Flights Of (Holiday) Fancy

 Christmas Eve.  The sun chased the morning rain, but not the cold. Still, the weather was good enough for a late afternoon ride to Fort Totten.

On the way out and back, I wended along the Flushing Bay promenade, past the World’s Fair Marina—and within arm’s length, or so it seemed, of the new LaGuardia Airport terminals.

Few things are driven more by technology, and less by aesthetics, or at least visual displays, for their own sake than the design of aviation facilities.  Still, for a moment, one could believe the new terminal was decorated for Christmas:

A Solitary, But Not Lonely, Ride

 Yesterday seemed tropical, at least in comparison to the weather we had for Christmas weekend.  The temperature reached 45F (8C) in the middle of my ride and the sun shimmered behind a scrim of cirrus clouds.  Best of all, a very light wind blew at my back for the part of the return leg of my ride--on La-Vande, my Mercian King of Mercia.

Given that it was so mild for this time of year--and in comparison to recent conditions--I was surprised to see this:

I would've expected to see other cyclists, dog-walkers or simply walkers along the Rockaway boardwalk.  I mean, most people spent the past few days indoors and people who live by the beach year-round seem to be a bit hardier than most.  But I had that boardwalk to myself.  Then, I did a solo crossing of the Atlantic Beach Bridge. That's right:  Not a single vehicle or pedestrian--or seagull!--was present when I crossed it.  

What made having the boardwalk and bridge to myself even more surprising was that it was on a weekday--a Thursday.  Then again, it's a weekday of the "week when nothing happens"---between Christmas and New Year's Day.  I know that schools are closed so, perhaps, parents have stayed home with their kids--or have gone away.

The Long Beach boardwalk was hardly less solitary:  Only a couple of other cyclists, and a few strollers, graced it.  Finally, at Point Lookout, a couple who chanced greeted me with a shy, furtive, "Hello," as if they were as surprised to see me as I was to see them.  

I opened a packet of Kar's Trail Mix (the holiday version, with the green and red cocoa candies), and emptied about a quarter of it into my mouth.  It was like rocket fuel for the ride back--as if  I needed it!  

The ride back was a little less solitary, but not lonely.  I must admit, I enjoyed having the boardwalk, and much of the roadway, to myself on a weekday. 

Black Friday Bicycle Shaped Objects

"Toys come in boxes.  Real bicycles come assembled and ready to ride."

I don't remember who said that.  I'm guessing it was the proprietor or a salesperson in one of the bike shops in which I worked.  And I'm guessing the proprietor or salesperson was admonishing someone who brought in a department-store bicycle for assembly or who tried to assemble such a bike and made a bad thing hopeless.

I'm recalling that bit of wisdom, if not the sage who imparted it, because today is Black Friday.

For those of you who are not in the US, this day--the day after we give thanks and exchange heart-warming stories (or get into fights) with people with whom we would not sit at the same table at any other time--and give thanks for, well, whatever.   This is the day on which stores--mainly the big-box variety--run "sales" on some of the worst junk imaginable, much of which will end up under Christmas trees four weeks later and in landfills four years--or even four months--later.

The boxes full of stuff meant to be assembled into bicycle-shaped objects are among the sale items I'm talking about. One of the "big-box" retailers--which, thankfully, does not have a store anywhere near me--has offered, on each of the few Black Fridays--a "freestyle BMX" bike with pegs and helmet for $49.99 and boys' and girls' 20 inch bicycles for $29. 

If you're a vegan,  bear with me for a moment as I use an analogy most people (Americans, anyway) will understand.  It's scarcely possible to get a steak dinner, let alone a good one, for $29.  Add drinks and dessert and you'd be hard-pressed to keep the tab below $50.   At least, that's the case here in New York.

