To start 2017, I'm posting this video from "Genuss Biker", a.k.a. Oliver Hanke of Germany:
Happy New Year!
Happy New Year!
01 January 2017
31 December 2016
2016: It Never Ends
Now it is time to say "goodbye" to 2016.
A lot of people I know are glad to see this year end. One reason is, of course, the Presidential election here in the US. The day after the election, at the college in which I teach, a mournful, even funereal haze seemed to envelop the hallways and the surrounding neighborhood--which happens to be part of the poorest (of 435) Congressional District in the United States. The atmosphere brought to mind the accounts I've read of the 1952 "Killer Fog" in London: Students and faculty members, as well as people I saw shuffling along the Grand Concourse and 149th Street, seemed to have had the energy even to gasp for air sucked out of them.
But even Trump supporters (yes, I know a few of those!) seem happy to see this year end. For one thing there were the deaths of great and merely famous people. I haven't made a count, it does seem that more have left us during the past twelve months than in other years I can recall. Some, as sad as they were, weren't so surprising: I'm thinking, for example of Elie Wiesel, who was an old (if still vibrant) man and Muhammad Ali, who had been deteriorating for decades. But others, like Prince, George Michael and Carrie Fisher, took most of us by surprise. Then there were the no-less-tragic deaths of people of whom we never would have heard save for the ways they died. I am thinking, in particular, of Melissa Ann Fevig-Hughes, Suzanne Joan Sippel, Debra Bradley, Tony Nelson and Larry Paulik, all out for a late-day ride in Michigan when they were mowed down by an SUV driver who was charged with murder.
Also, even though many voted for Trump based on empty slogans and other rhetoric, misperceptions about what (if anything!) he actually represents or simply plain, flat-out lies they believed, they (at least the ones I know) are no less angry or disillusioned than they were before the election. What I find interesting, and almost amusing, is that they sometimes talk about the "liberal" media lying to them about crime, immigration and other issues--and tell me (and probably others) that the "liberal" media disseminated lies and misinformation that, in fact, came from the lips of Trump or his troupe during the campaign.
Anyway, the election has come and gone. So have some celebrated people. But there was still much for which I am grateful and happy. My work life has gone well. I have been writing (apart from this blog!) and my students and I are moving forward (I believe) in my "day job". As for my love life...Well, let's say I've had a semblance of it, without really trying. I don't think I've met (or will meet) someone with whom I will spend the rest of my life. But then again, I haven't been looking for anyone like that.
This year, though, has brought me reunions with a couple of old friends and the beginning of a reconciliation with an estranged relative. And it--like the past couple of years--has brought me into contact with people, mainly through this blog, in other parts of the world. Perhaps we will meet some day.
If we do, it might be on a bike ride. Cycling, of course, has been one of the constants in my life for decades. This year was no exception. I did some rides I've done dozens, or even hundreds, of times before, and saw, heard, felt and thought what I couldn't have--or couldn't have even conceived--when I first started riding. I also did a couple of new rides I hope to do again and, of course, took a trip to Paris, where I spent many happy hours pedaling through valleys flanged by gray and beige stone building facades, and along pathways that cut through parks and line the canals.
Riding has been, this year and in others, not merely a means of escape or even transportation, although it has served those purposes. It has, I now realize, taken on another interesting role in my life. When I first became a dedicated cyclist, as a teenager in the 1970s, it was a kind of rebellion: Other kids abandoned their Schwinn Varsities and Continentals, Raleigh Records and Grind Prixes and Peugeot U08s the moment they got their drivers' licences. I continued to ride. Then, in college, a lot of my fellow students rode their bikes to class or for errands, but not for any other purpose. So, even though I wasn't consciously rebelling, I was seen as if I were--or, at least, as some sort of misfit (which I was, though in other ways).
After college came a series of jobs and moves (including one to Paris). I continued to ride, and the wind and vistas--whether of wide boulevards or narrow alleys, or of industrial soot turning to suburban sprawl and, finally, to orchards and fields of horses--or of seeing the ocean spreading itself before me after a couple of hours of pedaling--have all imprinted themselves on my consciousness. In fact, I feel as if they are part of my body, intermingled with every ion and neuron in me.
In brief, my cycling started off as a kind of rebellion--conscious or not--but has become the very thing that has kept me from feeling alienated from the world around me and, most important, myself. If I've learned nothing else this year, I feel that lesson--along with my riding, blogging, writing and experiences with people--have made this year worthwhile, even rewarding, amidst all of the pain and confusion in the world around me.
A lot of people I know are glad to see this year end. One reason is, of course, the Presidential election here in the US. The day after the election, at the college in which I teach, a mournful, even funereal haze seemed to envelop the hallways and the surrounding neighborhood--which happens to be part of the poorest (of 435) Congressional District in the United States. The atmosphere brought to mind the accounts I've read of the 1952 "Killer Fog" in London: Students and faculty members, as well as people I saw shuffling along the Grand Concourse and 149th Street, seemed to have had the energy even to gasp for air sucked out of them.
