26 April 2020
25 April 2020
An Essential Worker Gets What He Needs
If you've been reading this blog, you might remember that back in June, I got a 1996 Cannondale M300 mountain bike for not much money. I fixed it up and turned it into a pretty decent city commuter.
It was actually good for the purpose: I could ride it over almost any pothole or other obstacle without thinking. It gave a smooth, fairly responsive ride, but I didn't have to worry about parking it because, in ten different shades of battleship gray, it didn't attract much attention.
So why am I talking about the bike in the past tense? Well, I learned that Transportation Alternatives, of which I am a member, was participating in a program to give bikes to essential workers who are trying to avoid the subways and buses as they run less frequently and are thus more crowded. (Subway cars and buses been described as "Petri dishes" for coronavirus.)
I have my Fuji Allegro, which had been sharing commuting duties with the Cannondale--and had been my commuter before the 'Dale came along. I got to thinking: I have two commuter bikes and I'm not commuting. Someone else has to commute and doesn't have a bike.
So why did I decide to give the Cannondale away? Even though I installed upright bars, fenders and a rack, it's still a fairly close to its original self. The Fuji, on the other hand, is a bit more idiosyncratic: The ways in which I altered it might not appeal to everyone. Also, it fits me better than the 'Dale--and it's a mixte.
I sent Transportation Alternatives the bike's measurements and my height. They found Georgios,an emergency-room doctor at Mount Sinai Hospital-Queens, just two blocks from where I live. He's a little shorter than I am, and the bike has a long seatpost extended fairly far out, so the bike could be adjusted fit him well.
The other night, when he finished his shift, we met. Georgios, who's from Greece, told me his bike had been stolen and since the pandemic struck New York, he had been walking to work from Manhattan--about eight kilometers--because he didn't want to take the subway.
He'd applied to Specialized bike- match program, but all the bikes were gone, he told me. He said, almost apologetically, that if Specialized contacts him and offers a bike, he'll pass the Cannondale on to someone else who needs it. I told him not to worry: If he likes the Cannondale, he should keep it, even if another bike comes along. Besides, I am not about to place conditions on anything I give to someone who, in the course of doing his job, has seen patients as well as co-workers die.
All I asked is that he stay in touch: I want to be sure he's OK. And I hope the bike is useful and brings pleasure for him.
It was actually good for the purpose: I could ride it over almost any pothole or other obstacle without thinking. It gave a smooth, fairly responsive ride, but I didn't have to worry about parking it because, in ten different shades of battleship gray, it didn't attract much attention.
So why am I talking about the bike in the past tense? Well, I learned that Transportation Alternatives, of which I am a member, was participating in a program to give bikes to essential workers who are trying to avoid the subways and buses as they run less frequently and are thus more crowded. (Subway cars and buses been described as "Petri dishes" for coronavirus.)
I have my Fuji Allegro, which had been sharing commuting duties with the Cannondale--and had been my commuter before the 'Dale came along. I got to thinking: I have two commuter bikes and I'm not commuting. Someone else has to commute and doesn't have a bike.
So why did I decide to give the Cannondale away? Even though I installed upright bars, fenders and a rack, it's still a fairly close to its original self. The Fuji, on the other hand, is a bit more idiosyncratic: The ways in which I altered it might not appeal to everyone. Also, it fits me better than the 'Dale--and it's a mixte.
I sent Transportation Alternatives the bike's measurements and my height. They found Georgios,an emergency-room doctor at Mount Sinai Hospital-Queens, just two blocks from where I live. He's a little shorter than I am, and the bike has a long seatpost extended fairly far out, so the bike could be adjusted fit him well.
 |
| Georgios: a hero. |
The other night, when he finished his shift, we met. Georgios, who's from Greece, told me his bike had been stolen and since the pandemic struck New York, he had been walking to work from Manhattan--about eight kilometers--because he didn't want to take the subway.
He'd applied to Specialized bike- match program, but all the bikes were gone, he told me. He said, almost apologetically, that if Specialized contacts him and offers a bike, he'll pass the Cannondale on to someone else who needs it. I told him not to worry: If he likes the Cannondale, he should keep it, even if another bike comes along. Besides, I am not about to place conditions on anything I give to someone who, in the course of doing his job, has seen patients as well as co-workers die.
 |
| I'm having a bad hair day--and week--and month! |
All I asked is that he stay in touch: I want to be sure he's OK. And I hope the bike is useful and brings pleasure for him.
24 April 2020
R.I.P. John Forester
The things you read in adolescence never really leave you, even if you stop believing whatever they teach you.
For some people, the things they read passionately during their teen years include the Bible or other holy books. Some people continue to immerse themselves in such texts. But even if you convert to another religion or become an atheist, whatever holy text you read (or were fed) when you were young continues to influence your thinking.
For other people, those literary works might include Atlas Shrugged. I have to admit, it (and The Fountainhead) had a hold on me for a time in my life. As John Rogers has pointed out, AS or The Lord of the Rings "can change a bookish fourteen-year old's life. Of those books, he says, "one is "a childish fantasy that often engenders a lifelong obsession with unbelievable heroes," which leads "to an emotionally stunted, socially crippled adulthood" in which one is "unable to deal with the real world." The other of those two books, he says, "involves orcs."
