Bicycle Races: A Labor Day Tradition

To many Americans, today--Labor Day--is the unofficial last day of summer.

To many American cyclists and cycling fans, Labor Day weekend marks the end of the racing season.  According to VeloNews, regional races dominate this weekend's cycling slate.  There is an omnium in St. Louis; there are stage races in, among other places, Vermont and Colorado and a variety of one-day and stage races, as well as criteriums, on courses all over the nation from Massachusetts to California.

While most of these races originated during the past thirty or so years, there are some Labor Day events that have been running for as long as bicycle races and Labor Day have been in existence.

That makes sense when you realize that bicycle racing in the United States began at roughly the same time Labor Day began to be celebrated.  On Tuesday, 5 September 1882, rhe first labor festival was celebrated in New York; within three years, other industrial centers had their own celebrations.  Oregon (Doesn't it figure?) became the first state to establish the holiday in its state constitution, and in 1894. Labor Day became a Federal holiday.

Many still consider the 1890's and the first years of the 20th Century to be the "golden age" of bicycle racing in the US. While bicycling was fashionable among the monied set (In those days, a typical bike cost about $100: about  $2700 in today's money.), prominent racers of that time typically came from the working classes and were immigrants or their children.  In fact, the first African-American sports superstar was Major Taylor, who set several world records

The connection between cycling and labor indeed ran deep: The manufacture of bicycles was one of the major industries in some of the nation's industrial centers, such as Worcester, MA; Hartford, CT; Paterson, NJ; Philadelphia, Detroit, Chicago, St. Louis---and, of course, New York.  Not surprisingly, those cities hosted races on Labor Day as well as at other times of the year.

Even after the introduction of the automobile, large numbers of people rode bicycles to work and for recreation--and, of course, countless kids rode them to school and the local park.  The decline in adult cycling didn't begin until the automobile became a mass-market item during the 1920's.  However, bicycle racing continued its popularity, particularly among the working classes and in communities of European immigrants.  Track races, including the six-day events, filled venues such as Madison Square Garden in the 1930's; on the eve of World War II, only baseball was a more popular spectator sport than track racing.  (Interestingly, the third-most popular sport was soccer, which drew its players from the same demographic groups as bicycle racing.)

Six-day racers during the 1930's.  From Deadspin.

In another example of how the worlds of cycling and labor intersected  the six-day races actually prompted New York City and Chicago to pass laws forbidding cyclists from riding more than 12 hours a day.  Six-day racing was a dangerous sport, and the fans couldn't get enough of it.  

Even during the "dark ages" of US cycling--the two decades or so years following World War II--Labor Day races were held in a number of places across the United States, though mainly in the Northeast and Upper Midwest, and on the West Coast.  

She Was The "Alternative" To Scott Walker?

Today is Labor Day.

If I were President (as if I would want to be!), it's one of the holidays I'd keep on the calendar.  I'd get rid of all of the religious holidays because the US is a secular country (at least, it's supposed to be).  I'd pass a law that workers were entitled to two or three "floating holidays" for whatever purpose they see fit.  And the only official Federal holidays would be Martin Luther King Day, Presidents' Day, Memorial Day (which I would call Remembrance Day), Independence Day, Labor Day and Veterans' Day.  (As I become more anti-war, I become more pro-veteran.)  And, perhaps, the birthdays of a few of my heroes and heroines.

OK, enough of fantasy-land.  I've just had lunch with a good friend, who happens to be the widow of a longtime union worker.  And I'm going to see another friend who is a member of a union--of adjunct faculty members in her university.


On Labor Day last year, I wrote about the strike of Schwinn metal polishers and platers that began the week after Labor Day in 1919.  As Schwinn had bought out a number of smaller bicycle manufacturers, some of which continued to sell bikes under their own names, the strike led to a widespread boycott of a number of bicycle and motorcycle makers in the US.  (In those days, the industries were much more closely related than they are now.)  I also mentioned the Schwinn strike in 1980, which is often blamed for the closure of the old South Side plant in Chicago, when in truth the facility was outdated.

