Say It Won't Close!

Many years ago (Can I still say I'm in "midlife" if I can use a phrase like that?), I worked at Buck's Rock Creative Work Camp.  Aside from having one of the strangest names of any place in which I've ever worked, that place taught me things I probably wouldn't have learned any other way.

About the name:  Until someone encouraged me to apply to work there, I thought a "work camp" was a place where wayward youth were sent--a stop between reform school and "juvie."  So how could a "work camp" be creative?

Well, Buck's Rock was a camp for creative work:  Kids could spend their time in art, sculpture or dance studios, at the radio station, practicing and playing musical instruments or engaged in crafts like woodworking, batik or weaving.  A farm bordered on the camp; campers could attend to chickens, goats or other animals if they didn't want to indulge in their artistic impulses (or if they didn't have such urges:  some campers were rich kids whose parents' involvement with them was inversely proportional to how much money they had).  

So what was I doing there?  Well, there was also a creative writing workshop.  I was a "counselor" there:  I worked one-on-one with young poets, fiction writers and other scribes.  Two other writers worked with me to conduct group activities and the occasional class, which we tried to make as little like the classes to which they were accustomed as we could.

As you might guess, it was an important experience for me because it was the first time I was paid for working with people on their writing and, if you want to use the term loosely, teaching.  I also met two people who are friends to this day.  In addition, I  came to understand, a little, a world completely apart from the blue-collar Brooklyn and New Jersey enclaves in which I grew up.  Most of the kids came from neighborhoods like the Upper East and West Sides.  Some went to boarding schools, and came home only at Christmastime and for a week or two between the end of the school year and the beginning of camp.  During that time, they didn't see their parents:  Nannies, au pairs or housekeepers tended to them.  More than one kid told me they talked to me than they talked to their parents!

That is one reason I chose not to return for a second summer.  I really liked working with the kids--aged 12 to 18--with their poems and stories, and sometimes playing chess or softball, or simply talking, with them.  But that last part was sometimes heartbreaking:  I came to the realization that they needed an adult they could trust and confide in more than they needed that camp.  Then, perhaps, they would have been healthier:  Even when I worked in a children's hospital and as a writer-in-residence in schools located in some of New York's poorest neighborhoods, I never saw kids who were sick, whether physically or emotionally, as I did at that camp.

Another reason I didn't want to go back is that I did almost no cycling that summer.  You see, I was on site around the clock; I got one day (literally:  24 hours) off every two weeks.  That was the only time I could leave the premises.  So, while I learned more about some of my passions, the experience took me away from another--and I learned that I don't want to live and work in the same place.  (Many people have come to that realization during the past year!)

Our time off really didn't leave much time except to go from one place to another and back, as the camp was in a pretty remote location.  Also, I was on camp with someone with whom I would elope and, a few years later, break up. (Is it a divorce when you break up an elopement?  Is "elopement" even a word in English?) She was about as far from being a cyclist as anyone I've ever met: In fact, she was all but allergic to any form of physical exercise except one, if you know what I mean. We did manage to get the same days off and went to some nearby hotel or cottage where she could get her exercise, which she didn't like to do alone.

On our way to wherever we went to work out, we'd stop in the town.  I would leave her for an hour or so--our only time apart--to look in a gift shop or some other place while I browsed and chatted with the folks in Bike Express.  It was frustrating to look at and talk about bikes when I couldn't ride; they understood and indulged my browsing.  I think I bought a couple of things I wouldn't use, of course, until the summer ended.  

What brought back those memories is a news item that came my way:  Bike Express is closing. 

The reason?  Its owner, John Gallagher says, "I want to go out and ride my bike for fun."  He's 67 years old and has owned it since he and his brother bought it in 1985.  The lease is up in October; he hopes to sell the shop by then because he doesn't want to leave New Milford without a bike shop.

John Gallagher, in his Bike Express shop. (Photo by H. John Voorhees III)

The past year, he says, has been a paradox. "Last year was our best year ever," he says.  This year, however "will be our worst" because "there is an unavailability of bicycles to sell our customers."  That actually could help to sell the shop, he explains, because as with any such enterprise, a buyer pays for the business as well as the inventory.  He still has 200 bikes on order from the last eight months and a waiting list of between 60 and 70 customers--but has received only 15 bikes in that time.  That means his inventory could be "at its lowest level ever" so if someone wants to buy, "they won't have to put up a huge chunk of money" for the inventory as well as the business.

I hope this all ends with New Milford keeping its bike shop--which, according to its "tech expert" John Lynch caters to the "regular person"--and John Gallagher having his days to ride for fun.

Mayors On Bikes

I am going to make a confession.  If you've been reading this blog, you probably guessed--correctly--that my politics (such as they are) are to the left of most Americans.  Some of that has to do with my temprament, but more, I think, has been shaped by my life experiences--which, of course, include cycling.

Knowing that, it might surprise you that I am mostly lukewarm about the mayor of my city, Bill de Blasio.  I had hopes when I first voted for him:  His wife is black and, in her youth, lived as a lesbian.  And he talked about things we rarely, if ever, heard from politicians not named Elizabeth Warren, Bernie Sanders or even Barack Obama.

But while he did something that, I think, will help to address racial and economic inequality--namely, universal Pre-K--he failed to address other issues, like affordable housing.  On the other hand, he has made efforts toward gender and LGBT equality and the city's environment and health.  

