Hopefully, I Won't Have To Cry "May Day!"

Today, the first of May, is "May Day."

I didn't know, exactly, what this holiday commemorated--or even why it was on this date--until relatively recently.

According to several accounts I read, this date marked, on pagan calendars, the beginning of summer.  On or around this date in the Northern Hemisphere, the Earth is halfway between the Spring Equinox and Summer Solstice.  So why this would be considered the first day of summer--especially in the climates of some pagan lands--I don't know.

This date is also significant in the labor movement--again, for reasons I learned only recently.  In some countries, particularly in Europe, it's celebrated in much the same way as Labor Day (the first Monday in September) here in the US. Ironically, the origins of the European holiday--which is called International Workers' Day or some translation thereof--started as a commemoration of the Haymarket Massacre in Chicago.

From National Bike to Work Day

Another thing I learned only recently is the answer to this question:  How did "May Day" become a call of distress?  I thought it had its origins in how oppressed some workers were (and are); they would call "May Day" in much the same way others might cry "uncle" or call for their mothers.  That may be the case, but it seems that it originated with Frederick Mockford, a senior radio officer at London's Croydon Airport.  At that time--in the 1920's--air traffic over the English Channel was increasing, but still treacherous.  Apparently, Mockford took the French pilots' distress call, "M'aider!"--which means "Help me!" and sounds like "May Day" to Anglophone ears--and popularized it.

Today sunshine refracted through clouds is glinting off pavement and trees as it does after a night of rain.  The air is brisk, but not cold.  I am going for a ride--and I hope I won't have to call "Mayday!"

One Ride, Two Trees

 Saturday brought near-record warmth: When I reached Greenwich, Connecticut—the destination or turnaround point, depending on your point of view—early in the afternoon, the temperature had risen to 81F (27C).  That is more or less normal for a day in June, or perhaps just after Labor Day.

Even if I hadn’t known it was near the end of October, the day’s warmth would have seemed incongruous with parents chaperoning their costumed kids to tables representing everything from the fire department to the local Democratic Party where volunteers gave them miniature candy bars. Tomorrow is Halloween, so the past weekend became the setting for Trick or Treaters, parades and parties.

Even stranger was seeing mid-to-late Fall foliage simmering in such heat.  On my way back, a tree in New Rochelle blazed, it seemed, as much from the summer-like air as the season itself.

How red can a tree be?

Now I wonder what it looks like today.  Some time around midnight, a storm pushed its way in.  The temperature plummeted and the rain and wind that soaked and strafed Sunday’s sky—and denuded the golden tree that greeted me early Thursday morning.

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 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.

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.

A Feast In More Ways Than One

 Saturday was warm, sunny and breezy.  Even though Monday, Labor Day, was the “unofficial “ end of summer, people flocked to the beaches. I followed them—by bicycle, of course.  On Vera, my Mercian fixed-gear, to be exact.

However we got there, the conditions were all but perfect for however one chose to enjoy the sand and water, as this couple did in Point Lookout.

There are some people, however, who make me wonder why they bothered to  go:

However you go and whatever you do when you get there, you need sustenance.

I’ve passed that house, on an Ocean Boulevard closed to traffic, many times.  But I’d never seen that giant squash.  Vines with those plants covered the side of that house. There was even an audio description of that plant species.

Of course I didn’t pick the squash.  I’d packed some Ghirardelli’s dark chocolate and a few strawberries.  They were great and the day nourished my psyche.

What, And How, We Have Delivered

Today is Labor Day in the U.S.A.  I am going to talk about some people who make their livings on their bikes.

No, this isn't about professional bicycle racers.  Rather, I am referring to messengers and delivery workers.

I was a New York City bicycle messenger for just over a year, in 1983-84.  FAX machines were becoming fixtures in offices and other work (and, in a few cases, residential) settings;  a decade would pass before the Internet would connect them.  Still another decade or so would go by before documents like contracts that required signatures could be sent digitally.

