What Did Dr. Graves and Mr. Rhodes Have In Common?

I recall reading that people were always astonished to see Dr. Clifford L. Graves, a renowned surgeon, arriving on his bicycle.  Doctors of any sort were expected to show up for surgery or visits with patients in a Cadillac--the luxury car of choice at that time--or something like it.  

Consternation at seeing him on two wheels instead of four was not alleviated by the fact that he wasn't riding just any old bike:  He rode custom bikes, including a Rene Herse. Of course, most Americans at that time didn't know the Cadillac of bicycles, if you will, from the VW Beetles of the two-wheeled world.

Then again, in those days, almost any adult riding a bicycle in the US would raise eyebrows.  A few, like Dr. Graves, pedaled by choice.  But more often than not, an adult rode a bicycle because he or she couldn't drive a car, for whatever reasons.  And that was (and still is ) a source of shame in America.

Whether the cyclist was a doctor or drifter, the adult cyclist in the States was seen as, if nothing else, an eccentric.  As often as not, they were:  Dr. Graves had a number of interests that ranged far from cycling or surgery.  As an example, he was an accomplished classical pianist and founding President of the La Jolla Symphony Association.

Floyd Rhodes, a.k.a. Bicycle Charlie

Floyd Rhodes' musical tastes, on the other hand, ran more toward country and blues.  And he played guitar, mainly for people who knew him.  As for a career, he wasn't a surgeon or doctor of any sort.  Rather, he supported himself through odd jobs and collecting leftover food from Safeway and W.T. Grant's Bradford Room restaurant.  



He moved to Waynesboro, Virginia with his family in 1916, when he was five years old. Previously, they'd lived in Covington, about 85 miles away.  While the work and bicycle tours of Dr. Graves, born five years before Rhodes, took him all over the world, Rhodes never seems to have ventured much beyond Waynesboro, where he lived in a trailer by the river.

Still, in his own way, he seemed to have garnered respect, and even affection, from his community. When they called him "Bicycle Charlie," it wasn't a taunt or joke:  While they didn't understand his lifestyle, they admired him for his sense of himself.  He was also said to be gentle and generous with everyone.

These two men who lived by their bicycles could hardly have died in different ways.  On the night of 24 July 1981, Rhodes attended a concert near Waynesboro.  After it ended, he rode along Route 250.  A teenager driving along that road struck what he thought was a mailbox.  He continued home and told his father about the accident.  They went to the scene and found, not a mailbox, but a crumpled bicycle.  Not long after, they found "Bicycle Charlie's" broken body in a nearby ditch.

Dr. Clifford Graves

Graves, on the other hand, died on 7 December 1985, after a bout with pancreatic cancer.  Just three days earlier, he'd written a letter to members of the International Bicycle Touring Society, which he'd founded, saying that he had "six weeks to six months" of life left.

In the end, these two very different men had a common legacy:  They reached the corners of their worlds, and other people's lives, on their bicycles.  For as long as they are remembered, they will be remembered for that.

Yes, This Really Was A Hot Idea!

In much of the northern United States, last night was the coldest "in more than a generation," according to more than one report I heard.  

I can believe it:  When I rode to work this morning, the temperature was -1F (-18C).  The last time I can recall such a cold commute was in January of 1985, when we had a seemingly endless string of record-cold days.  One morning, according to a journal from that time, I pedaled from my uptown apartment to downtown job--a distance of about 10 miles, or 16 kilometers--when the temperature stood at -4F (-20C).  

Interestingly, just a month later, New York would record its warmest February temperature--75F (24C) ever.  I was visiting my parents, who were living in New Jersey, and rode along the shore--in my shorts!

I have been known to ride in shorts when few other people would.  Today wasn't one of those times.  I didn't wear, or even carry, a skirt and tights:  Instead, I wore a pair of gray dress pants over ski underwear, which I removed when I got to work.

Almost everyone agrees that cycling to work is "healthy", and some insurers will even lower premiums or give bonuses for doing so.  Would my insurer see my riding to work on a day when no one else did the same as "healthy", at least in a physical sense?  Or would they think I needed more mental health coverage?  

All I know is that I felt invigorated--and just really, really good--when I arrived. 

When Is Giving A Bike Not A Gift?

A 10-year-old boy is saving for a vacation with his mother.  Instead, he uses the money to buy a bicycle for a man who works in the local gas station.

How do you read this gesture?

Most parents, I believe, would be proud of such a child--especially if that attendant were, as one might expect, poor.  At least, I would feel that I'd done something right--or had been extremely lucky--if I were a parent to a kid like him.

When word got out about the boy's action, most of the reaction was positive.  Notice that I said "most":  There was, believe it or not, at least one person who saw the boy as some sort of embodiment of his country's recent history--specifically, an aspect that made the nation a pariah in the world community.  

I am talking about apartheid and that country is South Africa.  In all fairness, it should be said that, in many ways, South Africa has more thoroughly and honestly confronted the ugliest part of its history than, say, the United States has done with slavery or some European countries have dealt with the Holocaust.

Still, because there are still so many people who remember living under apartheid, the wounds are fresh and deep.  So I can understand why someone might read paternalism or even colonialism into a white boy giving a black man a bicycle.  If nothing else, it represents the economic injustice that still persists--though the boy probably wasn't aware of it. 

I do believe, however, that a Twitter user who identifies herself as @_BlackProtector was going a bit far in saying "Keep the bicycle, give us our land."  I agree that the people should get back what was taken from them, and further compensated for their intergenerational trauma.  On the other hand, the boy does not have the power to give back that land.  He can only do what he can to make someone's life a little easier.  

I'd say that even if he doesn't know words like "colonialism," he already possesses some sense of fairness, and is certainly generous.  The only thing, really, that can be done is to teach him, honestly, about his country's history.  He would be a good student, I bet.

Oh, and somehow I don't think that gas station attendant was upset about getting a bicycle--especially if he'd been walking to work.