Reserved For Birds And Angels

A bishop and a professor were discussing philosophy.  (I know, it sounds like the beginning of a really geeky joke!)  

The bishop averred that The Millennium was at hand.  Evidence of that, he said, was that everything about nature had been discovered and all useful inventions created. 

The professor politely told the bishop he was mistaken.  "Why, in a few years," he proclaimed, "we'll be able to fly through the air."

The bishop was having none of it.  "What a nonsensical idea!," he exclaimed.  "Flight," he tried to assure the professor, "is reserved for birds and angels."  Being the good bishop he was, he added, "To think otherwise is blasphemy!"

This story is rich with irony.  The encounter between the suffragan and the savant occurred late in the nineteenth century.  So, whether or not he intended it, the professor was as much a seer as a sage.  The diocesan, on the other hand, sounded more like a die-hard Luddite.

The name of the professor has been lost to history.  But the bishop achieved some degree of fame in his time, having attained a rather high office in the Church of the United Brethren in Christ, whose members included some rather influential Americans in a number of endeavors.

This bishop's sons were among them.  They first made something of a name for themselves in the bicycle business, which was would experience its first great boom not long after the bishop made his pronouncement. 

Today we know that bishop's name mainly because of his sons.  Even if you have never been anywhere near a bicycle, you've heard of them.  Since you already know their names, whether or not you know it, I will tell you who that esteemed ecclesiastical authority was:  someone named Milton Wright.

Yes, his two sons were those Wrights.  Of course, they achieved even greater fame--though not fortune--for doing what their father said couldn't be done.  Yes, Orville and Wilbur got to do what all kids, at some point in their lives, try (and, some would argue, need) to do:  They proved their father wrong.  He didn't deny it, but he never seemed terribly impressed.  

But, in one sense, he was right (pun intended):  Humans cannot fly--without some sort of device or other aid, anyway.  Even on a bicycle.

With that in mind, I have found the perfect headgear for him, his sons and everyone else, whether or not they've ever pedaled on the velodrome:

An Intelligent Bike Trailer?

Most hardcore cyclists I've encountered sneer at electric bicycles, a.k.a. "e-bikes".  I admit that I did, too, when I first saw them.  Now, even though I'm not inclined to get one for myself, I more or less accept the fact that people ride them.  As long as their riders don't do anything stupid or careless around me, I don't worry.

I also must say that I've ridden with a trailer only a couple of times in my life.  As long as I am living in a New York City apartment, I probably never will own one.  I might, however,  consider buying one if I ever move to a place where everything I need isn't within a few minutes' bike ride and there is little or no public transportation.  If I were going to live car-free (or keep my driving to a minimum) in such an environment, I might need a trailer of some sort.

I'd like to think that I still wouldn't succumb and buy an "e-bike".  However, an electric trailer might be a good idea for really heavy loads.  In particular, one that exists only as a prototype, at least for now, looks interesting.




The "intelligent bicycle trailer" , created by Hamburg-based startup Nuwiel, attaches to a bicycle in much the same way as a kiddie trailer. So, it would be relatively easy to remove or install. 

What makes it "intelligent"?  Well, it has sensors in the attachment bar that measure the movement of the bike.  (By movement, I wonder whether they mean simply speed or the way the bike is traveling, e.g., into the wind.)  That information is transmitted to the trailer, which adds force as needed, up to a top speed of 25KPH (15.5 MPH).  A regenerative braking feature allows the trailer to slow the bike while partially recharging the batteries, which are said to have an average range of 50KM (31miles) per charge.

Nuwiel also says that when the trailer is not attached to the bike, it can be used as a motorized hand cart.  This could be useful for errands done on foot--say, to a store around the corner from where you live. 

The trailer, according to the company, will be available to courier and transport companies this Fall, and to consumers by 2019.  No price has been set.  Nuwiel seems to be pitching as a "last mile" delivery option and a carbon emission-free form of transport.

If nothing else, I am curious to see, and possibly try out the Nuwiel trailer. 

Cat's Cradle On May Day

Today is May Day.

In much of the world, this day commemorates labor movements.   In the United States, too many people believe--as I did, before I learned otherwise--that it was celebrated mainly in countries that are or were Communist, like Cuba and the former Soviet Union.  And, when I used to hold such mistaken beliefs, "Communist" was one of the most pejorative terms one could apply to any person, place or thing.

The funny thing is that the origins of May Day are as American as, well, Schwinn used to be.  So, for that matter, is socialism, which has its roots in workers' struggles to obtain an 8-hour work day (10 to 16 was the norm) and safer working conditions.  In fact, socialist movements in Europe and Latin America took much of their inspiration from movements in the US.

Unfortunately, workers in the bicycle industry--a major employer at that time (late 19th Century)--were not exempt from exploitation by their employers, as so many workers were and are.  As an example, Schwinn's metal platers and polishers struck for a 44-hour workweek and 85 cents an hour in 1919; the company retaliated against striking workers as well members of other unions and dealers who cancelled, or didn't place, orders.  In 1980, workers in Schwinn's Chicago factory, who had recently affiliated themselves with the United Auto Workers Union, went on a strike that would last four months.  In the meantime, the company accelerated its overseas sourcing and built a new factory in Mississippi, where labor was less expensive and unions all but non-existent.  Within a year, the Chicago plant ended more than eight decades of operation.

Schwinn' Peoria machine shop, 1895

In 1963, Kurt Vonnegut's Cat's Cradle was published. In the novel, the narrator--an everyman named John who calls himself Jonah--travels to the fictional Caribbean island of San Lorenzo.   On his way there, he meets "another fellow American,  H.Lowe Crosby of Evanston, Illinois, and his wife, Hazel," whom he describes as "heavy people, in their fifties" who "spoke twangingly."  

Mr. Crosby says he owns a bicycle factory in Chicago and gets "nothing but ingratitude from his employees."  Therefore, he plans to move his business to "grateful" San Lorenzo.  

The narrator asks Crosby whether he knows San Lorenzo well.  Crosby admits that he'll be seeing it for the first time but that he likes everything he's heard about it. "They've got discipline," he explains.  In Chicago, he says, "we don't make bicycles anymore.  It's all about human relations."  He proceeds to bemoan, basically, having to treat his workers like people.  Jonah asks him whether he thinks things will be better in San Lorenzo.

"I know damn well they will be.  The people down there are poor enough and scared enough and ignorant enough to have some common sense!"

Hmm...San Lorenzo sounds like a few not-so-fictional countries I can think of.  And Crosby sounds like a few not-so-fictional capitalists I can think of.