Voyage En Rose

 In  2000, I did a bike tour through the Pyrenees, from France into Spain and back.  I started in Toulouse, where I spent four days.  To this day, it's one of my favorite large cities.  The people are friendly and it has all of the other things to love about French cities and towns:  great food, beautiful public spaces and interesting art.  But the thing that leaves me with a warm glow (please indulge me in this analogy/pun) is the light at the end of the day.  So much of the city softly blazes as the sun sets among brick buildings.  For that, Toulouse is often called la ville rose.

So why did I think about that while riding yesterday?  (Well, why wouldn't I?)  As we near the winter solstice, the days are growing shorter.  So any given ride has a greater chance of ending, or even continuing, into the sunset, under twilight.  After riding to the Rockaways and Coney Island, I passed through Clinton Hill--a neighborhood just east of the Brooklyn Academy of Music and Atlantic Center.  

The area is probably best known for its old stone churches, brownstones and the Pratt Institute.  Nestled among them is a smaller but well-respected university:  St. Joseph's.  As a longtime presence, it--not surprisingly--shares the neighborhood's architectural and other visual delights.  

Those buildings, on Clinton Avenue, are adjacent to St. Joseph's and share many characteristics with its other buildings.  They are not, however, part of the university.  The exteriors have been almost unchanged since they were built in 1905, in part because the block is one of the city's first designated historic districts.

Whoever lives in those buildings comes home to a maison rose at the end of the day.  That might be reason enough to live in them, as so many other parts of this city have less rose and look more and more like they're built with neutral-tone Lego blocks. 

Bike Banks: A Solution To A "Hidden Poverty?"

I haven't been to the Netherlands in a while.  So my firsthand memories of it aren't as clear as they are of countries I've seen more recently. But an impression I formed during my time there has been reinforced in all sorts of ways:  It is a country of contradictions and paradoxes.  You can see it in the art:  Few countries can claim as many renowned artists, in proportion to its population. Those artists include Rembrandt and Mondrian; Vermeer and Van Gogh (though the French love to claim Vincent as their own, as he lived and did his best work in Arles).  

Another paradox is that it's the country that, some historians and economists argue, created modern capitalism--or, at any rate, exported it to the world. Yet it was one of the first nations to institute a comprehensive--or, if you like, socialist-- safety net for all of its citizens.  

That system, which includes single-payer healthcare, is one reason why Dutch society isn't as socially stratified as the US.  While there are some very rich people, few (if any) approach the level of affluence seen in the wealthiest Americans, Russians or the economic elite in other countries.  Yet, there is still a stigma attached to a particular kind of poverty or hardship: the kind in which parents have difficulty providing for their children.  Even in a time or near-record inflation, including energy costs that have doubled, people are expected to "just shut up and get a job and don't complain," as one person put it. 

Some Dutch people and families, like their counterparts in other countries, have to make difficult choices.  So one of the things that might be sacrificed is--even in nation where it's said, only half-jokingly, kids learn how to pedal before they learn how to talk--a bike for a kid. Not having a bike, for a young person, can result in taunts and bullying--and make a commute to school even longer and more arduous.

That is where Dutch "bike banks" come in. Think of them as a cross between a program like Recycle-A-Bicycle and a food bank.  They Royal Dutch Touring Club ANWB has created a scheme in which volunteers train people, including teenagers who have dropped out of schools, to make second-hand and discarded bikes ride-worthy.  Those bikes are then distributed to kids in need.  

The biggest problem is that even in the Netherlands, where bikes outnumber humans at roughly the same ratio that guns outnumber people in the USA, there aren't enough bikes to meet the demand. One bike bank in Amsterdam has received 1200 applications for 400 bikes.

The "bike banks," some of which are found in low-income neighborhoods of cities like Amsterdam and the Hague, not only spare kids from taunting and parents from shame.  Bicycles are ingrained in Dutch life in ways that few Americans can understand. "In Holland, you need a bicycle to join in," said Inge Veliscek of ANWB.  A bicycle is necessary "to go to your football, or to your friends or the school of your choice," she explained.  

Photo by Anna Holligan for the BBC.

As an example, a girl named Sanna picked up a sky-blue cruiser. "It's pretty," she exclaimed.  But even more important, according to her mother, it will allow her to ride to a better school in a better neighborhood. Knowing that, it's easy to imagine that having a reliable bicycle can result in a better job or living situation--or to have a job at all if paying transit fares every day is too much of a strain on the budget.

A bike "makes your world bigger," Ms. Veliscek said.  Not having one is a "hidden poverty."

Perhaps understanding that last phrase is key to creating, not only a bike culture that does more than fetishize accessories, but a transportation system in which bicycles are a key component.  Such an endeavor seems anathematic to "law and order" American politicians, but completely logical  to the Dutch, who prize order as much as anyone in the world.

Combining Her Passions For Pedaling And Painting

Perhaps it's because I've lived in New York most of my life: For me, bicycling and public art have become more and more intertwined.

