When Not To Ride With A Parent

The COVID-19 pandemic has canceled many holiday observances and celebrations.  Although it wasn't postponed, Take Your Children To Work Day wasn't marked in the usual ways, as many people couldn't (or simply didn't) go to their regular workplaces.  Then again, a lot of kids got to see their parents' work, even if those tasks were performed through a laptop on a kitchen table rather than a console on a desk.

Some parents, however, should not bring their kids with them to work because, honestly, there are some kinds of work no kid should ever witness. An example is what Jason R. Anderson did.

The "workplace"?  A Kohl's department store in Batavia, New York:  about halfway between Buffalo and Rochester.  The "job"?  No, he wasn't stocking shelves or helping customers.  Instead, he helped himself to some of the store's merchandise.

His method of transportation? A bicycle, which he parked outside, where his 6-year-old daughter waited with her own bicycle.

She followed him as a he fled.  So, in addition to larceny and possession of burglary tools, Anderson has been charged with endangering the welfare of a child.

It wasn't Anderson's first arrest.  One assumes that his daughter won't consider following his line of work--and hopes that she won't see the bicycle as a means of committing nefarious activities.

To Truly Honor Them

We call today Veterans' Day.  When I was growing up, many people still referred to it as Armistice Day.  In other countries, it's called Remembrance Day.  

That last name would be attached to this day if I were President.  Too often, at least here in the US, anything associated with veterans is, too often, used to glorify war and military power rather than to honor the sacrifices of those who served.  

As Danny Sjursen has written, "The best way America can honor its veterans and fallen soldiers is to create fewer of them."  He would know:  Tours of duty in Iraq and Afghanistan left the West Point alumnus with PTSD severe enough that the Army retired him early, with the rank of Major.

I mention that because I reckon that PTSD is even more common among veterans than any of us realize. While nobody knows how to "cure" it, there are ways to cope.  One of them is, of course, bicycling.  A number of organizations offer free bikes, whether of the conventional types or modified machines, to veterans. They also sponsor rides and other cycling-related events as part of their recreational and therapeutic programs for veterans.

There is, however, an organization in Chamblee, Georgia, devoted exclusively to mountain biking for veterans.  Appropriately enough, it's called MTB Vets.

 

Vets need more such organizations and programs and, to paraphrase Major Sjursen, less platitudinous praise or trite thanks.      

Two Hours of Light Rides

Yesterday I made a confession to my doctor.

Well, all right, he's not my primary care physician or gynecologist (yes, I have one of those), so my revelation wasn't as life-changing as you might expect.  I was, you see, a little bit naughty.

I told the orthopedist about this:

The other day was one of those utterly glorious fall days that seems to exist in postcards and catalogues that peddle someone's idea of New England country life. (You know, flannel shirts, apple-picking and the like!)  Even though I only had to wait one more day (actually, less) for my appointment, I went for a ride.

I pedaled only for an hour, along one of the easiest routes I could take:  down the new Crescent Street bike lane to 36th Avenue and the bridge to Roosevelt Island, which I looped twice.  I ended the hour with a ramble along a few side streets back to my apartment.

It was only an hour, but it was enough to lift my spirits. Maybe it had something to do with the softly smoldering late-day sunlight where the East River (misnamed, by the way) splits into Long Island Sound and the Harlem River (also misnamed) and separates Queens (where I live) and Manhattan from the North American mainland.

I did not feel separated from anything.  Maybe that's why I felt comfortable in "confessing" it.  The orthopedic doctor said it was fine; I am recovering well but I should "proceed slowly." Which I will, of course.

In fact, that's what I did today:  another late-day, one-hour ride, this time along streets that wind along the shoreline between my neighborhood and LaGuardia Airport.

The Hell Gate Bridge is always a nice frame for the sunset at Astoria Park--especially with fallen leaves in the autumn light.  But who knew a side street--26th, to be exact--in Astoria could seem like a gate of heaven?

Of course I want to go on the longer rides. But if one-hour rides can fill me with such light and color, I guess I can be a little bit patient.