On Diet Floats And Hauling Trees

I used to know...all right, I dated...well, umm I...

Well, whatever my relationship to this person (I'll leave it up to your imagination), I remember her mainly for the way she kept her shape.  Or, more precisely,  she claimed that a dietary practice (along with consensual aerobic activity) maintained her fine form. 

So, what was her culinary custom?  Well, she drank Coke floats.  With supper.  With lunch.  Sometimes with breakfast.  And almost every time in between.

Now, you might be wondering how she kept her fine form with a regimen like that--especially when you consider that she made them with Haagen-Dazs, the richest, fattiest and most calorie-laden ice cream available at that time.   Her secret, she claimed, was that she used Tab--the "diet" version of Coke before there was Diet Coke.

She said that she was "making up" for all of the calories in the ice cream plopping scoops of it into a drink that had no nutritional value--not even empty calories--whatsoever.

To be fair, I should also point out that she really didn't eat a lot of sweets.  Perhaps she could have maintained her sinuous silhouette even if she'd made her floats from regular Coke.  At least she didn't follow another practice of "dieters" at that time:  ingesting "salads" made from pieces of canned fruit encased in Jell-O, sometimes topped with Kool-Whip or Reddi-Whip.  I am not a religious person, but I think a good working definition of "sin" is taking a natural food, stripping it of its nutritional value and fresh taste, and encasing it in something that looks and tastes like half-cooled plastic in much the same way animals were stripped of whatever made them alive when they were encased in amber.

I must say that I at least had respect for that old, er, acquaintance of mine for not letting one of those abominations pass through her lips.  In comparison, her "diet" floats were at least more palatable.  And the logic behind them made more sense, even if they didn't make sense in an absolute sense. (What did I just say?)

So why am I talking about a beverage (or dessert, depending on your point of view) preference of someone I haven't seen or talked to in decades?

Well, some of you, I am sure, are more diet-conscious than I am. (Actually, most of you probably are.) But, more to the point, something I saw today reminded me of the "logic" behind her "diet" float.

Here it is:

The photo accompanied an article on Canadian Cycling's website.  Said article opens with this:

Transporting a Christmas tree isn't the most straightforward endeavour.  With a car, it often involves ropes, bungee cords and a lot of pine needles to clean up.  Then, when you start moving, the fear that it may fall off the roof.  While there's still some creativity and preparation required to transport a conifer by bike, there's no doubt it's more fun and fulfilling.

Now, I don't doubt that "creativity" and "preparation" are needed to haul a Christmas tree on your bike. I've carried pieces of furniture while riding, so I understand.  I also wouldn't disagree that it's more "fun" and "fulfilling".  Even if I win a Nobel Prize for my writing (or anything), I don't think it would give me the same satisfaction as knowing that I once moved myself and everything I owned from one apartment to another, in another part of town, by bicycle.  

People have all sorts of reasons for doing things by bike, without a car.  For some, poverty is one. But others do it by choice--whether for exercise, or to save money or do something that's socially and environmentally responsible.  Actually, I think that most people who cycle by choice to work or school, or on errands, count environmental and social consciousness as one of their most important reasons for doing so.  

That said, I can think of few things less conscious, and simply more wasteful, than chopping down a tree that will be tossed away in a few weeks.  That is, of course, the fate of most Christmas trees.  Even if, at the end of the holiday season, the tree is cut or shredded for other uses, I have to wonder whether there wasn't a way the tree could have been more beneficial to the planet.  

Hmm...I wonder whether those folks who bring home their Christmas trees on their bikes are also drinking Coke floats made with diet soda--or fat-free ice cream.

Happy Christmas!

Yesterday I posted a video of Kanye West being pulled through the streets of San Francisco.

Today, I offer an image of what could be an even more arduous ride for three cyclists:

Imagine pulling Santa all over the world, bearing gifts that must be placed under Christmas trees at exactly midnight! I'm not sure any three cyclists could do it, even if their names were Eddy Mercx, Jacques Anquetil and Bernard Hinault.

Happy Christmas, and thank you for visiting my blog!

Santa In The Spring

I am an educator.  It's still strange for me to write those words.  You see, I resisted becoming one and  quit for a few years when I was having a midlife crisis.  I then realized that I didn't need to change jobs:  I only had to change my gender.