Now, of course, Schwinn is not the only bicycle company (or firm in any industry) with a dark side to its labor history.  All US bicycle manufacturers, with the exception of Worksman Cycle, have outsourced most or all of their production to low-wage countries with few or no labor organizations.  Of the 1.5 million bicycles sold annually under the Trek brand, only about 10,000--or 0.06 percent of its production--come from US facilities.  And none are ever touched by union hands before they reach your local dealer.

This became an issue in last year's Wisconsin gubernatorial election.  Few contemporary American political figures so openly express their hostility toward unions as the Badger State's governor, Scott Walker, does.  One thing you have to say for the guy:  He puts his money where his mouth is.  Oh, wait, he doesn't put his money anywhere.  Let's just say--if in a dry, academic way--that his actions are consistent with his rhetoric.

This guy is running for President.  Perhaps he wouldn't be if he'd lost his gubernatorial re-election bid last year to Mary Burke.  Days before the election, it seemed entirely possible.  But now he's in the race to become the Republican candidate in next year's Presidential election. 

I am one of the last people in this world who would praise, let alone endorse or elect, him.  However, to be fair, he was not responsible for Trek's labor and business practices. Ironically, his Democratic challenger in the Wisconsin gubernatorial race was, at least partially.

Mary Burke during her 2014 gubernatorial campaign in Wisconsin

Mary Burke, as you may know, was the CEO of Trek.  Her father founded the company in the mid-1970s.  For the first few years of the company's existence, all of the frames were made in their Waterloo, Wisconsin facility.  In the early 1980s, Trek began to import frames from Japan--as Schwinn and other American bike companies did--and assemble them as bikes sold under their own name.  Those Japanese bikes were mid-level models sold by Schwinn and other companies; for Trek, they were the lowest-priced models.  Still, they were good bikes and Japanese workers, at least, were being paid fair wages and had rights to organize.

However, as the decade went on, Trek--like other American companies--began to have bikes made for them in Taiwan.  At one point, Taiwanese bikes would account for more than 80 percent of those sold in the US market.  Now that number is about 5 percent, with 94 percent coming from the country that, in the 1990s, would begin to supply Trek and other companies. I am talking, of course, about China:  a country where workers would actually have more rights than they have now if someone like Scott Walker were in charge!

(When Trek bought the Gary Fisher, Klein, LeMond and Bontrager brands during the late 1990s, Trek immediately--you guessed it--shifted the remaining US production of those companies' products to Taiwan and China.)

Now, I am not laying the blame for the bicycle industry trends I've described solely at the feet of Ms. Burke.  It must be noted, though, that as a high-ranking executive in Trek (Her family referred to her as "the brains" of the company!), she had at least some responsibility for her company's decision to move production to Taiwan and, later, China.  As Trek accounts for over a third of bicycles sold in US bicycle shops, its practices are watched and emulated in the industry. 

Also, it has been noted that Ms. Burke helped to prevent Trek's Wisconsin workers from forming a union or joining forces with another (as Schwinn's Chicago workers did with the United Auto Workers). 


To think that this Mary Burke positioned herself as an "alternative" to Scott Walker!  It's enough to bring up whatever you're eating at your Labor Day barbecue!

 

A Memorial On The Labor Day Tour

Every year from 1940 until 1942 and 1947 until 2019, the Tour of Sommerville--"the Kentucky Derby of cycling"--was held on Memorial Day.  That day, on the fourth Monday of May, is called "the unofficial beginning of Summer in the United States.

For many, today--Labor Day--is the unofficial end of the season.  The following day, most people have returned to work. (Grim but interesting fact:  Mohammed Atta, the "mastermind" of 9/11, chose that date because it fell on the Tuesday following Labor Day, when he figured almost everybody would be on their jobs--and thus provide more potential victims.)  So, I suppose it's appropriate that the Tour of Somerville, after being cancelled altogether last year, was re-scheduled to this date.  

Near the race course stands a monument to Furman Kugler, who won the event's first two editions.  Encased in Plexiglas is a photo of him next to the bike he rode--a Shelby Classic.  Interestingly, it bears more semblance to a track than a criterium bike of its time, with its wooden rims and fixed gear.  According to Tom Avenia, it was de rigeur at the time.  I'd take his word on that:  He rode in several editions of the Tour--on a fixed gear, during the 1950s and early 1960s.

