Memorial Day: Heroes And The Lionhearted

Today is Memorial Day in the US and some other countries.

Most of the commemorations that mark this day--the parades, airshows, ballgames and other gatherings--have been cancelled because of the COVID-19 pandemic.  I am sure many events are being held online and that, where restrictions have been lifted, people are having picnics and barbecues in their yards, in parks and on beaches. In that sense, at least, this Memorial Day is like earlier ones.

Another way in which this day is similar to earlier Memorial Days is that the word "heroes" will be used a lot.  Most of the time, it refers to those who fought, and sometimes died, in the nation's wars.  Now, while I believe that the only true advance the human race could ever make is to get rid of war and beat swords into ploughshares, as the book  of Isaiah implores us, I believe that those who gave their bodies, and lives, in service of human dignity deserve to be celebrated as heroes.  They include, among others, those who fought against Hitler (who, I believe, came closer than anyone else to embodying pure evil in this world) as well as those who are experiencing the trauma of treating people who are sick and dying from something we can't see.  Also included are those who are helping communities function, whether by making or delivering whatever goods or services people need, or helping others access those things.

The other day, I heard about another real hero.  She (Does anybody use the word "heroine" anymore?) hasn't worked in a hospital ward or nursing home because, to be fair, in most places she's not even old enough to get the education or training she'd need to do such things.  She also hasn't brought food to 90-year-olds languishing alone in their apartments or educated people about hygeine.  In fact, her courageous act had nothing to do with her larger community, although she has been feted as the "Lionhearted" throughout her country.

Jyoti Kumari is a 15-year-old girl from Sirhulli, a village near the Nepalese border.  Its state, Bihar, is one of the poorest in India, which is saying something.  Her father, Mohan Paswan, like many men from the area, is a migrant laborer who found himself out of work and stranded near New Delhi, about 700 miles away.  

He might've tried what many in his situation have tried: walking back to his home village.  Younger and healthier men have perished in their attempt to return to their families and friends:  They have been run down by trucks or trammeled by trains.  Or, they have simply collapsed in the brutal heat of the countryside.

Jyoti's dad was injured and barely able to walk--in addition to being out of work, almost out of money and without a means of transportation.  He could have been another casualty of the pandemic and, being of a low caste, some of the world's worst economic inequalities.  But, as it turned out, his daughter possesed qualities--ingenuity and sheer grit--that were more powerful than anything that he was suffering.

For the equivalent of $20--the last of their savings--she bought a purple bike.  She jumped on it and he perched on the rear.  Along their 1200-kilometer journey, she borrowed cellphones to deliver this message: "Don't worry, mummy.  I will get Papa home good."

Jyoti Kumar, her father and the bike.  From BBC Hindi.

(I think that should be an inscription on a medal:  The Purple Bicycle?)

That she did.  To say it wasn't easy would be an understatement: While Jyoti is strong and confident on a bike, having done a lot of riding in and around her village, she was hauling her father, a big man with a big bag, through unrelenting sun.  Just as daunting, perhaps, as the weather and terrain were the taunts she endured from locals who believed it was ridiculous or just wrong for a girl to pedal while her father sat in the back.

But there were also strangers who helped them.  Also, by the time they got home, the news of their journey had spread all over the media--and Onkar Singh, who called her while she was resting up.

Mr. Singh is the chairman of the Cycling Federation of India.  He's invited her to New Delhi for a tryout with the national team.  "She has great talent," he said.

She said she's "elated" and really wants to go.

Jyoti Kumari has certainly earned the opportunity.  And, I believe, Onkar Singh knows a hero when he sees one.

I Tried. Really, I Tried!

Including Marlee, I have had six cats during my life.  Each of them has delighted me in his or her own way, and I have loved them all.

You can "adopt" this cat here.

Unfortunately, I never could get any of them to do this:

Really, I tried! ;-)

Untangling His Brakes

All of my bikes have steel frames.  Some, however, were made recently and have modern componentry.  The others are older and have components that are more or less "period correct."

Even if one weren't well-versed in the nuances of modern vs. retro machines, he or she could tell which bikes are which by one tell-tale detail:  the brake cables.  My modern bikes have aero levers with concealed cables (or, in the case of Vera, my Mercian mixte, inverse brake levers with cables hidden under tape) while my older bikes have traditional cables that loop from the tops of the brake levers.

Hidden "aero" cables were designed, as the name implies, for aerodynamics.  For my purposes, that doesn't matter much.  The reason I use aero levers are that they're designed to work well with modern brakes--and because I like the feel of one lever in particular:  the Cane Creek SCR5/Tektro RL 200.  

(Cane Creek's lever is a Tektro with a nicer finish and little gekkos embossed on the hoods.  Both levers, lamentably, were discontinued several years ago.)  

When I was an active mountain biker, I wished there were an "aero" version of mountain bike brake levers.  I found that, even though my mountain frames were smaller, I needed longer cables and housings because in tight technical stretches, I was more likely to make a sharp turn, even to the point that my bars were almost parallel to the top tube.  

The problem came when riding through areas of bush and bramble:  The cables, on occasion, would become entangled in them.   Siddesh Dubal, a Purdue University student and researcher, had the same problem.  Unlike me, he came up  with a solution.  "I created this device based on my own experiences while mountain biking in India and other places," he explains.  

I'm probably not the first person to look at it and wonder, "Why didn't I think of that?"  Apparently, he used a modified top cap from a headless headset (which practically all new mountain bikes use) to rout the cables through the steerer tube rather than across the stem and along the top tube.  The result, Dubal says, is something that "provides safety and convenience for riders, and is also simple and cheap to manufacture and install on a bike."

Will it make him rich?  Who knows?  Somehow, though, I think Siddesh Dubal has a bright future--as a cyclist and in whatever career he pursues.