Anyway, one of the reasons I tried not to become a teacher (which was the only kind of educator I knew about) was that I hated most of my teachers.  I guess that's not so unusual because, well, most kids hate their teachers and some of my elementary-school teachers were Carmelite nuns. Yes, they wore the black habits.

I did, however, have teachers I liked, and not necessarily because they were "easy".  Rather, I realize now that they "got" me:  I wasn't the best-behaved or smartest kid, butI wasn't destructive and I loved to read and write.  So they encouraged me in those areas and even showed interest in whatever happened to interest me at the time.

Cycling wasn't one of those interests, though.  It wasn't that I didn't like to ride:  The reason why they couldn't help or encourage me in those areas is that none of them rode.  Actually, through all of my pre-adult life, adults didn't ride bikes and most assumed that a kid would "grow out of it", probably upon getting his or her driver's license, or not long after.

Now, I don't know whether South Carolina elementary-school teacher Katie Blomquist pedals to her school, or anyplace else.  But she surely understands how much having a bike means to her kids.  She also knew that many of them, or their families, couldn't afford one.  

So, last summer, she decided she would play Santa Claus and make sure all of the kids in her school got a bike for Christmas.  She started a GoFundMe campaign that would raise $80,000.  Donations came from as far away as France and Australia.  In the meantime, she worked with a local bike shop called Affordabike to pick out color schemes and other aspects of the bikes.  Affordabike also provided the kids with matching locks and helmets.




Katie's Kids, if you will, didn't get their bikes for Christmas.  But yesterday the bikes, helmets and locks were delivered to the Pepperhill Elementary School in North Charleston, South Carolina.  The largesse wasn't limited to the pupils of her class:  All 650 Pepperhill pupils received the bikes, helmets and locks.

So, while they didn't get the Christmas gift every kid dreams of, their wheels are ready for the beginning of spring break--and summer.

Pepperhill is a Title 1 school, which means that it receives extra funding from the Federal government for its students, many of whom come from low-income families. But, for a day, they were all equal in the wealth of happiness they experienced--and the kindness of a teacher they, I am sure, will always recall fondly! 

Over The Hills (of San Francisco)

A few days ago, I was bragging about some of the things I've carried on my bicycle.  In one of my earliest posts on this blog, I talked about other kinds of cargo--and baggage--I've hauled while pedaling two wheels.

I must admit, though, that I've never tried to schlep what a San Francisco residents Matt and Dorie Apollonio carted a few days ago:  two kids and a Christmas tree.  I have never had kids and the times I bought Christmas trees, I didn't have to lug them more than a few blocks.  Frankly, it probably would have taken me more time and effort to attach the tree to my bike, cart or shoulder than it took for me to walk with it.

From Hum of The City

 And, of course, I didn't have to negotiate San Francisco's topography or even that of the hilliest parts of the Bronx or Staten Island.  I didn't even have to go up the slope of Park Slope on occasions when I bought Christmas trees while I was living there.


 

A World Of Christmas Bikes

Around this time last year, I posted "Christmas Bikes And Trees". Interestingly, it's become the fifth-most viewed of the 664 posts on this blog.  What I find even more intriguing is that, although it had more views during the last holiday season, and during this one, there's been a fairly steady stream of viewers throughout the year.

I guess a lot of people associate bikes with Christmas trees, even if they never got a new Schwinn (or Raleigh or whatever) as a childhood holiday gift.  The bike under the tree is a very appealing image.  In fact, it's really a metaphor for a lot of other things--most, if not all, of them positive, I'm sure.

Of course, there are many bicycle-themed holiday ornaments and cards.  Quite possibly the only thing more fun than hanging a miniature bicycle on a tree is decorating a bicycle for the holidays.  

From Cycle The Earth

If you prefer to stick to daytime riding, you could deck out your bike like this:

Also from Cycle The Earth

Now, if you want to be a good little girl or good little boy and help out Santa, here's your steed:

Rudolph The Red Nosed Bicycle

I'm sure that wherever he is, Pablo Picasso is amused.

When A Cassette Becomes A Nutcracker

It's one of two pieces of Christmas music to which I could listen all year long. Handel's Messiah is the other.

