Money And Memories, Transportation And Treasure

 Last month, I wrote about a British judge who did something few in the criminal-justice or law-enforcement systems do:  He took bike theft seriously.  That magistrate, in sentencing thieves, said the monetary value of each the defendants stole is as great as a typical car.

That perception, however incomplete, at least helped the judge understand that stealing those bikes was as serious an offense as other kinds of theft that are, usually, more severely punished.

There are, however, other reasons why bike theft should be as high a priority as other kinds of pilferage. One, which I mentioned in last month’s post, is that our bicycles are, for some of us, an important or primary means of transportation, just as autos are for some other people. And, of course, many of us also ride for recreation and fitness, which are as important as anything else to our individual and collective well-being.

And a broken heart is as deleterious to our overall health as any number of conditions mentioned in the DSM or medical journals. That is what some people suffer with the loss of a bike. Sure, a pair of wheels with a frame and pedals is replaceable—in a material sense, anyway. I could, in the same sense, replace a blanket I own. Monetarily, it’s probably not worth much. But in another sense, it’s priceless, at least to me: My grandmother started, and my mother finished, it.

For some people, a bike can have a similar value, which is often called, dismissively (especially if the one holding the value is female), “sentimental.”

I would bet that many of the bikes on eBay once held “sentimental “ value for someone: The seller’s parent or someone else may have ridden it across a campus, city or country before it was hung in a garage or barn.  Or it may have been passed down from a parent to a child.

The latter was the story behind a bicycle stolen from a woman in Millvale, Pennsylvania. She has spent “countless hours” restoring the “priceless family heirloom” to which she attached a baby carrier.

The suspect 

Fortunately for her, she has been reunited with her very practical treasure. Police, however, are looking for the man suspected of taking the bike.  They found him with the bicycle and, upon questioning, he claimed he owned the bike “forever.”

Of course, no one can make such a claim. But nobody could have come closer to having the right to make it—at least in reference to her “family heirloom”—than its rightful owner.

Is “Bulled” Worse Than “Doored?”

The October before last, I suffered the worst nightmare of anyone who cycles in traffic:  I was “doored.”

I ended up with 30 stitches and a lot of aches and pains. Still, it could have been worse.

At least, I imagine getting “bulled” could be even more painful.  And the driver who doored me didn’t run from the scene! 

Beach Walkers, Sheep Dogs, Marc Anthony And The Prince

Mornings fill with one commitment or another.  So, for me, it's a good thing the days are getting longer: On an afternoon ride, I can look forward to more hours of daylight. I don't avoid riding in the dark altogether, but I really prefer to ride in daylight, especially in heavily-trafficked or unfamiliar areas.

On Friday, I started another 120 km Point Lookout ride after midday--at 1:45 pm, to be exact.  That meant my last hour or so of riding was in darkness.  But I was treated to some light and vivid or stark, depending on your point of view, colors by the sea.

The public beach and playground area of Point Lookout are closed to repair erosion and prevent more of the same.  But I ventured on to a nearby side-street where, surprisingly, the gate was open to an area normally restricted to residents.  A couple of people--one a man walking an English Sheepdog, another an elderly woman--passed me on their way out.  Both greeted me warmly and didn't seem to care (or know) that I don't live in the area.  

I think people who are out walking the beach on a chilly, windy day have respect for anyone else who's doing the same.

On Saturday, I got on, La-Viande, my King of Mercia, with no particular destination in mind.  I found myself wandering along the North Shore from the Malcolm X Promenade (Flushing Bay Marina) to Fort Totten, where I took a turn down to Cunningham Park and Nassau County, where I pedaled down to Hewlett (part of the Five Towns and up through the town of Hempstead, which contains more contrasts in wealth and poverty, and residential grandeur and squalor, than any place in the area besides New York City itself.

As I saw the blue sky tinge with orange, I started toward home--or so I thought.  Instead, I found myself wandering through suburban developments that gave way to the SUNY-Old Westbury campus and long lanes lined with mansions and horse farms.  I saw a sign announcing that I'd entered Brookville--which, it turns out, is home to Marc Anthony and Prince Felix of Luxembourg.

I didn't take any photos on my Saturday ride because my battery had less power than I thought and I wanted to save it for an emergency that, thankfully, didn't happen.  But I had forgotten, until that ride, how such a rural setting could be found only 50 kilometers from my apartment!

And I ended my day with that ride--and the day before with a ride to an "exclusive" beach.