About that last issue:  While he didn't start the Citibike share program or the collection (I wouldn't call it a network) of bike lanes and other infrastructure, he accelerated their development.  So, in some ways, I would see he was at least expressing support for, if not actually supporting, cycling as a viable transportaion and recreation alternative.

My biggest problem with him, though, is that--if you'll indulge me a cliche--he sometimes talks the talk but doesn't walk the walk.  As an example, for all that he's talked about environment and health, he had his driver take him--in his City limousine--nearly 20 kilometers from Gracie Mansion (the Mayor's residence) to the gym in his home neighborhood in Park Slope, Brooklyn.

Oh, and I don't recall seeing him on a bike--until the other day.

All right, I didn't actually see him on a bike: He may well have been riding when I was.  But, still, I have to give him credit:  He pedaled the 10 kilometers from Gracie Mansion to City Hall.

Granted, he made the trek on protected bike lanes and probably had police escorts.  I must nonetheless acknowledge that he's the first NYC mayor in half a century to even make a "photo op" on a bike.

The last Mayor to replicate the trip de Blasio took was John Lindsay who pedaled his English three-speed on more than one occasion:  on the trip from Gracie to City Hall, in Central Park and in other places around the city.  Early in his mayoralty--and the first time he was seen on a bike--there were still relatively few adults on bikes.  About midway through his term, the North American Bike Boom took off.  Photos of him on a bike didn't hurt the cause:  Often compared to JFK, he was dashingly handsome in a patrician way and looked the part of a sportsman who could look as at-home on a bike as on a boat, a horse or small plane.

Bill de Blasio might not win as many style points as Lindsay could command on a bike.  But it certainly doesn't hurt the cause of cycling, whether for transportation or recreation, to see him riding. 

Riding The Penny Bridge To The Market

"Penny Bridge."  It sounds like a song from Sergeant Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club doesn't it?

But its location is less quaint, if oddly bucolic.  Actually, I should say "was":  That bridge, so named because it cost a penny to cross (It was privately built and operated), stood at a spot I reached on my afternoon ride.

I'd ridden into the area-- possibly the last part of Williamsburg not claimed by hipsters, trust fund kids or Hasidim--before.  I had not, however, stopped at that particular spot, on Newtown Creek, until yesterday.

It's only a few hundred meters upstream from the new Kosciuszko Bridge, which has a nice pedestrian and bike lane.  But that spot, on the edge of an industrial area, is out of reach of the trucks, cars and buses and, it seems, rarely visited by anyone.  So, in spite of the hustle and bustle, the soot and grime all around it, it's rather peaceful.  

The Penny Bridge, built over 200 years ago, was the first crossing over Newtown Creek and helped to spur industries that continues to this day.  According to a marker at the site, the Creek, being a navigable waterway that empties into the East River (which is really a bay of the Atlantic Ocean), once carried more nautical traffic and freight than the Mississippi River!

I meandered along side streets, from one Brooklyn neighborhood to another, and after about 20 kilometers of pedaling, I found myself in another interesting spot about 5 kilometers from Penny Bridge:

Before today, I think I'd read or heard about the Moore Street Retail Market.  Opened in 1941, it's one of the later Works Progress Administration structures built in New York City.  Architecturally, it's hardly unique but certainly identifiable as a WPA structure.  One reason it's interesting and important is that it's one of a series of Retail Market Places built by the WPA. (Others include the Arthur Avenue Market in the Bronx, Essex Street in Manhattan and 39th Street in Brooklyn.)  While other WPA projects include everything from schools and courthouses to roadways and waterworks, the marketplaces may have been unique in their conception and purpose.  

Fiorello LaGuardia's tenure as Mayor of New York City almost exactly coincided with the Presidency of Franklin D. Roosevelt, who signed the WPA into being.  Though they were of opposing parties, they were allies on many issues. (Funny how crises like the Great Depression had a way of making that happen!)  They both wanted to put people back to work, and LaGuardia was trying to clean up the city, literally.  He was able to get the WPA to build those market places, which contain stalls of everything from fresh produce and homemade specialties from the ethnic groups living in the neighborhood to housewares and children's clothing, were meant to replace horse-drawn vending carts, which he believed to be un-hygenic and unsightly.

I'd wanted to go inside the marketplace, but the "no bikes" policy was being enforced.  I propped Tosca, my Mercian fixed gear, against a pole.

 

"Don't leave that bike here!"  Of course I wouldn't; even if I'd brought a lock with me, I wasn't about to leave Tosca, or any of my Mercians, on the street.  But I think the wiry Hispanic man knew that. "That's one nice bike you've got."  I thanked him. "Do you want to see mine?"  Of course I did, and he pulled out his i-phone to show me images of a Throne track bike and a Trek road bike with a Creamsicle finish (which I actually liked) and, I think, Shimano 600 components.  I mention that last detail because I couldn't tell which model it was, but my guess it was one of the better ones in the Trek lineup.

Another man, a friend of his, stopped to greet him and look at my bike.  He, too, pulled out his phone to show me his Bianchi road bike--carbon fiber, but still in that trademark Celeste green.

So, while I didn't get to shop in the marketplace, I did pick up a few moments of cameraderie with a couple of cyclists.  Perhaps I'll bump into them again.