You might have guessed the other:  The Nutcracker. I know, it's a ballet, and one really should go to a theatre or concert hall for a performance.  It is quite the spectacle.  I realize, however, it's not always possible to attend a staging.  Lucky for us, the music is very, very listenable. 

That the music, by itself, is so thrilling is not a surprise when you realize who wrote it:  Pyotr Ilyich Tchaikovsky. Marius Pepita choreographed the original production of the ballet, which is based on a story written by E.T.A. Hoffmann  and adapted by Alexandre Dumas, who is probably best known as the author of The Count of Monte Cristo and The Three Musketeers. 

"That's all really nice," you might be thinking, "but why is she writing about it in this blog?"

Well, on this date in 1892, The Nutcracker premiered in the Imperial Marinsky Theatre in St. Petersburg, Russia (not Florida!).  Since then, it has been performed in ways that even Tchiakovsky himself, with his fertile imagination, probably never envisioned.  Here is one of the Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairies:



Can you believe it was actually played on bicycle parts?  Cables and spokes were plucked for the stringed instrument sections, a disc brake hit simulates a triangle and percussion sections are really gears shifting, braking, shoes being clipped into pedals and other sounds familiar to those of us who ride.

San Francisco-based composer Flip Baber created this piece for Specialized, who wanted a Christmas music made only from bike sounds.  It became the company's musical Christmas card in 2006.

Who Would Take A Bike Away From A Kid?

What kind of person would steal a kid’s lunch money?

Probably the same kind of person who would take a bike from a kid who just got it—on the day before Christmas Eve, no less.

That is what happened to not just one child inside Fowler High School in Syracuse, New York.  There, the Central New York Bike Giveaway—one of the largest of its kind—put 1500 bikes into the hands of kids who wouldn’t have otherwise had them. But some people, apparently frustrated by waiting on a long line outside the school, snatched bikes away from the youngsters as they left.

https://youtube.com/watch?v=_OyxKvugOyE&si=-_sNo7V6EVQrUTBX

“This is really a sad situation,” said Jan Maloff, who said “this has never happened before” during the 30 years he’s held the event. 

Still, he declared the event a success and sent his volunteers back to where he had “another 200 to 300 bikes prepped” when the bikes ran out.

He plans to continue the event for next Christmas but “will probably bring in á private security force” in addition to Syracuse police so that “something like this does not happen again.”

After all, who can be happier than a kid getting a bike for Christmas—or sadder than a kid who’s had it snatched away from them?

Bikes Under The Tree

From Tree Hugger

For many people, a quintessential childhood memory is one of finding a bicycle under the  Christmas tree.  One generation dreamed of a shiny Schwinn balloon-tired bikes; the next yearned for three-speed "English racers."  Then there were those who lusted after slick-tired "Choppers" or "low-riders" or cruisers with sweeping curves--and, later, ten-speeds, which seemed as fast and exotic as sports cars.

If you've ever found a bicycle under the tree on Christmas morning, you know that nothing--not even getting that custom frame you'd been dreaming about--is ever quite as exciting.  Perhaps things are different for the current generation, but for mine, and those that came earlier, a new bike was the ne plus ultra of rewards Santa (a.k.a., Mom, Dad or other adult) bestowed upon you for being a good little boy or good little girl.  Not that I was ever either one... ;-]    In fact, as an adult, I was once given a bike for Christmas for being naughty, if you know what I mean!


So, dear readers:  I'd love to hear about the bikes you got, or gave, for the holidays.

What Should They Be Trained To Do?

 Thirteen is a difficult age for almost anyone.  The body is going through all sorts of changes, so everyone and everything in the world seems capricious, unjust and even cruel.  Sometimes the anger you may have  felt at that age was justified, especially when you're mocked, bullied or punished for, well, being thirteen years old.

My family had recently moved. (I forgave my parents for that when I turned 40. ;-)) As if everything else I was experiencing weren't enough, that Christmas a recording that's still a hazard to my mental health polluted and smothered the airwaves.  Like many other people, I got a kick out of the novelty of dogs barking "Jingle Bells"  for about the first 15 seconds it played.