Perhaps more to the point, neither Kugler nor Carl Anderson, who won in 1942, would return when the Tour resumed:  Both lost their lives while fighting in World War II.

Perhaps the monument to Kugler would be more fitting on Memorial Day.  But at least it's there, and the Tour is running again this year.

A Journey In Memory

Here in the USA, it's Memorial Day.  The temperature hasn't exceeded 10C (50F) since Friday and rain has fallen nearly continuously--sometimes in torrents, other times in a drizzle.  The rain could stop and clouds could break by this afternoon, so some of the festivities associated with this holiday--nearly all of which were cancelled last year, when we were in the thick of the pandemic--might be staged.  So might the some of the barbeques and family gatherings postponed last year.

Photo by Rachel Smook.  From Massbike.

What I hope is that the people who weren't mourned, wheether they died in uniform or on a ventilator, will get the remembrances they deserve.  While this day is intended as a remembrance of those who died while serving in the military, I think it's fitting to recall those (including seven people I knew) who perished as a result of a pandemic that has killed more people in this country than all of the armed conflicts in which we've been involved since World War I.

The Tour of Somerville was one of many Memorial Day events cancelled last year.  This year, it's been moved to Labor Day (6 September).  I think the race organizers chose that date because here in the US, Labor Day is seen as the unofficial end of summer, just as Memorial Day is seen as its beginning.  The only other race cancellations came during World War II, which claimed the lives of its first two winners.

It just so happens that this Memorial Day is the 100th anniversary of the Tulsa Massacre, which I mentioned last week.  On 31 May 2021, white mobs descended on Greenwood, the Tulsa community dubbed "The Black Wall Street."  The city's police chief deputized hundreds of white citizens to join those mobs and commandeered gun shops to arm them.  The following day, the Greenwood district was wiped off the face of the earth.  It's estimated that 300 people died, but the true number may never be known.

However we choose to spend this day--I plan to take a bike ride later--it is intended as a memorial.   I try to remember that.

 

Labor Day: Bicycles, Workers And This Economy

Today is Labor Day here in the US.

In years past (here and here), I've written about the ways in which bicycle manufacturers, at least in this country, haven't always treated workers very well.  Now there's not much left of the cycle industry:  All but the most expensive bikes from makers like Trek and Specialized are made in countries where workers make much lower wages and have practically no rights.

Unfortunately, that brings me to our current President.  How any working person can see him as an ally is beyond me.

I mean, he imposed tariffs with the ostensible purpose of bringing jobs back to this country.  But I don't think steel mills, let alone bicycle factories, are going to reappear in the US any time soon, if ever.  And, tariffs or no tariffs, corporations will go to wherever they can get the job done at the lowest cost.  That leaves the rest of us holding the bag:  Unless you're buying a bike like Shinola or the most expensive racing machines from Trek or Specialized--or a custom frame--it's all but impossible to find a bike that's made in the US.  And, even those super-bikes are outfitted with components that come from those low-wage countries.

Then again, for some categories of products, there isn't even a partially-made-in-the-USA alternative to something from China or Indonesia or wherever.  Just try to find a computer or "smart" phone, or just about any article of clothing (except, again, for the most expensive) that's made in any fair-wage country where workers can organize.


Still, I think cycling is a better remedy than automobile travel or other kinds of industry for workers and their rights.  Dependency on fossil fuels (or, worse, fracking or nuclear power) will not make workers safer, healthier or more prosperous:  Only cleaner, "greener" jobs can do that in the current economy.

And at least we can still enjoy a ride on this day. It sure beats sitting in traffic!

May Day And Bicycles

Today is May Day.  In much of the world, it's celebrated as a sort of Labor Day--which, in this country, has become mainly an occasion for shopping or taking an end-of-summer trip.

It's also been celebrated, particularly in the British Isles and Scandanavia, as a spring festival marking an end to the long nights of winter.   To some, it might seem paradoxical that this day was chosen to honor labor.  Well, that tradition started with the Haymarket Massacre, which took place during the first week of May in 1886.  

But, even if there were not such a tragedy to observe, I think that it would make sense to pay homage to labor at this time of year, as spring is flowering.  Many see hope at this time of year; others think about what could be--and what isn't.  It's no coincidence that so many uprisings take place around this time of year:  Think of the Easter Rising of 1916, and the Paris and Prague Springs of 1968, for example.

