Late Afternoon Ride, Early Spring

Bare branches veil

late afternoon windows

before they open

 

early Spring 

red buds 

pink blossoms

my ride ahead

opens

late afternoon 

early Spring.

Terror On Two Wheels

 Whitney Gregory turned her son into a menace to society.

No, she didn't teach 12-year-old Jeffrey how to vandalize, steal, assault people or torture puppies and kittens.  She told him to do something done by nearly all boys his age in his milieu--in a different place from where he'd been doing it before.

Susan Garcia felt so threatened by it.  The Homeowners Association member in Santa Ana, California--no doubt motivated by the possible threat to her property value as well as her corporeal security--yelled at the boy and pushed him.

His mother probably taught him not to respond violently.  If that was enough to get Martin Luther King Jr. arrested more times than he could count, it was more than sufficient to escalate Ms. Garcia's ire.

"Please don't touch me," he pleads with her.

She smacked him. "Why did you just hit me?" he asks.

Being a master of the Socratic and Talmudic methods of inquiry, she responded with a question,  "Want me to hit you again?"

Jeffrey's parents came out of their house at that point.  Not surprisingly, given the lessons they taught their boy, they de-escalated the situation and sent Jeffrey into their house.  

So what did his mother tell him to do that so threatened Ms. Garcia?

She told him to ride his bicycle on the sidewalk.

Now, to you, dear reader, and to me, that may seem misguided.  But Ms. Gregory, being the concerned mother she is, told Jeffrey to ride on the sidewalk because when he rode on the street, he almost was hit by a car.  Were I not a cyclist myself, I might do the same for my kid.

I have to wonder, though, about what lessons Jeffrey Gregory has learned from the incident.  Actually, I don't.  You see, even though I have always had an independent spirit (for which I've been praised and scolded), as a kid--even at his age--I obeyed my parents, and most authority figures, to the degree that I could.  And that is why, by that time in my life, I'd learned that at some point, doing what my parents, or some other adult, told me to do could get me into trouble with some other adult.  And, of course, as an adult, you can obey the law and still get arrested or do whatever is expected of you and get into some kind of trouble.

All I can hope is that Jeffrey doesn't give up bicycle riding--and that he's not too emotionally scarred--as a result of an encounter with a woman who saw him as a menace--for riding his bicycle on the sidewalk.

Eric Boehlert's Last Ride

 With his intense, knowing face,  shock of hair at the top of his head and focused eyes behind black-framed glasses, he looked like a combination of a philosopher, Indigenous warrior, surgeon and professor.  

He pretty much had to be all of those things to do what he became known for.  Being a cyclist also helped, I'm sure.  He biked around his hometown, where he "loved living," according to his wife and, she added, wore "protective clothing" and used lights when he rode at night.  

I can well understand why he loved living in Montclair, New Jersey:  It's about 25 miles from New York, my hometown, and has anything one would like about a city and a college town:  cafes, galleries and an active cycling community, of which he was a part.

Note that I am talking about him in the past tense.  On Monday night, he met his end while out for an evening ride.  In one way, his ending was like that of too many cyclists in the Garden State, and elsewhere in the United States:  He was struck by a motorized vehicle.  But said vehicle wasn't a car, bus or truck:  It was a New Jersey Transit commuter train that many of his fellow town residents take to and from New York or Newark.

I wouldn't have been surprised if he'd written or otherwise called attention to some hazard or another for cyclists or pedestrians, or for the need to provide the education and infrastructure that would make those modes of transportation and recreation safer and more enticing as an alternative to driving.  I say that because he spent so much of his life exposing all sorts of hazards and, more important, what brings them into, and continues their, existence.

If your go-to source of (mis)information is Faux, I mean, Fox News, or even if you take everything printed in mainstream media (which, of course, does not include this blog!) at face value, you probably were not a fan of Eric Boehlert.  While he was labeled, usually with justification, as "liberal" or "leftist," he was just as willing to take on the New York Times as OAN and even, at times, the publications for which he wrote and the programs on which he appeared. "We can't fix America if we can't fix the press" was not just a catchy sound-bite; it was his operating philosophy.

As his evening ride was part of his life, to and at the end. I, and his many fans--and fellow cyclists--extend our sympathies to his wife, Tracy Breslin and his kids, Jane and Ben.