My Pride

Today I am asserting my right as an Italian American to celebrate Indigenous People’s Day.

I take that back:  I am executing my duty to so observe this day.

You see, I come from a group of people that gave the world Michelangelo, Leonardo, Dante, Bocaccio and Galileo.  And Armani.  And Versace.  And Sophia Loren. And Paola Pezzo.  And Fausto Coppi.  Oh, and Campagnolo.

So how did a guy who got lost become a symbol of Italian pride?  I mean, I get lost all the time and no one has ever celebrated Justine Valinotti Day.

So, in keeping with the spirit of this day, and blog, I will leave you with this image of Alexis Vazquez and their partner Nanette Bayale.  Two years ago, after participating in Pedalpalooza, they organized an Indigenous/Native Peoples Ride:

Channeling Hinault? LeMond? Mondrian?

 What made it so popular?

It probably didn’t hurt that two cyclists who won, between them, eight Tours de France and a bunch of other races, wore it.

Nor did its design:  With its echoes of Mondrian, it still looks good nearly four decades later. A company that pioneered the kinds of pedals and helped to popularize the kinds of frames nearly all racers—and many wannabes—ride today used a similar design in its logo.

That company is Look.  The jersey in question is that of the La Vie Claire team.  I rode the jersey—and the pedals—in my youth.

I’m not surprised that the jersey is reproduced to this day.  Nor does it provoke consternation in me that an illustrator would be inspired by it:

It Folds. But It Won’t Come Tumbling Down.

 Last week, I wondered whether the folks at the World Meteorological Association were joking when they named a storm that dumped eight inches (20cm) in a day after a Shakespeare character who drowns.

Today I am going to question another naming choice.  Specifically, I have to ask why someone would name a folding bike after a structure whose walls came tumbling down.

No, I am not talking about Jericho.  And its designer isn’t named Joshua.  Nor is he named Donatien-Alphonse-François.

That last name, however, leads to a clue about the designer’s identity. D-T-F was the Comte de Sade, better known as the Marquis.  One of the world’s longest-running urban legends has it that he was in the confines of those walls when an angry mob stormed them.This myth has persisted even though he was transferred to another facility ten days before the revolt, probably because his most (in)famous work was later found in the rubble.

That facility is, of course, the Bastille prison. The bike in question is one that I might want to try:  It folds but, unlike Dahon, Brompton and other portables, the Bastille velo has full-size (27.5 inches, a.k.a 29ers). It would thus avoid one of the problems with smaller-wheeled bikes that caused me to sell my Dahon a year after I bought it:  getting caught in potholes.

To be fair, designer Gilles Henry—who also created the Voyo folding baby stroller—probably was thinking of the Bastille’s seeming indestructability:  It was a fortress before it became a prison.  Or he may realize that to many people, the name evokes the Place and Opera named for it and the fashionable cafés and shops that surround it.