I am struck by how many people participate in May Day processions--or go to them--on their bicycles.  That makes sense, too, as this is the time of year when many people end their winter hiatuses and begin cycling in earnest--or begin cycling again for the first time in their adult lives, or ever.  Not for nothing does Bike To Work Week come in May.  
Also, in much of the world, bicycles are the transportation of working-class people.  As Sheldon Brown point out, those English three-speeds manufactured by Raleigh, Dunelt and other companies for a century took millions of British workers to their shops, factories, schools and other places where they worked or studied.  The bicycle is still the main way people commute in many areas; in some places, mainly northern European and North American cities, people--especially the young--are  becoming bicycle commuters (and cyclists in general) by choice rather than necessity.



Who knows the meaning of May Day--and the importance of bicycles in it--than this man, who gave his name as "Caryle" and helped to set in motoion a fire-breathing float powered by bicycles in last year's Minneapolis parade?

May Day For Today's Workers

Today is May Day.

This day was, and continues to be, a celebration of Spring, especially in northern European cultures.  Some believe it's rooted in a Roman festival for Flora, the goddess of flowers.  

To this day, throughout Italy, Calendimaggio is celebrated with performances, rituals and gifts that are believed to have their roots in Roman celebratory customs.  And, in France, individuals and workers' are allowed to sell lily of the valley flowers--which Charles IX received as a lucky charm and he, in turn, offered every year to the ladies of the court--tax-free. Perhaps the most elaborate celebrations of this day are found in England and Scotland, where children still perform Maypole dances, a "May Queen" is crowned and traditional poems are recited and songs sung.

In 1889, this day became International Workers' Day, celebrated in some countries as Labor Day.  This date was chosen for its proximity to the anniversary of the Haymarket Massacre, in which a Chicago labor protest rally turned into a riot.   The protestors were calling for, among other things, an eight-hour workday. 

The protestors, and those on whose behalf they were protesting, were mainly blue-collar workers:  factory laborers, longshoremen, construction workers and the like.  Many of those workers--and demonstrators--were immigrants.

Most of those jobs have since disappeared.  And the, ahem, complexions of the immigrants have changed*.  So the sorts of people who would have been working in the factories and on the docks are now making deliveries, whether of building materials on Amazon vans, dinner via electric bikes or documents from a Wall Street brokerage to a midtown legal firm via bicycle.  Dmitry Bondrenko seemed to understand as much when he created this poster:

The "alley cat" race announced in the poster was a benefit for Emily Glos, a Toronto bike messenger who was struck by a car. She survived, but a broken wrist and elbow kept her off her bike, and from making a living, for two months.

*-I recently learned that when Franklin D. Roosevelt signed the first minimum-wage legislation into law, he got Southern Democrats--at that time, the largest bloc in the party--to agree to it by excluding farm and domestic workers--who, in the South, were mainly black. Also, that exclusion garnered support from the large corporate growers in places like California's Central Valley, where most workers were Mexican migrants.

I also learned, not too long ago, that the roots of South Africa's Aprartheid laws were sown by the gold and mining industries, and were designed, in part, that workers in those industries--most of whom were Black--would be virtual slaves.

Keeping Hermine At Bay

Sometimes I think meteorologists give us dire weather forecast for long holiday weekends out of resentment. After all, while the rest of us are having fun, they have to stare at computer screens or whatever else they have to look at to tell us The World As We Know It is about to end.

So it was for the weekend that just passed.  First Hurricane/Tropical Storm Hermine was supposed to land on our shores late Saturday afternoon. I figured I could do a ride to Point Lookout before then.

 For much of the day, that prediction seemed accurate:  Ominously dark clouds darkened the sky as the sea churned.  But--wonder of wonders--the clouds broke somewhat and the sun shone through.  So, instead of heading home from Rockaway Beach, I continued along the boardwalk and boulevard to Riis Park and Coney Island, and along the Verrazano Narrows promenade toward my apartment.

We got more or less the same forecast on Sunday:  Hermine in the afternoon.  So I thought I could sneak in a pre-lunch ride, say, to the Rockaways and back.

