New Museum For Old Bikes In Newburgh?

I have been to Newburgh, New York twice in my life.  Both times I got there on my bicycle:  once on a day trip there and back from New York City, another time during a long weekend mini-tour of the Catskills.  

Although a decade separated the two visits, I had almost exactly the same impression both times:  It's rather like a miniature, and more compressed, version of The Big Apple, my hometown.  What I mean is that it's the sort of place where you can see grandeur and despair side by side, and see them together again on the next block, and the block after that.  

It's as architecturally and historically rich as any place I've seen in the US.  I say that as someone who has spent time in large cities like San Francisco, Boston and Philadelphia (and, of course, New York) as well as smaller but impressive towns like Savannah and Providence.  The Downing Mansion would be impressive anywhere, but its setting on the Hudson River, with the mountains in the background, makes it even more so. 

Nearby is the house that served as George Washington's headquarters during the final year of the American Revolution.  It was there that he issued the Proclamation of Peace, effectively ending the war and beginning the independent American nation.  In that house, he also rejected the idea that he should be king and ended the so-called Newburgh Conspiracy that would have left the government controlled by the military.  And, while there, he also conceived or made other contributions to the founding of this country, including ones that influenced the writing of the Constitution.

That house became the first publicly owned historic site in the United States.  The Downing Mansion and other beautiful old houses have been preserved through doting private owners or the efforts of organizations devoted to preservation.  

But literally steps (or pedal strokes) away from those houses is urban blight that reminds people of places like Camden NJ or the South Bronx during the 1970s and '80's.  I saw lots, and even whole blocks, that looked as if bombs had been dropped on them.  In fact, they are the remnants of "urban-renewal" projects begun and aborted or abandoned, for a variety of reasons, decades ago.  And there were other blocks where people huddled up in homes splintered and full of holes, like coats they wore through one winter after another.

Many of those people, I learned, were parolees, current and former addicts and welfare recipients placed in those houses by social service agencies because there weren't any affordable places nearby.  Yes, it was essentially a taxpayer-funded Skid Row.  

But there have been attempts to "bring back" Newburgh.  Across the river, the town of Beacon is often called "Williamsburg on the Hudson" because of the hipsters and gentrifiers that have created a colony of trendy restaurants, bars, galleries, microbreweries and the like.  A similar wave is, from what I hear, finding its way to Newburgh.  

Actually, one successful attempt to keep an historic structure from falling apart--or falling altogether--has been the creation of a motorcycle museum by a city native.  Gerald Doering bought a 1929 Indian Scout locally in 1947, when he was twenty years old.  He loved it, and motorcycling generally, so much that he rode it to Miami, where he sought work with a Newburgh dealership that relocated there.

When that didn't work out, he started an electrical contracting business--and the seeds of his collection, which is centered on the Indian brand and bikes from the early days of motorcycling.  That collection became the foundation for Motorcyclepedia, the museum they opened in 2011.

Motorcyclepedia board member Jean Lara with one of the bicycles to be housed in Velocipede, a bicycle museum planned in Newburgh, NY.  (Photo by Leonard Sparks of the Times Herald-Record.)

Turns out, he and his son were also collecting bicycles, also mainly from that period, though some are earlier.  In a way, it's not so surprising, when you consider that most of the early motorcycle makers (and some current ones) were originally bicycle manufacturers.   Moreover, bicycles and motorcycles were even more similar in those days than they are now.  

Now Doering pere and fils are seeking approval from the Newburgh planning board for a museum called "Velocipede", which they want to house in a former labor union hall they purchased in December 2015. 

Hmm...I may have to make another trip to Newburgh.  I'd like to do it on my bike, again!

Today Is Bicycle Day. And It's A Real Trip

Sometimes people give a knowing (or think-they-know) grin when I tell them I took a trip on a bike.  Yes, even at my age, at this late date. 

I'm sure many people reacted in the same way--or less approvingly--when they saw the title of Tom Cuthbertson's Bike Tripping.  It's one of those primers, if you will, that came out during the '70's North American Bike Boom.  Most of the advice in it is still pretty sound, even if some of what he says about equipment is dated.  And, as with Cuthbertson's other books, it can be enjoyed for its witty tone and those fun illustrations from his friend Rick Morrall.

