a handlebar took, let’s say, more finesse—and time—than wrapping with cloth or plastic tape.

Working with those items was a pain in the gluteus maximus, but at least there were good reasons for using them.  Cinelli cork ribbon was more comfortable than other handlebar wraps and grips available at the time and was stylish, if not very durable. But those V rims could stand up to all sorts of conditions, which is one reason why they became popular with messengers in New York City, where some potholes were rumored to have their own ZIP and area codes. (That said, whatever aerodynamic advantages they offered were meaningless for most cyclists.)

I thought about those rims and cork ribbon when I came across an article in road.cc. A clearly frustrated mechanic says shops should charge more for working on bikes with cables routed through the steerer tube. That “wrencher” wasn’t simply whingeing (I have to use the British spelling!) about the inconvenience. Rather, they pointed out—correctly—that the setup serves no discernible purpose but to follow the aesthetic of the peloton or the flashy downhill mountain bikers.

I’m definitely on that mechanic’s side.  In contrast to “aero” rims and Cinelli cork ribbon, there is no reason why anyone—even a top-level racer—“needs” to have their cables hidden in the headtube. Of course, most people don’t need cables internally routed through the top or down tube, either, but at least such arrangements require little, if any, more time or effort to set up.

Attacked, Left To Die On The Island

Right now, I am alternating between feeling guilt and rationalizing a choice I often make.

I have pedaled on and through Randall's Island many, many times.  It lies under the RFK Memorial (formerly Triborough) Bridge.  The misnamed Harlem and East Rivers separate it from Manhattan and Queens, respectively, and a deceptively inert ribbon of water--the Bronx Kill--runs between it and the borough for which the body of water is named.

Most days, it's either uneventful or relaxing:  Most of the island is parkland.  The firefighters' academy occupies part of it; another piece is taken up by a water treatment plant.  A small bridge connects the island to Ward's Island, the site of a mental hospital and homeless shelter. Bike lanes wind around Randall's from the Connector, a bike-pedestrian bridge spanning the Bronx Kill, down the main road and up the Harlem River side near Ward's.

That last stretch is one of the more remote parts of the island.  Diana Agudelo rode it to and from her job at the Museum of the City of New York, the northernmost museum of Manhattan's famed "Museum Mile." I would imagine that she took that route mainly for the same reasons I have:  It is both convenient and relaxing.

That last quality is also what leads some people let their guard down.  I am not saying that Ms. Agudelo was not mindful of her surroundings, but in that island of calm amidst the city's hustle and bustle, it's easy to let one's guard down.  

So she probably had no inkling of what was about to happen to her on Friday night:  About half an hour before midnight, someone attacked and brutally beat her, taking her eBike and cell phone and leaving her to die.  Someone out for a walk found her, unable to move or speak.  She still can't do either, which is making it difficult for police to identify her attacker.

The guilt I mentioned at the beginning of this post is over knowing that someone has suffered a tragedy in the course of doing something I have done many times.  I hope it doesn't become "survivor's guilt."  At the same time, I have been offering rationales to people who've heard Agudelo's story and are admonishing me to "be careful" or simply scare me out of riding on the Island.  I have long been aware of the risks of riding the particular stretch of bike lane where she met her fate, and I almost never ride on the Island after sunset.  

All I can do now is hope that she is a "miracle:"  The doctors have given her a very small chance of surviving.  Oh, and I hope that the thug(s) who attacked her is/are caught.

 

Rainy Day Voyage

 Rain, drizzle, mist, rain. That was today’s weather sequence. Rain when I woke up. Drizzle through my commute. A  curtain of mist when I entered my workplace. And rain cascaded me exit.  

I wimped out and took the train home.  But I got back in time to spend a couple of hours in the Botanical Garden.

A show about Van Gogh and nature will begin Friday. I plan to attend: Flowers? One of my favorite artists?  What’s not to like?

I figured, correctly, that if nothing else, the aftermath of the rain that had subsided by that time would enhance the flowers’ and trees’ scents. It also seemed to amplify birds’ songs. Perhaps I heard them so clearly because they had to share the park with so few visitors.

