From An Olympic Race To A Run For Freedom: Michael Walker

To my knowledge, I do not have any Irish heritage.  So, perhaps, those of you who have any could forgive me for not writing about one of the definitive events in the history of Eireann and the role a cyclist played in it.

Last week marked 100 years since the Easter Rising, which took place from 24 to 30 April 1916.  It is seen as the first of a series of events that led to the declaration of the Irish Republic and the Irish War for Independence.

Four years before the Easter Rising, the fifth modern Olympics--and the last before World War I--were held in Stockholm, Sweden.  Despite objections from other countries, the British Olympic Association entered three teams in the cycling events:  one each from the separate English, Irish and Scottish governing bodies of the sport.

Michael Walker

Dublin native Michael Walker, who had begun racing only a year earlier, was chosen for the team. So was his brother John, three years younger. 

They, and the other riders, lined up for an individual time trial on the 7th of July.  Incredibly, that race--which would count toward individual and team medals-- was 315 kilometers (196 miles) long.  South African Rudolph Lewis won it with a time of 10 hours and 42 minutes. 

The Irish cycling team on their way to the 1912 Olympics in Stockholm

The Irish team finished 11th of the 15 teams that competed, and Michael and John finished 67th and 81st, respectively, in the individual competitions. 

The following year, Michael won the Irish 50-mile championship and set national records for 12 and 24 hours. 

Later in that same year, he attended the inaugural meeting of the Irish Volunteers, whose chief objective was to "secure and maintain the rights and liberties common to the whole people of Ireland."  Within two years, in Dublin, an armed insurrection erupted.  That rebellion would become the Easter Rising.

The insurgents occupied six strategic positions in the city of Dublin.  The Walker brothers were posted to one of them, the Jacob's Biscuit Factory, along with 150 men, under the command of Thomas MacDonagh, with Major John MacBride second in command.  As the fighting raged on, the Walkers would spend much of their time in a role that befit their cycling skills:  as couriers whisking messages across the city.

One of the Rising's most famous leaders, Eamon De Valera, held fort at Boland's Mill, which was under siege.  He sent an urgent request to Jacob's for help.  "Members of this garrison with bicycles were selected for this sortie including my brother John and myself and we left the buildings some time in the afternoon," Michael related in a witness statement. "We proceeded... as far as Holles Street where we dismounted and fired several volleys up toward Mount Street Bridge."

On their return, however, they "came under machine gun fire from the top of Grafton Street."   The brothers escaped unhurt, and their battalion would surrender on the 30th of April.  MacDonagh and MacBride, among others, were executed.  The Walkers would be arrested and sent to Stafford Jail.

Five years later, Michael would go on to fight in the War of Independence.  He would receive medals for that, as well as his involvement in the Easter Rising. He would live another half-century, dying at the age of 85 on 15 March 1971, less than a year before the Bloody Sunday massacre in Londonderry.

In an interesting twist of fate, Rudolph Lewis, who won that 1912 Olympic time trial, would--while the Walker brothers were doing their part for Irish independence--serve in the German Army during World War I, for which he was awarded the Iron Cross.
 

May Day And Bicycles

Today is May Day.  In much of the world, it's celebrated as a sort of Labor Day--which, in this country, has become mainly an occasion for shopping or taking an end-of-summer trip.

It's also been celebrated, particularly in the British Isles and Scandanavia, as a spring festival marking an end to the long nights of winter.   To some, it might seem paradoxical that this day was chosen to honor labor.  Well, that tradition started with the Haymarket Massacre, which took place during the first week of May in 1886.  

But, even if there were not such a tragedy to observe, I think that it would make sense to pay homage to labor at this time of year, as spring is flowering.  Many see hope at this time of year; others think about what could be--and what isn't.  It's no coincidence that so many uprisings take place around this time of year:  Think of the Easter Rising of 1916, and the Paris and Prague Springs of 1968, for example.

I am struck by how many people participate in May Day processions--or go to them--on their bicycles.  That makes sense, too, as this is the time of year when many people end their winter hiatuses and begin cycling in earnest--or begin cycling again for the first time in their adult lives, or ever.  Not for nothing does Bike To Work Week come in May.  
Also, in much of the world, bicycles are the transportation of working-class people.  As Sheldon Brown point out, those English three-speeds manufactured by Raleigh, Dunelt and other companies for a century took millions of British workers to their shops, factories, schools and other places where they worked or studied.  The bicycle is still the main way people commute in many areas; in some places, mainly northern European and North American cities, people--especially the young--are  becoming bicycle commuters (and cyclists in general) by choice rather than necessity.



Who knows the meaning of May Day--and the importance of bicycles in it--than this man, who gave his name as "Caryle" and helped to set in motoion a fire-breathing float powered by bicycles in last year's Minneapolis parade?

What Do You Learn While Cycling?

You learn all kinds of things while cycling.  Some come from those deep ruminations that naturally come with that meditatative state you fall into while pedaling.  You start to ponder the Big Questions, like "Do I cook that wild farm-raised alligator shrimp fish I bought last week?  Or do I go for takeout Chinese?  Tacos?  Pizza?"

Other great lessons come from the things our bodies tell us.  Like the time you tried to do that half-century on two hours' sleep after you pulled a hamstring.  Or plunged down that rock-strewn hill the day after you broke up for the fifth or sixth time with someone with whom you have nothing in common but talk about marriage anyway.

Then there are those little bits of information we get from fellow cyclists and other people we meet along the way.  You know, news about sales, new "dive" bars and the "in" bike cafes:  All the important stuff.

Finally there are the things you would never, ever have found out had you not taken that ride a little later or a little earlier than usual, along some route you told yourself you'd never ride, ever again:

Hillary may well have stolen New York City.  She wouldn't be the first.  Some would argue, as I would, that a Dutchman did the same in 1624.  (Actually, Native Americans have had a whole continent stolen from them, just as African Americans' history and community was taken from them.) For that matter, I wouldn't be surprised if the one who wrote that graffito was involved in stealing the very spot--on the waterfront of Williamsburg, Brooklyn--from some working-class Italian or Jewish or German or Puerto Rican family who used to live there--or the jobs they might have had.

And we all know that Bush The Second stole the election of 2000.  Which means, of course, that he not only stole this country, he stole the 21st Century and, possibly, the third milennium.

Oh, the Five Boro Bike Tour will pass that very spot tomorrow.  Except that it will be going in the opposite direction from the one I'd been pedaling along the Kent Avenue Bike Lane.  So they might not ever learn that Hillary Stole NYC--or that there's construction in the bike lane, and they should proceed with caution.