A few days ago, when I was running some errands, a store was blaring the barking monstrosity in the street.  I might get it out of my ear by Groundhog Day. Aargh!

These days, I own two Christmas CDs: Celine Dion's "These Are Special Times", which my mother gave me the year it came out, and an album of the late, great Jessye Norman's concert with the Orchestre de Lyon in the Notre Dame cathedral.  Other CDs of mine include a Christmas song or two, like John Lennon's "War Is Over."  But if anyone gave me a disc of the Singing Dogs, I'd use it for a coaster or frisbee.  Whoever made and promoted that recording should be indicted for animal abuse!

On the other hand, I want to applaud whoever created this image:

You can buy a print of this on Etsy 

On The Eve Of The Eve

This is the night before Christmas Eve.  Some time in my childhood, I heard that this is the night Santa gets his reindeer fleet ready to bring Christmas presents to everyone in the world (well, everybody who's been good, anyway) at exactly midnight.

Did those preparation involve polishing Rudolph's nose?  Checking its battery or whatever makes it shine?  No one ever explained that to me.  For that matter, I never heard much explanation of anything involving Christmas.

I'm not complaining.  I was told stranger things as a child and things stranger still--in fact, outright implausible--as an adult.  No one explained those things, either.

Whatever the story is about Santa and the reindeer, I know lots of people are getting ready for tomorrow night in various ways.  I saw a couple preparing their steeds. They did not want to be photographed, but their steeds had no say in the matter:

Any restaurant or other establishment that delivers food is going to be very, very busy tomorrow night.  That includes the guys who ride these bikes--for Sanfords Restaurant, just two blocks from my apartment.  

I actually saw one changing the battery in his "blinkie".  Would Rudolph have one on his nose if the story were being concocted today?  Would there be LEDs inside his nasal globe?  And would he need something on his tail as well?  After all, most places require that vehicles have front and rear lights.  Hmm...Is a reindeer a vehicle?  If so, would it be road, off-road or something else?  700C, 650B, 26 X whatever or a 29er?

Ugly Christmas Sweater For Cyclists (Pity The Poor Reindeer)

I can say, in all honesty, that I do not have an ugly Christmas sweater.  Really, I don't.

OK, I have a tacky Christmas sweatshirt.  Don't ask how long I've had it.  I think I wear it once or twice every year, before the holiday.  I make a kind of game with it:  I try to sneak through some part of my daily life--going to a store, seeing a friend or even going for a bike ride--just to see whether anyone notices.    As far as I know, no one has a photo of me donning that dreadful vestment.

I assure you that my gaudy garment is far more of an offense against any known aesthetic than this:

Available from lastearth on Etsy.

Still, whoever transposed those unfortunate ungulates onto that ugly garment should be arrested for cruelty to animals, even though the poor deer are animated or inanimate, depending on your point of view.

Oh, and the uncomely chemise is available in two other colors--Smurf blue or a shade of red even Taylor Swift wouldn't allow to be painted on her nails--if the shade of green you see in the photo is too much--or not ugly enough--for you.

Getting Away From The Second Black Friday

Some people referred to yesterday as a "second Black Friday."  Yesterday was the day after Christmas and BF is the day after Thanksgiving.  So, people went shopping--or, more precisely, pushed and shoved each other to get bargains they believed to be awaiting them.  

Of course, there were some differences.  The Black Friday phenomenon is repeated every year, while Round Two, if you will, is possible only every few years, when the day after Christmas happens to fall on a Friday.  Also, the post-Christmas shopping frenzy is fueled, in part, by people who are returning or exchanging gifts and are enticed to shop for other things.

One thing both days have in common is that, on both, I avoid the retail ruckus (which has been known to plunge into full-blown riots) that has become part of them.  Instead, I choose calmer and more meditative activities, like tea with a friend, reading and writing, playing with my feline family or, of course, a bike ride.

Today's spin took me down to Rockaway Beach.  Even though cirrus clouds swirled the clear sky and light winds blew mild air in the directions of waves that lapped lazily against the sand, only a few people found their way to the beach.  I suspect they are of a similar mindset to mine:  Although I did not converse with any of them, some of us exchanged smiles and glances that told me everything.  And,  yes, we wished each other a happy holiday.