Even though most of the lilacs—my favorite flowers—are gone, the scents of those that remained found my nose even before I reached the lilac garden.

On my way back to my apartment, I detoured to visit a friend.

Maria. She and other New York bodega cats are a species of their own.

Marlee didn’t seem jealous. They rubbed against my ankles as I walked through the door.

“They Took The Grips”

 Many years ago—before I knew better—someone took the rear wheel from a bike I’d parked.

I thought it was secure because I’d used the most expensive Kryptonite or Citadel lock—I forget which; they were the two “name brands” in U-locks. Anyway, the thief took my rear wheel but left the front which, like the front, had a quick-release lever. And the two wheels were a pair:  the same rims, and hubs that came out of the same box.

Part of the reason why that loss stung so much, apart from cost, was that those wheels were the first I’d built successfully. And I was angry and exasperated in the same way one is when losing one of a pair of something: say, the sock that the washing machine or dryer “ate” or the earring that fell off some time during a busy day.

For a moment, I thought the thief was someone who “had it in” for me or a CIA agent or someone engaging in psychological warfare—why? Because of a protest I attended?

Anyway, l learned to lock up my wheels. But on another occasion, years later, I locked up a bike I normally wouldn’t have left on the street. It cost me a Brooks saddle and seatpost. That was more expensive, I think, than any parking ticket issued on that block:  34th Street between Fifth and Sixth Avenues, next to the Empire State Building.

Of course, now I know that a bike locked to a parking meter, streetlight pole, fence or any other outdoor structure in a large city is a buffet table for thieves, whether of the organized, professional variety or those who commit crimes of opportunity. I have seen many bikes stripped to their bare frames after a few days—or even hours—on a New York sidewalk.

Notice that I said such things happen in any large city. Some poor soul in London also learned about that the hard way. His brand-new Specialized Sirrus X 5.0–“the most expensive bike I ever bought”—lost its wheels and most of its drivetrain. “They even took the grips off my handlebars,” he lamented. Oddly enough, the perp(s) didn’t take the pedals, some of the most commonly stolen parts. According to the owner, the way the bike was parked may have made them difficult to remove.

But the hardest lesson our benighted cyclist learned may have been the insurance company’s denial of his claim. He used two Gold locks, but the insurer refused to reimburse him because the bike wasn’t behind a locked door. 

So…Even if you have the best locks, remember to read your insurance policy carefully. Oh, and don’t leave wheels and other expensive parts vulnerable.

Finding Another Path?

 I played hooky.

Well, technically I didn’t have to be at work. But I had some work-related stuff to do on an absolutely gorgeous mid-Spring morning. And my bicycles were calling me. (Is that a consequence of my naming them?)

So off I pedaled—to Point Lookout.

It’s funny that even on a ride I’ve taken dozens, or even hundreds, of times before, I can still see something I hadn’t noticed before:

Did someone carve a path into the dune? Could animals—or humans—have trodden it into existence?  Or did some unusual sequence of natural events—like the ones that cause rock formations to resemble dragons or even famous people—do their work ?

Trust Me, I Won’t

 When you’re riding your bike (or simply out and about) you’re sure to see certain signs:

Some, however, you won’t see unless you stop—as I did at an intersection near my apartment:

Bike To Wherever

 Local bicycle advocacy groups and other organizations have, for the past two decades or so, organized “Bike to Work” days or weeks, usually in the middle of May.

The other day, cyclists in San Francisco participated in a “Bike to Wherever Day.” While that sounds like a name a bored teenager would come up with, it actually expresses a new reality: The COVID pandemic changed, for many people, the definition of a workplace. Some began working from home and still haven’t gone back to their old offices or other workplaces. Others are on “hybrid” schedules, meaning that they might go to their offices only three, or even two, days a week. Still others became freelancers or started their own businesses, whether by necessity or choice.