Now, you might be thinking that buying a cheap bike for a kid isn't such a bad idea because he or she will trash or outgrow it within a couple of years.   Or you might be on a tight budget (Trust me, I understand!) and are shopping for a few kids or grandkids.  I don't have kids or grandkids, but I understand the joy in seeing a kid's eyes light up on Christmas morning.  (I've experienced it with my nieces and nephews as well as the children of friends, if that counts.)   However, I'd think about what I'm teaching kids when I give them disposable junk.  

More to the point, though, I'd be concerned about giving a kid (or anyone) something that's potentially unsafe.  In bikes, as in most things, you get what you pay for (up to a point, anyway).  Cheap bikes are made cheaply, from cheap materials.  Now, if I were buying such a bike for a kid (which, of course, I wouldn't), I at least have some residual level of skill as a mechanic and could at least ensure the bike is properly assembled.  However, not everyone who buys such a bike can make such a claim. Nor can some of the "mechanics" employed by some stores that offer assembly.

If you were to bring such a bike to a shop to be assembled, you'll pay enough for the service that it, combined with the price of the bike, will total not much less than the price of  a bike shop bike.  Shops don't charge what they charge out of spite or to gouge customers:  Proper assembly and repair (which bikes in boxes sometimes need) takes time and therefore costs money.  And a mechanic in any bike shop worthy of the name wants to take the time to do it right because the shop's reputation rides on the work done in it.

So...If you really, truly, must participate in that orgy of consumerism called Black Friday--which has been likened to the running of the bulls--don't buy a bike, especially one for a kid, in a big-box store.  If you're a regular reader of this blog, I don't have to tell you that.  But you might want to tell your less-informed (about bikes, anyway) friends and relatives what I've said--or pass along this post.

He Survived Combat. Then His Bike Blew Up.

Once upon a time, before X-boxes and I-phones roamed the Earth, kids actually wanted--and sometimes got--bikes for Christmas.  So, after my first bike shop laid me off early in the Fall, the owner asked whether I could come back for a few weeks in December and early January.  

I was surprised that he would want me, even for a few days, in the New Year.  I would learn that some of the bikes we sold for Christmas would be brought in for adjustments, as promised by the shop.  But other kids brought in bikes their parents hadn't bought from us.  Some of those machines were really twisted.  Even more serpentine were the stories they told us.  My favorite came from the parent of a kid whose wheels had folded into the shape of a certain Bachman's snack.  

According to that kid's supposed role model, the wheel assumed its form when the kid "turned the corner" and "the rim bent."

Now, I admit that my knowledge of physics was, at best, rudimentary.  So perhaps you, dear reader, can forgive me for not understanding how something made from two layers of steel could just fold over when a 65-pound kid turned it at a 45 degree angle.

Oh, and that kid's parent wanted us to replace the wheel--for free--on that bike, which wasn't purchased in our shop or, as best as I could tell, any bike shop.

Perhaps you can thus understand my skepticism when anyone claims that a bike fell apart as he or she rode it.  I know, well, that some bikes aren't very well-made, but very few are so shoddy that they will disintegrate under you as you ride.  I mean, I've heard of Lambert's "death forks" snapping when their riders hit bumps, and of various parts failing in one way or another under normal use.  But I don't recall any bike snapping at its frame joints during the course of a routine ride.

That is, until I came across the story of Ronnie Woodall.  

The Austin, Texas resident was riding along 4th street when the welds broke on his $1600 All City bicycle and sent him flying face-first into a construction fence.

The head and down tubes separated from the steer tube.  The result that Mr. Woodall's nose all but separated from his face.  It was "barely hanging on by this left side of my nostril, across the top," he recalls. The impact, which pushed his head back and twisted his neck,  "blew out out all of the vertebrae in my neck," he explains.

His doctor estimates that it will take $2 million to care of him medically in the future.  All City is a brand from Quality Bicycle Products.  According to a company statement,  QBP has  inspected the bicycle and claims to "have not found evidence" that "the bicycle spontaneously came apart," which is "something that, in our experience, bicycles simply do not do."