The weather belied the forecast:  With each mile I rode, the skies brightened, even as  the sea grew choppier and the wind stiffened.  I decided to "play chicken" with Hermine:  I would ride as if I could keep the rain at bay simply by riding.   After a while, I actually started to believe that I could!

Once again, I rode a good bit longer than I originally planned.  I was happy for that:  I did two good days of riding when, according to the weather forecasts, I should have had only one.

But Hermine was still rearing her head.   When I got home, I heard more dire predictions of her paying us a visit some time Monday, Labor Day.  Once again, I took a ride, hoping to get in a few kilometers (or miles) before the storm struck.  But I didn't "play chicken": I stuck with my plan to ride along the North Shore to Fort Totten, a two-hour round trip with a stop to enjoy the view at the Fort.

The rest of the day, though windier, was even brighter than the morning or the day before.  I had a few things to do, so I didn't go back out to ride.  Still, I was happy to have done three rides:  one long , one of medium length and a shorter one.  

Finally, the rain came this morning, just as I was about to go to work.  I lingered just long enough for another cup of tea, and to stroke my cats a few more times.  The rain passed, and I--almost without effort--more than made up for the time I procrastinated and arrived at work a few minutes earlier than I'd planned.

 


The next time someone asks you about the benefits of cycling, tell them that one cyclist (yours truly) "saved" Labor Day weekend:  She kept a hurricane away simply by riding! ;-)   

And to think we all can change so much more by cycling!

Labor Day: Cycling and the End of a Summer Romance

Today I did something I promised myself I wouldn't do this weekend:  I cycled along some beaches.  


If you've read some of my previous posts in this or my other blog, you know that I love the ocean.  However, I didn't want to deal with the crowds and traffic I expected to find today, which was Labor Day.

However, the South Shore beaches on Long Island and the Rockaways didn't have nearly the crowds I expected.  I'm sure that some people who go to the local beaches on other summer weekends were elsewhere:  out of the area, or at barbecues or other gatherings with families and friends.  But I think that the breezy and  relatively cool weather (The temperature didn't rise much past 70F along the beach areas, and didn't reach 80 in Manhattan.) probably deterred some people.  Even Coney Island, where I ended my ride, had fewer people than I anticipated.

It's hard to go to a beach at the de facto end of summer and not think of another feature of the season:  the summer romance.

I've had a couple of those, and one with whom I shared cycling, including some rides to the beach.   


The time was one summer in the mid-1990's.  That was an interesting time to be in New York:  the city was, in various ways, just beginning to transition out of the '80's. It was still early in Rudy Giuliani's long tenure as Mayor, and Times Square was in its last days before Disneyfication.  Even apart from that, one could sense that much that was familiar in the city would soon disappear and be replaced by edifices that are more glamorous, high-tech or simply tourist-friendly.  And while the city had eradicated graffiti from the subways and other public areas, at least for the time being, it was not hard to see that with all of the hip-hop that was playing, there was and would be other things pour epater la bourgeoisie--precisely because the bourgeoisie were taking over the city in all sorts of ways nobody had previously imagined.


OK, so what does that have to do with cycling and summer romance?  Well, it also seemed that around that time, more and more people were coming to the city, not only as tourists, but to jump-start careers and other parts of their lives.  One such person became my summer romance--and sometime biking partner--that year.


She had come to New York as a visiting faculty member and researcher at the New York College of Podiatric Medicine.  Eileen was a podiatrist who had been practicing in an area of rural Maine far removed from the vacationers of Bar Harbor and other resorts.  The college wanted her for the expertise she'd developed in treating foot problems in juvenile diabetics, if I recall correctly.  


To this day, I wonder what she saw in me back then.  Yes, I was in very good shape:  I was riding everywhere I couldn't fly and lifting weights.  But in New York City, there had to be thousands of men within a few years of my age who also fit that description.  She also said I was "erudite" and "charming."  Again, if that was true, I was only one of many.


During the course of one of our rides, she said she couldn't believe there was so much waterfront in New York City.  I told her that, even after living much of my life in New York, I couldn't believe how little respect New Yorkers--or policymakers, at any rate--seemed to have for it.