All of that means that other duties are often interspersed with paid work:  Picking up or dropping off children, shopping or various commitments and appointments. And some people find it’s simply easier to go for a lunchtime ride from home than from the office, shop, classroom or wherever they were working before the pandemic.

Some of you may have ridden in a “Bike to Work” or “Bike to Wherever” event. Others among you may have such an event coming up this week. Whether or not you have joined, or plan to join, fellow cyclists, I hope you are riding to work, school or wherever!

The Culture War’s Latest Casualty

 I am a non-Christian transgender female cyclist. That makes me a totem in the culture wars.

The MAGA crowd, White and Christians nationalists and all of the other far-right culture warriors (and their sympathizers), by definition, are opposed to anyone and anything that doesn’t fit their definitions of Christianity and womanhood (i.e. perpetual pregnancy and silent submission). Then, when the Fake Tan Führer (FTF)re-entered the White House, they were emboldened to turn their hate on transgenders and anyone else who doesn’t fit their notions of cisgender heterosexuality.

Now the title of Daniel Zawodny’s article in The Baltimore Banner tells us what the latest target of Faux News-addled is:  “What is the latest victim in Trump’s war on woke?  You guessed  it—bike lanes.”

Turns out, Mr. Zawodny is not being engaging in hyperbole or hysterics. Rather, he recounts how FTF’s Secretary of Transportation Sean Duffy—who claims he’s “not opposed to bike lanes” and that he “loves bikes”—confirmed a pause on all Federal funding for bike and pedestrian infrastructure pending a review considering the Trump Administration’s priorities. 

Given FTF’s hostility to cyclists—and environmentalists, anyone who wants social and economic justice and any energy source that isn’t nuclear or a fossil fuel—I have a difficult time imagining those priorities including us.

Rockaway Residents Reject Bike Ban

 If you have been following this blog, you know that I frequently ride the Rockaway Boardwalk along the South Shore of Queens.  Who can resist a seaside spin?

While I sometimes like to build up speed, I am careful and try to be respectful of beach goers, dog walkers and other pedestrians. I can, however, understand the impulse to engage in Grand Tour fantasies: I’ve done it myself. After all, the Boardwalk is a long flat stretch with no traffic lights and few, if any, other reasons to stop or detour.

Some folks in the local community board want to change, at least partially, what I described in my previous sentence.  Others, however, wanted to go even further.

At a recent Board meeting, a proposal to ban cyclists along thr Boardwalk’s most popular segment—from Beach 73rd to Beach 108th Streets—between Memorial and Labor Day. That area includes concession stands, bathrooms and changing areas and a surfing school, ans is closest to subway stations and the Veterans Memorial Bridge, which connects the Rockaways to the rest of Queens.

Accidents and altercations between riders and pedestrians have been reported. Some Board members—and media outlets like the New York Post—have used them to portray anyone on two wheels as a menace.  I’ll admit that I’ve seen a few reckless cyclists. But I think the greater problem is riders on mopeds and eBikes that don’t have a pedal assist.  I think they’re intoxicated by sea breezes rippling their hair (they’re almost never wearing helmets) and the power they feel. 

Fortunately, more than a few people can see, not only black and white, but all of the shades in the picture. Some just happen to be local residents who helped to vote down the proposal.

Some are calling, instead, for clearly-painted lanes and speed limits on the Boardwalk. They also believe that requiring cyclists to dismount around the major concession areas at 86th, 96th and 108th Streets. The Long Beach Boardwalk in Nassau County, where I have also ridden, has a similar policy for its main concession area during the peak season.

The Long Beach policy is enforced:  Police officers stand by barricades.  And a New York City Parks official says that would be needed—and that it would be the best way not to punish local residents who like to ride the Boardwalk for the actions of those who “come in and use it as their racetrack” (i.e., “outsiders”) however hysterical that claim might be. 

Too Old For What?

"You're too old to ride a bike."