First of all, the book came out in 1972--one year after Cuthbertson's first classic, Anybody's Bike Book.  Although the calendar may have said the world was in the 1970s, in many ways,  it was still the late '60's, complete with the anti-war and environmental movements.  And hippies. (Cuthbertson's books looked like they were created by hippies.  And he looked like one.) And, of course, drugs.

Among the drugs of that time was Lysergic Acid Diathymalide-25, better known to the world as LSD or simply "acid".  Although it still has a stigma from the overdoses and the people who had terrifying visions while taking it, there are still researchers who are trying to find ways to use it for which it was intended:  medical purposes.

At least, that was the way Albert Hofmann intended it.  He was the Swiss scientist who first synthesized it, in 1938, as   a stimulant for the circulatory and respiratory systems.  He learned of its true power five years later, when he accidentally absorbed some into his fingertips.  The "not unpleasant intoxicated-like condition" he experienced intrigued him enough that he did what any intensely curious researcher would do:  He experimented on himself.

On 19 April 1943, he took what he thought was an appropriate threshold dose:  250 milligrams.  That was a bit too  much; today we know that a standard dose is 200 mg. (I am using the imperial "we":  I have no firsthand experience!)  Within an hour, his perception began to ebb and flow rapidly.  Then he became the first person to "freak out":  He was convinced that his neighbor was a witch, and he was going insane.  He wanted to go home.

In 1943, wartime restrictions were in place, which meant that, like many other people, Hofmann had no access to a car.  So he rode his bicycle.  

Image by jibberjabber

That trip home was a stressful one:  His vision wavered and he felt as though he were motionless.  After he reached the climax of his condition, however, he came back from a "weird, unfamiliar world" to reassuring everyday reality.

Albert Hofmann, therefore, took the world's acid trip.  And he did it on his bike.  That is why 19 April is celebrated as Bicycle Day--though I think Bicycle Trip Day might be more appropriate.

Does Nobike Fit All?

So why do you have six bikes?

If you have more than one bike, you have heard some variant of this question--from a spouse, lover, other family member, co-worker or friend who doesn't share your enthusiasm for cycling.  That person might see that one of your bikes has drop bars and the other has uprights or flats.  Or he or she might notice that one bike has fatter or skinnier tires, or has only one gear or multiple gears.  On the other hand, that person might see only that your bikes are different colors or have different names on them.

The reason nearly all of us give--if we actually ride the bikes we own (I do) is that they have different ride characteristics.  One bike might be better for long distances, another for speed and yet another for "rough stuff".  One of our steeds might carry our groceries, books r even furniture, while another can and should be ridden only in its most stripped-down form.

Now, if you've gotten this far in answering your incredulous friend or lover, he or she might ask whether there's one bike that can "do it all".  Some bikes are billed, by their makers or marketers, as Swiss Army knives on wheels, if you will.  Swiss Army knives are great (I have a couple.) and they can perform a number of different tasks in a pinch.  But, for most of those tasks, if you had to do them every day, you probably wouldn't want to rely on your Swiss Army knife.

Still, it seems that there's always someone trying to create a bike that can give a satisfying ride in all conditions.  Likewise, it seems that there's always someone or another who's trying to design a bike that will fit everyone.  Nearly every folding bike I've ever seen is touted as a machine that will fit everyone from about 150 to 215 cm (a little less than five feet to a little more than seven feet) tall.

When you've been riding for as long as I've been riding, you become skeptical about either endeavor.  So, it might seem doubly dubious when you hear that someone has designed a bike that not only can be adjusted to a wide range of sizes, but can also be altered to suit different riding styles and conditions.

Well, Dynalab has just designed such a machine. The frame is made from four triangular slabs of aluminum slotted together by three joints with cylinder spacers.

According to the folks at Dynalab, the frame has 80 cm (about 31.5 inches) of vertical adjustability, making it "suitable for men, women adolescents and adults alike".  The aluminum slabs can also be moved horizontally and the angles varied to change the frame's geometry.

The bike actually sounds interesting and I wouldn't mind trying one, if only out of curiosity.  If it works, I could see using it as a travel bike, as it looks as if it could be disassembled rather easily and carried in a relatively small piece of luggage.  And it could be made into whatever kind of bike would suit the conditions you might encounter upon arrival.  

Even if the ride and fit qualities are as good as Dynalab claims, I have to wonder how sturdy those slotted joints are. Just how much assembling, disassembling and moving around could the withstand?  And how much shock and abuse.

Still, even if it is what it's claimed to be, I might have a hard time shelling out my money for something called Nobike.  

