As Smooth As The Icycycle

 If Shakespeare's Macbeth were working today as a meteorologist, his forecast might be "Snowstorm and snowstorm and snowstorm."

At least, that's how it's seemed for the past couple of weeks.  And Texas is sending some more white stuff and ice up this way, I hear.  

So, in response to commenter "Jay from Demarest," I am outfitting one of my bikes for the weather.

Hmm, it might not make the NYC Transportation, Sanitation and Police Departments happy.  But I might've liked it last week on the Coney Island boardwalk--or even on the icy patches dotting the bike lanes.

An engineer who identifies himself as The Q (an unfortunate moniker in times like these, wouldn't you say?) wanted to ride his bike across a frozen lake. Ever the tinkerer,  he replaced the wheels with circular sawmill blades.  When he tried to cross that lake, however,  the blades cut through the ice, making it impossible for him to ride on the surface. So, he took the bike back to his workshop and fitted less-sharp metal bits to the blade's teeth.  That did the trick:  His vessel--which he dubbed the "Icycycle"--took him to the distant shore. 

While we don't know his name, some of us have seen "The Q"s work:  Two years ago, he replaced a pair of conventional bicycle wheels with ones he fashioned from multiple running shoes affixed to large spokes.  What the purpose of that was, I don't know, and he admits that the ride was bumpy.  He claims, however, that his "Icycycle" rides "as smooth as ice."

Will He Still Be A Paperboy?

Yesterday, while waiting on the supermarket line, a second register opened.  A customer stepped up to it; a couple of people on the line grumbled.  But a man who stood behind me reminded them, "They were ahead of us."

Hearing that, I was reminded of how "they" has become acceptable as a gender-neutral singular pronoun.  I can recall, years ago, the chair (actually, at that time, chairman) of the department in which I taught castigated a colleague for using "they" in that way.  "But we don't know whether it's a guy or girl," she protested.  Ever the fusty one, that chairman reminded that colleague, in one of the most condescending tones I've ever heard, that "they" is plural.

Of course, that locution hasn't made its way into most formal writing. Nor has the use of "their" for "his or her."  I believe, however, that it, and "they" will, unless someone comes up with useful, roll-off-the-tongue, gender-neutral singular substitutes for "him or her," "he or she" and "his or her."

Perhaps I pay more attention than most other people do to such things because I've taught English--and am a transgender woman.   Because I identify as a woman, I go by feminine pronouns.  But I also understand, better than most people (if I do say so myself), why someone who doesn't identify on either side of the gender binary would use "they" and "their" in the absence of other gender-neutral pronouns one can use to reference one's self.

I am happy that terms referring to cyclists and cycling are, mainly, gender-neutral, at least in English.  But I remember working in my first bike shop and hearing an older mechanic referring to "male" and "female" parts--and noticing that while some shops had a female sales person or even manager, the industry and sport were overwhelmingly male-dominated. 

Before that, I held two titles, if you will, that are particularly ironic, given how I now live.  During my Brooklyn childhood, I was an altar boy.  Today they're called "altar servers" but in the years just after Vatican II, girls weren't allowed on the altar--except to get married.  (At least, that's my understanding of how things were in the Roman Catholic church of the time.)  As incongruous as the title and role seem to me now, I have to admit that, at the time, I enjoyed the experience:  In a community where most of us attended the same church, and many of us the same Catholic school, altar boys were held in an esteem few other kids enjoyed.  Also, the church sponsored events for us:  We went to shows, ballgames, amusement parks and the like.  Those experiences, I think, helped to form some of my earliest friendships.

A couple of years later, after my family moved to New Jersey, I became a paperboy or, if you like, newsboy for the Asbury Park Press.  Although some women (including, for a time, my mother) delivered bundles of newspapers to paperboys, it was unheard-of for girls to deliver an individual copy to someone's mailbox or doorstep.   When the newsboy with one of the Press's largest routes "retired" (he graduated high school and joined the Army), the folks in the Press office "weren't sure" that it "would be OK" for a girl to take over.  But a few people, including my mother, managed to convince them that the girl in question would be a capable replacement--and she was.