Up The Col Du Galibier: The Day Before Thanksgiving

In the last moment of my life, I saw the day before Thanksgiving...

I'd just pedaled a few strokes around the virage; a bed of wildflowers turned, in an instant, into a glacial field.  The sun was so bright it turned into the kind of liquid haze through which dreams skip and float along with the words that make sense only in those dreams.

It was noon.  We were all lined up--the boys on one side, the girls on the other--to leave school for the day, the next day, and the three days that would follow.  For some reason, when I was a kid, that was always my favorite moment of the year.  Even the seemingly-capricious discipline of the Carmelite nuns who taught in our school could not make that moment less happy.   They could cast a pall over the day before Christmas Eve, over Holy Thursday.  Whether or not they loaded us down with homework, they left us in such a mood that Christmas, even if we got the gifts we hoped for, seemed more like a truce, and Easter was just too holy of a day to really consider as a vacation, even if we were home for the week that followed.  

But noon on the day before Thanksgiving always seemed like the most carefree moment of the year.  In most years, it began the last interlude of Fall; the lights of Christmas only accented the darkness that consumed ever-larger parts of the days that would follow.  In that moment, on the day before Thanksgiving, one could still see the last flickerings of the autumnal blaze that burned green leaves into the colors of the sunset.  Somewhere along the way, they turned as yellow and, for a few days, as bright as the sunlight that filled the air around the mountain I was climbing on my bike.

It was just about noon; I would soon be at the peak of le Col du Galibier, one of the most famous climbs on the Tour de France.  From there, I would have a long effortless ride to the valley.  In the meantime, each pedal stroke would become more arduous.  I'd been pedaling all morning, but even more important was the altitude:  I was more than a mile and a half above sea level.  The air is thinner, and even though my breath steamed as I puffed up that mountain on that July morning, the sun burned through the layers of sun screen I'd lathered on my arms and face.  

Bells rang.  Dismissal?  Or the cows in the herd down the mountain?  I stopped for a drink and one of the crepes I'd packed into my bag.  I took a bite and a gulp.  

You're free.  I wasn't sure of whether I was hearing that.  Perhaps I was giddy from the thin mountain air.  Yes, you're free.  But I wasn't hearing it:  It was being told--or, more precisely, communicated--to that child who was being dismissed from school on the day before Thanksgiving.  You can go now.  What are they talking about?  Who's "they"?

You don't have to do this again.  I'd never heard that before, certainly not in those days.  What did that mean?  What won't I have to do again?  Climb this mountain?  Go to school?

Down the Col du Galibier, through the Val de Maurienne, as the eternal winter of that mountaintop turned into the hottest day of summer in the valley, my mind echoed.  What, exactly, wouldn't I have to do again?

Near the end of that day, I reached St. Jean de Maurienne, just a few kilometers from Italy.  There, I would see the stranger who, inadvertently, caused me to see that I could follow no other course but the one that my life has taken since then.  A year later, I would move out of the apartment I'd been sharing with Tammy; about a year after that, I would change my name and begin my treatments.

Will There Be Another Bicycle Man--Or Woman--In Fayetteville?

I don't know at what moment, exactly, I stopped believing in Santa Claus.  I'm guessing that it came when I was about four or five years old and I saw four "Santa Clause"s on the same block of 18th Avenue in Brooklyn.

If my belief held on beyond that moment, it probably would have ended when I realized that Santa Claus would've been centuries old.  At least, he would have been the  Santa who piloted a reindeer-drawn sleigh across the sky and descended chimneys for kids like me was the same one that did those things for my parents, grandparents and other kids who came before them.

On a more serious note, it's hard not to wonder how many programs ,especially the informal ones, that distribute bikes and other things to needy kids survive beyond their founders or volunteers.

Moses Mathis, the Bicycle Man, with a kid whose Christmas he brightened.

That question entered my mind when I saw a news story about such a scheme--one that I'd mentioned in a post five years ago. One day, Moses Mathis asked a little boy in his Fayetteville, North Carolina neighborhood what he got for Christmas. "A raggedy old bicycle," he said.

"Bring it up here and we will fix it."

Word got around and other kids came by. The next thing he knew, the Mathis' garage was full of bikes. 

