The Chains Of Freedom

 At one time in my life, I knew just enough German to get myself in trouble in Cologne. Still, it’s more than I know now. So, I have to accept it on the authority of someone I know—a German soaker—that Karl Marx and Friedrich Engels didn’t actually write “Workers of the world unite; you have nothing to lose but your chains.”  Rather, the last line is more properly translated as, “Proletarians of the world, unite!”  The second part, “you have nothing to lose but your chains,” was added in a translation Engels approved.

Another aphorism commonly and mistakenly attributed to the authors of the Communist Manifesto is, “The truth shall set you free.” While they may have agreed with it, they—or, at least Marx—would not have approved of its source:  the Bible, specifically, John 8:31-32.

It is therefore interesting to speculate about what they would have made of this:

Somehow I think they would recognize that the bicycle has liberated poor and working people—or, at least, given them mobility and even pleasure.

I know I have always felt freer while spinning my chains!

A Thief’s Trail Ends Next Door

 On my way out for a ride, I encountered this in front of a neighbor’s house:

That both tires were flat and the chain was rusted and “pretzeled” were signs of what I suspected.

Two other things clued me in.

Not only was the serial number, except for the first digit, removed; so was another unique (for Citibikes and other share bikes):

The mechanism that locks the bike into the dock was removed.  Here is what the front of a normal Citibike looks like:

I called Citibike and brought the pilfered (and probably joy-ridden) bike to the port down the street from my apartment.

A Surprise During A Ride Without A Plan

Errands and things that weren’t so complicated that a politician or lawyer couldn’t further complicate them took up my morning.  

So, by afternoon, I wanted—and needed—to ride  I had no destination or route in mind.  I didn’t even know which bike I’d ride.  For some reason, Marlee sniffed around La-Vande, my King of Mercia. For some other reason, that was the reason I wheeled her out my door.

I zigged and zagged along waterfront promenades and side streets from my Astoria neighborhood to Williamsburg. From there, a detour led me into industrial areas of East Williamsburg and Bushwick where I found myself following a string of graffiti murals that seemed to unfurl like a videographic collage along my ride and led me to this:

The word “truck” over the window hints at the building’s former role as a tire shop.  Given the location, drivers or owners of those hulking industrial vehicles were no doubt most of their customers.

The new clientele, I imagine, are more likely to be fixing or fueling their psyches and, perhaps, accompanying friends, dates or partners than to be hauling steel stock or power tools.  The Bushwick Triangle—where Johnson and Scott Avenues intersect with Flushing Avenue—is a lounge.

Even with its new look and purpose, its shape reminds me of a much larger and more famous structure:  the Flatiron Building, often cited as New York City’s first skyscraper  Somehow, though, I can’t imagine it adorned with a mural like the one on the Bushwick Triangle—even if the Flatiron’s owners were inclined to, and the city allowed, it.

I am glad, however, to have encountered a fun and interesting visual surprise during a ride for which I had no plan.