But even Trump supporters (yes, I know a few of those!) seem happy to see this year end. For one thing there were the deaths of great and merely famous people. I haven't made a count, it does seem that more have left us during the past twelve months than in other years I can recall. Some, as sad as they were, weren't so surprising: I'm thinking, for example of Elie Wiesel, who was an old (if still vibrant) man and Muhammad Ali, who had been deteriorating for decades. But others, like Prince, George Michael and Carrie Fisher, took most of us by surprise. Then there were the no-less-tragic deaths of people of whom we never would have heard save for the ways they died. I am thinking, in particular, of Melissa Ann Fevig-Hughes, Suzanne Joan Sippel, Debra Bradley, Tony Nelson and Larry Paulik, all out for a late-day ride in Michigan when they were mowed down by an SUV driver who was charged with murder.
Also, even though many voted for Trump based on empty slogans and other rhetoric, misperceptions about what (if anything!) he actually represents or simply plain, flat-out lies they believed, they (at least the ones I know) are no less angry or disillusioned than they were before the election. What I find interesting, and almost amusing, is that they sometimes talk about the "liberal" media lying to them about crime, immigration and other issues--and tell me (and probably others) that the "liberal" media disseminated lies and misinformation that, in fact, came from the lips of Trump or his troupe during the campaign.
Anyway, the election has come and gone. So have some celebrated people. But there was still much for which I am grateful and happy. My work life has gone well. I have been writing (apart from this blog!) and my students and I are moving forward (I believe) in my "day job". As for my love life...Well, let's say I've had a semblance of it, without really trying. I don't think I've met (or will meet) someone with whom I will spend the rest of my life. But then again, I haven't been looking for anyone like that.
This year, though, has brought me reunions with a couple of old friends and the beginning of a reconciliation with an estranged relative. And it--like the past couple of years--has brought me into contact with people, mainly through this blog, in other parts of the world. Perhaps we will meet some day.
If we do, it might be on a bike ride. Cycling, of course, has been one of the constants in my life for decades. This year was no exception. I did some rides I've done dozens, or even hundreds, of times before, and saw, heard, felt and thought what I couldn't have--or couldn't have even conceived--when I first started riding. I also did a couple of new rides I hope to do again and, of course, took a trip to Paris, where I spent many happy hours pedaling through valleys flanged by gray and beige stone building facades, and along pathways that cut through parks and line the canals.
Riding has been, this year and in others, not merely a means of escape or even transportation, although it has served those purposes. It has, I now realize, taken on another interesting role in my life. When I first became a dedicated cyclist, as a teenager in the 1970s, it was a kind of rebellion: Other kids abandoned their Schwinn Varsities and Continentals, Raleigh Records and Grind Prixes and Peugeot U08s the moment they got their drivers' licences. I continued to ride. Then, in college, a lot of my fellow students rode their bikes to class or for errands, but not for any other purpose. So, even though I wasn't consciously rebelling, I was seen as if I were--or, at least, as some sort of misfit (which I was, though in other ways).
After college came a series of jobs and moves (including one to Paris). I continued to ride, and the wind and vistas--whether of wide boulevards or narrow alleys, or of industrial soot turning to suburban sprawl and, finally, to orchards and fields of horses--or of seeing the ocean spreading itself before me after a couple of hours of pedaling--have all imprinted themselves on my consciousness. In fact, I feel as if they are part of my body, intermingled with every ion and neuron in me.
In brief, my cycling started off as a kind of rebellion--conscious or not--but has become the very thing that has kept me from feeling alienated from the world around me and, most important, myself. If I've learned nothing else this year, I feel that lesson--along with my riding, blogging, writing and experiences with people--have made this year worthwhile, even rewarding, amidst all of the pain and confusion in the world around me.
30 December 2016
The Oldest Tour Winner Dies: Ferdinand "Ferdi" Kubler
Yesterday, I mentioned that Scots have made more than their share of contributions to the development of bicycles and cycling. Today I am going to mention a country that has produced more than its share of world-class cyclists, and one of those cyclists in particular.
After Belgium, Switzerland has probably turned out more elite racers in proportion to its population than any other country. One thing both countries have in common, besides great chocolate, is that they're both small and multi-lingual. Now, whether that has anything to do with their status as velocipedic hotbeds, I don't know. (Personally, I think the chocolates would be more of a factor!) One might also argue that topography is a factor. Belgium has a wide variety of terrain, from mountains in the south to table-flat land in the north, which also means varying weather conditions. Switzerland also has widely varying weather, but as a result of one type of landscape that dominates the country: mountains.
So, not surprisingly, some of the sport's best climbers came from the Alpine nation. One of them can be seen in this photo, climbing Mont Ventoux during the 1955 Tour de France:
He is none other than Ferdinand Kubler, who became the first Helvetian winner of the Tour in 1950. This victory was particuarly sweet for "Ferdi", who won stages of the 1947 and 1949 editions of the Tour but did not finish either. The 1947 running of the race was the first since 1939, when World War II broke out--and when Kubler was beginning his professional career.
