Now, tell me: When was the last time you read a post in a cycling blog that had the same title as a Rod Stewart song?
Well, now you just did. Do you feel you've accomplished something you can tell your grandchildren? (ha, ha)
Anyway, during a ride to Point Lookout, Arielle wanted to do a "sexy" pose. So, now you're going to be treated to a piece of bike porn:
Last night I did something on a whim. Actually, some plans I'd made were cancelled by the person with whom I'd made them. I had mixed feelings about that: On one hand, I lost some money, though not a fortune. On the other hand, I would have been doing something that, when I think about it, I realize I didn't particularly want to do: I would have been working with a high-school kid who is preparing for statewide examinations. There was a time when I could regard such a test as a "game" to win, even if I opposed the test in principle. However, I no longer feel that way. Plus, I have the feeling that the parent would have been more difficult than the kid.
As it happened, I had been riding, and had just stopped at Recycle-A-Bicycle in DUMBO, Brooklyn when I got the message. I was looking for a part, which they happened to have--and the price was reasonable. The funny thing was that the young woman who helped me mentioned that volunteers were coming to their shop last night to help with dissassembly of donated bikes. I asked about some of their programs and volunteering opportunities; after describing them, she asked whether I might be interested. I said I couldn't help them last night, as I'd had a commitment, but I'd keep them in mind.
After the kid's mother cancelled the tutoring appointment==The kid had an allergy attack--I turned around and offered to help out at Recycle-A-Cycle.
Now, I haven't worked in a bike shop in close to two decades. Since then, the only bikes on which I've worked have belonged to friends, family members or me. But everyone seemed so relaxed; most of the people there were just learning how to fix bikes. I worked in a group with a young fellow named Darren, who was giving hands-on instruction to two other volunteers.
About half an hour in, he said, "You know what you're doing!" and I found myself co-instructing with him. One of our "pupils" was another young man named, who was about Darren's age; the other was another woman who was somewhere between his age and mine but who grew up working on machines with her father and brother.
I guess I shouldn't have been surprised that I was taking on the role of instructor as I was helping to strip bikes down. When the young man was pulling a V-brake arm off a a badly neglected bike and the stud on which the brake is mounted came off the frame, he thought he'd done something stupid or wrong. I assured him that he'd done neither, and that he was in a "guilt free zone." As for the woman: She has mechanical skills, but she had never worked on a bicycle. I pointed out that she was progressing well, and that she was doing more in her very first attempt at working on a bicycle than I did in mine--which, by the way, is the truth.
Anyway, I think I''ll continue to volunteer with Recycle=A=Bicycle as long as my schedule allows. I also want to ride, and work with, WE Bike, a women's cycling group I encountered at the New Amsterdam Bike Show.
This bike was parked outside PS 1 this afternoon:
Because I have a weakness for stories, I constructed a few in my mind. I imagined a four-year-old girl looking at Lara Favretto's pieces. Wow, I thought, that girl is a much better kid than I was!
Then again, she might have been sneaking away from her parent(s) or whoever else was caring for her. That would make her more advanced, at least, than I was. Imagine having the wherewithal to be able to rebel in such a way! Imagine being able to choose, at that age, riding your bike to an art museum as a form of rebellion!
Or, perhaps she (I assumed she was a girl. I apologize for being so inculcated with patriarchal notions!) was a midget hipster, or hipster wannabe. Believe me, I've seen hipsters ride much stranger bikes than this one!
As I was about to take a picture on my cell phone, a woman walked toward the bike. I explained that I wanted to take a photo for this blog. I got to glimpse and wave at her daughter, who rode the bike and whose name I didn't get. But the mother's name is Holly. Holly, I hope you're reading this!
Anyway, from PS 1, I rode over the Pulaski Bridge into Greenpoint. On the bridge's bike/pedestrian lane, and into Brooklyn, I found myself riding behind a man on this bike:
It's a Strida. I snapped the picture--again, with my cell phone--as we were riding. I was going to approach him at the next light, but he turned. Oh well.
Perhaps the little girl who rode the bike parked at PS 1 will grow up to ride a Strida--or Brompton or some other small-wheeled bike for grown-ups. And maybe she'll bring it inside PS 1 or her school or workplace.
On the other hand, I don't imagine the man I saw on the Strida had ever ridden a bike like hers!
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