Bloomsday Bike Rides

Today is Bloomsday.

If you don't know what that means, you never read James Joyce's Ulysses.  Don't worry, though, I won't castigate you. 

(All right, I know there are other words I could've used.  But I get a cheap thrill out of "castigate", especially now that I am a woman.)

The events in what some have called the greatest novel of the 20th Century all take place on one day:  16 June 1904.  That, in and of itself, is as ironic as anything in the book, which almost nobody ever reads in one day.

I won't try to summarize the book here:  I'm not sure that such a thing is possible.  I won't even do a song and dance to convince you that you should read the book and love it.  All I'll say is that reading it is an experience like no other. 

 

To me, it reads like an encyclopedia of a person's subconscious mind.  There is almost any kind of event, instruction or wordplay anyone could imagine.  Yes, there are even references to bicycles and cycling, including this description of a race in Episode 10, a.k.a. Wandering Rocks:

Bang of the lastlap bell spurred the halfmile wheelmen to their sprint. J. A. Jackson, W. E. Wylie, A. Munro and H. T. Gahan, their stretched necks wagging, negotiated the curve by the College Library.

As with much else in Ulysses, this seems to have had a basis in real life.  Or, at any rate, Joyce seems to have taken the names of the riders from a Daily Telegraph account:

The Evening Telegraph for 16th June 1904 reports the order of finish: ‘Half-Mile Bicycle Handicap – J. A. Jackson, 10 yds., 1; W.H.T. Gahan, sch., 2. Also completed – T.W. Fitzgerald, 30; A. Henderson, 50. Time 1 min. 16 secs. Second heat – W.E. Wylie, 20 yds., 1; A. Munro, 35 yds., 2. Also completed – T.C. Furlong, sch. Won by three lengths. Time, 1 min. 17 secs’ (p. 3, col. i).

 

Apparently, Joyce ordered the riders according to the result of the half-mile final, not the heat.  But no matter.  No one reads Ulysses to learn the results of races that took place over a century ago.  Rather, the race is part of what happened--or, more precisely, streamed through the narrator's consciousness--on that day.

 

It makes even more sense that that race, and other references to cycling, were included in Ulysses when you realize that Joyce himself was a keen cyclist. One August day in 1912, he and his wife-to-be Nora pedaled from Galway to Clifden, a round-trip of 160 kilometers (100 miles).  They did other long rides, and he did some more by himself.  Given the conditions of Irish roads and bicycle technology at the time--and Joyce's poor eyesight and other physical ailments--I'd say they did pretty well.

 

I'll close this post with another Ulysses excerpt, this from Episode 17, a.k.a. Ithaca:

 

What facilities of transit were desirable?

When citybound frequent connection by train or tram from their respective intermediate station or terminal. When countrybound velocipedes, a chainless freewheel roadster cycle with side basketcar attached, or draught conveyance, a donkey with wicker trap or smart phaeton with good working solidungular cob (roan gelding, 14 h).

 

Who Came To The Baby Shower

Last night, I attended a baby shower for a friend who happens to be an employee of a bike shop I frequent.  Not surprisingly, other employees of that shop—yes, including males—also attended. 

The party was held in an American Legion auxiliary hall.  That, of course, is not remarkable:  Halls like that are used for all sorts of purposes.  One of my uncles was the Commander of a Veterans of Foreign Wars chapter in my old Brooklyn neighborhood; two of the earliest celebrations for my birthday that I can recall were held in that VFW space.  He and another uncle of mine were also members of the now-all-but-defunct Maritime Workers Union, which had its headquarters just a couple of blocks from the South Brooklyn docks where those uncles worked.  The MWU’s headquarters—now the Al-Noor School, the largest Muslim elementary school  in the United States—hosted any number of birthday and holiday parties as well as other events.

The baby shower I attended last night was the first time in years, possibly decades, that I have gone to an event in a hall like the ones I’ve just mentioned.  There was a time in my life when I could go to a neighborhood I’d never before seen, inside or outside of NYC, and find the American Legion and UFW halls, no matter how inconspicuous they were, without even trying. I’d also find a Maritime Union headquarters, if one existed, and the halls and offices of any number of other unions.