Nearly four decades ago, most restaurant and other delivery workers rode bicycles; so did just about all messengers.  The differences between and among us were in the kinds of bikes we rode.  Some restaurant and pizzeria delivery workers pedaled specially-made industrial bicycles with fitted baskets, most of which were made by Worksman Bicycles, still located just a few miles from my apartment.  Others--and some messengers--rode whatever they could get, from whomever they could. (It was common knowledge that if your bike was stolen, you should go to (pre-gentrified)  St. Mark's Place where, shall we say, one didn't ask questions.)  And then there were messengers who rode the then-newfangled mountain bikes or bikes that seemed newfangled to most people even thought they'd been around since the early days of bicycles. I am talking, of course, about fixed-gear machines.

Such was the case until well into the 2010s.  These days, however, you never see a delivery worker on a pedal-only bicycle:  They're riding e-bikes.  The reason for that is, of course, that most are working, not for the restaurants themselves, but for app companies like DoorDash, who classify their deliverers as "independent contractors."  That means those workers are paid--and their terms of employment depend on metrics the company keeps.  

I, and most other messengers, were paid in the same way.  The difference was that we weren't working for app companies that recorded our every move and turned the data into "metrics."  If we got that contract or sample--or, in one case I recall vividly, a paining from a Soho gallery (Yes, the neighborhood hadn't yet become an open-air mall.) to Judy Collins (Yes, that Judy Collins!) in a timely fashion, we were considered "good" messengers and got more work.  

As the wheels under delivery workers turned from pedal bicycles to eBikes, bicycle messengers disappeared.  I rarely them anymore, even in the Financial District and other dense neighborhoods of Manhattan.  Much of the reason for that is, of course, the digitization of documents.  Not only does that mean much less work overall; it also means that are few urgent or "rush" deliveries.  That, in turn, means customers are less willing to pay more than a couple of dollars to have, say, a sample of a neon hoodie brought to their door.

Photo by Cole Burston, for the Toronto Star

I hope I don't sound like an old fogie (after all this is Midlife Cycling!) pining for "the good old days."  But there is much I miss about the messengering milieu of four decades ago.  For one, I was able to make pretty decent money--which is precisely what enabled me to move back to New York.  For another, it was a job that people like me, a young misfit, could do.  Finally, being an "independent contractor" meant that I was, well, independent:  As long as the jobs I took on were done quickly, people didn't care about how I dressed (though I did try to be neat, as I occasionally entered professional offices) or, for that matter whether I was hung over or high.

OK, now I'll tell you about one of the dirty little secrets of the trade.  In addition to consuming lots of pizza, pasta, rice and beans, french fries and other high-carb foods, we partook of, uh, certain herbal substances.  I haven't smoked weed since, probably, a year or two after I stopped working as a messenger, but in those days, I smoked stuff I rolled myself.  So did just about every other messenger I knew.

(One great thing about getting older is that the statute of limitations runs out on most non-capital offenses!)

I think that for food delivery workers, nearly all of whom are immigrants, there is a more serious consequence. Ebikes are far more expensive than regular bicycles.  Few, if any, can pay for them up front.  So, they are in debt, whether to the dealers who sold them the machines or to whomever loaned them the money.  

Photo by Paul Frangipane, for Bloomberg News

Oh, and even though the New York City Council ruled  that delivery workers for app companies are, in fact, employees who are entitled to minimum wage, unemployment insurance, worker's compensation and other benefits, the companies are simply flouting the law because they know a worker who's in debt and doesn't speak English well or at all is in no position to fight them.

In short, the changes in delivery work--and the near-disappearance of messenger work--has, to whatever degree, contributed to the ever-widening gap between, not just the rich and poor, but also (and more importantly, I believe) between those who can gain a foothold in this economy and move up, and those who can't.  I have to wonder what the young person I was--depressed and angry, unable to deal with office politics or over-entitled clients--would do today.

There's No College There, But There's An Education

This weekend included a change of seasons and cultures--and rides.

