Potholes and Ice

Yesterday was cold, but clear.  And it seemed that the streets were finally clear of ice and snow.  So I rode to work.  It felt suprisingly normal, and good, considering how little riding I've done this winter.  The ride to my main job, and from there to my part-time job, were actually pretty routine.  


And so was the ride home.  I know that, bit by bit, we're getting closer to spring because it wasn't dark when I got on my bike at the end of my workday.  Rather, I started pedaling around the time the sun was beginning to set.


As I often do, I cut across Flushing Meadow-Corona Park.  It's kind of odd to say "cut," as going through the park actually lengthens my ride.  But I don't mind, as riding through the park is usually pleasant in and of itself, and it allows me to bypass the worst traffic between my home and work:  the area around Main Street in Flushing where, it seems, a whole continent's worth of cars--and driving skills--swerves, squeezes and wedges into four lanes of traffic.  

Some night when I don't have any pressing appointments, I plan to actually stop by the Main Street area.  It may have the widest and best selection of Asian food available in the US, with the possible exception of what's found in a couple of cities in California.


Anyway...My ride home hit a bit of a snag right in the middle of the park:  

OK, so Marianela's not the Titanic and the Park isn't the far North Atlantic.  But at times like that, I really wish that ice would remain in little paper cups, where it belongs, with lemon or cherry flavoring.


The ice spread around the Unisphere to the other end of the park.  So what to do?  Option A was to backtrack and ride up to Main Street. I had scarcely enough time for that.  Option B wast to walk across.  But I figured I had just as much chance of slipping and falling if I were on my feet as I'd have on my bike.  That left me with Option C.  That involved riding through the parts of the path where the ice was rutted with patches of exposed asphalt.  


This may have been the only time in my life I chose to ride through anything resembling potholes.  Maybe the near-constant vibration kept me from thinking about the ice and other hazards.  Whatever the reason, I made it out to the other side of the park.  And the rest of my ride home was as unremarkable as the segment before the park.

Carriers Of News

Today I was drifting aimlessly in cyberspace when I really should have been doing other things.  And, somehow, I came upon this:

Someone rescued a few sets of bags like these from an old newspaper building that was being torn down.  Now he's selling them.


I'll bet that some of you have never even seen, much less used, an old-fashioned newsboys' bag like the one pictured.  In cities, home delivery of newspapers is all but gone.  And in some cities, newspapers themselves, at least the print versions, are a dying breed.


In fact, I haven't even heard the term "newsboy" in a long time.  I wonder if that job still exists.  And if it does, is it done only by "newsboys?"  Back in my day, it was.


Yes, it was a gender-specific job.  I don't think there was any rule against girls delivering newspapers; it just didn't happen.  Or so most people think.  Little did they know...


Yes, I was a newsboy.  At least, that's what I was called.  I started delivering papers a year after my family moved to New Jersey, if I remember correctly.  


And--again, I'm depending memories not only of a long-past time, but of someone I have not been in a seemingly long time--I was even named Carrier of The Month, or some such thing, by The Asbury Park Press.  After I was delivering for about a year, our job titles were made gender-neutral:  newsboys became newspaper carriers.  I could not show the sigh of relief I felt within me when that happened!


I don't think I've looked at the APP since I stopped delivering it.  I've found the online edition, which I've linked.  But now I wonder whether they still have a print edition.


If they don't, what are all those newsboys--er, news carriers--going to do?  After all, that experience must have something to do with the person I've become!

Cycling Colleagues?

At my part-time teaching gig (which may well become full-time), I've become friendly with a few people in my department. Actually, they've all been friendly to me, but because of my schedule, I don't get to see all of them all of the time.  But there is a recurring cast of characters, if you will, and I find myself becoming friendly with a few of them.  One in particular shares a few interests with me, including cycling.

To all of you guys:  She's married.  Of course, that doesn't make any difference to me.  Our common interests include poetry and, as you can see from the photo, cycling.


Now you know I'm not the only one in NY crazy enough to cycle in a skirt through cold weather!


I'm mentioning her because, for one thing, she looks even better on a bike than I do and I don't begrudge her at all. But more to the point, she's the only cycling colleague I've had in all of the time I've been teaching in higher-education institutions.


The colleges in which I've worked have had cycling profs.  Not many, but they were present.  However, I've never had a cycling colleague in a department in which I've taught.


I've done all of my college teaching in the five boroughs of New York City.  So I don't encounter as many profs on bikes as I might on a suburban or rural campus.  However, I can't think of an explanation as to why none of the velocipedic academics I've met have been in English departments or writing or basic-skills programs, which are the departments and programs in which I've always worked.


Are cyclists in English departments as rare in other colleges as rare as they are in the schools in which I've worked?