Driven By Double The Hate

A White guy knocks down a Black man, spits on him and calls him a racial epithet. 

I think that most people would agree that it sounds like the outline of, if not a hate crime, then at least a hate-fueled act of aggression.

Now, put the Black man on a bicycle and the White guy behind the wheel of a pickup truck.  Oh, and the White guy knocks the Black man down by reaching out and grabbing the Black man's arm while he's riding his bike.  And, for "good" measure, when the Black man pulls himself off his bike, the White guy drives his pickup truck over it.

I think most people would still agree that it's a hate crime.  So would I, but I would say that it's a hate crime on more than one level.

In saying what I have said, and what I'm about to say, I do not mean to minimize the hostility and worse too many people face for no other reason than the color of their skin.  But, even if that White pickup driver hadn't yelled a racial epithet, I would still classify his act as a hate crime, or at least a hate-motivated act of aggression.

Well, for one thing, much of the intentional aggression drivers commit against cyclist is fueled by hatred, or at least resentment:  We are often accused of "taking up space" on the road when a person on a bike doesn't even occupy a tenth of the real estate or air space a car, let alone a pickup truck (which, too often, is carrying nothing but its driver) fills.  Also, cycling--like almost every other act--has taken on political undertones in this polarized environment:  We are seen as avatars of environmental consciousness and sustainability and, therefore, a threat to the fossil-fueled economic and social structure.

From Bike Cleveland

That is why the incident I mentioned, which took place in Palo Alto, California last week, is, to my mind, a hate crime on two levels: While the driver verbalized his hatred of someone with darker skin than his, it's impossible (for me, anyway) to see how someone who's armored with a three-ton steel shell is acting out of anything but hate if he (or she or they, let's be fair) deliberately attacks a cyclist.

So, while I hope that driver gets the punishment he richly deserves for attacking someone who is of another race, I wish he could also be charged with acting out of the hate that motivates any act of--let's call this what it is--bullying.

A Ride In His Imagination

One thing I would find funny if it didn't so enrage me is priests being sentenced to "a life of prayer and penance" after sexually abusing children.  Especially if said priest is old and has so exploited multiple victims.

I got to thinking about that when I heard the story of one Nicholas Clark.

Who is he? you ask.

He's someone important enough for USA Cycling to know about.  More precisely, the American cycling body has just suspended him from all of its activities for one year and from holding a coaching license for three years.

What did he do to earn such a punishment?

Oh, he more than earned it.  He'd built an enthusisatic following as a coach and owner of ProBike FC, a bike shop in Fairfax County, Virginia.  From that locale, he led training rides that included dozens of people, many of them in his thrall over his having raced for teams like AG2R-Casino on such prestigious races as the Tour of Flanders, Paris-Nice and Liege-Bastogne-Liege.

Nick Clark addresses a training ride at his shop.

The problem, as you might have guessed by now, is that his account of his racing history contained just about as much truth as any claim I could make of a blood relationship to the King of Sardinia and the Duchess of Savoie.  

Or that I gave Tim Berners-Lee that great idea he had.  But, really, I let him take credit for it because I didn't want the spotlight.

The other claims Clark made weren't so farfetched.  But his profile picture on his now-deleted Strava account shows him standing with Johan Museeuw, who gives him a thumbs-up and another prominent pro rider, Paolo Bettini, on a cloudy day in Belgium. 

 

The Casino team.  Where's Nick?

Now, I am not going to say whether that photo was "doctored."  As we say in the old country, I'll leave that up to you,  dear reader.  But it's come to light that some other things he used to burnish his C.V. were as fabricated as anything as anyone could assemble from three letters:   B.ec, LLB, MBA, CPA and CEO.  Oh, and he fudged other credentials and relationships to fit one scheme or another.

Of course, USA Cycling can't punish him for faking academic, military or corporate credentials.  But, it seems, there was some, shall we say, misconduct when he coached a women's cycling team.   

The thing that unraveled the world he fabricated, however, was recorded on that now-deleted Strava account. One day three years ago, he ascended a steep climb near his home at a faster pace--and lower energy output--than even an elite pro rider in the prime of his or her career could.  And Nick was a decade and a half past such a peak, if indeed he ever had one.

A screenshot of Clark's now-deleted Strava account.

Another Strava entry a few months later, at age 45,  showed that he rose up a hors de categorie climb in Arizona faster and with less effort than Sepp Kuss, a young rider who shepherded Primoz Roglic to second place in the 2020 Tour de France and later won a stage himself.

A few people looked into Clark's Strava account and found claims of his seeming to have defied the limits of physiology, the laws of physics and pure-and-simple reason.

Further digging revealed, among many other false claims, that he'd left his native Australia for Norway to compete in the 1993 Junior Road World Championships.  

The winner of that tournament's rain-soaked elite men's road race?  Lance Armstrong. The senior road race, that is.  That year's Junior Worlds, contrary to Clark's fable, were actually held in Perth, Australia:  his own hometown.  Still, there's no record of his having participated.

A fraud and a doper.  That's just about as rich as Donald Trump, another fraud,  endorsing Dr. Oz, a quack, for Senate.  Maybe they'll be sentenced to a life of prayer and penance--or a one-year ban from something.

These days, Nick Clark is working as a firearms instructor, claiming military experience and a background as a "former officer with the Department of Corrections having served in a number of units, from SuperMax wings, to emergency response and hostage response units and drug squad as an active drug dog handler."

If that turns out to be as true as his other stories maybe he'll, I dunno, have his license to shoot a cap gun suspended for six months or something. Of course, that's less harsh than any punishment he'd get from the UCI for any cycling-related infraction.

 

An Advertisement For Old Weeksville?

One thing I love about pedaling through neighborhoods tourists don't visit is the glimpses I get of the city as it was-- and still is, in the memories of people who've been in it for a long time.

Once upon a time--actually, when I was growing up and even during the years just after I moved back to New York--signs painted on the sides of buildings were abundant.  One thing the remaining signs tell us is, of course, that there was once a time--not so long ago--when there was enough space between buildings for such signs to be seen.  They also remind us of a time when most of buildings and businesses in this city--even large ones--were owned and operated by the families that originally founded or funded them.  

I found myself thinking about who might have been behind this mural advertisement:

Cardinal Realty Company was registered with the city on 22 June 1951.  It grew to include, as the sign attests, auto insurance and other services before its dissolution on 19 December 1984.  At least, that's the date on which it's listed as "Inactive-Dissolution."  

I don't know when the sign, on the side of an apartment building on St. John's Place, just off Troy Avenue, was painted.  The telephone number shown is NE(vins) 8-9000.  Telephone exchanges were converted from numbers to letters during the 1960's, but telephone numbers were listed in the old way until the 1980s.

The neighborhood in which I saw that sign also is, in its own way, a remnant of an old Brooklyn.  It's usually identified as part of Crown Heights or Bedford-Stuyvesant, but it's actually part of Weeksville, one of the first communities founded in New York by freed and escaped slaves.  Some farmed the land; others started businesses or trained in trades and professions.  Thus, the neighborhood became one of the first middle-class black communities, a status it held well into the 20th Century.  It's still a mostly-black (a mixture of American and Caribbean) neighborhood. Although it's not as prosperous as it once was, it's retained a kind of worn-but-not-shabby working-class dignity reflected in the peeling paint of that sign--and the bricks, smoldering in the light of the setting sun, surrounding it.

Perhaps Cardinal was founded by a descendant of someone who lived out his or her freedom in old Weeksville.