A Few Weeks After A Summer Ride

Lambent sun rays flickered through leaves and skittered on rippled water.  I pedaled languidly along the canal path after wandering nearby streets, stopping near a steel footbridge to munch the cheese, bread and tomato, and drink the bottle of water, I picked up along the way.  Flirtation ensued:  I won't say whether they or I instigated it!

Afterward, I wheeled the bike to a cafe and enjoyed a cappuccino--and more flirtation.

You may have guessed, by now, that I was in Paris.  (Did the flirting give it away?) I achieved, without trying, a perfect--or at least postcard image--day in the City of Light. It was all but impossible to think about death, let alone any carnage leading to it.

A few weeks later, however, darkness descended.  On this date (a Friday the 13th, no less!) in 2015, the deadliest and most infamous terrorist attacks struck the city.  Just a couple of tables away from where I enjoyed my cappuccino--at Le Carillon--other patrons, possibly sipping on cappuccinos or cafe espessos--were shot dead.

Even though I've suffered two accidents and injuries just weeks apart, I am still fortunate.  After all, I'd been cycling for about half a century--including that perfect summer day by the Canal Saint Martin-- before my misfortune struck. If only those patrons at Le Carillon could have continued their journeys!

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.