Whether or not the bike fell apart at faulty welds, or whether there was some other mitigating circumstance, there is another part of this story that is ironic, almost to the point of being incredible: Ronnie Woodall, a retired 30-year Army veteran, suffered his worst injuries, not on a nameless hill in some distant, forlorn country, but on a bike that cost more than most people in some of those distant, forlorn countries make in a year.  And it happened in the middle of the 11th-largest city in the United States.

Christmas, 4512 Miles From Casablanca

Do you see what I see? 

This is what, among other things, I saw for my Christmas Day ride.  It ain't Rockaway Beach; that's for sure.

I saw these sights while pedaling along the Atlantic Ocean on Route A-1A from Matanzas Bay to Ormond Beach in Florida.  When I got to Ormond, which is about ten miles from Daytona, I encountered something you'll never find in the Rockaways:

This guy thinks it's about time we've been slowed down.  And he means business:

Seriously, though, he wishes us all a good holiday!

You Can Ride--Perhaps--If It's "Contemplative"

Hanukkah began last night. 

Many moons ago, I taught in a yeshiva.  It was, to say the least, an interesting experience.  The rabbis and students were Orthodox, but not Hasidic.  So the boys--all of the students were boys--wore black ties and trousers with white shirts.  Yarmulkes topped their heads.  I dressed in a similar way--yes, I wore a yarmulke--when I was in the school.

You can imagine how I felt in such an atmosphere.  I was still living as male, but struggled with my gender identity.  The only female in the school--if you don't count me--was the secretary. She was the head rabbi's mother, and the head rabbi was not a young man!

I knew, probably, as much about Judaism as any non-Jew who grew up in Brooklyn would know--which is to say, more than most non-Jews in most other places, if I say so myself. Still, I had a lot of questions, especially when the holidays came around.  

For one thing, I wanted to know about gift-giving customs.  Many Reform and secular Jews celebrate Christmas and are just as extravagant about gifting and decorating as the Catholics I grew up with.  But the head rabbi confirmed what I'd thought:  the more Orthodox--which is to say, those  who were less or not at all "co-opted" by American/Christian/Capitalist-consumerist culture, in the eyes of someone like the rabbi--followed the custom of giving gelt.  

In the old Jewish communities of Europe, it was actual coinage, though most people today give chocolates shaped like coins and wrapped in gold-colored foil.  The rabbi said that it probably started with the prohibition against accepting money for teaching the Torah, which led to giving those teachers--who, as you can imagine, are highly esteemed in their communities--gifts which, according to Halakhic law (most interpretations of it, anyway), are not the same as payment for teaching.

(I think the same sort of logic motivated my, and other kids', parents in giving gifts to the nuns who taught in the Catholic school I attended:  In those days, they received only a very small amount of money to cover "personal expenses.")  

My old head rabbi (Hmm, that's kind of an odd phrase for me, isn't it?) also suggested that the custom of giving gelt to teachers may have had something to do with language and semantics.  What I didn't know, until he told me, is that Hanukkah actually means "dedication."  The word for education is very similar: hinnukh.

Anyway, I wanted to ask him this:  Does all of this mean that an Orthodox kid probably wouldn't get a bicycle for Hanukkah, but a Reform or secular kid might, for Hanukkah--or Christmas?

I did, however, on another occasion, ask him this:  On shabat  or high holy days, is it OK to ride a bicycle?  

From KilkennyCat Art

"The answer to that, like so many other questions, isn't black-and-white," he said.  (How many times have I said that to my students?)  But, he said, a purpose of shabat and the holy days is devotion, and anything that is a "distraction" from that should be avoided. 

 Of course, much is left to how one interprets the Torah--and, perhaps, the Hebrew language itself.  Almost everyone agrees that one shouldn't "work" during those days.  Some say that it simply means you shouldn't be doing whatever you do during normal business (or school) hours.  Others, though, believe that anything that has a secular purpose is "work." So they, for example, have non-Jewish neighbors turn light switches on and off.  Also, some traditional Jewish foods--most notably cholent  (Think of it as a kosher cassoulet.), came about because the very orthodox believe you can't do anything related to food preparation once shabat or the holidays begin.  