My mind was also seized, at various times, by Les Miserables, Fathers and Sons and A Tale of Two Cities, as well as poems by Lawrence Ferlinghetti and Hilda Doolittle. And, since my "formative years" as a person also just happened to be the years I was born, if you will, as a cyclist, I was--and continue to be--influenced by three cycling books in particular. One is Eugene Sloane's Complete Book of Bicycling because it was the first comprehensive book about cycling I read--or even saw. Before I encountered it, I didn't even know that books about bicycling existed.
Next came Tom Cuthbertson's Anybody's Bike Book, from which I began to teach myself how to fix my bike. It also taught me about writing and teaching, even though I really wasn't thinking about becoming an educator or writer. He had a "light touch": He took his information seriously, but could convey it in a friendly, even humorous, style.
Later, another cyclist would introduce me to what might be one of the most controversial cycling books of all time. What made it controversial is that it wasn't just a cycling book: It was also a critique of the way urban planners were treating cyclists--and of the way cyclists saw, not only traffic, but themselves.
That book is Effective Cycling. When its first edition was published in the late 1970s, some cities were building bike lanes and even installing separate signs and signals for cyclists. The thesis of EC was that all such efforts were misguided or wrongheaded. In order to become viable options for transportation, planners and cyclists themselves had to treat the bicyclists as vehicle operators rather than as faster pedestrians.
Its author, John Forester, was a lifelong cyclist who became an activist and advocate. That avocation began in the early 1970s, when he was ticketed for cycling on a street rather than the adjacent bike lane. He fought--and beat--the ticket because, as an engineer and planner, he was able to demonstrate that cycling in the bike lane was indeed more dangerous than cycling in the street.
Although his arguments had merit, they gained little traction among planners who, for the most part, perpetuated the mistakes he railed against. One reason why those ideas weren't more widely implemented is that they were (and are) radical and therefore a threat to established notions about automotive and bicycle traffic. Another reason might have been his style, which--in contrast to Sloane's earnestness and Cuthbertson's humor and relatability--was often called "preachy" or even "abrasive".
Whatever you think of his idea of the "bicycle as vehicle," his critiques of bike lanes and policies were spot-on. Unfortunately, four decades after EC's initial publication, I make some of the very same criticisms in this blog.
His long career--and his cycling--continued almost until the end of his life, which came last Tuesday. He was 90 years old.
For some people, the things they read passionately during their teen years include the Bible or other holy books. Some people continue to immerse themselves in such texts. But even if you convert to another religion or become an atheist, whatever holy text you read (or were fed) when you were young continues to influence your thinking.
For other people, those literary works might include Atlas Shrugged. I have to admit, it (and The Fountainhead) had a hold on me for a time in my life. As John Rogers has pointed out, AS or The Lord of the Rings "can change a bookish fourteen-year old's life. Of those books, he says, "one is "a childish fantasy that often engenders a lifelong obsession with unbelievable heroes," which leads "to an emotionally stunted, socially crippled adulthood" in which one is "unable to deal with the real world." The other of those two books, he says, "involves orcs."
My mind was also seized, at various times, by Les Miserables, Fathers and Sons and A Tale of Two Cities, as well as poems by Lawrence Ferlinghetti and Hilda Doolittle. And, since my "formative years" as a person also just happened to be the years I was born, if you will, as a cyclist, I was--and continue to be--influenced by three cycling books in particular. One is Eugene Sloane's Complete Book of Bicycling because it was the first comprehensive book about cycling I read--or even saw. Before I encountered it, I didn't even know that books about bicycling existed.
Next came Tom Cuthbertson's Anybody's Bike Book, from which I began to teach myself how to fix my bike. It also taught me about writing and teaching, even though I really wasn't thinking about becoming an educator or writer. He had a "light touch": He took his information seriously, but could convey it in a friendly, even humorous, style.
Later, another cyclist would introduce me to what might be one of the most controversial cycling books of all time. What made it controversial is that it wasn't just a cycling book: It was also a critique of the way urban planners were treating cyclists--and of the way cyclists saw, not only traffic, but themselves.
That book is Effective Cycling. When its first edition was published in the late 1970s, some cities were building bike lanes and even installing separate signs and signals for cyclists. The thesis of EC was that all such efforts were misguided or wrongheaded. In order to become viable options for transportation, planners and cyclists themselves had to treat the bicyclists as vehicle operators rather than as faster pedestrians.
Its author, John Forester, was a lifelong cyclist who became an activist and advocate. That avocation began in the early 1970s, when he was ticketed for cycling on a street rather than the adjacent bike lane. He fought--and beat--the ticket because, as an engineer and planner, he was able to demonstrate that cycling in the bike lane was indeed more dangerous than cycling in the street.
Although his arguments had merit, they gained little traction among planners who, for the most part, perpetuated the mistakes he railed against. One reason why those ideas weren't more widely implemented is that they were (and are) radical and therefore a threat to established notions about automotive and bicycle traffic. Another reason might have been his style, which--in contrast to Sloane's earnestness and Cuthbertson's humor and relatability--was often called "preachy" or even "abrasive".
Whatever you think of his idea of the "bicycle as vehicle," his critiques of bike lanes and policies were spot-on. Unfortunately, four decades after EC's initial publication, I make some of the very same criticisms in this blog.
His long career--and his cycling--continued almost until the end of his life, which came last Tuesday. He was 90 years old.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)