Ride Into a Changing Season

 Yesterday I pedaled to Point Lookout via the Rockaways. This is an interesting time of year for such a ride: it’s almost or actually summer, depending on whom you ask, but the temperature difference between the “mainland” and beach areas still is, or at least feels, as pronounced as it is early in the Spring.  According to some reports, temperatures reached 85-88F (29-31C) around my apartment and in other central areas of New York City. But the lifeguard stations along the Rockaways Boardwalk indicated 72F (22C). It certainly felt that way, with wind blowing from 59F (14C) water.

I didn’t need to know the numbers, however, to explain something I saw: Many people walking or riding the Boardwalk but hardly anybody swimming. And those statistics couldn’t have explained the differences, however subtle, I noticed in the light and color of the sky and water.

The Power of Loving

 Today I am going to, once again, invoke my Howard Cosell Rule. That is to say, this post won’t directly relate to cycling.

Nearly a decade ago, the film Loving came out. I exhorted my students to see it; some did. When we discussed it, I mentioned that the story on which it was based happened during my lifetime, one student exclaimed, “And you’re not so old!”

I was, and am, in midlife. Mildred Jeter and Richard Loving married in Washington DC in 1958, the year I was born. So why were they wed in the nation’s capital? Well, immediately to the south, in their home state of Virginia (as in other Southern states) their union was illegal: She was Black and he was White.

A few months into their marriage, cops broke down their door while they were in bed and hauled them off to the station house. The one-year sentence imposed on then was suspended for 25 years on the condition they leave the state. Which they did, but they missed their country home, families and friends. Their homesickness, and other difficulties, motivated Mildred to write to Attorney General Robert F. Kennedy (What happened to his kid?) who referred them to the American Civil Liberties Union.

The ACLU litigated their case all the way to the Supreme Court. On this date in 1967, it issued the ruling that banned all laws against interracial marriage in the US.

The Lovings were not political people and never spoke of their experience—except for one occasion, when Mildred expressed hope that Loving vs Virginia would lead to all people—she specifically mentioned LGBT people—could marry whomever they love.

The Lovings stayed together till death did them apart: Richard, aged 41 in 1975, struck by a drunk driver; Mildred at 68 in 2008 from pneumonia. But their story is a testament to, if not the power of love, then of the lovings.

Up (The Hill) In Smoke

 I am helping “Sam” find a “starter” bike for his significant other. We’ve looked at some new low-end bikes that would appeal to her mainly for their colors. I understand how she feels: I want my bikes to be beautiful as well as functional. But, since I’ve built up a ‘90’s Trek road bike for him, he understands that a good old bike is better than a junky new one. Perhaps he can convince her of the same.

We have therefore been looking at websites where used bikes are posted—including, of course, Craigslist. Where else would we find something like this?

You’ve probably seen that famous photo of Tour de France riders sharing a smoke about 100 years ago. These days I rarely, if ever, see a rider lighting up (tobacco, anyway). But when I first became a dedicated cyclist, about half a century ago (!) cyclists who stopped for the “pause that refreshes” were, while far from the majority, were not so unusual. Some—especially older riders (What am I saying? They were about the same age as I am now!) still believed that puffing on cigarettes “opens your lungs.” 

Then there was a fellow I met not long after I moved back to New York in 1983. He worked part-time in the store American Youth Hostels  operated on Spring Street and looked like nobody’s idea of a cyclist. But he had surprisingly good technique and pretty good endurance. He also was a decent hill-climber, which he attributed to stopping for one of his Pall Malls before beginning his ascent. Ironically, he wasn’t one of the “old” guys though he was about a decade older than me. (I was in my mid-20s. Do the math if you like—I am still in midlife!) So I don’t know why, about two decades after the original Surgeon General’s Warning, still believed that filling his lungs with nicotine was beneficial, or at least not harmful.

I am sure he would appreciate what Sam and I found on Craigslist—if he is indeed still cycling and smoking—or still alive. (I’ve tried looking him up but about 200,000 American men around his age have the same name!) Perhaps his significant other would give it to him for his birthday or something.