I enjoyed darting down the streets and winding through the cul-de-sacs of Port Monmouth and New Monmouth, a sack of papers slung across my body, on my Schwinn Continental.  For one thing, I was getting paid to ride my bike.  For another, I felt free:  I had no other imperative but to be sure that when people came home from work or picking up their kids, a copy of the newspaper was in their mailbox, doorway or wherever else they wanted to find it.  

It didn't matter that I wasn't the best-looking, most popular or smartest kid in the class--or even what my gender identity or sexual orientation might have been.  All that mattered was that people got their copies of the Asbury Park Press. That, of course, was the appeal being a New York City messenger would, years later, hold for me:  Nobody cared whether I could "fit in" as long as they got their papers and packages.

Given who I am--more specifically, how I've become who I am--it is indeed ironic that I once worked and identified as a paperboy. Believe it or not, it's even stranger to see someone else, who's never identified as anything but male, to so identify himself.

George Bailey, paperboy

Every morning, George Bailey delivers copies of the Daily Mail in Headcorn, the southeastern England village where he lives.  It's not his first job:  Before taking up the route, he worked at a local golf course, for a food manufacturer and a stockbroker. Yes, you read that right.  Oh, and he did those things after working a paper round for the first time, starting at age 11.

Now he's 80, and still refers to himself as a "paperboy."  He returned to making deliveries as a pensioner, but recently considered "retiring" from it.  That is, until he made headlines and someone folks from Evans Cycles and Raleigh heard about them.  Together, they donated an e-bike to him.  "Offering a little electrical assistance when needed," e-bikes "increase enjoyment and ultimately encourage riders to ride more often," said David Greeenwood of Evans Cycles. 

Of the e-bike, Bailey said, "It's given me a new lease on life."  Now that he's using it, "I might even still be doing this when I'm 90."

If he is, will he still be referring to himself as a "paperboy?"  

Their Sales Came On Two Wheels

Five years ago, I wrote about "Bicycle Day."

During the first "bicycle boom," bicycle makers debuted their new models on what was then called Presidents' Day. At that time--the last two decades of the 19th Century and the first of the 20th-- the holiday was observed on George Washington's Birthday, 22 February.  Later, Lincoln's Birthday (12 February) would be observed and, finally, during the 1970s, the two fetes would be merged into Presidents' Day, observed on the third Monday in February.

"Bicycle Day" was a big deal in the days before motorcycles and automobiles because it was the first mode of transportation that was potentially faster--and lower-maintenance--than horses or horse-drawn carriages.  The bicycle also remains, to this day, the only amplifier of human energy, meaning that it's the only known device that can take the energy a person would expend to walk or run and turn it into a faster form of forward motion without any other input.

Bill Clinton, riding indoors

Just as the bicycle has been called, with good reason, as the "parent of the automobile and grandparent of the airplane," Bicycle Day can be seen as the forerunner of other retail traditions.  As motorcycles and, later, automobiles became the "main event" of American capitalism, companies debuted their new motorcycle and car models on Washington's Birthday and, later, Presidents' Day--and dealerships held sales and other events to mark these events.  

Some car and motorcycle dealerships continue the custom to this day. More common, however, are the myriad of Presidents' Sales, on everything from lingerie to Legos, in brick-and-mortar stores as well as online retailers.  In some circles, Presidents' Day has come to be known as the "second Black Friday" or "second Cyber Monday," as store owners and website managers stoke their "bottom lines" after the lull that follows the Christmas-season rush.

Ronald Reagan with first wife Jane Wyman, presumably during their Hollywood years.  When was the last time you saw someone smoking a pipe while riding a bike?

Whether or not they are aware of it, those businesspeople are carrying on a tradition brought to them on two wheels, via Bicycle Day.

(Photos are from The Bicycle Story.)