The Wall

The other day, Donald Trump met with Mexican President Jorge Pena Nieto.  When I really wanted to know what they talked about.  I mean, I'm not a violent person, but if I were in Senor Pena Nieto's zapatos, I'm not sure I could be as civil as he was to someone who so publicly and viciously insulted his country and people.

El Donaldo claims they talked about The Wall:  You know, the one that the erstwhile casino mogul wants to build along the border between the two countries, and make the country that supplies, directly or indirectly, his restaurant and domestic help (and, probably, a good part of the rest of his workforce) pay for it.  After all, those folks south of the border have gotten so rich from all the money the fellow who made his taco bowl sent home that they can easily afford to foot the bill for keeping the country where the man makes his money safe.  Right?

Caballero Jorge very politely, but in a very manly sort of way, denied that his country is going to pay for any such structure.  Donald, trying to out-do him in the machismo department, reiterated his promise that not only will the wall be built, but that "they are going to pay for the wall, 100%.  They don't know it yet."

OK, Donald, I won't let out the Big Secret.  But please tell me: How thick will that wall be?  And more important:  How high?

I ask because no one really knows just how much is necessary to keep those thundering herds of taco trucks from rumbling across the border.  But even if Your Wall could keep out those hordes of enchilada chefs yearning to make a living, it can't deter another group of intrepid souls:

Seeing Dutch

They like to eat breakfast early!

That was one of the first things Alexis de Tocqueville noticed about Americans.  

In 1831, the 25-year-old lawyer came to this country with his fellow barrister, Gustave de Beaumont, to study prisons in the US.  They returned to their native France after a year and published their report, which seems to have been written mainly by de Beaumont.  

But the lasting legacy of their sojourn came in 1835, when de Tocqueville published Democracy In America.  In it, he offered what, to this day, are some of the most trenchant observations made by a foreigner looking at American society.   He expressed both admiration and criticism of the New World's ideals, customs, institutions (or, in some cases, relative lack thereof) and economy.  

What if he were alive today?  And what if he were a cyclist?  What would he think of the ways in which Americans ride--and of the environment for cycling?  

Those questions came to my mind when I came across this video in which a Dutchman offers his observations of cycling in the USA:

Early Morning On The Island

If you are looking to transcend the place and time in which you live, you can move out and away from them.  Or you can go inside them.

This morning, I did the latter, without even trying.  

Randall's Island sits in the East River, between Manhattan and Queens.  If you know that, but you've never been there, you might expect it to have a skyline like Manhattan's, if on a smaller scale--or, perhaps, dense residential neighborhoods, as you would find in much of Queens.

Instead, you would find fields--some of them open, others designated for baseball and other sports--as well as wetlands, clumps of woods and gardens ringed by a rocky shoreline.  The relatively bucolic landscape is shadowed only by the Hell Gate Viaduct, used by the Metro North commuter rail line and Amtrak, and the overpasses for the RFK Memorial Bridge. (The conjoined Wards Island, once separated by a channel that was filled in about 100 years ago, contains a water treatment plant, mental hospital and state police barracks in addition to ballfields and picnic grounds.)  Even when you look toward the tall buildings of Manhattan, the houses and apartment buildings of Queens and the factories and warehouses in the Bronx, it's easy not to feel as if you are in New York City.

Especially if you're cycling the island early in the morning:

The smokestacks you see in the background are on Rikers Island.  Even they don't look so menacing just after dawn.  (Still, I'm in no hurry to go there!)   Behind the trees to the right, and a few kilometers back, is LaGuardia Airport.  I'd much rather go there.  But riding on Randalls Island this morning was just fine!