(To make cholent, people assembled pans of beans, potatoes, onions, meat, spices and whatever else they liked and, on their way to shul,  either put it in their own ovens or left it with local bakers who had to keep their ovens lit on low heat.  Those pans would be retrieved at the end of shabat.)

So, this rabbi opined, whether or not you can ride your bicycle depends on your (or your sect's) interpretration of the Torah--and why you are riding.  Obviously, commuting would be out of the question. So would running errands, for some.  But he said that cycling "might be OK" if it's "contemplative."

Late Afternoon, Early Winter Ride

Christmas weekend included everything one expects, weather-wise, in this part of the world--except snow.  Cold and wind cut through layers of insulation on human bodies as well as buildings.  I wondered whether even fluffy, shaggy dogs dressed in wool sweaters or down vests (yes, doggie down vests are a thing!) were warm, or at least not cold, as they led their humans along concrete sidewalks and asphalt streets that, I imagine, are even colder than their surroundings.

Yesterday afternoon brought a heat wave, at least by comparison:  the temperature broke the freezing mark, if only by a degree.  And the wind died down, if only a little.  Still, conditions were more inviting for a ride than they'd been in days.  

My late-day ride took me to the Malcolm X Promenade, which rims Flushing Bay east of LaGuardia Airport.  For the return leg of my ride, I chose a route through an industrial area surrounding the Steinway piano works.  It was almost eerily quiet for a weekday afternoon:  I guess a lot of people took the week off.  I can't blame them, really:  Not much happens during this week between Christmas and New Year's Day.

What I saw while pedaling south on Steinway Street made me happy I chose that particular route.  The sun set a minute or two later than it did last week: paradoxically, a sign that we are plunging deeper into winter.  The glow that bathed the street, trees, cars and people, however, at least felt like the milder weather forecast for a day or two from now.

Out Of The Net

No, I haven't abandoned this blog.  Nor will I.

Last week, I spent literally every waking moment I wasn't in class reading students' essays and exams and, finally, submitting grades and other paperwork last Thursday night.  Then there were all sorts of things related to the holidays, most of which were pleasant.  They included co-hosting a Christmas Eve reception in which I invented a "virgin" punch that proved wildly popular.  At least, I think I invented it:  I mixed equal parts of Ocean Spray Cranapple, Welch's white grape juice and Canada Dry ginger ale.

(Advertising or payments from those companies will not be refused!;-))

And I spent Christmas Day with Deborah and Suzanne, the couple who sent me the image of Alfred Letourner I included in an earlier post.

And, I managed to do something I haven't done in about fifteen years:  I spent a whole week away from my--and every other--computer!  I didn't check e-mails, post anything or look at eBay.  As much as L love writing this blog, I must say that my respite from the net was probably good for me.

Finally, today I managed to sneak in a ride on Tosca to the Rockaways.  There I was welcomed by a procession:

Being the public figures they are, they knew a photo op when they saw one. Especially these winsome creatures:

Happy holidays to them, and you!

Who's Complaining About The Weather

So the temperature dropped to subfreezing levels yesterday-- for the second time!

"Oooh!  It's so cold.  I heard that a lot yesterday.  One would think the people who are complaining about the weather had just gotten off the plane from the Caribbean.  Truth is, we should've had a few more subfreezing days by now.  And, after a Christmas Eve on which the temperature climbed to 21C (72F) and nearing that level the following day and week, we were spoiled, really.

So far, we haven't even come close to experiencing anything like this

From TheCityFix

or this

From 360 Niesko

or this

From Sensuous Amberville

What if all of the complainers were Nuvanit instead of New York?

A Ride Ahead Of A Storm

 The "once in a generation" weather events are happening, well, more than once in a generation.  