I also took her on some of the most strangely bucolic rides she'd ever taken:  the Wall Street area on a Sunday, for one.  And  we went on eating tours in Chinatown, Flushing, Bensonhurst (which still was mainly Italian) and other neighborhoods--on our bikes.


By Labor Day, she was back in Maine.  This is the first time in many years I've thought about her.  I probably wouldn't have thought about her if I hadn't gone off on the tangents you've read (if you've read this far) in this post.  It's not that we had an angry breakup or any other cataclysm:  We simply had the understanding that our relationship, such as it was, would continue only as long as she was in New York.  She was a good biking partner, and good company overall.  But, as far as I can tell, she was a straight woman to the core, although she did once say that one of the things she liked about me--and the very reason why we couldn't be long-term partners--was that, as she believed and I know, I am a woman at my core.


Then again, some things are meant to last only the summer.  Fortunately, cycling is not one of them, at least for me.


Finally, here's proof that one should take summer romances--and, at times, even cycling, only so seriously:

You Have Nothing To Lose But Your Black Beauty

Today is Labor Day.

Over the past 130 years or so, bicycles have done much to improve the mobility of--and bring pleasure to--countless working people. 

There are, however, dark chapters in the history of the cycling industry.  Now, no bicycle company has ever exerted the same degree of control over the American economy as, say, General Motors once did, or as petrol and financial services companies now lord over much of the world's economy.  Still, some titans of the two-wheel trade have been, in their own ways, as anti-worker and just plain ruthless as the captains of other industries.

One such example was Ignaz Schwinn.  A mechanical engineer by training, he emigrated from Germany to Chicago in 1890 and, with Adolph Arnold, started the company that would bear both of their names until 1967. 

When America's first bike boom--which roughly spanned the last decade of the 19th Century and the first of the 20th--went bust, Schwinn and Arnold acquired several smaller bicycle manufacturers as well as two early motorcycle makers--  Excelsior and Henderson --to create what would become the third-largest motorcycle manufacturer in the United States, trailing only Indian and Harley-Davidson. 

As is too often the case, the company's prosperity was not passed on to its workers. So, on 9 September--a week and a day after Labor Day--in 1919,  the metal polishers, buffers and platers of Schwinn and Excelsior-Henderson went on strike. 

What did those workers want?  A 44-hour workweek and wages of 85 cents an hour.

Unions representing other laborers, in sympathy, boycotted not only Schwinn and Excelsior-Henderson, but also other brands (such as Black Beauty and Harvard)  under which those bicycles and motorcycles were sold.  Herren Schwinn and Arnold soon felt the pinch because, even though the first American Bike Boom was a decade past, many workers were still riding bicycles to work and, sometimes, for recreation.


So what did the august leaders of the company do?  They hired lawyers and got injunctions against the unions whose members were cancelling, or not placing, orders.  They also had striking workers arrested on trumped-up charges of being strike-breakers, employed ex-cons to beat them up or to persuade them to become scabs and even had foremen shoot at the strikers.

Every labor journal of the day mentioned the strike and exhorted readers to support the strikers in any way they could, whether by standing with them physically or participating in the boycott.  From the accounts I have read, it seems that Schwinn had singularly bad relations with its workers; more than one journal said it was OK for Schwinn workers to buy other companies' bicycles and motorcycles.

Hmm...Had I known about this, would I have so badly wanted that Continental I bought when I was fourteen years old?

N.B.:  Schwinn workers also struck in the fall of 1980.  Some blame this work stoppage for the closure of the company's Chicago manufacturing facilities--which, truthfully, were no match for its foreign competitors-- a few of whom, by that time,  were making bikes sold under the Schwinn brand.

A Day Off-- And Another Beautiful Day to Ride

In at least one way, Columbus Day is a terrible holiday.  Depending on how you look at it, on this day the United States celebrates a guy who got lost or the beginning of Native American genocide.

Italy has given the world Petrarch, Dante, Bocaccio, Michelangelo, Leonardo da Vinci, Galileo, Puccini, Verdi and Gino  Bartali.  But we celebrate "Columbus Day" as a festival of Italian pride.  Mamma mia!

One nice thing about it, though, is that most people have the day off from work or school, so there isn't much traffic on the roads.  If the weather is nice, as it was today, people will be out and about--but not as many as, say, on Memorial Day, the Fourth of July or Labor Day.