The hall in which the baby shower was held is one of the more inconspicuous ones I’ve seen:  It’s located in a house on a residential street.  Like other houses on that block, it’s pretty shabby-looking on the outside.  On the inside, too, as I suspect most, if not all, of the other houses on that block are.  The signs on it are barely legible, even in the late-afternoon daylight.  Those signs have faded, in part from decades of weather, but also, I’m sure, from the smoke and soot that belch out of factories and workshops, and cars entering and exiting the expressways that form two of the boundaries of that neighborhood.

The other boundaries of that community include industrial zones, cemeteries and streets that dead-end in a vast railyard or truck yards.  It’s the sort of place that, if I could ride to it “as the crow flies” from my apartment, I would need only a couple of minutes.  But, because the city’s grid pattern breaks down and I have to go around the yards I’ve mentioned, it took me about fifteen minutes.  Other guests at the baby shower, some of whom had lived in Brooklyn, Queens or Manhattan all of their lives, said they had difficulty in finding it.

The American Legion hall.

So, that neighborhood is, in effect, an urban island.  Almost nobody ever goes there unless he or she lives or works, or has friends or family members, there.  Probably no tourist—not even one who’s gone to PS 1 or any of the other Long Island City or Brooklyn venues located within two kilometers of that block—has ever seen that block.  And, I’m sure that few if any people who live on that block, or the ones adjacent to it, cross the boundaries I’ve mentioned frequently, if at all. 

A visitor to the block might be surprised to see that most of the people—at least the ones I saw congregating in front of, and around, those houses—are Caucasian.  Such a visitor would probably be less surprised to see that the people there aren’t, for the most part, young.  Or, at least, they do not have the youthful obliviousness one finds spilling in and out of the bars and cafes along Kent Avenue in Williamsburg. 

In brief, that neighborhood—like its American Legion hall—is something that is surviving, if just barely, because of its isolation:  a community of (mostly low-skill) blue-collar workers and their families, many of whom have never lived anywhere else.  It’s similar, in many ways, to the neighborhood in which I grew up.  I imagine that had my old community remained as it was, it might have become more and more run-down as remaining residents tried to hold on to it.  

What the neighborhood doesn't look like.

Years ago, I used to see many other such areas while riding through Brooklyn and western Queens.  Some of those areas have turned into the hipster havens and the playgrounds of the fresh-faced I see today.  Many current residents ride bicycles, if only as an expression as their self-conscious hipness.  But in those same neighborhoods thirty, twenty or even fifteen years ago, one almost never saw an adult cyclist.  In fact, those aging blue-collar workers and their families very often didn’t use the subways or buses, even if they stopped just steps away from their front doors. 

It seems that no one in the neighborhood where I attended the baby shower rides bicycles, either.  I’d bet none of them would ride even if Citibike installed a port right in front of the American Legion hall. I include, among those people, a man who seemed to be a manager or caretaker of the hall.  He was helpful and polite, if a bit reserved:  He addressed me and the other women as “ma’am” or “miss” and held the door for us.  He didn’t seem to be surprised that so many men attended the baby shower.  Rather, he expressed mild consternation that so many of us—men and  women—showed up on bikes.

Riding The Flag

Today is Flag Day here in the US.

There has been no shortage of bike accessories--and whole bikes--with the Stars and Stripes in their design.  Too many are, quite frankly, garish or simply corny.  However, there is one that, I must admit, makes me a little sentimental.

 

Many of us had American flag bells on our bikes as kids.  Somehow a Schwinn cruiser or lowrider from a certain era doesn't seem complete without one.  I'm not sure that the Chicago bike-maker's vast line of accessories ever included such a bell, though.  All of the Schwinn (actually, Schwinn-Approved) bells I ever saw had the company's seal on them.

I'll admit that I rather like this handlebar bag:

 

Now, it's not the sort of thing you'd use on an Audax or Brevet, let alone a cross-continental tour.  But it could be fun to have on a town or shopping bike.  Plus, if it's handmade and sold on Etsy, it can't be all bad, right?

The Fourth of July--US Independence Day--features parades that almost invariably include bicycles decorated with the colors of Old Glory.  Many are tacky or simply silly.  However, I've seen a few that use the red, white and blue in interesting ways.  Here is one:

From Or So She Says

Of course, I'm not going to ride those wheels on my next century.  Then again, I wouldn't ride this wheel, either:

 

 unless, of course, I could ride it with one of these tires: ;-)