Such an event was predicted for last night and today.  The weather, according to forecasters, would take twists and turns that would cause a script to be rejected as too unbelievable. The day started with temperatures just above freezing.  Then the rain came:  a few drops falling as I returned to my apartment turned into downpours accompanied by high winds.  The temperature rose to springlike levels, but are expected to fall enough to give us the coldest Christmas Eve and Christmas in, well, a generation.

Now, I don't mind riding in rain or wind, or in changing temperatures.  But the predicted combination is not my idea of a backdrop for a good ride.  I think the only one in my orbit who likes this weather is Marlee because it keeps me home with her!

Anyway, I spent about two and a half hours on Tosca, my Mercian fixed-gear.  Most of our ride rimmed the East River shorelines of Queens and Brooklyn.  As familiar as it all was, I enjoyed it and, more important, noticed something that I missed because I took a turn I wouldn't normally take.

Along the Greenpoint waterfront is the WNYC Transmitter Park, from which our local public radio stations (on AM and FM) sends out the programs that are often the soundtrack when I'm home.  I guess I shouldn't have been surprised to see a mural dedicated to Black Americans who've been killed by police officers.  I think I pay a bit more attention to such things than most White Americans.  Still, I was astounded and, later, ashamed that I didn't recognize many of the names.  What was more disturbing was the knowledge that, as the creators of the murals acknowledge, the "list" is far from complete.

About twenty meters to the right of the BLM mural (or to the mural's left) is another that couldn't be more different.  

Perhaps that is the point:  The woman in the mural looks as White as the paint in her face.   She is as languid as the Sandra Bland, Eric Garner and others in the BLM mural were tense and fearful when they were confronted by constables.  

Oh, and she is lounging on what appears to be a Spring day. I was looking at her, and the BLM mural, on the second day of Winter, as a "once in a generation" storm was approaching.

Happy Christmas!

Happy Christmas!  

Feliz Navidad!

Joyeux Noel!

Buon Natale!  

Krismasi Njema! (That's about as much Swahili as I know.)

Vesele Vanoce! (Czech)

Frohe Wahnachten!

Nedeleg Laouen! (Guess what language this is!)

Krismisaya Shubkhaamnaa!

Sheng Dan Kuai Le! (I don't have the characters for this!)

And the best to everyone.  Thank you for reading.


(I took the photo in this post on my cell phone while I was riding down Alexander Avenue in the South Bronx, NY.)

The World's Fastest Bicycle

At this time of year, it's hard not to think about children, whether or not we have any of our own.  After all, we were all kids once, and most of us have memories--for better or worse, or both--of this time of year.

For some of us, those memories might involve a bicycle, specifically finding one under the tree.  "The Retrogrouch" wrote a nice post about that last week.  I responded with a comment about the time I got a Royce-Union three-speed bike when I was seven years old.  The bike was much too big for me; I wouldn't be able to ride it for another couple of years.  That bike also holds a special memory because it was the last gift my grandfather gave me.  In fact, that Christmas was the last day I spent time with him:  He died the following March.

But whatever the circumstances, I think any bicycle found under a tree on Christmas morning always holds a special place in a kid's heart, even long after he or she is no longer a kid.  Even if it's made from gaspipes, nothing can be prettier or shinier or faster than that bike left by "Santa"; if we can't ride our new steeds that day, nothing seems more worth the wait, whether for snow to melt or, in my case, to grow into the bike.



I think children's author Ken Nesbitt captured that feeling nicely in his poem, "The World's Fastest Bicycle."

My bicycle's the fastest
that the world has ever seen;
it has supersonic engines
and a flame-retardant sheen.

My bicycle will travel
a gazillion miles an hour --
it has rockets on the handlebars
for supplemental power.

The pedals both are jet-propelled
to help you pedal faster,
and the shifter is equipped
with an electric turbo-blaster.

