Connecting, By Bicycle

This post is about Andre Breton.  

No, I'm not referring to the author of Manifeste du surrealisme.  But the man I'm about to mention is something of a philosopher. 

On 6 September, the 50-year-old began a "prologue," if you will:  a ride from Fort Collins, Colorado to Bradford, Kansas.  From Bradford, he undertook his "real" journey, which he dubbed "Connecting My Grandfathers."

His maternal grandfather was born in Bradford.  According to his website, he expects to arrive in Waterville, Maine--the birthplace of his paternal grandfather--some time later this month.  Along the way, he saw, and anticipates seeing beautiful landscapes, and visits with friends and family members.

The 50-year-old Breton is a relative newcomer to cycling.  He bought a bike on impulse in 2010, on Saint Patrick's Day.  He said he was "guilted" into the purchase because he was living in Fort Collins, Colorado, where he was working on his third post-doctoral fellowship as a wildlife biologist.  "That community rides bicycle far more than any community I've encountered in the United States," he explains. 

Buying that bicycle might've been one of the best bits of timing in his life:  He had just broken up with a paramour and felt ready to do the same with the academic world.  Riding again for the first time since he was a teenager sparked "a massive fire" in him that led to racing.    "This is my ninth season, the last two years as a pro," he says.  "I got my butt kicked, but when else am I going to do it?"  

He's also taken some long tours, in North America and Europe.  All of those hours in the saddle, he said, helped him out of a depression.  "There are lessons you can gain on a bicycle in a short time that can teach you about your whole life," he explains.

His current ride is to connect his grandfathers.  The real connection, I believe, is the one he made with himself.  In a way, that's not so different from what the French writer did when he used his dreams to tap into his creative subconsciousness.

Andre Breton. Photo by Della Taylor, for the Potter Leader-Enterprise.

I Admire His Ingenuity, But There Are Better Uses For Bikes

In earlier posts, I've written about homeless people I often encounter on rides, especially during my commutes to and from work.  I've seen them in the places one expects to find them:  in doorways and vestibules,  under train trestles and under overpasses of one kind or another, inside any kind of structure abandoned temporarily or for years or decades. I saw one man sleeping on the ramp, partially enclosed, that gave cyclists and pedestrians access between the Bronx and Randall's Island before the connector opened.  Some unhoused people even sleep, or at least recline, on sidewalks that see little or no foot traffic after business hours, covering themselves with blankets, rags, cardboard boxes or almost anything else that provides a layer, however thin, between them and the night.  When that doesn't prove to be enough--or sometimes when it does--they curl up into a fetal position as if they were trying to re-create their mothers' wombs, their first (and perhaps only real) home.

And some have bicycles.  I would guess they were "rescued" from dumpsters, trash left for curbside pickup or other places and repairs, just enough to keep the bike operable, salvaged from those same sources.  Some folks use their bikes as their "shelter", or at least part of it.

Apparently, one unhoused man in Los Angeles' Koreatown took the idea of using a bicycle as "shelter" further than anyone I've witnessed or heard about.  He built a wall of bicycles between himself and the traffic of 4th Street.

Of course, not everyone appreciates the man's creative ingenuity.  He is just one of many people living in a sidewalk homeless encampment on 4th.  Since not many businesses or residents would allow such people to use their toilets or showers, sanitation is a problem.  So is access to the local businesses, including a dental office.  "I have a few who have left our practice," complains Dr. Charisma Lasan, whose office is across the street from the encampment.  "They actually came and turned around and just went home" upon seeing the encampment, she explained.

While I can understand her and other business owners'--and residents'--concerns, I also know that simply chasing or detaining them won't solve the problem.  If any of the encampments' residents are like the man who built the bicycle walls, they have talents and skills--some of which may have been developed or honed on the street--that can help them to do more than merely survive.  Of course, that would mean ensuring they receive whatever they need, whether education, mental health services, medical care or other thing--including, of course, a place to live.

Oh, and as much as I appreciate the man's inventiveness, I would rather see the bikes used for transportation or recreation.  I don't think they were ever intended as shelter!

 

From Keds To Pajamas To...Bicycles

 "They shall beat their swords into ploughshares " comes from the book of Isaiah.  It's been used as a metaphor for a transition from one industry or economy or another.  The real transition, of course, is in the way resources are in the types of resources, and the ways they are, used.  

An example was 5 Pointz, an old water meter factory converted to artists' studios in Long Island City, just four kilometers from my apartment. Its owner also held a competition every year to decide which artists would grace its exterior with mural art.  It actually became a tourist attraction; people would ride the 7 train from Manhattan just to see the building as the train made its turn from Court House Square to Queensboro Plaza.

Sometimes I fall into the cynicism that tells me if I like something enough, it won't last.  In this case, that jadedess was justified:  The owner sold the property, tore down the factory and build just what this city--and the world--needs:  two luxury condominium towers, which kept the name "5 Pointz."

But some property-use conversions are more welcome.  I am thinking of what David and Louise Stone have done in Williamsport, Pennsylvania.  Their Bicycle Recycle shop, like other similar programs, "rescues" used bikes and either refurbishes them or strips them for parts to repair other bikes.  Some of those bikes are sold; others are donated.  And some of the the bikes and parts are used to train volunteers who work with them.  Their work, they say, is motivated by their knowledge that bicycles can change lives.

What might be most unusual about them--aside from the fact that they started Bicycle Recycle when they were of a certain age--is their location.  Yes, it's was a factory. What it made, and what distinguished it, seems about as incongruous for a bicycle-related enterprise as anything can be.

The name says it all:  The Pajama Factory.  Today it houses other businesses and artists' studios, in addition to Bicycle Recycle.  But it wasn't any old pajama factory: It was the largest of its kind, where, starting in 1934,  the Weldon Pajama Company  produced more of the garments than any other facility in the world. (Was Williamsport ever described as a "sleepy" town? Sorry, I couldn't resist that one!)  

The complex, however, dates to half a decade before the first sleepwear was made in it.  The Lycoming Rubber Company, a subsidiary of the US Rubber Company, built it between 1883 and 1919 as a place to manufacture their tennis, gym and yachting shoes--and their most famous product, Keds sneakers--in addition to other rubber goods.

From Keds to pajamas to recycled bikes--that's certainly an interesting trajectory.  And the Stones sound like interesting people.