Audrey McElmury Made Them Possible

Today is International Women's Day.

To mark the occasion, I am going to talk about Audrey McElmury.

In one of my early posts, I wrote about Nancy Burghart. She won eight US National Championships during the 1960s. That brought her international press attention in the days before 24-hour news cycles and when the US was seen as, at best, a cycling backwater by the sports' powers in Europe and Japan.

I mention Burghart here because you might say that Audrey McElmury picked up where Burghart left off--and carried the torch to the great generation of American female cyclists that included "Miji" Reoch, Sue Novara, Sheila Young, Connie Carpenter and Rebecca Twigg.

In 1969, the year that Burghart won her final national championship, McElmury rode the World Championships in Brno, Czechoslavakia (now the Czeh Republic).  In the previous year's World Championships, held in Rome, she finished fifth in a road race that ended in a sprint.  Around the same time, the Soviet Union invaded Czechoslavakia to suppress the "Prague Spring."  The 1969 World Championships would run on the anniversary of the day the tanks barreled down the streets of the Czech capital.

That day, McElmury rode both the road and track races.  She came in seventh in the 3000-meter pursuit race.  Later that day, she rode the 62-kilometer road race on her road bike, made by Johnny Berry in Manchester, UK.  She would recall the race this way:

The pavement was somewhat chewed up from the tank treads.  The course was one that suited my riding: I was good in the hills* and time-trialed well.m On about the third lap, it started pouring buckets.  On the fourth lap, I got away on the hill by about 15 seconds, but I fell down while putting on the brakes in a corner on the descent.  The pack caught me as I got up.  The rain was chilly enough that I didn't feel the full effect of my bruised hip, and the rain exaggerated the amount of blood from a cut on my elbow.  I chased the pack with an ambulance following me to see if I was all right.

Being the tough customer she was, McElmury gained on the rest of the pack during the last lap and pulled ahead on the last hill.  She finished that race one minute and ten seconds ahead of the runner-up, Bernadette Swinnerton of the UK.

Audrey McElmury on the podium in Czechoslavakia, 1969.

McElmury's victory gave her the gold medal--and World Championship--for the road race.  In winning, she became the first American World Champion in cycling since Frank Kramer took the professional sprint race in 1912--31 years before McElmury was born.  In fact, it was the first road racing world championship victory, ever, by any American of any gender.  

To say that her triumph was unexpected was an understatement.  The awards ceremony had to be delayed by half an hour as officials searched for a recording of the Star Spangled Banner to play. She returned home to the same indifference she, and other cyclists, had previously met in the US.   A reporter, who apparently knew nothing about cycling, wanted to know more about the anniversary of the Russian invasion than her championship.

That indifference toward cyclists was compounded by the fact that she was a woman in a male-dominated sport.  She had to pay all of her own expenses--about $10,000--to compete in Brno.  The American cycling federation claimed that it didn't have enough money to pay for her, or the other two women accompanied her, because the dues they paid amounted to so little.  

Audrey McElmury's Johnny Berry bike.

On the other hand, her victory was celebrated in Europe.  For one thing, there was a culture of cycling and a fanbase for racing that simply didn't exist in the US at that time, so Europeans appreciated her determination, courage and skill.  And the Czechs, after their experiences, cheered for Americans in the races and were more than enthusiastic about McElmury.  They booed the Russians who won other events.  

She would be recruited by the Italian team, for whom she would ride and later coach.  Upon returning to the US, she still couldn't get her expenses covered, even though she showed she could hold her own with the top American men in the criterium circuit. 

After a 1974 crash, McElmury retired from racing and, with her husband Michael Levonas, coahed cyclists and tri-athletes in Southern California before working in hotel and food service management in the western US.  She died in Bozeman, Montana on 26 March 2013, at age 70.  In 1989, she was enshrined in the United States Biycling Hall of Fame.

So, for International Women's Day, I have taken the opportunity to celebrate Audrey McElmury, who helped to usher in the generation of Americans who would dominate the world of women's bicycle racing--and, I would argue, paved the way for American men like Greg LeMond, who would garner far more attention--and money.

*-Having cycled in and around Prague, I can attest that there are hills in that part of the world !

Escapism

Perhaps you're on a bike--say, a Huffy or Pacific--you wouldn't want to be caught dead on.