The fender has a parachute
in case you need to brake.
Yes, my bike is undeniably
the fastest one they make.

My bicycle's incredible!
I love the way it feels,
and I'll like it even more
when Dad removes the training wheels.

(From The Aliens Have Landed At Our School. a book of children's poems by Ken Nesbitt)

Christmas In Florida: The Unexpected And The Familiar

Where I am now--about halfway between St. Augustine and Daytona Beach--is not what comes to most people's minds when you mention "Florida."  Although some of the flora and fauna--at least the ones found here now--are similar to what's found further south, the climate is different.  Frost covered lawns on the first morning of my trip here; the next day was like one in May in the New York area.

And, contrary to what you might have heard, there are seasons here, though they are not as pronounced as the ones that rule the north.  There are no maples and oaks that blaze orange, red and yellow before burning into ashen shades.  Instead, you are more likely to see something like this:

And it's likely to be found in this sort of landscape:

With backdrops like those, houses festooned with lights and other decorations seem incongruous, and sometimes even disconcerting.  To me, some of the most attractively decorated houses actually look best in daylight:

Here is a view of the right side of that house:

At least the end of the day--the holiday, anyway--ends with something familiar and welcome:

and other rewards:

I shared the eggplant lasagna, stuffed mushrooms, meat sauce, salad, cheesecake and cookies with people I love. After all, even after a Christmas Day bike ride, I couldn't eat everything all by myself!

So Winter Starts...Now?

The Winter Solistice will come at 11:48 pm--just twelve minutes before midnight--in this part of the world.   As I'm not a Druid, I'm not going to engage in some ritual or another unless I'm at Stonehenge--which doesn't seem likely.  It's hard to think of the coming of winter when the early-morning low temperature was higher than the typical high temperature for this day, and is still climbing well after sunset.

What's even stranger is that weather forecasters say the weather will continue to get warmer all the way until Christmas Eve, when the high temperature is projected to pass the old record (17C, or 63F) for the date by about 5C, or 8F.  Christmas Day is predicted to be almost as warm.

That leads me to wonder whether we'll have an exceptionally mild winter--or whether we'll have this spell of warm weather before temperatures plunge and we have a major snowstorm some time after New Year's Day.

In other words, will my winter rides look like this:

or this?:

Wiggle Ahead Of The Curve, Or Adventures In Online Ordering

I didn't start this blog to shill for anybody.  But I want to offer praise to an online retailer.


About two weeks before Christmas, I placed an order with Wiggle.  They were running a sale and, as I'd placed several prior orders with them, I got a couple of additional discounts. So I bought some items I didn't need immediately, but will probably use in the future.


All of my previous Wiggle orders arrived within ten days of my placing them.  However, the order in question hadn't arrived a month after I placed it.  I contacted Wiggle.   They shipped ("dispatched") my order two days after I placed it.  They promised to investigate the matter.  Two days later, they said neither they nor Royal Mail could find the package.  The US Postal Service hadn't seen it, either.


Wiggle then gave me a choice:  They would refund my money, or send me a new shipment.  I chose the latter, and paid an additional 3.99 pounds (about 6 dollars) for expedited shipping.  The original order, and my previous orders, were sent by the standard shipping service they offer for free with orders of 50 pounds (about 80 dollars) or more.


I received the order last week, ten days after I chose to receive a new shipment.  


So, while praising Wiggle, I also want to warn you--if you don't already know--that shipments between the US and the rest of the world have been a good bit slower than normal.  That is due, in part, to the severe weather that's been part of this winter in much of and Asia as well as North America.  But it also has to do with the tighter security that came with the perception of increased danger during the holidays.


What I think of the security alerts and measures is the topic not only another post, but another blog.  But I found out two things that should alarm (or at least annoy) anyone, regardless of his or her political apathy.  For one, packages of more than one pound (453 grams) aren't being allowed into the US unless the shipper fills out a form with detailed information about the recipient.  (Also see this link.) And, packages of more than one pound aren't being allowed on aircraft.  So, even if you pay for an airmail shipment, your package could end up on a boat.   And, of course, Customs procedures have become more intrusive.