While, officially, we're deep into Fall, from Thursday through the middle of Saturday, it felt more like early summer.  I took Friday's ride, to Connecticut, in what I might wear around Memorial Day or Labor Day--a pair of shorts and a fluorescent green T-shirt.  The breeze took some of the edge off the humidity.

Saturday morning, I pedaled out to Kesso's for some fresh Greek yogurt.  Alas, they were closed.  I hope everything is OK there: Perhaps they, like so many other shops--and people--couldn't get some thing or another they needed because of the interrupted supply chains that have emptied store shelves.  Later in the day, wind drove hard rain against leaves, windows and faces.

Yesterday, the wind let up--for a little while--and temperatures were more fall-like.  I took a spin along the North Shore of Queens and western Nassau County, which took me into a neighborhood frequented by almost nobody who doesn't live there--in spite of its proximity to a mecca for in-the-know food enthusiasts.

On a map, College Point is next to Flushing.  But the two neighborhoods could just as well be on diffeent planets.  The latter neighborhood, one of the city's most crowded, has been known as the "Queens Chinatown" for the past three decades or so.  There are dozens of places where one can sample a variety of regional cuisines, and have everything from a formal dining experience to chow on the run.  Those places are centered around Roosevelt Avenue and Main Street, at the end of the 7 line of the New York subway system--and one stop away from Citi Field, the home of the New York Mets, and the US Tennis Center, site of the US Open and other events.

College Point is "off the grid," if you will--away from the city's transit systems and accessible only by winding, narrow streets that dead-end in inconvenient places or truck-trodden throughfares that, at times, resemble a moonscape, that weave through industrial parks, insular blue-collar communities and views of LaGuardia Airport and the Manhattan skyline one doesn't see in guidebooks.

Until recently, College Point--which, pervesely, includes no college--was populated mostly by the children and  Irish, German and Italian construction workers and city employees who were the children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren of Irish, German and Italian construction workers and city employees.  Their houses were smaller versions of the nearby factories and warehouses: squat brick structures framed by latticeworks of steel or wooden trellises, cornices  and fences.

In that sense, this place fits right in:

The New York Hua Lian Tsu Hui Temple is--you guessed it--a square brick building framed with wooden cornices and a steel fence.  The cornices,  though, are different:  They signal the purpose of the building, and signify other things.  Apparently, Chinese and Korean people who needed more space to raise their kids--or simply wanted to escape the crowding of Flushing--have "discovered" the neighborhood.  

Some have families and pets:

Marlee, though, was not impressed!  All she knows is that when I'm on my bike (or doing anything outside the apartment), I'm not there for her to curl up on.

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.

What Ida Did

 The sun is shining brightly and the temperature is more like one would expect at this time of day mid-May rather than early September.  But I haven’t gotten on any of my bikes.  

No, I’m not deterred by the wind, which would be strong even if today were a March or April day. Nor is the fact that I don’t have anywhere to go today is a reason for me not to ride. And, thankfully, I haven’t had another crash. (Knock on wooden rims!)

Oh, and I’m home, but not because almost everyone else is.  The reason why most of them aren’t at work or school, though, is a reason, if indirectly, why I haven’t ridden—yet.

As you have probably heard, Hurricane Ida unleashed some of her fury on this part of the world.  Although we, here in New York, haven’t experienced the same level of devastation folks in New Orleans have endured, we had the single wettest hour in this city’s history.  That record downpour eclipsed the one we experienced two weeks ago, when Tropical Storm Henri blew up this way!

So how has Ida kept me from riding, so far, today?  Well, she spilled some of her rage into my apartment.  Fortunately, Marlee is OK and neither my bikes, my books nor anything else was damaged.  And, although the lights flickered a couple of times, my apartment didn’t lose power.  Still, I spent about half of the night drying out and cleaning up. I think it wasn’t the physical labor as much as the emotional stress that has left me exhausted.

I probably will take a nap after I post this.  Perhaps I’ll be up for a late-day or early-evening ride.  Otherwise, my bikes will have to wait until tomorrow.

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.

