Harley Plugging Into E-Bikes

 Is an e-bike really a bicycle?  What about a motorized bicycle?  What's the difference between a motorbike and a bicycle with a motor?  And, at what point did a bicycle with a motor attached to it become a motorcycle?

That last question certainly would have been relevant, or at least interesting in the first years of the 20th Century.  That's when the first "motorcycles" were introduced.  More than a century later, they look more like fat-tired "cruiser" bicycles (like the ones Schwinn and Columbia made before the 70s Bike Boom) with motors attached than, say, something one might expect to find in a Harley-Davidson showroom.

Unless it's this Harley: 

Although it comes from H-D, it's not called a "Harley."  Rather, the company has called it--and the division that will offer it--Serial 1.  The machine in the photo is a prototype of what will be available in the Spring of 2021, according to the company.

It's interesting that Harley is going "full circle" in an attempt to renew itself.  I can remember when riding a Harley was a sign of marching (OK, riding) to one's own drummer: Think of Wyatt (played by Peter Fonda) and Billy (Dennis Hopper) in Easy Rider.  These days, though, the guy perched on a Harley is more likely to be a dentist who's, oh, about my age than a young, footloose rebel.  Harley-Davidson sales have been all but nonexistent among millenials and not much better among Generation X.  

Could a Harley, rather than a DeLorean, be the vehicle that brings young people back to the future?

No Saddle, But Plenty Of Seats

It's one thing to be forced off my bike.  It's another to be forced into this:

I know, I could have hailed a cab or Uber, or called a friend for a ride. But it seemed simpler to take the train, especially since it took me almost to the entrance of where I needed to be.

It had been at least eight months since I'd been on the subway.  I know that because I hadn't been on a train, or a bus, since at least a month before everything shut down and I started working from home.  Now that I think of it, I think my last subway trip, before yesterday, was in January, when I picked up a pair of wheels.  I've carried wheels on my bike before, but it's easier to take a train or bus.

I never imagined that while living in New York, I'd go for so long without using mass transit.  But we had a mild, dry winter before the pandemic struck, so I managed to ride to work every day.

It was almost surreal to be on the N train at the tail end of the morning rush hour and see empty seats everywhere.  And the MTA isn't even restricting the number of riders who can enter or blocking off seats:  There are just fewer people riding.

Still, I'd rather be on my bike.  I hope the more-optimistic prediction I got from the orthopedic doctor comes true!

Recovery, X2

Yesterday I saw an orthopedic doctor.  My muscle strain, though painful, is not serious, he said:  "Take it easy, it'll heal itself."  He took some of the stitches out of my leg and substituted surgical tape.  

I don't know whether he's a cyclist, but he deals a lot with sports injuries.  So he understood when I complained that not cycling--when, it seems, everyone else in the world is turning their pedals and spinning their wheels through streets and paths dusted with red and gold and brown leaves fluttered down from wizening boughs--is driving me totally nuts.  "About two more weeks, if this keeps up," he said about my recovery.  That, to be fair, is a bit more optimistic than what the folks in the Long Island Jewish emergency room told me.  "That makes sense," he said.  "In ERs, they're zealous with their treatment and advice."

Of course, I don't mind now that the ER doctors and nurses were "zealous":  It may be the reason why I'm recovering well, so far.  But, oh, I want to get back on my bike.  And I don't want to gain back the weight I've lost during the last few months!

One irony in all of this is that the day after I got home from the hospital, I got a call from a doctor at the Westchester Medical Center Brain and Spine Center, where I ended up after my June accident.  The bleeding near my brain had cleared up, he said, and the latest images show no residual damage.  But, he admonished me to "be careful" because another impact to my head can magnify the trauma I suffered in the first accident.

"I will," I promised.  I didn't tell him why.

(Thank you to everyone who checked in on me!)

Not Again! Is There A Conspiracy?

I don't believe in curses or conspiracy theories--most of the time.  All right:  When I read about "Vote for Trump or Else" e-mails some voters have received, I have to wonder whether the person/people who sent them saw the "endorsement" in my previous post.

After posting that "Demo-cats" video and doing a few other things, I went for a ride through southeastern Queens and Nassau county to the "Nautical Mile" of Freeport.  I was pedaling back along streets that zigzagged back and forth along the Nassau-Queens border when--bam!--I was knocked to the pavement of Lefferts Boulevard in Elmont.  

I'd just experienced one of cyclists' worst nightmares:  the driver of a parked car opened her door right into my side.  

I watch very carefully for such things, but there was no way to anticipate--or avoid--her action:  I was directly alongside the driver's side door when she opened up.

Instead of pedaling home to feed Marlee and myself, I was carted to Long Island Jewish Medical Center-Valley Stream.  Thirty stitches and three X-rays later, I was sent home.  

This year has been awful in all sorts of ways, from world and national events to personal crises, for almost everybody I know.  In half a century of cycling, I have had two accidents that resulted in my needing medical attention.  I suffered both of them this year, only four months apart.

The doctor said I could be off my bike for anywhere from four to ten weeks, as the gashes were deep and the tissue will take time to recover. (Some of the stitches I needed were internal.)  Although my lower back, knee and shoulder hurt (and still hurt), the X-rays revealed no fractures or spinal damage.   She said I should recover "just fine," but it will "take time."  But she expressed confidence:  "You're tough. And you look great for your age."  The attending nurses agreed.

If I have to wait two and a half months to ride again, that means the rest of this year is gone.  But, if I my recovery goes more quickly, I might be able to salvage some late-fall riding.  

Now, I know logically that the timing of my accident has nothing to do with my endorsement of Donald Trump's opponent.  Or does it?

The Purr-fect Endorsement

 You know I would never, ever use this blog to endorse a political candidates.  Really!  I have, however, no compunction about showing cats, whether Marlee or another, whether or not they're related to cycling.

So please don't read anything into my posting this tweet:

We’ve got to come together to defeat Donald Trump –– Democrats, Independents, Republicans, and yes, even Demo-cats. pic.twitter.com/LtsTWy7MmI

— Joe Biden (@JoeBiden) October 17, 2020

I've already voted.  I  won't tell you who I voted for because I don't endorse candidates. Really, really, I don't! (Try not to notice my nose growing longer.)

All I'll tell you is that the major candidate I didn't vote for probably doesn't like cats--or any other animal he can't or won't eat.