So, in this Orwellian milieu the US is becoming, the government isn't banning shipments to the US outright.  Instead, they're making it so inconvenient, time-consuming and expensive that lots of people and businesses will simply stop shipping to the US.  Of course, the only ones these encumbrances won't stop are the ones who actually want wreak havoc.


OK...Enough of my rant.  The good news is that Wiggle has been good about it.  So is an eBay retailer named "stigshead," who are re-shipping two rolls of handlebar tape I ordered just after Christmas and still haven't received. 

Laughing All The Way

 Tell me...Who wouldn't like getting a new bike for Christmas

or taking a ride dashing through the snow, laughing all the way

especially if he's going to meet a friend?

Merry Christmas!

Who Is Santa Claus? The Bike Lady!

Friends, neighbors and co-workers who don't ride bikes refer to me--sometimes affectionately, other times derisively--as "The Bike Lady".

Of course, I don't mind the title at all.  But they should know who the real Bike Lady is.

She's a single mother who lives with her two kids near Columbus, Ohio.  Since 2008, she and her donors have been providing bikes, helmets and locks to the Holiday Wishes program of the Franklin County Children Services, and to other protective services that help abused, neglected and abandoned children. 

Last year, Kate Koch expanded her reach beyond her home turf and into the Tri State (Ohio, Kentucky and Indiana) region, which encompasses Cincinnati and Louisville.  Many of the kids who receive  the bikes probably never imagined they'd get anything at all, let alone a two- or three-wheeler, for Christmas.  Even with all of the electronic toys now available, getting a new bike at Christmas is still a dream for many boys and girls. And, were it not for Kate Koch, a.k.a. Bike Lady, it would be nothing more than a dream.




Her organization--called Bike Lady--accepts donations of bikes as well as money, which is used to buy bikes, helmets and locks at wholesale cost.  Of course, Bike Lady--Ms. Koch as well as the organization--are at work all year on the project so that the Bike Lady can be Santa.

Merry Christmas!

Merry Christmas--and thank you for reading this blog!

Ornament from Shine On Sporty Girl

 

Merry Christmas!

Merry Christmas!

May the light shine on your season!

Above all, have a safe journey!

Boxing Day Bicycle

George Bernard Shaw once quipped that England and the US are two countries separated by a common language.

He had a point.  After all, there are specific words we use and they don't, or vice versa. And, of course, there are words and expressions that have different meanings when they are used on one side or another of the Atlantic.  Also, I think we use our language in very different ways, and for very different purposes, from the way it's used on what James Baldwin called the "damp little island."  That, of course, would take a book or two to describe.

Anyway, I'm going to talk about one expression in particular:  Boxing Day. Say it to an American, and it would probably conjure up an afternoon--a Saturday, probably--when men and, possibly, a few boys, go to an arena to see pugilists engaged in their metier.  At least, that's what I thought the first time I heard the expression--from my aunt, who hails from a town across the river from Manchester--many years ago.

She, of course, was referring to today--the day after Christmas, which is celebrated as a holiday in her native land.  It's also observed in just about every country that ever was ruled by the Crown--with the exception, of course, of the good ol' Yoo-Ess-Ayy!

The origins of the day are debated, but most authorities seem to agree that it was a day on which servants, house maids, delivery boys and post men received gifts or gratuities. Since most such workers worked on Christmas Day, they were given the following day off to spend with their families, and were sent off with boxes containing gifts.

Perhaps not surprisingly, Halfords and other retailers hold major sales on that day.   Here in the US, it always seemed to be the day people went to exchange gifts--which, of course, were often in boxes.  

So, I guess, we did keep at least part of the traidition--that of carrying boxes.  Thus, Ann Stuart-Teter had the right idea when she dubbed this photo "Boxing Day Bicycle":