There was no denying that it was a great day to ride. I took Tosca on a ramble through the Brooklyn waterfronts, the Hasidic neighborhoods and Coney Island. 

At Sheepshead Bay, I saw the Three Musketeers:

 

The Best Reason To Close A Shop

Forty years ago yesterday, a bike shop was closed for, possibly, the best reason any shop could have been closed on a Saturday during the summer—on the last weekend before Labor Day, no less.

How do I know about that closure?  I worked in that shop. In fact, the day before was my last day there. 

On 27 August 1983, I accompanied the shop’s owner, his soon-to-be wife and a bunch of our friends and customers on a chartered bus from New Brunswick, New Jersey to Washington, D.C. The purpose of the trip? To join many, many more people in commemorating the 20th anniversary of the March on Washington:  the one that includes Martin Luther King Jr.’s “I have a dream” speech.

Actually, the anniversary was the day after our trip—a Sunday.  But that didn’t make a difference to those of us who participated—and those who supported us.

Among those supporters were, not surprisingly, Black city residents who gave us sandwiches, snacks, fruit, water, coffee, tea, juice, sun visors and other things that helped us on a typically hot, humid day. I couldn’t help but to wonder how many of them were there—or marched—during the original rally, which took place a few weeks after I turned five. (OK, you can do the math, if you are so inclined!)

Today, on the sixtieth anniversary of the March—and the day after the fortieth anniversary of the best shop closure in history—I can’t help but to wonder how many of the people I saw that day, let alone how many marched in the original gathering, are still alive.  To the best of my knowledge, the shop’s owner—Frank Chrinko—and Wendy Novak, the woman who would become his wife, are still very much with us—and should be lauded for having the best reason to close Highland Park Cyclery on a day when, I think, they could have made a decent amount of coin.

A Labor Day Ride

 Today is Labor Day in the US.

In previous posts, I discusses races and other organized rides held on this holiday as well as the roles bicycles and bicycling have played in the labor movement and workers’ lives.  Today, however, I want to talk about something I saw during my ride this morning.

Knowing that a hot, humid afternoon was forecast, I took a pre-breakfast/brunch spin to Fort Totten (about 40 km round-trip) on Tosca, my Mercian fixed-gear. This ride includes, as it usually does, the Malcolm X Promenade, which rims Flushing Bay (where the East River and Long Island Sound meet) from LaGuardia Airport to the Northern Boulevard Bridge to Flushing. 

There are park benches along the Promenade so, not surprisingly, it serves as a lover’s lane, spot for impromptu small parties and simply a place for people to hang out and enjoy views of the water, airport and Manhattan skyline.

I have also seen the unhoused there.  If J they catch my attention, or they catch mine and I am carrying anything edible, I offer it,  They invariably thank me and sometimes eat it as I am pedaling away.  Are they testing it, or do they somehow know that I didn’t spike it with chemicals or ground glass?

Anyway, I have also noticed people—almost always Hispanic men—sleeping or hanging out on benches. I know they are not among the unhoused because they are not flanked or propped by bags or carts full of possessions.

They are most likely like a man who sometimes sits in the doorways of apartment buildings or on the stoops of houses on my block. He always greets me; he “knows” me because he works in a store I sometimes frequent. I see him from late afternoon or early evening to around midnight.

What might he have in common with at least one of the people I saw along the Malcolm X Promenade? Well, for one thing, he works a job that doesn’t pay well. For another, he lives in a room in “shifts.”

He’s in those doorways or on those stoops during the hours when his “roommate“—who probably is in a situation like his—is there. They share the room, and the rent, with another man who is most likely in similar circumstances.

I am mentioning them—and the people I saw during my ride this morning—because they are often forgotten on this day. I am happy that unions are regaining some of the power they’ve lost since the Air Traffic Controllers’ strike of 1981.  But for every union member who’s regained some of the rights, benefits and pay they lost, there are many more like the man on my block or the ones I saw during my ride this morning: the ones who don’t have unions, knowledge of the system or fluency in English to advocate for themselves, let alone anyone else.

The World Is About To End, Again, And I Decided To Enjoy The Ride!

The world is about to end, again.

So what did I do?  I went for a bike ride, of course.