Or you're about to crash. 

Maybe you're tired and have flatted twice in an hour.

Those are answers to a question I never asked until I saw this:

How or why would you use an "Eject" button on a bicycle?

Bicycles For Everyone--In Western Michigan, Anyway!

During last year's Democratic presidential primaries, Andrew Yang floated the idea of a Universal Basic Income.  He's not the first public figure to advocate it: Jeremy Corbyn in the UK has voiced support.  So have Mark Zuckerberg and Elon Musk--who, perhaps, ironically share another trait with Yang:  they are tech billionaires. (I just hope they don't, like Yang, develop any political aspirations!)  And, perhaps most famously, a referendum on Universal Basic Income was put up for vote in Switzerland five years ago.  It lost, but the idea is still discussed there, and elsewhere.

Since I never, ever espouse political positions (no, really!) on this blog, I won't say any more about the idea.  I will say, however, if I were a President or Queen or Governor or some other high-level legislator or ruler, I'd decree that anyone who wants or needs a bicycle will have one.  Mind you, it wouldn't necessarily be a Specialized S-Works machine or bespoke handcrafted lugged steel beauty: a bike to get someone from point A to point B reliably, safely and with some style.

Just to prove that great minds think alike (no, really!) Elliot Rappleye and Jon Butler are doing what I propose.  They have created Lyfe Cycles, a Grand Haven, Michigan-based nonprofit organization dedicated to fixing up old bikes and giving them to people who can't afford them.  

Lyfe Cycles founders Elliot Rappleye (with bike) and Jon Butler

The impetus came from Rappleye's experience in a Holland, Michigan sober-living house.  He noticed "a lot of people not having transportation" to go wherever they needed, and wanted, to go.  

As it happened, there was a pile of rundown bikes at the house.  Rappleye fixed one, then another.  One resident rolled one out the door, then another.  Restoring the bikes soon became his project.  "They called me the bike guy," he said.

Last fall, Butler called on him to fix a bike.  They got to talking, and the idea for Lyfe Cycles was born.  "Some people just can't afford a way to get around," Butler observes.

Elliot Rappleye in the shop

The process has been straightforward:  Bikes are donated, Rappleye repairs them and they're donated. So far, most of the donations have been made to people in recovery groups along Michigan's western shore who've come to their attention by word of mouth.  They want to expand their services to give bikes to families and to promote cycling as a way to get around. Western Michigan is "the perfect little area" to promote a cycling lifestyle, according to Butler, who points to a plan to establish more bike-friendly lanes in Grand Haven. 

Lyfe Cycles is collecting old bike donations and, at the moment, is still working out of a shop in the sober-living house where Rappleye started his work.  A bike drive is scheduled for the 20th.  But his and Butler's long-term plans include starting a brick-and-mortar shop and auctioning off custom bikes to turn Lyfe Cycles into a "self-sustaining brand."

A universal basic bike for everyone:  Elliot Rappleye  and Jon Butler might make this vision come true, at least on Michigan's western shore.  

  

(Photos provided by Lyfe Cycles to Mlive.

 

Obedience And Therapy

Yesterday I was such a good, healthy citizen, it was almost disgusting.

On Tuesday, my orthopedic doctor told me I'd healed enough to do anything my conditioning and endurance will allow.  And, in spite of what Governor Greg Abbott and other legislators are doing, anyone who knows more about epidemology, immunology, virology, microbiology or public health than I know is telling us to continue the practice of social distancing.

I managed to follow my doctor's, and other health professionals' orders, yesterday.  Late in the morning, I hopped on Negrosa, my vintage Mercian Olympic, and pedaled to Point Lookout.

Throughout my ride, I couldn't have violated social-distancing regulations if I tried, or wanted to.  I saw only three other cyclists and maybe half a dozen people walking along the seven kilometer stretch of the Rockaway Boardwalk.   I saw little traffic, and very few people crossing at traffic lights, as I spun through the streets of Queens, Atlantic Beach, Long Beach and Point Lookout. 

Even Point Lookout seemed as if it had never been visited by humans:  The tides had receded further than at any other time I can recall, leaving more sand, with barely any footprints, than I'd ever seen there.  The gulls and erns seemed curious at my presence.

