Flat-Free--For Today, Anyway

Today dawned clear; bright sun filled the morning and afternoon sky.  Clouds gathered around the time schools were letting kids out but there was no threat of rain. That much I could tell because although the air grew warmer, as it normally does during the day, the humidity didn’t increase. Or so it seemed.

In other words, today was a very, very nice day for a ride in these parts.  So of course I went.  Best of all, I pedaled into the wind as I pedaled away from home.  That meant, of course, that the wind blew me back.  I couldn’t have planned it any better than that.

I rode over parts of routes I’ve ridden many times before.  Although I’ve been thinking, lately, about new places and paths, I was happy to ride my old, familiar routines today.  In brief, I was simply happy to ride.

No, I haven’t had some near-death experience or other tragedy that could have left me unable to ride my bike—or live.  This day, and the ability to ride with nothing to distract me from its pleasures, was enough. 

All right, I’ll admit that there was one particular thing about this ride that made me even happier than I usually am when I’m on my bike.  Perhaps it will seem completely mundane, and under most circumstances it would be.  What is that piece of good fortune?  Here goes:  I didn’t get a flat.

From Trinity Outdoor Education

 

Now, I manage to do most of my rides—including my commutes—without puncturing my tires or tubes.  But on the three rides I took before this one, I had no such luck.  In fact, on one ride, I managed to get two flats.

You might be asking yourself, “She’s devoting a post to that?”  I can’t blame you if you are.  But the fact that I got this recent rash of flats is actually of some import—to me, anyway.  Why?

Well, those flats weren’t the result of worn-out or poor-quality tires or tubes.  I also haven’t been riding any tires that are lighter or otherwise more delicate than the ones I’ve used for the past several years. (The tires I rode today were Continental Gatorskins; I almost invariably ride tires from Continental, Michelin, Panaracer or Schwalbe.)  And, of course, the road conditions aren’t different from what I’ve been riding for a while.

All right, I should amend that last statement.  It does seem that there’s more debris on the streets, roads and paths than I normally see at this time of year.  I think it may have something to do with the fact that we had snow and ice so late in the season this year.  In most years, I encounter the most debris—and get the majority of whatever flats I get—in late winter and early spring.  I think that in most years, some shards of glass and other hazards are buried under the snow and ice and exposed once those winter accumulations melt or are brushed or shoveled away.  The first couple of heavy rains in April or May seem to wash much of the debris away; I rarely get flats late in the spring, or in the summer or fall unless I’m riding on a worn tire or have some other unusual circumstance.

In most years in this part of the world, the snow and ice are usually gone by March and the first heavy rains—the kinds that cause flooding on low ground or places with poor drainage—strike in April. However, we didn’t have such a torrent until the first day of this month. It usually takes two or three such storms, I think, to wash away much of what causes flats.

I’m hoping today’s ride is a good omen.  If it isn’t, well, I’ve had to do much worse things than replace or repair a tube during a ride!

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.