That's when the idea of a bike giveaway came to Moses. So, thirty-two years ago, Moses Mathis began a beloved holiday tradition  that earned him the moniker "The Bicycle Man." A few days before Christmas, he allowed kids to choose from among the bikes he'd fixed--without any adult, besides him, present.  He continued this holiday ritual every year until he died in 2013.  Ann, his widow, kept her promise to continue his legacy until she couldn't.

Ann Mathis, in blue top and black jacket, with some of "her" kids.

Well, that day has come.  She has announced that this year's bike giveaway will be the last.  When she started working alongside Moses, she was "a young girl," she explained.  "I'm old now."  After many years of service to her community, she wants to spend more time with her children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren.

The last day for donations will be the 15th of this month, and kids will be allowed to choose their bikes and helmets on the 17th.  

Will there be another "Bicycle Man" or "Bicycle Woman"--the local version of Santa Claus for three decades--in Fayetteville, North Carolina?

A Ride Through Time Before Christmas Eve

 Yesterday, after finishing everything I needed to--and could--get done before the holidays, I went for a much-needed ride.

Why do I need a ride?  Well, for one thing, I'm a lifelong bike rider.  The only other things besides basic bodily functions that I feel I "need" are reading, writing and occasional travel.

Also, even though I know I've done the things that needed to be done, I felt a tinge of guilt that I probably won't get much, if anything, done betwee now and the fourth day of the new year. (New Year's Day, like Christmas, will fall on a Friday.)  But I reminded myself of Congress*, so I don't feel so slothful.

Anyway, I pedaled down to Rockaway Beach, Riis Park and Coney Island.  I saw the sun preparing for its descent in Rockaway:

and exiting in a blaze of glory at Riis Park:

Just as captivating, to me, as the refulgent spectacle were the shifting cloud formations.  I felt as if time were a scrim drifting across the sky and tracing its face on waves of the sea.

By the time I reached Coney Island, the sky and sea were dark.  I didn't take photos because--silly me--I forgot to charge my phone before I went for a ride and it was all but depleted by the time I got to what might be the world's most famous boardwalk.  More people than I'd anticipated were taking walks and rides, men were fishing off the pier and some Puerto Ricans played some traditional music from the islands on their guitars and drums.

There weren't, however, many people on the Verrazano-Narrows promenade, which passes underneath the bridge.  Most of them were fishing.  I think that most of the fishermen I saw were Latinos and their catch might make up their families' Christmas Eve dinners--which, for Catholics includes fish. 

My family ate whatever fish my uncles caught--or, in later years, what looked good to my mother at the market-- and scungilli: deep-fried rings of squid. That memory, sparked by those fishermen, loped through my mind as I continued through Brooklyn on my way home. 

Those memories, like time, drift through my mind like that scrim of time between the sea and sky.

*--Congress took--how long?--to pass a second coronavirus relief bill.  They didn't accomplish much. The President and his buddies, on the other hand, did a lot--none of it to mitigate the COVID crisis and all of it malignant! (That' not an editorial comment:  It's a fact!)

I'm Canadian. Really I Am... Je Suis Canadienne. Vraiement!

 It's the day after Christmas.  Most schools, colleges and universities are closed, and will be for the rest of this week, as is the custom for the week between Christmas and New Year's Day.

Here in the US, banks, post offices and many workplaces are closed.  I claim some responsibility for that.  You see, I am really Canadian.  Really, I am: Je suis canadienne. (Is there a gender-neutral term for "Canadian" in French?) Today is a holiday in the Great North, and in Jamaica, Australia and, of course, the UK.  

In other words, it's celebrated just about everywhere English is spoken--except for the US. When we declared our independence from the Crown, it seems that we tried to break every one of His/Her Majesty's customs and traditions--except, of course, for speaking English.  But we altered the meanings and usage of many words, and the conventions of speech of writing, to the point that George Bernard Shaw once quipped that America and England are separated by a common language.

Today things are closed in the US mainly because it's Monday and Federal law says that if certain holidays fall on a weekend, the subsequent Monday is a holiday.  

