I've worked in a bicycle shop during the week between Christmas and New Year's Day. A kid and his or her parent (or some other adult) would come in with the bike the kid got as a present. One or both of the wheels would be shaped like tacos, pretzels or some other appetizer or snack served before or after the holiday dinner.
The kid or adult would claim the kid "was just turning the corner" when "it bent." When the kid's puppy-dog eyes didn't elicit a free replacement of the wheel or bike, the adult would demand a refund.
Other current and former bike shop employees have told me similar stories. No doubt the one who made this graphic has heard it, too:
Back in 1984, Levi's was the official outfitter for the US Olympic Team. That year, the Games were held in Los Angeles. In those days, Levi's blue jeans were made up the coast, in San Francisco.
That was during the time in my life when, off the bike, I wore nothing but Levi's 501s with button-down, polo, rugby, flannel or T-shirts, depending on the occasion. Sometimes I wore those things while riding, too. And, of course, when the weather was warm enough (and I could get away with it), I wore 501 cutoffs.
I know lots of cyclists could have said the same thing about their sartorial habits. I'll bet there are plenty of cyclists today who could. Thus, I am still amazed that Levi's never came out with a line of cycle clothing--at least to my knowledge.
I got into this rumination of threads past when I saw this ad:
Apparently, someone named M Schwab designed it during the 1970's. I wonder what he/she is doing now.
A couple of weeks ago, I noticed that I was feeling sad. One reason is that a few people who have mattered to me died around that time of year--including a family member who was a couple of years younger than I am now and a female friend who committed suicide. But another cause of my tristesse is the days growing shorter.
Interestingly, I don't notice the lack of light as much when I'm riding my bike. In fact, the graying November sky becomes rather comforting, like a shawl spread across bare, wizening limbs and rocks:
And the November dusk has its own sort of lumination, like a sort of wisdom revealed:
A little bit of that light crossed my path--or so it seemed:
When I stopped, he rubbed against my ankles. When I dismounted and squatted next to my bike, he rubbed his face against my hand.
He brought me joy tinged with a note of sadness: A cat so friendly could only have been abandoned by someone.
In that sense--as well as in his physical appearance--he's like Max. My friend Mildred, who rescued him, told a similar story: He, who had never before met her, approached her as she walked down the street.
I didn't have a bag or basket, but I was tempted to find a way to bring my new-found friend home. I gave myself all of the reasons why I couldn't. A woman sitting on a nearby bench told me not to worry: He's been living on that stretch of the Rockaway boardwalk for "about three years" and she and other people feed him.
I guess he manages to sleep and survive with that sky as his blanket and the sand as his mattress.
