I grew up during the 1960's and early 1970's, when all sorts of upheavals and other changes were roiling. There was, of course the Vietnam War--would it still be raging when I was old enough for the draft?--and the protests related to it, the civil rights movementand other events of the day.
Some of those protests involved school busing. It was being used to intergrate previously single-race schools, whether those schools' monochromaticness (Is that a real word?) was by design or a consequence of history (i.e., segregation). As you can imagine, a lot of white parents weren't happy to see their kids bussed to schools that had been all (or mainly) black or Latino (the two main non-white groups of the time), Some fierce protests ensued--perhaps the most notorious being the one in South Boston.
(It should also be noted that many parochial and other private schools opened their doors during that time.)
But all of those parents who didn't want their kids to ride buses or sit in classrooms with kids darker than themselves (I don't mean to imply that this was the sole motivation behind opposition to busing) were tilting at the wrong windmill. Actually, there was a much better reason for them to keep their kids off buses and, instead, attending their local schools.
Most of the kids who were forced to ride buses would have otherwise walked or ridden bicycles (or, today, skateboards) to their local schools. That's more exercise than a lot of kids get today: I can't help but to wonder if the skyrocketing rates of obesity and Type 2 diabetes among children and teenagers would have been prevented, at least in part, if more of them weren't riding buses to school.
Now, of course, I realize that in some places, particularly rural areas, the school is too far away for someone to commute on his or her feet or a pair of wheels. So, perhaps, they have no choice but to take a bus.
Here is a solution to that dilemma (and the high cost of fuel) from--where else?--the Netherlands:
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Yesterday I went back to the college to pick up a few things I'd left. The sky was swaddled in clouds that looked utterly pregnant with rain. (How's that for a bad metaphor?) I decided to pedal in anyway.
The rain started when I passed Citifield, a bit more than halfway there. It wasn't too bad; I'd brought my rain jacket with me and I was wearing shorts. Plus, I was riding Vera, which has full fenders and a flap on the front.
Also, I was riding faster without really trying. Although I normally try to avoid riding in the rain if I can, once I'm riding in it, I get a strange but good kind of "high", as long as it's not cold. In addition, I think the slick roadway makes for faster (if slipperier) riding.
Then, when I got to the college, I stayed and chatted with a couple of people in the hope that the rain would let up. It did, finally. I pedaled to Jackson Heights--about 3/4 of the way home--before I started to feel more like I was on the Maid of the Mist and that I was riding right into the Falls.
About a kilometer from my apartment, the rain stopped abruptly. But the sky looked as ready as it had been to drench me and anybody else who, whether through necessity or insanity, were on the streets. Still, I made it.
One day, I'll ride in the rain the way she does. Until then...
"A Cronut! A Cronut! My Citibike for a Cronut!"
All right. So The Bard didn't write that line in Richard III. However, it seems like an apt headline for a story that appeared in Thursday's Gothamist.
A Cronut looks something like this:
Chef Dominique Ansel created it and it's available only in his ShHo bakery. It opens at 8 am, but in otder to score a Cronut, one has to arrive before 7 and wait on line.
That is what someone with a Citibike did. I don't know whether or not he had an annual membership or was renting by the hour. if the former is the case, he is limited to 45 minutes. For the latter, it's 30 minutes. If he doesn't check into a Cititbike kiosk before his time is up, each additional half hour is $9.00 (for an annual membership) or $12.00 (for a one-time rental or holder of a seven-day pass).
Now, if said cyclist were to abandon the bike, the Cronut run, as the Gothamist wryly noted, would cost $1000. Cronut fans claim that is a small price to pay. As I haven't tied one--or a Citibke-- yet, I couldn't tell you for sure.