As for the clouds that shrouded the sky throughout my ride, I was glad for those, too.  The day was cold and a strong wind blew out of the northwest:  I pedaled with it on my way out and into it on my way back. Perhaps the sun would have brought some cheer, but I'm not sure that's what I needed:  The subdued light, with no threat of rain, and the sea gave me a canvas, a slate, a stage on which to purge sadness of the past year and my hopes for what is to come. 

Call me selfish, but I was enjoying it all:  I felt as if I'd had those streets, the boardwalk, the beaches and even the ocean and sky all to myself.  So, not only did I follow the guidelines of Anthony Fauci, the CDC, the New York City Department of Health and any other real authority about the pandemic; I also did something for my mental health.  So did Marlee, who immediately curled up on me when I got home.

Silver Stallion Brings Bike Repairs To A Nation In Need

I first learned of Bicycle Habitat, which would become my "go-to" shop, while pedaling the canyons of downtown Manhattan, a Globe Canvas messenger bag loaded with packages, documents and even the occasional food delivery, slung across my body.  The shop, on Lafayette Street, was strategically located for messengers like me who shuttled between the studios, galleries, professional offices and businesses of Soho and Midtown and the traders, brokers, bankers and lawyers in and around Wall Street and the World Trade Center.  

Habitat had another location in Chelsea--ironically, just two blocks from its current Chelsea shop.  But Charlie McCorkle, an owner and founding partner, once told me that even though the Lafayette shop was much smaller, it did more business than the Chelsea locale--in part, because of messengers like me.  Another factor was the American Youth Hostels headquarters, where I would work after quitting the delivery business.  People would sign up for an AYH bike tour and we'd send them to Habitat for equipment--and, sometimes, even a bicycle. (Believe it or not, some people didn't yet have a bike when they signed up for a tour!)  But after AYH moved uptown, the bulk of the Lafayette Street's location came from messengers and transportation cyclists. 

I am recalling that now because of a news item that brings to mind a phenomenon I've noticed.  In neighborhoods where people ride their bikes for fitness or recreation--or commute on two wheels when they have other options--it's not hard to find a bike shop. For example, when I lived in Park Slope, Brooklyn, four shops served an area within a one-mile radius of my apartment.  A similar ratio exists around my current residence in Astoria, Queens.  But if I venture into, say, Elmhurst, East New York or most Bronx neighborhoods, shops are fewer and farther between, if they exist at all.  And, in such neighborhoods, cyclists are as likely as not to be riding for transportation, and to be on bikes that are in more dire need of repair.

So it is in some Native American nations.  The Navajo nation encompasses an area about 50 times as large as the five boroughs of New York City and is home to about 333,000 people.  Cycling there is described as a "way of life":  While some ply the nearby terrain on mountain bikes for fun, many more depend on their bikes for transportation.  Yet, there isn't a single bike shop.  If someone needs a bike repaired, he or she has to travel as far as Gallup, New Mexico--an hours' drive away.

If Silver Stallion Bicycle & Coffee Works were near me, I'd go to it for its name alone!  But they are in Gallup. A non-profit organization, their mission is "to empower and develop youth and young adults vocational skills in the bicycle repair and specialty coffee industries."  In keeping with that, the folks of Silver Stallion are going into Dine lands and fixing Navajos' bikes for free.  

Because the work is considered a form of COVID-19 relief, the New Mexico Economic Development Department gave Silver Stallion a grant to cover expenses. In addition, the Southwest Indian Foundation donated a delivery truck and the Catena Foundation gave Stallion a grant to cover the truck's operating costs.  And Stans-Pivot Pro Team mechanic Myron Billy travelled to Gallup to outfit the truck as a mobile bike shop. Stans No Tubes, Clif Bar and other companies donated parts and equipment. 

Myron Billy. Photo by Shaun Price

Along with the donated parts, repairs were also done with parts "cannibalized" from other bikes.  The most common repairs involved freeing-up seized freehubs, replacing cables and "sliming" tubes to protect them against the abundant "goatheads." 

To continue this effort--which, in addition to providing repairs, is also imparting skills and mentorship to young people--Silver Stallion is seeking donations.  They are providing a valuable service, not only for folks who ride bikes as a way to cope with the COVID pandemic, but also to get to clinics for vaccinations and other medical care.