All right...I wasn't as cavalier as I might've sounded.  For one thing, the situation isn't quite as dire as the end of the world, or even the end of the world as we know it.

But tomorrow the beaches will be closed.  Think about that:  Beaches closed on the day before Labor Day, a.k.a., the penultimate day of summer--at least unofficially.

Hurricane/Tropical Storm Hermine has plowed across northern Florida and Georgia and is in the Atlantic, where she is surging her way toward New Jersey, New York and New England.  Even if we don't get the wind and rain she's dumped to our south, forecasters say that the strongest riptides in years will roil in local waters.  So, as a precaution, Mayor de Blasio has declared that our beaches--Coney Island, the Rockaways and South Beach of Staten Island among them--will be closed tomorrow.

I decided to ride toward those littoral landscapes.  First, I took my familiar jaunt to the Rockaways and, from there, to Point Lookout.  

The view to the east was ominous--at least, in the sky.  Those clouds looked as if they could have solved all of my hydration problems for a while.  But, as the day was relatively cool (high temperature around 25C or 77F) and the sun wasn't beating down on my skin, I didn't sweat much.

People seemed to think the beaches were already closed (well, the Mayor's pronouncement wouldn't affect Point Lookout).  Not many of them were on the sand or in the surf--or even on the boardwalk--in the Rockaways.  With those skies, it looked more like a mid- or even late-fall day than the End of Summer.

And Point Lookout was deserted!  Even the streets were all but empty:  the few cars I saw were parked.  A long, wide sidebar surfaced in the water, belying the predicted storm surge.  Normally, people would walk themselves and, perhaps, their dogs, on it.  But today the seagulls and egrets had it all to themselves.

Vera, my green Mercian mixte, seemed to be enjoying it.  Or, perhaps, she was anticipating the ride back:  We had pushed into the wind most of the way from my apartment to the Point.  So, of course, it would give us a nice push going back.

Except that I decided not to pedal directly home.  The ride felt so good that as I approached Beach 92nd Street in the Rockaways--where I would normally turn off the boardwalk (where we rode today) or Rockaway Beach Boulevard for the bridge to Broad Channel--I decided to continue along the boardwalk to its end in Belle Harbor, and from there along the Boulevard to Riis Park and Fort Tilden.

Then I rolled across the Gil Hodges/Marine Parkway Bridge to Brooklyn, along the path that rims the South Shore to Sheepshead Bay, Brighton Beach and Coney Island.  

Along the way, fissures split the cloud cover.  By the time I got to Coney Island, the sun had reclaimed much of the sky.  And, when I got there, I saw crowds of the size one would expect on a summer day.  I wonder whether they had been there all day or if they started to stream in for their "last chance" as the sky cleared.

Sunlight glinted off the water as I rode the promenade from Coney Island to the Verrazano-Narrows Bridge, where I once again saw the kinds, and numbers, of people one normally finds there on a summer Saturday:  cyclists, skaters, skateboarders, fishermen, young couples, older couples and Orthodox Jewish families enjoying their shabat.

Speaking of enjoyment:  Everyone has his or her own definition of that word.  Apparently, some Nassau County officials have their own interesting interpretation:

For the record, that women's bathroom in Point Lookout Park was filthy.  And the doors of the stalls didn't shut.  Nor did the front door of the bathroom.  I thought about calling Supervisor Santino, but didn't.  I was enjoying everything else about my ride and didn't want to interrupt it--especially since, if we incur Hermine's wrath, I won't be able to take another like it for a while!

May Day!

 Today, the first of May, is commonly known as “May Day.”  In some countries, it’s the equivalent of Labor Day (which is celebrated on the first Monday of September in the US).  In others, it’s a celebration of Spring, marked by gifts and displays of flowers.

So how did the name of this day—“May Day”—become a distress call?  Apparently, in the early days of aviation, French was the lingua Franca, so the call for help was “M’aide!,” which was anglicized into the cry we hear today.

After a weekend of nonstop rain, it’s a beautiful morning here in New York. If I believed that the weather were decided by an all-seeing being, I’d say that the blue skies are a response to our “May Day!” cries.  Whatever the cause of today’s conditions, I’m  going to take a long route on my ride to work.