If It Fits, Grab It!

Recently, I helped a friend buy a bike.

She's about my age, give or take a couple of years, but hasn't had a bike since she was a teenager.  Seeing other people (including yours truly) astride two wheels "made me think:  what fun!  what a great way to get around!"

The search wasn't easy, though.  Of course, I had to think about what kind of bike would ease her back into riding and fit her well.

I think one of those goals was accomplished with a folding bike. Whether we met the other goal, though, is debatable:  It's not a Brompton or other high-end folder, so I'm not sure it fits anybody well.

But, as you surely know, the pandemic has induced a bicycle shortage even more acute, I think, than the ones that marked the 1970s Bike Boom.  So people like my friend are taking whatever they can get:

This May Have Been An Accident

Oh, no!

That was my reaction upon hearing that a former NBA player died as a result of a bicycle accident in Utah.

The news made me cringe on two levels.  First of all, I thought immediately of Shawn Bradley, of whom I wrote in March.  As he pedaled along a road near his St. George home, a driver struck him from behind and left him paralyzed, with a traumatic spinal cord injury.  I was glad to hear he wasn't the former NBA player I heard about yesterday, though I don't envy his situation.  

I wasn't happy, though, to learn of Mark Eaton's death from "an apparent bicycle accident" in Silver Creek.  At first, I thought  of Henry Grabar's Slate article reminding readers that what happened to Bradley--and incidents like it--are not  "accidents," as they're often (mis)reported.  According to the report I read, Eaton--who, like Bradley, played 12 NBA seasons and was best known as a shot-blocker--was found unconscious in the middle of a road near his home.  Emergency medical personnel treated him and rushed him to a hospital, where he couldn't be saved.

Mark Eaton in 1985

The Utah Office of the Medical Examiner will try to determine the cause of death.  There were no witnesses to whatever happened to Eaton , according to the Sheriff's Office, but authorities believe "no vehicle was involved."

If indeed "no vehicle was involved," it may well be that whatever befell Eaton was an accident. That, of course, doesn't make it any less terrible, any more than his status as a former NBA player makes his passing more tragic.  One can only hope that whatever happened to him, he went with as little pain and suffering as possible, and with the memory of a good ride.

70 With 46

 Yesterday was World Bicycle Day.

The day after, a woman turned 70 and celebrated with a bike ride.

No, I am not that woman.  First of all, I haven't reached that milestone yet. (I might tell you when I do.) Second, she rode with her husband.

So who is the mystery woman?

She is none other than Jill Biden, wife of the current President.  They returned to Delaware, their home state, and pedaled down the 5.2 mile Cape Henlopen State Park trail, near their beach house.

Of course, it's pretty difficult for a President and First Lady to go unnoticed on a bike ride.  Other cyclists shouted good wishes and sang "Happy Birthday."  A reporter asked Jill whether she was enjoying her birthday.  She responded with an enthusiastic "Yes."

If this image of Joe (a.k.a. #46) and Jill cycling doesn't show just how different they are from their most recent predecessors, I don't know what does!

Riding By Their Home

Even though I have lived and cycled in this city for most of my life, an afternoon ride still can include a “What’s this?”moment

So it was late yesterday afternoon, as I spun down Park Place in Crown Heights, Brooklyn.  

This T-shaped building takes up most of a square block and seems out of place , only because of its size, in a neighborhood full of elegant brownstone townhouses and min-mansions. (Crown Heights was one of the most fashionable neighborhoods in New York—something Stingo, the narrator of Sophie’s Choice, notices.) To me, it looked like a sanitarium attached to a church.

Turns out, my hunch wasn’t far off the mark:  It opened late in the 19th Century as the Brooklyn Methodist Episcopal Home of the Aged. About two decades later, the chapel was added.

When the Home was built, Social Security and public services for the elderly and other vulnerable people didn’t exist.  So, whatever help was available came from charities, whether secular or church-related.

Mercein Thomas, the architect of the Home, refused payment for his services. So did William Kennedy, the architect who designed the extension and chapel.  The money was donated by members of the Methodist Episcopal Church, which included some of Brooklyn’s most prominent families.

Today the building houses the Hebron Seventh Day Adventist Church and bilingual (French and English) school that mainly serves Haitian and Senegalese immigrants.

As I understand, the building is in peril:  A developer wants to demolish the south wing and build an apartment tower that would dwarf, not only the school, but the neighborhood. And it would accelerate gentrification, which would drive out longtime residents as well as the families of the kids who attend the school.

Where would be the sense of wonder in riding past another tower block?

11 Years

 Eleven years ago today, I wrote my first post on this blog.

I was just returning to cycling after the longest layoff of my adult life:  the months following my gender affirmation suregery.  I could have started to ride again sooner than I did, but I figured that it was better to stay off my bike through the winter and allow a full, thorough healing and formation.

I had no idea of what cycling would be like in my "new" body.  Although I have to pay more attention to signals it sends me, I have found cycling more rewarding than it's ever been.  I am riding, and living, in my true self--and for my own reasons.  I no longer have to impress anyone with my speed, endurance or anything else.  Being on my bike is enough.

COVID-19--Who, except for a few scientists, foresaw that?--has reinforced that lesson: Being on my bike is enough.  It allowed me to endure the ravages of the pandemic-- which struck New York, my hometown, early and hard--with my health (mental as well as physical) intact.  Cycling allowed me to avoid mass transportation and offered me a mental as well as physical release.  And it, along with writing this blog, has brought at least some degree of continuity to my life.  

I am thankful--to ride, to write, and for you, dear readers, for 11 years.

Marlee had yet to be born when I started this blog!