But I'm going to allow myself to think that we're really celebrating Boxing Day because, well, why shouldn't we?  According to some sources, this holiday originated with upper-class families who sent their help--who, of course, worked on Christmas Day--home with boxes of gifts and food for their families.  Other sources say that it was simply a day of charity, when boxes were given to the poor.

Today, of course, few people in any of the countries that observe this holiday think about those origins.  But many people--some of whom, like Moses and Ann Mathis,  I've mentioned on this blog--keep up with the tradition in their own ways: They collect and, sometimes, repair bikes that go to children who might not otherwise get them. 

NSW couple reach out through social media to gift refurbished bikes to kids doing it tough https://t.co/IspkgWQUEt via @ABCaustralia

— Justine Valinotti (@madame_mercian) December 26, 2022

Kellie Ward and Jason McMillan also are keeping up the tradition.  Two years ago, the Tamworth, Australia couple bought a second-hand bike, fixed it up and offered it to a family in need via social media.  They received 40 responses.  Two years later, businesses have pitched in with enough bike parts, helmets and other items for 11 kids to receive bikes.

While it's odd that a Southern Hemisphere country where Summer begins in December adopted the customs of a Winter holiday from the Northern Hemisphere, it's nice to see that folks like Ward and McMillan are, in their own way, keeping up one of England's more laudable traditions.  

Oh, and I wouldn't mind seeing Boxing Day enshrined as a holiday in the US.  After all, as Stephen Marche points out in his Times editorial, sometimes people need a holiday from a holiday!

Triangle Spokes Group: New Bikes For Poor Kids In North Carolina

There are very few things that make more kids happier than finding a bike under the Christmas tree.  Of course, for many--especially in these economic times--such a thing seems out of the bounds of possibility.

Someone I know in North Carolina has sent me word about a charity that's doing something for kids whose parents (or whoever is raising them) can't afford to give them bikes for Christmas.

Triangle Spokes Group is named for the "Research Triangle" of Raliegh-Durham-Chapel Hill, which is the organization's home base.  This is the sixth year TSG is giving away bikes and helmets to needy kids in their area.  Their goal for Christmas 2012 is 500 bikes and helmets.  They're able to get a bike and a helmet for $70 from Huffy.  What that means, of course, is that they need money, which can be donated through their website.

If any of you know of organizations in your own area, or some other, that's doing similar work, please leave a comment with your contact information.

One thing that my involvement with Hurricane Sandy relief efforts has shown me is that it's the small, locally-based organization that are most effective in helping.  When I went to the Rockaways, I saw groups from various schools, colleges, universities and houses of worship (including the Sikh Temple of Queens, as well as various unaffiliated individuals, helping people who said they hadn't seen anyone from the Red Cross or FEMA.  So I am especially pleased to see an organization like TSG doing what it's dooing.

Angels Across America

One thing I learned about myself early on is that cynicism comes easily, sometimes too easily, for me.  So I try to look for the things that give me realistic hopes about the world.  That's better than waiting for events like Roy No-Moore in Alabama to strike like a sugar rush that, ineveitably, leaves me feeling let-down after the initial euphoria dies down.

Well, today, I didn't have to look far to find good news.  You see, I decided to type "bicycle news" into a Google search bar to see what ideas I could come up for today's post.  And, wouldn't you know it, the first four entries under "news" were about people or programs that were giving bikes to needy kids for Christmas.

Burbank Bike Angels

I have written about such people and programs before.  But I am seeing now that there are even more than I realized, including the Burbank Bike Angels in the Los Angeles area, the Davenport (Iowa) Friendly House--which gives away bikes restored by inmates in the local jail.

Naiomia Jenkins receives a bike at the Davenport Friendly House

I want to make special mention of Ann Mathis in Fayetteville, North Carolina.  Yes, that town has something besides Fort Bragg, although it might be hard to know that sometimes.  (I know; I've been there.)  The people are great, but even in such an environment, someone like Ms. Mathis stands out.

Ann Mathis, with some of "her" kids.

As did her husband, Moses.  For 27 years, he ran an operation that restored bikes and, a few days before Christmas, allowed kids to choose them, without any adults present.  "Moses would turn over in his grave if I had the parents come in here and pick a bike," she explained.  "That is the truth."