Don't Worry About Me, Mate, I'm Taking Your Bike

Bristol is often cited as one of the UK's--and Europe's--most "green" and "liveable" cities. Given that a relatively large portion of the city's residents are young and environmentally consciousness, it's not surprising that many bicycles are ridden--and parked--on the streets.

The large number of bikes also means that Bristol has a problem that plagues other places like it.  You have probably guessed, by now, what it is. Yes, bike theft. As Louis Emanuel wrote in a Bristol 24/7 article:  "If you live in Bristol it's likely you have had your bike stolen or know someone who has."   At the time he wrote that article--in July 2015--police were conducting raids that targeted bike-theft gangs.   

While those constabulary operations may have reduced, if only slightly, the number of bikes that are "nicked", they have not, by any means, solved the problem.  And it seems that thieves are as brazen as ever.

How bold are they?  Here's one who cut through the lock in broad daylight yesterday--Easter Sunday:




The bike belonged to a 13-year-old boy who'd gone to FOPP, a shop that sells books, films and music, in the center of town.  

After filming, someone confronted the thief, asking him where he got the bike.  "Don't worry about me, mate, worry about yourself!" he said.

Trek To The Sea

Yesterday the Trek project got another rite of initiation, if you will:  I took it on a ride I have experienced with all of my Mercians--and some of the bikes of my youth.

I pedaled down to Long Branch, NJ.   I am glad I went there yesterday, when it was overcast and windy--and turned chilly.  Today is summer-like and, of course, it is Easter Sunday, so lots of families will be taking their post-church service or pre- (or post-) prandial strolls on the boardwalk.  Some may even venture onto the beach, even though it's still  too cold for just about any land, and even most amphibious, animals to swim.

Vehicular traffic  was pretty light throughout the ride, except in one spot where it's almost always congested:  Just past the Victory Bridge, where US 9 and New Jersey Route 35 converge for a couple of miles--which is near the point where the New Jersey Turnpike (the Jersey stretch of I-95) crosses the Garden State Parkway.  But until that stretch, and after it, I didn't see many cars or trucks, even in Newark.

I rode down to the World Trade Center and descended through three levels of "upscale" (i.e., glossy and overpriced) shopping and "fine" (i.e., see above) "dining" (i.e., eating) "expriences" to the PATH train platform.  If Dante's Inferno had been made of glass, steel and faux marble, and the people spent more money for clothes with names on them but weren't really any better-dressed than I was (if I do say so myself), it would have looked like that place.

And, the train parked itself in Journal Square, about halfway through the trip, for a "schedule adjustment".  Hmm...I'll try that the next time I have a deadline to meet. Anyway, a trip that normally takes about 20 minutes took double that amount of time: longer than it took me to ride from my apartment to the World Trade Center.

Once I got out of Newark Penn Station, which smells as if someone's been brewing the same pot of coffee since the day it opened (It's a WPA building.), I was about to swing my leg over my bike when one of the most charming homeless men I've ever encountered asked me for a dollar to help him buy some fried chicken.  Who doesn't like fried chicken?  How could I deny such a request?  Certainly not I, even if he wasn't telling me the truth!

I think, subconsciously, I chose to ride the Trek today because I knew its colors would mirror, more or less, the sea and sky.  It's almost as if the Trek wanted to be there today.  

The last part of the ride--from the Azzolina Bridge to Long Branch--was the flattest and, paradoxically, the most difficult part of the ride.   It took me longer to cover that distance than to ride nearly double that distance, from the intersections of Route 35 and 36 in Matawan to the bridge.  Once I got off the bridge, I was riding right into the teeth of the wind and the temperature felt as it had dropped about twenty degrees F.  When I finally stopped, at the Long Branch boardwalk, it might been good to be a polar bear.

Speaking of which:

I think it's the first time that place has been painted in about 45 years.  My first reaction was "Uh-oh!  They're turning it into a Cold Stone Creamery clone--with CSC prices.    Turns out, I had nothing to fear.  It's still an old-school Jersey Shore roadside ice cream stand.  You won't find exotic flavors there (unless you consider Yuengling Black and Tan exotic), just the stuff you remember from your childhood.  And it's just as good, maybe better, and reasonably priced.  I ordered a cone with vanilla-chocolate twist ice cream and a cherry topping.  Definitely old-school Jersey shore.  

It was good.  Real good.  So was my ride.  So was the day.