Someone told me that when I was, oh,  35 years old. Here I was thinking I had just become old enough to be President of the United States.  (For some reason, even though I never wanted the job, I always thought of that age as a milestone of some sort.) I guess that's how life works, at least in some people's minds:  Being old enough to do one thing means you're too old to do another.  

The man who made that assessment probably wasn't thinking that I had accumulated enough years, even if I'd never have enough votes to move into the White House. (Hey, that didn't stop someone, did it?)  He was about a quarter-century older than I was.  He also was the father of someone I rode with, who just happened to own the shop where I worked part-time when I wasn't working my regular job--or bike riding.

Needless to say, I've never subscribed to the notion that anyone is "too old" to ride a bike.  Certainly there are conditions, mainly health-related, that preclude people from mounting a saddle.  Some might be related to aging; others can strike in the prime of one's youth due to a crash or some other mishap.

Speaking of which:  on 21 October, Massachusetts resident Sue Scheible made what she admitted was a "hasty" U-turn.  Her tumble to the ground resulted in a fractured elbow.  Seeing her injury, an urgent care doctor advised her (in, I imagine, a tone of condescension that he thinks is his "bedside manner") that she should stop cycling because she's "too old."

And like the 81-year-old I hope to be, she said, "No way!"

Sue Scheible.  Photo by Bob Sears for the Patriot Ledger (Massachusetts)

Mind you, not long after she took her spill, I executed a "hasty" U turn that landed me on a Coney Island street.  While my injuries--a cut and a few scratches--weren't nearly as serious as hers, I have to wonder whether a provider would have told me what that doctor told Ms. Schieble even though I'm a good bit younger (but, by most definitions, not young).  Or what if someone younger still had shown up in the ER.  I can assure you that plenty of cyclists, skateboarders, runners and other active people young enough to be my grandchildren have had mishaps like mine--or hers.

Susan Scheible brought her bike to her local shop for a tune up and, a little less than a month ago, was back in the saddle.  

Too old--for what?  To be President?

 

Happy Mother’s Day!

 Happy Mother’s Day!

I Was So Ready To Ride

 Just my luck. It rained all day yesterday .  Today dawned in living colors: Sunrise bloomed shades of magnolia, lilac and some late cherry blossoms, all vibrantly but as gentle as the sun-tinged breeze.

A perfect day to ride,right? And my bikes were ready.

Except that my body didn’t cooperate.

I’ll spare you the details.I’ll just say that something—perhaps that head of kale I cooked rather than threw away last night or the espresso I drank this morning—was the pot not properly cleaned?—turned my body into a volcano .

Such a condition is not very comparable with cycling, to say the least!

A Criminal Deems Cyclists As Criminals--Even If We're Not Breaking The Law

 The Fake Tan Fuhrer, I mean Donald Trump, is not unique as a chief executive who, in essence, says that the law says whatever he says it is.  Nearly four centuries ago Louis XIV decreed, "L'etat, c'est moi"--I am the state.  And three centuries later, longtime Jersey City mayor Frank Hague famously reminded a reporter, "I am the law."

Now it seems that the New York City Police Department is operating under such a principle, at least when it comes to cyclists.  Mayor Eric Adams, a career constable himself, has essentially given officers license not only to mis-interpret laws, but also to harass, I mean subordinate cyclists and pedestrians through "Phantom Law Syndrome." Worse yet, some rogue cops are entrapping cyclists by crossing into their paths to avoid them and, in some cases, oncoming ebikes or crossing pedestrians and charging said cyclists with "endangerment."  One cyclist who had such an encounter on the Manhattan side of the Williamsburg Bridge was given an additional charge of "obstructing the administration of justice" for protesting what said officer did.

Police officers like him are ostensibly acting under Adams' mandate to target "quality of life offenses."  That has the stench of the now-discredited "broken windows" and "stop and frisk" methods of policing, neither of which had a significant, if any, effect on crime (which was already in decline when those policies were implemented) and both of which had the same effect:  arrests, convictions, fines and sentences for disproportionate people of color, poverty and non-conforming sexual orientation and gender identity and expression. Oh, and the cops are concentrating their efforts on the major corridors of Upper Manhattan, Central-East Brooklyn and the South Bronx--all largely poor and "minority" parts of town.