She has been running the operation since Moses Mathis died in July of 2013.  When the kids pick a bike, they are given a gift bag to go along with it. Those bags include things like shoes, socks, hats and gloves, which nearly all of the children need, as well as "something educational," according to volunteer Ada Johnson.  Over the years, she estimates, they have given about 17,000 bags.

Another volunteer, Keith Melvin, has been restoring bikes for the past six years.  It isn't always easy, he says, "to make a new bike new" but "we get it done."  All they have to do, he said, is go into their storeroom and "find the parts."

They are part of a community of people who bring Christmas cheer to needy kids. They all are motivated by the delight kids express upon receiving their bikes, and they know that few things can make a kid happier at Christmastime than a new bike--even if that bike didn't come straight from the showroom!

Needy Kids Have Homeless Man To Thank For Their Bicycles

One of the best-known non-profit organizations in the New York area started because a homeless woman died.

On Christmas Eve 1985, Metro North Police ejected the woman from Grand Central Terminal.  The temperature outside had fallen below the freezing mark and the woman, suffering with pneumonia, returned to the terminal--specifically, to an area that, at the time, wasn't enclosed--in the early hours of Christmas morning.  

She fell asleep on a bench and never woke up.

If you've been in the Terminal recently, you've seen a well-lit terminal that, even when it's jammed with rush-hour commuters, really earns the moniker "Grand" with its ceiling mural and sweeping staircases. But when the nameless homeless woman died there, the mural was covered with soot (mainly from tobacco smoke) and everything else was covered with filth or worse.  

When the "Jane Doe" lived and died there, a man named George McDonald--a garment-industry executive--was feeding homeless people and even got to know a few of them.  They all knew about the "Jane Doe"--whom they called "Mama" and alerted him to her death.

She spoke little English; later, it was determined that she was an Eastern European immigrant.  She seemed to know almost nobody besides the other homeless people who frequented the Terminal--and Mr. McDonald.

Her death led McDonald to a career change:  He would start the Doe Fund, which he still co-directs.  The organization's work includes career training (as well as transitional work), education and helping to provide housing so that people like "Jane Doe" can break cycles of poverty and homelessness--as well as addiction and other problems.

Although the woman's death was a tragedy, it at least led to something that might help others in her situation.  The Doe Fund doesn't perpetuate her name (at least not the one she had before it was forgotten), but at least it helps to provide some people what they need--and what she didn't have.

In Asheboro, North Carolina, the death of another homeless person has led to a charitable program.  It's not as big as the Doe Fund--at least, not yet.  Maybe it never will be as big because its scope is different.  But it's at least an attempt to help some people who have very little.  And it bears the name of the man whose death motivated it.

Gary Long

Gary Long was known to area residents who saw him riding his bicycle loaded with aluminum cans he was hauled to the recycler.  As poor as he was, area residents--including congregants of the West Asheboro Church of God, which he attended--saw him as a generous man.  Matt Gunter said of Long, "His heart was, 'If I had a million dollars, I would love to give kids bicycles.'"

His metaphor might have been a bit jumbled, but Gunter's intentions were good--and he acted on them.  He's the pastor of the church, and he appealed to congregants for monetary donations. 

They gave him enough to buy 12 bicycles, which were delivered to the Salvation Army for distribution to needy children.

Gunter says this donation won't be a one-time event:  He plans to repeat it next year and in years to come.

Pastor Matt Gunter (left) and Luis Viera (of the Salvation Army) with bicycles donated in name of Gary Long.

He is doing it in the name of Gary Long, a homeless man who died on 21 October.  At least Gunter knew his name--which is more than anyone knew about a woman who died in the bowels of Grand Central Terminal in the wee hours  of a Christmas morning 33 years ago.

Lights, Santas, Snow And Bikes

I hope I'm not beating  the Christmas bike theme to death.  But I found an image I simply couldn't resist posting:

From Cyclepath Cycle & Snow, Kelowna, BC, Canada

Although it was intended as a Christmas display, I could see it in many other settings. 

I clicked on to the shop's "staff" link and found this:

From The Telegraph (UK)

 

 

 All right, that was a joke.  But whatever happens, I hope their--and your--holiday season rides don't end up like this:

From Johns Bikes, Bath, UK