So, even though he had a more impressive palmares than 99 percent of those who've ever raced, it's still difficult not wonder "What if?" When he won the Tour, he was already 31 years old: an age at which even the best riders are starting the downward slope of their careers. (Eddy Mercx retired at 33.) He would stand on the Tour podium one more time, four years later, when he finished second. In 1951--the year in which he also won the World Championship--and 1952, he finished third in the Giro d'Italia. He never entered the Vuelta a Espana, but at that time, it didn't have the stature it now enjoys.
Interestingly, in 1951--the year after Ferdi's win--Hugo Koblet would become the second Swiss Tour de France champion. The two riders could hardly have presented a greater contrast, each defying Swiss stereotypes in entirely different ways. While Kubler was devoted to the family who accompanied him to his races, he was known as a high-spirited and even impulsive rider who sometimes made strategically unwise attacks. Koblet, on the other hand, was a "rock star" of the racing world: Female fans flocked to see the "Pedaleur de Charme" with matinee-idol looks, and he had a reputation for high living and hard partying. He married a model who would divorce him a few years later. However, on the bike he was a very disciplined and pedaled with an elegance and grace that would not be seen until Stephen Roche came along three decades later.
Another contrast can be seen in what happened to Kubler and Koblet after their respective Tour victories. Although he never replicated the Tour victory, Kubler continued to race at a high level for another half-decade, continuing to win a number of "classics" before retiring from competitive racing in 1957, at age 38. Koblet, however, "crashed" after the 1951 Tour: Jean Bobet (brother of three-time Tour winner Louison Bobet) said, "we saw him unable to ride over the smallest hill". The writer Olivier Dazat described a "suddenly aged" man who "seemed preoccupied"--probably with his marital, debt and tax troubles.
Koblet's death at age 39, in 1964, is widely believed to be a suicide. Kubler, in yet another contrast, spent his 97th Christmas with his family before dying a few days later--yesterday--in a Zurich hospital. He was the oldest living Tour de France winner. And, in a nation that has produced many great bicycle racers, he was chosen as Sportsman of the Century.
After Belgium, Switzerland has probably turned out more elite racers in proportion to its population than any other country. One thing both countries have in common, besides great chocolate, is that they're both small and multi-lingual. Now, whether that has anything to do with their status as velocipedic hotbeds, I don't know. (Personally, I think the chocolates would be more of a factor!) One might also argue that topography is a factor. Belgium has a wide variety of terrain, from mountains in the south to table-flat land in the north, which also means varying weather conditions. Switzerland also has widely varying weather, but as a result of one type of landscape that dominates the country: mountains.
So, not surprisingly, some of the sport's best climbers came from the Alpine nation. One of them can be seen in this photo, climbing Mont Ventoux during the 1955 Tour de France:
He is none other than Ferdinand Kubler, who became the first Helvetian winner of the Tour in 1950. This victory was particuarly sweet for "Ferdi", who won stages of the 1947 and 1949 editions of the Tour but did not finish either. The 1947 running of the race was the first since 1939, when World War II broke out--and when Kubler was beginning his professional career.
 |
| Ferdi Kubler encouraged by his wife, Rosa, at the peak of a grueling climb. |
So, even though he had a more impressive palmares than 99 percent of those who've ever raced, it's still difficult not wonder "What if?" When he won the Tour, he was already 31 years old: an age at which even the best riders are starting the downward slope of their careers. (Eddy Mercx retired at 33.) He would stand on the Tour podium one more time, four years later, when he finished second. In 1951--the year in which he also won the World Championship--and 1952, he finished third in the Giro d'Italia. He never entered the Vuelta a Espana, but at that time, it didn't have the stature it now enjoys.
 |
| Hugo Koblet in 1950 |
Interestingly, in 1951--the year after Ferdi's win--Hugo Koblet would become the second Swiss Tour de France champion. The two riders could hardly have presented a greater contrast, each defying Swiss stereotypes in entirely different ways. While Kubler was devoted to the family who accompanied him to his races, he was known as a high-spirited and even impulsive rider who sometimes made strategically unwise attacks. Koblet, on the other hand, was a "rock star" of the racing world: Female fans flocked to see the "Pedaleur de Charme" with matinee-idol looks, and he had a reputation for high living and hard partying. He married a model who would divorce him a few years later. However, on the bike he was a very disciplined and pedaled with an elegance and grace that would not be seen until Stephen Roche came along three decades later.
 |
| Hugo Koblet as he is often remembered. |
Another contrast can be seen in what happened to Kubler and Koblet after their respective Tour victories. Although he never replicated the Tour victory, Kubler continued to race at a high level for another half-decade, continuing to win a number of "classics" before retiring from competitive racing in 1957, at age 38. Koblet, however, "crashed" after the 1951 Tour: Jean Bobet (brother of three-time Tour winner Louison Bobet) said, "we saw him unable to ride over the smallest hill". The writer Olivier Dazat described a "suddenly aged" man who "seemed preoccupied"--probably with his marital, debt and tax troubles.
Koblet's death at age 39, in 1964, is widely believed to be a suicide. Kubler, in yet another contrast, spent his 97th Christmas with his family before dying a few days later--yesterday--in a Zurich hospital. He was the oldest living Tour de France winner. And, in a nation that has produced many great bicycle racers, he was chosen as Sportsman of the Century.
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