And, it seems, something similar is happening among those Adams--who is desperately trying to keep his political career alive--is targeting.  While the stated purpose of his directive is to crack down on eBikes and motorized bikes, the cops have gone after the "low hanging fruit"--cyclists and pedestrians--whether or not they have actually committed offenses.

Photo by Josh Katz for NYC Streetsblog

But perhaps the most galling aspect of this new offensive, which started last week, is that it calls for issuing court summonses instead of the standard traffic ticket written for most violations.  In other words, instead of simply paying a fine, anyone who receives the summons has to appear in court and therefore runs the risk of having a criminal record, which could be disastrous for some immigrants, students and people in certain jobs and professions.

The cynic in me says that Adams--who, like another former New York City mayor (Rudolph Giuliani) realizes that he has no political future and that any future at all is dependent on his staying out of prison and in the good graces of FTF, a criminal on an even grander scale.  So, perhaps, he is trying to show his loyalty to Donnie Boy by mirroring his hatred for bicycles and cyclists. 

Oh, and advocates, lawmakers and legal experts question whether the NYPD even has the authority to, in essence, turn tickets into summonses. Perhaps Adams is also imitating Mango Mussolini's disdain for the law.  

Should Citibike Require Its Users To Wear Helmets?

 They prevent injuries.  They save lives.  But do they stop people from riding?

In some cases, the answer could be "yes," at least in the case of eBikes in public share programs like Citibike.  That is a conclusion drawn from a number of studies in the decade or so since eBikes have proliferated on the streets of New York and other cities.  

And that is the rationale behind the opposition to Assembly Bill 590, sponsored by Amy Paulin (D) of Westchester County.  If passed, it would require 16- and 17-year-olds in New York State to wear helmets when riding pedal-assisted (Class 1) or low-speed throttle-controlled (Class 2) eBikes.  

From the Streetsblog photoshop desk.

In addition to the studies, what evidence exists for the fear that a helmet mandate would deter riders?  Well, under the laws of New York City--which has, by far, the largest bike and eBike share program (Citibike) in the US, no one over the age of 13 is required to wear a helmet.  And Citibike allows anyone over 16 to rent an eBike.

But it's not only Citibike and other eBike sharing programs that provide the opposition to Bill 590 and similar proposals.  Members of racial, ethnic, sexual and gender minorities are also against them.  They cite, among other things, incidents that led Seattle to repeal its helmet requirement three years ago.  Edwin Lindo, who identifies as Central American Indigenous, cited statistics from the city's Municipal Court showing that 17.3 percent of summonses for not wearing helmets were issued to Blacks, who represent only 4.7 percent of the city's cyclists.  The numbers for Native American and Alaska Native cyclists were 1 and 0.5 percent, respectively.

In other words, there is the fear that a new helmet mandate will not only deter young people, but also members of "minority" groups--and low-income people--from using eBikes, or even regular bicycles, because it will "invite cops to target youths, particular those of color," according to Amy Sohn in Streetsblog NYC.

Proponents of the new bill, on the other hand, see the potential for preventing injury or even saving lives as outweighing other concerns.  "My only concern is for the safety of the people riding the bikes," declared Assembly Transportation Committee Chair William Magnarelli, a Democrat from Syracuse.  While not citing them directly, he said that studies indicate an alarming rise in severe injuries among eBikers.  One such study, published last year in the Journal of the American Medical Association, reported a 49-fold increase in the number of head injuries among eBike riders from 2017 to 2022.  Some of that rise is of course attributable to the dramatic growth in eBiking, especially in the early part of the COVID pandemic (2020-21).  But another, more troubling reason is this:  Ebike riders, at least in the US, are far less likely to wear helmets than their counterparts on traditional pedal bicycles.  

And, in my own observation, here in New York City, a great many of those bareheaded eBikers are delivery workers--nearly all of whom are immigrants and/or people of color.