 

Integration Is Great When It Fits

 Hal Ruzal, the recently-retired mechanic and partner of Bicycle Habitat, and I were talking one day about rides, bikes, music and work.  I've always admired Mercians, but I finally ordered my first after taking a spin on one of his.  His other bikes, with one exception (an early Cannondale mountain bike) were also built around steel frames, with various combinations of modern and old-school components.   So it won't surprise you that we have similar attitudes about bikes and equipment:  While most of our preferences run to old-school bikes and parts, or stuff inspired by them, we don't fetishize "vintage" items.  At the same time, we don't prize technology for the sake of technology.

He sighed about "the Wall Street guys" who came into the shop and wanted the most expensive bike. "They thought that's what they needed to get up the next hill," he mused.  What they really needed, he said, was to spend more time riding.

As often as not, they insisted on buying bikes that were not only "more bike than they needed" but that didn't--or, in some case, couldn't be made to--fit them well.  

I thought about that conversation a few months ago, after encountering a guy who wiped out on an L-shaped turn with a sandtrap.  Bleeding from his arms and legs, his first concerns were his $12,000 bike and $200 saddle--and the $300 helmet he wasn't even wearing.

I couldn't help but to think that guy probably hadn't ridden long or far.  He may not have been, in fact,  one of the "Wall Street guys" Hal was talking about,  but he shared at least part of their mentality:  He seemed to think that buying the "best" (read: most expensive) stuff would make him a better cyclist.

It occurs to me now that the bike may not even have fit him well.  That is a common occurence--by whatever ideas about bike fit you subscribe to--more often than one might expect among customers of ultra-high-end bikes. Dave Farmer, owner of Surrey Cycle Works (in Leatherhead, England) says as much.  "People can now buy 6000, 7000 or 8000 pound bikes online."  As a result, he says, many people are "riding around on very high-end bikes that don't fit them."

One problem is that many of those "very high-end" bikes have "integrated" cockpits.  They're great if speed is your primary goal--and if they fit you.

Most people buy bikes--in whatever price range--buy complete bikes.  Folks like me who buy frames and build them are actually a tiny fragment of the market, even at the highest price ranges.  The problem with complete bikes, at any price, is that they are designed for an "average" person--usually male--of a given height.  

Anyone who's ever measured me for a bike, or helped me to make an adjustment has commented on my legs:  They are long for a person of my height.  So the "square"geometry of many stock frames--on which the seat and top tube are the same length--doesn't work well for me, unless I use a stem with a very short horizontal extension.  Likewise, the "sloping" geometry of many modern frames is less than ideal for me.  

Other people, of course, differ from norms in other ways:  short people with wide shoulders, for example.  Then there is the matter of preferences:  You might prefer a different saddle position from someone else, depending on your riding style.

Integration of cockpits means that, on some bikes, handlebars, stems and seatpost can't be swapped out--or making such changes is very expensive.  If the bike has a standard-diameter steer tube, changing the stem isn't a problem--unless, of course, it's of one piece with the handlebars.  So, if you like the width or shape or your bars, you have to find another set that fits your bike.  And on some bikes, once your seat height is set, it can't be changed.

Oh, and don't get me started on internal cable routing:  I still have nightmares about my bikes that had this feature.  I'm glad that I've never had to change a cable that's routed through the headset--or, worse, had to clean or replace such a headset.

Don't get me wrong:  I see the benefits of integration, at least for some riders.  Turning two pieces into one--like the bars and stem--makes them more aerodynamic, stiffer and stronger.  (Remember the "bull moose" bars on early mountain bikes?) That strength makes it possible to use lighter materials which, of course, helps to lighten the bike.

The thing is, most of the benefits of integrated cockpits (and aerodynamic parts) accrue only if you're riding at the speeds, and for the amount of time, pro riders spend on their saddles.  Otherwise, you have to choose between compromising comfort and convenience, or spending large sums of money for replacement parts--and bike shop labor, if you don't do the work yourself.

So, before spending $12,000 on a bike and, potentially, another $2000 to make it fit, ask yourself how much, or whether, you'll benefit--or whether you're trying to impress somebody.

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.

A Cyclists' Bridge To A City's History

Providence, Rhode Island billed itself the "jewelry making capital of the world."  For nearly two centuries before the 1980s, that claim was justifiable: In 1978, when the industry peaked, 33,574 people worked in 1,374 Rhode Island companies that were classified as making "jewelry, silverware and miscellaneous notions," according to the state's Department of Labor and Training.

Not coincidentally, during that time Providence was an important shipping port:  second only to Boston in New England.  Of course, not all maritime cargo was related to rings and amulets, but a significant portion certainly was.  So, the decline of the industry and the port were, to some degree, tied together.  But another reason why fewer ships entered and left Providence's harbor in 1990 than in 1890 was Interstate 195.  The I-195 span replaced the Washington Bridge, a bascule (movable) span. In addition to blocking ships from the inner harbor, I-195, like other Interstates, hastened the decline of traditional ports like Providence, Boston, New York, San Francisco and Los Angeles that did no have easy access to the highway.

I mention all of these aspects of Providence's history because, in addition to being a jewelry-making center, Providence, like other industrial cities, had a thriving bicycle industry during the 1890s.  As in other American cities, bike-making declined (or ceased to exist) after World War I and few adults pedaled.  

But now, as in other places, cycling in Providence has undergone a renaissance, fueled largely by young people who have moved to the city.  As in nearby Boston and New York, those new cyclists complained about the lack of safe streets and driver awareness.  This has led to the construction of bike lanes and other efforts, misguided at times, to make the city more "bike friendly."

One such effort seems practical.  Whatever else it may be, it's certainly picturesque.  I'm talking about the newly-opened Providence River Pedestrian and Bicycle Bridge.  The span allows cyclists to pedal between the city's Fox Point neighborhood and the waterfront parks on the edge of the Jewelry/Innovation District.  The span is at least as lovely as some of the brooches and necklaces made in the city:  The bridge's curved edges are clad in wood, evoking the designs of ships that plied the harbor.  Better yet, its surface is lined with a wildflower garden and benches that allow passerby to pause and take in the cityscape.

Oh, and the bridge is built on granite piers that supported an I-195 viaduct before the highway was rerouted during the 1990s.

Photo by Steve Kroodsma/Kroo Photgraphy

So, the new Providence River Pedestrian and Bicycle Bridge spans, not only a body of water, but a city's history--and serves the needs and wants of present-day urban dwellers.  It sounds like a "gem" to me.

Shelby Cycle Museum

More than two years ago, I wrote about a municipality that was best known for its epomymous bicycle company.

From 1925 until 1953, Shelby Bicycles were manufactured in the Ohio city for which they were named.  While most of their wares were sold under other names, such as Goodyear, Firestone and AMF, others bore the company's name and are prized by collectors for their stylishness.  One was even ridden to a transcontinental record.

While some manufacturers, such as Schwinn, Raleigh and Peugeot, were major employers, it can be argued that none was as integral to its community as the Shelby Cycle Company was to its town.

Restored 1938 Shelby. Photo by Aaron W. Legand

At the time I wrote my earlier post, the Shelby Cycle Historical Society, a tax-exempt organization, was forming and seeking members.  On Tuesday (perhaps appropriately, the day after Labor Day), it received a grant to create the Shelby Bicycle Museum on the grounds of the original Shelby Cycle factory.

I can't help but to wonder how many other bicycle "company towns" existed late in the 19th, and early in the 20th, Centuries. In those days, bike manufacturers were smaller and their markets were mainly local: No giant (with a capital or small "g") manufacturer or conglomerate dominated the industry.

This Labor Day Ride?

Today is Labor Day in the US.

This year, the holiday is different:  Most large gatherings, including parades, have been cancelled due to the COVID-19 pandemic.  So have many organized bicycle rides.

I have to wonder whether these riders would have been sanctioned for not keeping their "social distance":

Perhaps they're all related?  After all, your family can't make you sick, right?

Will The Velo Continue to Vive After The Greve?

I can recall three transit strikes in New York City.  The first began with the new year in 1966.  I was a child then, and the main thing I recall is my father missing a couple of days of work, then taking cabs with co-workers.  

The second lasted nearly as long, and began on April Fools' Day in 1980.  I was a student at Rutgers but was making frequent trips into New York.  Back then, buses along the Princeton-to-New York/Port Authority Route had large luggage hatches on their undersides.  Since they were almost never used for the intended purpose, and because the bus operating company didn't seem to have any written policy against using those hatches for any other purpose, I and a few other cyclists would stow our bikes in them.  I recall one friendly driver who'd help us angle our bikes into the compartments and make sure the door was shut; other drivers simply looked the other way.  So, once I arrived in the city, I had a convenient way of getting around.

The last strike I recall began just before Christmas in 2005. Subway and bus workers walked off their jobs for three days.  I was teaching at another college and, since the strike coincided with the end of the semester, we were concerned that exams would be postponed until January--and that I'd have to postpone or cancel a trip I'd booked for then.  Thankfully, that strike ended before the holiday and only a few classes and exams, none of which were mine, had to be rescheduled.

During the 1980 and 2005 strikes, many commuters walked or rode bicycles to work.  (In fact, the practice of wearing a business suit with sneakers and carrying dress pumps or wingtips in a bag is said to have begun with the 1980 strike.)  I have had a difficult time finding statistics to confirm my observation that, while some continued to pedal to their offices, stores, factories or schools after each of those labor stoppages, more people continued to ride to work after the 2005 walkout than after the 1980 halt to the trains and buses.  

If my observation can indeed be borne out by empirical data, it would indeed be interesting, especially because the conditions of each strike were very different:  The 1980 strike unfolded with some of the blooms in the city's gardens, while the 2005 strike coincided with both the official beginning of winter and that season's first cold spell. 

Also, because the 1980 strike was much longer, one might expect the habit of cycling or walking to become more ingrained than it would have during the 2005 stoppage.  

Then again, some who weren't so inclined to ride or walk might have seen having to do so during the long 1980 strike in the way people viewed shortages and other privations during World War II or other protracted national emergencies:  They were eager to get back to their old ways.  On the other hand, having to bike or walk for only three days might leave people with more pleasant memories.

Moreover, as I recall, 1980 was a "year without a spring".  A cold, damp April gave way to a heat wave in early May that presaged a hot, dry summer.   Perhaps such weather was a disincentive to continue cycling, at least for some people.  On the other hand, after the cold wave during the strike, the winter of 2005-2006 was mild.  Perhaps it is no coincidence that the surge in the number of commuters and recreational cyclists began to surge right around that time.

I mention all of these things because the strikes in France--which include greves on the Transports Parisiens et Transiliens--have ended.  The trains and buses, with a few exceptions, came to a halt for most of December and January.  So there is a valid basis for comparing the change in transportation habits as opposed to the previous year.

Turns out, on the whole, the number of January cyclists in the City of Light--at least as measured on its major bike lanes--increased by 131 percent--over the first month of 2019.  That is to say, the numbers more than doubled and on two--the Voie Georges Pompidou and le Pont National--more than three times as many cyclists rode by.

It will be interesting to see how many of those "new" cyclists continue their riding habit as Metro and bus services return to normal.  I suspect they will, simply because cycling culture, while not as prevalent in Paris as in other parts of France, existed to a greater degree than it did in the Big Apple when its conductors, drivers and maintenance workers walked off their jobs.  Also, Paris' system of bike lanes and other infrastructure is more extensive and generally more useful than what New York has even now, let alone 15 years ago or 40 years ago, when it was all but nonexistent.

All I can say is to Paris is Vive la Velo!

 

If You Want The "Perfect" Bike

Today you can walk or ride down Franklin Street in Greenpoint, Brooklyn and see twenty-something bro's with beards even longer than those of the Hasidic men who live only a few blocks away. 

Those same young men are, as likely as not, to be washing down their "artisanal" food with "craft" beer--while tapping away at iPads pulled out of their handmade bags.

If you've been following this blog, you know about my bikes and bags.  So I am not one to criticize someone for buying things that are made by hand or in small batches.  But for much of human history, the wish not have things that aren't made by machines would have seemed ridiculous.  One of the goals of almost every technological revolution--including the Industrial Revolution of two centuries ago and today's Digital Revolution--is to have fewer, or no, humans involved in the creation and production of everything from screwdrivers to software.

Indeed, I can recall companies boasting that their products were "untouched by human hands" before you picked them up from the shelf to buy them.  To those early industrialists in Manchester, St. Etienne, Chemnitz and Paterson, the idea that someone would willingly pay more for an item made by hand would have been blasphemous.  While profit was surely a major, if not the primary, motive for automation, those engineers and entrepreneurs were also guided by the belief that "perfecting" their products meant having fewer and fewer people involved in making it, and they saw a "perfect" product as a goal.  The reason, expressed by someone explaining his move from human workers to robots, is that the inanimate laborers "don't get sick, don't have bad moods, don't talk back and don't make mistakes."

(Fun fact:  Czech writer Karel Capek introduced the word "robot" to the world's lexicon with his play R.U.R., or Rossum's Universal Robots. He created the term from an old Church Slavonic word, robota, which means "forced labor," "servitude" or "drudgery.")

So the idea that some of us would actually spend money on a handbuilt bicycle frame or wheels would seem ludicrous to the initiators of those technological seismic shifts.  Even those who could afford handcrafted objects (once they became more expensive as mass-produced goods got cheaper) and could appreciate fine workmanship would have scoffed at the idea of buying something that could have been "corrupted" by human imperfection.

Such folks, if they were cyclists (or simply liked the idea of having a "perfect" bicycle) would surely have been drawn to Festka bicycles.  Co-founded 10 years ago by Michael Mourecek, Festka makes "perfect bikes," in his words.

Now, of course, most of us have different ideas as to what constitutes a "perfect bike," if we indeed have such a concept.  But Mourecek is not referring to a bike that can "do everything."  Nor does he mean the machine that's most efficient at converting human effort into speed.  And he isn't talking about a bike that doesn't experience mechanical breakdowns.

Rather, Mourecek means "perfect" in the sense of quality control in industrial production.  Given his clientele, it's no surprise that Festka produces carbon composite frames.  (They have also made steel and titanium-composite bikes, but most customers opt for carbon fiber.) In that sense, they're no different from other high-performance, high-cost current production bikes.  Most such bikes are made in China, not by engineers or scientists, as he points out, but by semi-skilled workers.  Those laborers, most of whom are women (because they're considered more dexterous than men), use blowers to stick computer-cut carbon fiber sheets called "pre-preg" (fabric impregnated with resin) onto frame-like shapes.  This process is time-intensive, which is probably the main reason why carbon fiber frames, even those made in China and other low-wage countries, are more expensive than frames made from other materials.

Another consequence of such a process is, as Mourecek points out, is the possibility of human error.  On the other hand,  "The robots are very precise; they are always in the same mood, they don't have family issues or go out to wild parties," he jokes.  "Every day, they produce the perfect job for us."

What's more, the process can be adapted to create any sort of frame geometry or aesthetic the customer desires.  As an example, Czech illustrator Michal Bacak blended Portuguese Azulejo and English Churchill Blue Willow patterns to create a pattern that makes a bike ordered by Thai bicycle collector Suratchaj Chenyavanij look as if it belongs in a china closet or curio cabinet.  Oh, and that bike's finish (which, I admit, is lovely) was embellished by 24-karat gold leaf.  

In an irony that the denizens of Franklin Street can only strain for (If you're trying to achieve it, it isn't irony!), part of the appeal of Festka bikes is, as Mourecek concedes, the perception that they're hand-made.  The fact that they cost more than most handmade machines (The "porcelain" bike set Chenyavanij back about $35,000) only helps to reinforce that feeling.

Oh, and those bikes are made in the Czech Republic: an irony that surely would not be lost on Karel Capek.