Concrete Plant, Banana Kelly And Longwood

The past couple of weeks, we've had our best weather during the work week--just when I've had to teach classes and go to meetings.  And all through the past weekend, we had the sort of weather only Marlee could love--because it keeps me home and she can cuddle with me!

So, yesterday, I snuck out for a ride between classes and a meeting.  A curtain of clouds crept between us and the sun, but no rain fell and the air was rather mild.  Once again, I rode in the Bronx, within a few kilometers of my job.

Yes, that really is dust in the background.  But it has nothing to do with the tall cylindrical structures in the background

though it could have at one time.  Until the 1980s or thereabouts, they served as an industrial facility.  Now they are part of the Cement Plant Park along the Bronx River.  I've ridden by and through that park before.  It's small, and not exactly rustic, but is oddly quaint and bucolic in the way an old industrial town in New England or the Midwest might be.

Out the other side of the park, I followed a few streets to the area around The Hub, and into a neighborhood often referred to as "Banana Kelly" after the shape of Kelly Street.  On another street a couple of blocks from Kelly--Dawson Street--I saw this

and this

and this

all within a block.  Not surprisingly, that street is landmarked as part of the Longwood Historic District.

All of those houses, and others on nearby streets, were designed by the same architect, Warren Dickerson, in the 1890s.  At that time, the Bronx was still developing:  much of the northern and eastern parts were still marshlands, woods or farms.  

The houses in this district are 2 1/2 stories tall and semi-detached, separated from each other by side driveways and ornamental iron gates.  As attractive as they are, they seem, at first glance to be variations on a theme.  That is becuase they are, and that is what Dickerson intended.  He wanted to create a unified streetscape, and that he did.  While they started with the same basic design, they distinguish themselves from each other in the details in much the same way family members have their own individual characteristics but resemble each other.  But what makes them work together is that houses alongside or across from each other "mirror" the angles curves of each others' stoops and bays.  

The houses in that district were one of the first attempts--if not the first attempt--to create such visual unity in a neighborhood in New York City.  That such a block, and others like it, were created is all the more remarkable when you realize that there were basically no zoning codes in Westchester County--of which the Bronx was a part until it joined New York City, which also had no zoning laws, in 1898.

That those houses remained intact is practically a miracle given the devastation and abandonment that consumed nearby streets and communities during the 1970s.  While some of those surrounding areas in the South Bronx have been rebuilt, they do not have the character of the houses I saw on Dawson Street.

Then I biked back to the college, and a meeting.  Nobody tells you about such things when you're in graduate school!

I'm In Love With My...

My track record in love relationships is, to put it charitably, spotty.

Now my road and trail records are another story.

All right, that last sentence was yet another of my many lame attempts at cycling humor.  

About my relationships:  They seem to have a four-year lifespan--you know, like a Presidential term.  I found out that one of my paramours was a Republican, but that isn't what ended our liaison.

Nor did cycling.  In fact, of everyone with whom I've been involved, she was the only one who had any sort of passion for cycling.  Though hers didn't quite match mine, I didn't have to use my powers of persuasion (Yes, go ahead and laugh!) to get her to accompany me for a spin.  In fact, more than a few times, she initiated the ride and I went along.

But, my other partners--including my former spouse--had little or no enthusiasm for cycling.  The ex-cohabitant would go for a ride with me every now and again and, at one point, even wanted a bike of her own, which I bought for her. (It wasn't a gift for any particular occasion.) And when I wanted to go on a longer ride, by myself or "with the guys", we'd agree upon a day--usually Saturday--and she would spend time with the friends of hers I didn't like.

So I can't say cycling broke us up.  In fact, my riding wasn't a factor in any of my other break-ups, not even with the girlfriend (ironically, my first after my divorce) who'd never ridden a bike in her life and had no wish to get in the saddle.   (That, honestly, was a "rebound" relationship for both of us, and we both knew it.)  And then there was the boyfriend who rode with me once, and we never talked about cycling again.  Even he, as possessive as he was, at least knew that I needed a Day of Riding (Yes, it became official, more or less.) every week during the season and once or twice a month during the off-season, as weather permitted.

I guess I've been relatively lucky:  Other cyclists have told me that their riding--and the time they spend working on their bikes and shopping for parts and accessories--had something or a lot to do with the end of their relationships and even marriages.

So it was for a man in Istanbul who was identified as Burak Z.  His wife, identified as Yagmur Z., said his obsession with his bicycle damaged her mental health and left their marriage in shambles.  She has filed for divorce and is seeking 400,000 Turkish lira (about 106,000 USD) in damages.  

Instead of spending time with her, she says, he works on his machine.  He sets it up in the living room, she alleges, and cleans and fixes it daily.  "This is no ordinary attachment, he is literally in love with his bike," she explained.

I couldn't help but to think of one of the most deliriously funny songs on what is probably Queen's most deliberately campy album, Night At The Opera. 



Just substitute "bike" for "car" and the names of bike parts for the names of car parts, and the song would work for some of us.

Seriously, though:  He didn't pay attention to her.  He paid attention to his bike instead.  Now he'll have to pay her.  As much as we love our bikes, we have to remember that we can't fix our relationships with people in the same way we patch our tubes or adjust our derailleurs! 

A Rim, Maybe. A Whole Wheel...

Mavic introduced its alloy rims in 1920.  Until then, cyclists had two choices in rim material--steel or wood.  Most, of course, opted for the latter because it is much lighter.  

Interestingly, alloy rims were banned from the Tour de France until 1934, when Antonin Magne rode a pair of Mavics that were painted in wood colors.  His secret wasn't revealed, of course, until after he won the race.  Then, Mavic duraluminum rims became a staple of the peloton.  

As alloy rims became lighter and more durable, other riders, from road racers to tourists, used them because they worked better and lasted longer than wood rims when used with caliper brakes.  Track racers, however, don't use brakes and continued to ride wood rims until the 1950s, when they were banned because they tended to shatter--sending splinters flying hither and thither--when crashed.  Such mishaps were all the more likely on track wheels, which are tensioned tighter and ridden with the highest-pressure tires.

I have ridden wooden rims and enjoyed their resilient yet responsive ride.  I had to wonder, though, how much of that "feel" had to do with the tubular tires that were glued to the rims. (You pretty much have to ride tubulars if you ride wooden rims!)  I would never buy them, though, because just about all of my riding these days (even on my fixed gear) is done with brakes and because wooden rims have to be treated with more TLC than metal or carbon-fiber rims.

One thing I haven't seen is a whole wheel made of wood.  That is, until I came across this: