Flipping At The End Of The Season

Summer doesn't end--officially, at least--for another two weeks.  To most people here in the US, it ended last week, the day after Labor Day.  Most colleges began their new academic years just before then; most elementary and high schools (at least in this country) started just after.


Some people try to get in one last bike tour or some other adventure before going back to work or school.  Someone whose nom de You Tube is "Chainless" decided to end his summer in his own unique fashion:

Seeing The Coming Heat Wave

Every few years, it seems, we get the sort of summer we've been having this year:  Not exceptionally warm through most of June, July and August--until a heat wave comes right around Labor Day. 

Officially, today wasn't part of a "heat wave". But tomorrow is supposed to be the beginning of one.  Today, the temperature reached 33C and the air grew more humid:  a  marked contrast to the dry, almost crisp conditions we'd had for a few days.

I went for a ride anyway, out to the middle of Long Island and back.  I sweated, but no more than I have on other rides, and I wasn't really tired after 120 km.  But tomorrow will be toasty, the forecasters say:  about 35C.  And the two days after that will be hotter, and more humid.

I'll be working, so I'll probably ride late in the day, or the evening, when--at least in theory--it should be a touch cooler, if not less humid.


Even if I hadn't heard the forecast, I think I would have known the heat wave was coming.  I believe I saw it in the slightly reddish hue of the full moon that loomed over the Amtrak trestle that transverses Randall's Island when I was riding home last night:

 

A 400-Year Debt

My birthday is 4 July:  US Independence Day.  So, what I am about to say may seem treasonous, or even sacrilegious, to some.

The most important, if not the singular defining, event of US history did not happen on 4 July 1776.  Rather, it occurred 400 years ago on this date.

On 20 August 1619, the White Lion (you can't make this stuff up!) landed in Point Comfort, near present-day Hampton, Virginia.  Of the White Lion's commander, one Captain John Jope, colonist John Rolfe wrote, "He brought not any thing but 20.  And odd Negroes, which the Governor and Cape Merchant bought for victuals."

The details that would have fleshed out Rolfe's clinical description are lost to history.  Did he mean that  twenty-some-odd black people disembarked from the vessel?  What sort of "victuals" were exchanged for the captive human beings?  Peanuts?  Corn?  Barley?

What is not in doubt is that the dark-skinned arrivals from Africa were the first documented black slaves in America.  This does not mean, of course, that they were the first black slaves in the so-called New World:   Columbus reportedly brought slaves on his second voyage, and some historians argue that there were Africans--who may or may not have been slaves--on this side of the Atlantic even before Columbus' arrival.  But the arrival of black slaves on the White Lion is the first documented importation of African slaves to the soil of what would become the United States.  Moreover, it is the first documented sale of slaves.

The White Lion was not the first ship in which those slaves would be imprisoned on their way from the West Coast of Africa to the East Coast of North America. They started their terrible journey on the San Juan Bautista (really), bound for the Spanish colony of Vera Cruz on the coast of what would become Mexico.

But just a couple of days before the San Juan Bautista would have reached port (Transatlantic journeys in those days typically took about two months), it was attacked by pirates looking for Spanish gold.  Some of those pirates were on the White Lion; the others sailed on the Treasurer, which would arrive in Virginia a few days later.

As James Baldwin has pointed out, African-Americans are the only race of people (save for Native Americans) to be conceived in America.  And, at the time he was writing his seminal essays, the United States was the only nation besides South Africa that had a legal definition for black people--and used it to subjugate them.

I believe, as some black historians and writers believe, that the arrival of slaves (even if they weren't the first) on this date 400 years ago marks the real beginning of American (or at least US) history.  For one thing, it marked the beginning of European subjugation of a land and its people, which would not have been possible (at least under the conditions that prevailed) without the forced labor of black people.  The wealth of this country was built, literally, on the backs of Africans, even in those parts of the country where there weren't plantations and slavery ended before the Emancipation Proclamation.

What is commonly forgotten is that during our Civil War, there were large pro-Confederate contagions in some northern cities.  In fact, New York, which then consisted only of the island of Manhattan, was a bastion of Dixie sentiment, as many of the city's bankers and merchants had ties to the cotton- and tobacco-growing industries of the South.  (In contrast, Brooklyn, which was then an independent city and didn't have the same ties to plantation owners--and where freed and runaway slaves settled in Weeksville and other communities--was staunchly pro-Union.) 

So, no matter where one was at the time of the Civil War--or long afterward--its economy was, in some way or another, a product of slavery.  Everyone in this country is a beneficiary, in some way or another.  I include myself:  My grandparents, as poor as they were, still had more rights in this country than any African (or Native American) had the day they arrived in a port built, at least in part, by the labor of those people who had no freedom--and the profits of those who traded them, or traded with plantation owners, merchants and others whose prosperity built by them.

Of course, it wasn't just our economy that "benefited" from slavery.  The terrible experiences endured by slaves--and their children who were "freed"--were the raw material of some of the greatest art this country has produced.  I am talking, of course, about works by writers like Baldwin and Toni Morrison, but also jazz--the only truly American musical genre besides country and western--which has influenced all of the music, everywhere in the world, that's come along since.

And, finally, it's hard not to think that the "generational trauma" and prejudice experienced by the descendants of slaves motivated some of the greatest athletes this country has turned out.  Forget about "some of":  I am willing to say that the four greatest athletes to come from the United States are Muhammad Ali, Serena Williams, Jackie Robinson and, of course, "Major" Taylor, the incomparable cyclist who became the first African-American champion in any sport.  

The country in which I was born and have spent most of my life owes, I believe,  much more to what took place on this date 400 years ago than most people realize--or I was taught in school.

(In my next post, I'll return to matters more directly about cycling--my own and in general!)

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.

To The Beach--By Bike Or Train? Why Not Combine Them?

After work, I did what a lot of other people are doing this week:  I took a trip to the beach.  It's the last "unofficial" week of summer; after Monday--Labor Day--most people will be back at work.

Of course, you know I rode my bicycle to the beach--Orchard Beach, to be exact, as it's the one nearest my job. Other people did, too, but others drove or took the bus.  Still others took the train to beaches on Long Island--or the subway to the Rockaways and Coney Island.

It's probably no surprise that during cycling's first heyday--roughly the last decade of the 19th Century and the first decade of the 21st--people cycled to the beach, especially to Coney Island.  The Ocean Parkway Bike and Bridle path--the oldest extant bike lane in the US-- was constructed during that time.  Also, during that time, construction of the subway system began.  There were, however, smaller, independent railroads that ran from Manhattan and the nearby areas of Brooklyn to the beaches. Some of those railroads later became part of the city's and region's mass transit system.

At that time, it was even possible to combine bikes and trains on a ride to the beach.  Well, sort of.

The Boynton Bicycle Railroad linked the southwestern Brooklyn neighborhood of Gravesend with Coney Island.  It ran for only two years, and inspired a few other short-lived imitations, it is commemorated with Boynton Place, at the intersection of West 7th Street and Avenue X, in Gravesend.

So, what made it a "bicycle railroad"?  Well, it ran on two wheels on a monorail.  So, you may ask, how did it keep it balance?  Well, there were rubber-faced trolley wheels on top of the trains that guided the train along a rail that ran fifteen feet above the rail on which the "bicycle" train ran.

When it debuted, the trains could achieve speeds of 80 mph.  The following years, technical improvements upped the maximum velocity to 100 mph.

The Boynton Bicycle Railroad, as shown in an 1894 issue of Scientific American

Inventor E. Moody Boynton said his intention was indeed to marry a new technology of the time to a newish one:  the bicycle and the railroad.  He was convinced that his system was more efficient than conventional railroads because there was less friction on a single than a double track.  The speeds of his trains seemed to make his case.  Still, he couldn't find investors--possibly because the automobile was on the horizon-and neither the Boynton nor the other "bicycle" railroads survived past the middle of the first decade of the 20th Century.

It could be said, however, that his idea lives on in modern monorail and light-rail systems.  Perhaps one day tourist hubs will have "pedi-trains", much as some places now have "pedi-cabs".

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.

Where The Bicycle Commuters Are

You don't ride in this weather, do you?

I can't begin to count how many times I've heard that question, or some version of it, between Thanksgiving and Easter.  

Granted, I don't ride as much during the months of short days and long cold spells as I do when flowers bloom and leaves begin to fall.  But I still ride to work most days during the winter.  I don't mind cold: I don't mind wet, but a combination of the two might drive me to the N train.  In fact, so far this year, I've used the MTA only once, when wind drove snow and sleet during the time I would have been riding to work.

I'll also grant you that I don't do as many rides of 20km or more as I do in, say, June.  But I think that has more to do with the number of daylight hours than with the temperature. I don't avoid riding in the dark altogether, but I prefer to follow dawn and lead dusk.  Also, I feel more motivated to take a ride after work when there's still some daylight left.

I mention my riding habits because of something I came across that seemed, at first, counter-intuitive (at least to most non-cyclists): The US state in which the highest percentage of the population walks or cycles to work is Alaska, which has the nation's coldest weather.

In fact, America's Land of the Midnight Sun is one of five states in which more than five percent of the population commutes by bike or on foot.  If you guessed that California is one of them, you'd be wrong.  Move one state up the coast: Oregon.  That's not surprising when one considers Portland's reputation as one of the world's most bike-friendly cities.  The City of Roses is the only major area in any of the five states in question that has what most people would describe as a mild winter.

As for the other three states, only one probably wouldn't surprise you:  New York.  The Empire State's high percentage of people who get to work on two wheels or two feet is concentrated in my hometown, the Big Apple.  Even so, upstate cities such as Syracuse, Rochester and Albany have surprisingly high numbers of people who use their own power to get to the office or wherever they work.  That, even though upstate New York winters aren't the sort many people would call "mild". 

OK: Alaska, Oregon and New York.  So which are the other two?, you ask.  No, not Arizona or New Mexico.  Texas?  Actually, the Lone Star State has one of the lowest rates of cycling and walking to work.  Florida does a bit better, but not much.


 


The other two states in which more than five percent of the population cycles or walks to work are---wait---Vermont and Montana.  

I've never been to Montana, but I have an e-mail pal (What's a better term for the modern version of the pen-pal?) who has told me about waking up to -15C weather before Columbus Day.  Having ridden in the Green Mountain state in all parts of the year, I can tell you that there's a good reason why old-time  Vermonters joke that their state has two seasons:  winter and the season between Fourth of July and Labor Day.  

But, having spent a fair amount of time riding in Vermont, I'm not surprised to find it on the list:  Wherever I rode, I encountered other cyclists.  It's one of those rare places that both breeds and attracts independent spirits.  

More to the point, Vermonters' habits, and those of the cylo-commuters in New York, Oregon, Montana and Alaska underscore a point I've made in other posts, and which others with greater expertise than mine have confirmed:  How much--or, for that matter, whether--people pedal has very little to do with the weather or climate.

Just look at Europe:  the cities and countries with the most bike commuters are in the north:  think Amsterdam, Copenhagen, Malmo. That all but mirrors the pattern in the US.

Why is such the case?  Well, I think--as I have said in earlier posts--cycling thrives in areas where there's an infrastructure, if you will, of cycling.  I'm not talking about bike paths:  Rather, I think advocacy organizations for cyclists (as well as pedestrians and mass transportation) and other formal and informal networks do more to encourage people to get out of their cars.  

Even more important, I believe, is a consciousness of, and respect for, cyclists among those who are behind the while rather than on two.  That is what I found in France, Switzerland, Belgium and other parts of Europe in which I've ridden:  The drivers always seem to understand how much space you need, how quickly you can stop and start on a bike and carious other intricacies of cycling.  One reason is, I believe, that a driver is more likely to have a "double life", if you will, as a cyclist than someone who's plying American roads in an SUV.

I know, from experience, that to the extent that such consciousness can be found in the US, it present in New York and Vermont.  From what I've read and heard, it also exists in Oregon, Alaska and Montana.  And it's nowhere near as prevalent in other parts of the US in which I've ridden.

The Last Sunday

Americans regard Labor Day as the unofficial end of summer.   If it is, perhaps today--Thanksgiving Sunday, or the last Sunday of November--is the unofficial end of fall or the  beginning of the Christmas season.

Today felt like the end of a season of some sort.  The ride I took today was more than pleasant; the skies cleared of yesterday's rain and the crispness one could feel in the air a couple of days ago has given way to a bracing nip.

I rode to Point Lookout, in part because I hadn't ridden there in a while, but also because I figured that, since my route wouldn't take me anywhere near the malls or any other retail "magnet", I wouldn't encounter much traffic.  

Turns out, I was right.  In fact, the streets of Atlantic and Long Beaches--the first two Nassau County towns I encounter after crossing the bridge from Queens--were deserted.  I sometimes encounter that on Saturdays or High Holy Days, as a large number of observant Jews live in the area.  But to encounter hardly a car, cyclist or pedestrian on a Sunday, even when it isn't beach season, is unusual, to say the least.  

I did, however, notice that the bars were full, and it didn't look like the patrons were "doing" brunch.  When I glanced into one of the windows, I saw the reason why:  Most of the patrons, it seemed, were gazing at football (American-style) matches on wide-screen TVs as they munched on chicken wings and quaffed brews.

In fact, the largest congregation of people I saw outdoors were standing on line at an ice cream stand, open for the last time until, probably, March. (A handlettered sign read, "See you in the Spring!:)  Even the sorts of people one encounters along the beaches and Point Lookout in the Fall and Winter--bird watchers, philosophers and poets manques, fisher-men and -women--were gone, with a few exceptions:

It almost seemed as if the tide would have stayed out as long as that man and his dog trotted on the sandbar.  I wonder if these souls felt the same way:

Today I rode alone, by choice.  In other years, I have ridden on the last Sunday in November with people with whom I never rode--or even never saw--again.  Whether or not I continued to ride during the winter (I did in most years, though usually not as much as I rode during the other seasons), I wouldn't see them.   By the time the next cycling season began--in February or March or April, depending on that year's weather--they were gone, to new schools, new jobs, new towns (or even states or countries), new lives.

The mild weather we've enjoyed in this part of the world this fall may well continue through the next few months, and I may not cycle much less than I have ridden during the past few weeks.  Or we may be snow- and ice-bound, as we were for several weeks last winter, and ride very little.  Or there might be some other change in my life, for better or worse, that affects or doesn't affect how much I ride between now and the time lilacs and cherry blossoms start opening themselves to the furtive early-spring sun.

Whatever happens, today, like every last Sunday in November I recall, feels like the unofficial end of cycling season.  Any ride I take after today, and before the beginning of Spring or the new cycling season, will seem like an interlude rather than a normal part of the cycle. 

Somehow it seems fitting that I rode Arielle, my Mercian Audax.  Out of all of my bikes, she seems to most embody the spirit of my riding.  If I could only take one more ride, I'd choose her.  I doubt that today's trek will be my last before Spring.  Still, Arielle seems to be the right bike to ride at the end of the season.

(There isn't much to lean a bike against at Point Lookout!)

Preparing For The Season

Whether you think Labor Day or the Autumnal Equinox signals the season's end, it's still Summer, at least for today.

But, since Fall is rapidly approaching, I find myself thinking about cycling through falling temperatures, not to mention rain and possibly snow.  When people ask how I keep warm, I say, "Dress in layers and keep pedaling."

Perhaps there are other ways:

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.

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.

Your Secret Vice Is 20 Years Old Today!

Admit it:  It's the site you go to when nobody's looking.

It's the site you click on to in the confines of your cubicle, when you think the boss is out to lunch.

It's the site where, every time you get your credit card bill, you're shocked at how much you've spent.

What site is it?

No, it's not Sexy Asian Ladies or Hot Firefighters.  And it's not the offshore casino site.

You know what I'm talking about:  eBay, the world's secret vice.

From TrueNorth

Today it turned 20 years old.  It began when Pierre Omidyar wanted to find out what would happen if everyone in  the world had access to a single global marketplace.  

Over Labor Day weekend in 1995, he wrote the code for an auction website on which he listed a broken lazer pointer he was going to throw away.  That lazer pointer, of course, became the very first item sold on AuctionWeb, as eBay was known for its first two years.  

(Omidyar couldn't believe someone would buy a broken lazer pointer. He sent a message to the buyer reminding him that the pointer was indeed non-functioning.  The buyer replied that he understood and was, in fact, a collector of used lazer pointers.  Now that's a strange hobby!)

Within a week of AuctionWeb's launch, a pair of autographed Marky Mark underwear sold for $400.  Other items sold on the site during that week included a Superman metal lunchbox for $22 and a Toyota Tercel for $3200.

I tried to, but couldn't, find out what was the first bicycle-related item sold on the site.  I suspect it was sold not too long after AuctionWeb was launced.  After all, AuctionWeb/eBay started in the San Francisco Bay area, which was arguably the most cycle-centric area of the United States before Portland stole some of its thunder.  Also, eBay seems as if it was made for cyclists, as so many of us are selling our old bikes, parts and accessories as we acquire new ones, or are looking for replacement parts--or stylish jerseys and bags-- that are no longer made.

EBay has been called the world's largest garage sale.  For cyclists, it's the world's biggest swap meet.  

Now I'm going to look for a pair of neon yellow triathlon handlebars.

To The Lighthouse

Today, Millie had her annual Labor Day barbecue.

That meant, of course, that I had to pre-emptively burn off some calories.  What better way than an early ride?

The bike lanes along the East River seemed utterly bucolic in the absence of about half of this city's population.  Best of all, I found myself cycling across the bridge to Roosevelt Island with other cyclists--and no motor vehicles--for company.  

If the lanes on the Queens side of the river seemed peaceful, the island felt like a sleepy fishing village.  I even used a lighthouse as a landmark for my ride!

Of course, one needs a lamp like the one in the photo to as a reminder that, after all, it's still an urban setting.  Plus, I suppose that a spot like that can be lonely sometimes.  

Somehow the light of the partly-cloudy late-summer sky seemed to guide me to them.

May Day: Comrades Cycle

Today is May Day.  Wheelmen of the world, unite!

All right, that previous exhortation is sexist.  The League of American Wheelmen is, after all, now known as the League of American Cyclists.

Cyclists of the world, unite!  I guess that works.  It sacrifices the alliteration of "Wheelmen of the world" for the assonance of "Cyclists" and "unite".  To tell you the truth, I'd rather hear someone say "Nice assonance!" than "Love your 'literation!"

But seriously...I have just recently learned of something that is appropriate to talk about today:  a worker-owned cooperative bicycle shop.  It's located, appropriately enough, in Chicago and is called, even more appropriately, Comrade Cycles.  As in, "On the fifth day of Marxmas/ Dear comrade gave to me/ A five year plan."

 

I forget how the rest of that song goes.  I haven't heard it in years.  But although I have never considered myself a Marxist, I would go to a shop called "Comrade" on principle.

Apparently, it's a very well-liked shop.  Of course, any shop that's doing well offers any or all of these:  friendly and helpful staff, good repair work, fair prices and a good location.  From the reviews I've seen, Comrade offers all of them.  And it even has a manifesto!

I suspect that one reason why Comrade Cycles is so popular because most people, including cyclists, work for a living and so feel some sense of solidarity with other workers. And, as workers of whatever kind, we want to make enough money to buy a bike and have enough time off our jobs to enjoy it.  Plus, we tend to care a bit more about environmental issues, which affect workers more than those who are living off their labor.

And, even though many of us ride alone, we understand the importance of cooperation.  Most cyclists I've met are helpful and are very conscious of the fact that in helping other cyclists, we help ourselves.
 

One Way To Commemorate This Day

Today, on Martin Luther King Day, I thought it would make sense to share something I learned just recently:  He actually gave his "I Have A Dream" speech--albeit in a slightly different form-- for the first time in Detroit, some two months before the whole world heard him deliver it from Washington.

It's interesting that such a fact has been all but lost to history, especially when one considers how much sense it makes.  After all, he made his speech in Detroit right around the time it became a majority-black city.  Also, King had, by that time, realized that the struggles of the labor movement were part of an overall struggle for justice, and no city has ever been more emblematic of the American labor movement than Detroit.

It's thus fitting that there's a "Tour  de Troit" taking place today. If today's weather in the Motor City is anything like what it normally has at this time of year, I give "props" to whoever rides it.  

The name of the ride is kind of funny.  The name of the city itself means "strait" in French; Francophone settlers who came by way of Quebec named the then-settlement for "le detroit du lac Erie", which separates it from what is now Windsor, Ontario.

(If you are under-age, or of delicate sensibilities, please skip over everything else in this parenthetical element.  The second syllable--"troit"--means "narrow" and is pronounced the way Anglophones pronounce a vulgar term for a part of the female anatomy.  In fact, it's believed that British soldiers in World War I introduced the term in to the English-speaking world.)

Anyway, congratulations to everyone who is riding today. And thank you for everything, Dr. King!

New Museum For Old Bikes In Newburgh?

I have been to Newburgh, New York twice in my life.  Both times I got there on my bicycle:  once on a day trip there and back from New York City, another time during a long weekend mini-tour of the Catskills.  

Although a decade separated the two visits, I had almost exactly the same impression both times:  It's rather like a miniature, and more compressed, version of The Big Apple, my hometown.  What I mean is that it's the sort of place where you can see grandeur and despair side by side, and see them together again on the next block, and the block after that.  

It's as architecturally and historically rich as any place I've seen in the US.  I say that as someone who has spent time in large cities like San Francisco, Boston and Philadelphia (and, of course, New York) as well as smaller but impressive towns like Savannah and Providence.  The Downing Mansion would be impressive anywhere, but its setting on the Hudson River, with the mountains in the background, makes it even more so. 

Nearby is the house that served as George Washington's headquarters during the final year of the American Revolution.  It was there that he issued the Proclamation of Peace, effectively ending the war and beginning the independent American nation.  In that house, he also rejected the idea that he should be king and ended the so-called Newburgh Conspiracy that would have left the government controlled by the military.  And, while there, he also conceived or made other contributions to the founding of this country, including ones that influenced the writing of the Constitution.

That house became the first publicly owned historic site in the United States.  The Downing Mansion and other beautiful old houses have been preserved through doting private owners or the efforts of organizations devoted to preservation.  

But literally steps (or pedal strokes) away from those houses is urban blight that reminds people of places like Camden NJ or the South Bronx during the 1970s and '80's.  I saw lots, and even whole blocks, that looked as if bombs had been dropped on them.  In fact, they are the remnants of "urban-renewal" projects begun and aborted or abandoned, for a variety of reasons, decades ago.  And there were other blocks where people huddled up in homes splintered and full of holes, like coats they wore through one winter after another.

Many of those people, I learned, were parolees, current and former addicts and welfare recipients placed in those houses by social service agencies because there weren't any affordable places nearby.  Yes, it was essentially a taxpayer-funded Skid Row.  

But there have been attempts to "bring back" Newburgh.  Across the river, the town of Beacon is often called "Williamsburg on the Hudson" because of the hipsters and gentrifiers that have created a colony of trendy restaurants, bars, galleries, microbreweries and the like.  A similar wave is, from what I hear, finding its way to Newburgh.  

Actually, one successful attempt to keep an historic structure from falling apart--or falling altogether--has been the creation of a motorcycle museum by a city native.  Gerald Doering bought a 1929 Indian Scout locally in 1947, when he was twenty years old.  He loved it, and motorcycling generally, so much that he rode it to Miami, where he sought work with a Newburgh dealership that relocated there.

When that didn't work out, he started an electrical contracting business--and the seeds of his collection, which is centered on the Indian brand and bikes from the early days of motorcycling.  That collection became the foundation for Motorcyclepedia, the museum they opened in 2011.

Motorcyclepedia board member Jean Lara with one of the bicycles to be housed in Velocipede, a bicycle museum planned in Newburgh, NY.  (Photo by Leonard Sparks of the Times Herald-Record.)

Turns out, he and his son were also collecting bicycles, also mainly from that period, though some are earlier.  In a way, it's not so surprising, when you consider that most of the early motorcycle makers (and some current ones) were originally bicycle manufacturers.   Moreover, bicycles and motorcycles were even more similar in those days than they are now.  

Now Doering pere and fils are seeking approval from the Newburgh planning board for a museum called "Velocipede", which they want to house in a former labor union hall they purchased in December 2015. 

Hmm...I may have to make another trip to Newburgh.  I'd like to do it on my bike, again!

American Style

A few posts ago, I talked about the 1970's  "Bike Boom."  One phenomenon related to it is the rise, for a time, of a sort of cottage industry.  For the first time since the Six-Day Races of the 1930's, a number of American artisans were building frames in the US.  At the same time, a few notable framebuilders emigrated to the US and set up shop here.

Until that time, about the only high-quality custom bike built in the US was the Schwinn Paramount.  Nearly all of the bikes ridden by US Olympians until 1984 were Paramounts; one urban legend of the time said that company founder Ignaz Schwinn and his sons and grandsons built those bikes--on which they never made any money--out of patriotism and their desire to ensure that Schwinn was the Great American Bike Builder.

But by the 1970's, a small but growing number of cyclists wanted high-quality lightweight bicycles.  Most people don't realize how labor-intensive building bicycles, especially those with hand-built frames is. That accounts for their high prices and why Schwinn could not keep up with the demand, as small as it was.  So, a few builders thought it was a good time to enter the frame.

Colin Laing came here from England, Falliero Masi from Italy and Francisco Cuevas from Argentina (He began his career in Spain) and set up shop.  Around the same time, Albert Eisentraut, Tom Kellogg, McLean Fonvielle and other US-born framebuilders began practicing their craft.  

One such builder was Brian Baylis, who built this bike:

I am sorry that this isn't a higher-resolution photo.  The details of this frame are just amazing.  And, of course, the color scheme is something I might have ordered.  But it's not a "fade"; even though this frame was built in the '80's, Baylis--or whoever ordered this frame--didn't get sucked into that unfortunate trend.

He just recently retired from framebuilding.  Others from his generation stopped building or were hired by larger bike manufacturers to build "custom" bikes for them.  The reasons why they did so were mainly economic:  In spite of their high cost to the consumer, most custom-built frames make very little money for those who build them.  It's also hard on the body:  that is one reason why Baylis has retired and Peter White, renowned for his wheelbuilding and his eponymous shop in New Hampshire, stopped building frames.  
 

A Quick Ride, The Race And A Race To The Bottom

Today I had breakfast with my mother and a friend of hers who's of a generation that didn't, and still doesn't, do brunch.  Later, I went to see La-La Land (nothing deep, but not bad)and went out to dinner with my mother and father.

In between breakfast and the movie, I squeezed in a bike ride. I just made enough turns to ride in circles (and sometimes squares and triangles and other geometric figures) that brought me back to where I started.  

Along the way, I visited an old friend:

Well, OK, I first encountered "The Race" two years ago.  Its creator, Wes Cackler, actually seemed to understand cycling.  Perhaps he is a cyclist?

Unfortunately, nobody in the city or county seems to understand that pubilc sculptures require maintenance as much as buildings or other structures do.  Well, to be precise, while there was grant money (apparently from outside sources) for the sculpture, no money was budgeted for its upkeep.  To be fair, the city's and county's arts budget is all but non-existent.

Enough about politics and philistinism.  The ride was pleasant, with early afternoon weather much like yesterday's.  I did something, however, that I regret--at least a little:  I stopped at "Wally World".

It was the same branch of Walmart in which I bought a tire and two tubes during a visit here a few years ago because I flatted, it was Easter Sunday and no place else was open.  Today, I had no such excuse.

You see, we don't have a Walmart anywhere in New York City and, to my knowledge, the nearest one is at least 100 km away.  The only department stores in the Big Apple that rival Wally's in size are those of Macy's.  But Macy's, shall we say, caters to a different clientele, and doesn't offer building tools and supplies or sporting goods, among other things.  And the other department stores, such as Kohl's or Target, can fit into one or two floors of Macy's.

The day I bought the tire and tubes, I took a quick glance at what was offered in the bicycle section and was neither pleased nor surprised.  Today, I wasn't looking for anything bike-related, but I decided to check out their bike section anyway.  

Now, it was sad enough to see brands I once respected, such as Schwinn, Mongoose, affixed to bikes that were, frankly, junk.  And it was rather disheartening to see Bell--the creators of the first bike helmet that offered both protection and performance--on generic bike parts and accessories to make them seem, well, less generic, as well as useless plastic "baskets" for the handlebars of toddlers' trikes.

Today, though, one of the mighty really had fallen, at least in my estimation.  A company that has a long history in cycling, and whose products I've used for almost the entire time I've been a serious cyclist, are now embossed on emissions from Chinese factories:

I can't believe the company that made the first really good frame pump for clincher tires--as well as other fine accessories--in France, for decades, is now on the shelves of stores owned by a company that has done more than most to enable child labor and other kinds of worker exploitation in developing countries.

I doubt that Walmart has ever sold anything made in France (except perhaps for some cheese) or any other European country, or the British Isles.  I don't think much, or perhaps anything, at all the store sells today was produced in Japan.  None of that, however, is as galling as the fact that the company continues to label merchandise "Made in USA" when, in fact, it is made in China  or other low-wage companies, or is made from components manufactured in those countries and assembled or merely finished in the 'States.

Zefal products, made in China, on Walmart shelves:  How the mighty have fallen!