These days, however, one doesn't have to go to biketopias like Portland or Amsterdam or art havens like Paris or New York to experience murals, large sculptures or installations during a ride.  It seems that smaller 'burgs are getting in on the idea of combining the two.  I think it has to do with increasing numbers of artists living and working outside of the traditional creative capitals for any number of reasons (not the least of which is the cost of studio space, supplies, or simply feeding and housing one's self) and cycling becoming a transportation option and recreation choice for many more people.

Among the communities that are bringing cycling and art together are the city of Kalamazoo and its eponymous Michigan county.  To that end, Bike Friendly Kalamazoo commissioned a mural that is going up along Lovers Lane, a popular cycling route in the city of Portage.

Photo by Dan Nichols for WWMT

The very colorful 17-by-58 foot image is being painted by local artists and is slated to be finished by the 15th of this month.  On that day, a public engagement will be held for the families that helped to paint it.

For the creator of the mural, Ellen VanderMyde, working on this project combines her passions for pedaling and painting.  She grew up in Portage and "grew up cycling this path" and hopes that people will ride to the mural to see it in person.

"We wanted to express the joys of cycling," explained Bicycle Friendly Kalamazoo President Paul Selden.  He hopes that "everybody who sees it would maybe want to get on a bicycle and if not maybe give those who are on bicycles a little more space on the road."

He also hopes to have another mural completed this year and that it, along with the work in progress, will be the beginning of more such installations. 

As far as I am concerned, public works of art readily visible to cyclists--whether or not those works are bicycle-themed--are  part of a city's cycling infrastructure.  If nothing else, I'd rather see a mural or a sculpture while I'm riding than risk my bike or my self on a poorly-conceived, -built or -maintained bike lane.

  

Securing Your Bike Without Weighing It Down

One of the biggest "arms races" in cycling doesn't involve technological innovations in the equipment Tour de France riders use.

Rather, it has to do with what transportation and recreational cyclists use to keep their bikes.  Ever since Kryptonite and Citadel introduced U-locks (or, as some call them, D-locks) in the mid-1970s, nearly every bike security system is a variation on the design.  The changes have mainly been in the locking mechanisms themselves, as thieves typically found ways to pick them.  

Lock-makers found ways to stay one step ahead of the perps until another kind of technological development--in batteries--made power tools lighter and more portable.  So, now a professional or habitual bike thief's weapon if choice is more likely to be an angle axle grinder, which he or she uses to erode the lock's shank.

In response, U- and D- lock makers beefed up them up, using harder steel and more of it. One unfortunate consequence, which you might be familiar with, is that such locks have become very heavy.

Knowing that, a British company has created a new line--the Litelok X series--of D locks (their terminology).  They are fashioned from something called Baronium, a composite material that is fused to a hardened high-grain, high-tensile steel core. The makers of these locks claim that their products will resist grinders better than any others on the market at about half the weight of conventional D locks.

 

Litelok's makers say the locks are rattle-free, owing to the tight clearances of the shackle and the dual-locking design.   Each come with the company's new Twist + Go mounting system, which they claim will fit any bike.  The firm has also partnered with British bag maker Restrap to make a belt-fitting holster that will allow you to carry the Litelok on your person.

Two different models of the lock, the X-1 and the X-3, will be available.  The X-3, the more expensive one, is slightly smaller and heavier, but has an Abloy Sentry lock--currently considered the "gold standard'--while the X-1 has an ART 4-accredited cylinder.  Both items exceed the new Sold Standard bicycle lock ratings.

 

She's Recovering, And I'm Glad

One way I know an artist is really good is that I look at, listen to or read their work even if it's in a genre I don't particularly like.  One example is Hank Williams.  I don't categorically dislike country music, but I can't say I'm a fan of it generally.  I do, however, own CDs of Hank's work because he had an expressive voice and did work that, to me, is clearly art.

Musically, I would also put Amy Grant in the same category.  I'm definitely not a fan of Christian rock, but I appreciate her skill as a songwriter and singer.  

That is not the only reason, though, that I am happy that she has, seemingly, recovered so quickly and well from her recent bike crash--and is scaling back her touring and recording schedule.  As someone who has had two crashes (in half a century of dedicated cycling) that landed me in emergency rooms--both within four months, two years ago--I wish anyone who's been sideswiped, doored or otherwise swept into a crash or other mishap that resulted in injury.

I know that some Christians will say she's "gone secular" and that others categorically reject anything with a message of religion, or even belief.  I do, however, appreciate her skills as a songwriter and vocalist.  

As a cyclist, though, I am glad she is doing well--and hope that her accident doesn't deter her from getting back on her bike.

 

Change And Reconnection

Early yesterday morning I rode Tosca, my Mercian fixed-gear bike, along the waterfronts of Astoria, Long Island City, Greenpoint and Williamsburg.  Another heat wave, like the one we had last week, was on its way.  But that was just one reason why I took an early ride.

After showering and a cup of coffee, I pedaled my "beater" to Court Square, near the much-missed (by me, anyway) Five Pointz building.  Riding there allowed me to take a more direct subway ride to Montrose Avenue in Brooklyn.

There, I met two old (OK, longtime) friends:

On previous trips to France, I've spent time with Jay and Isabelle who, I now realize, are my longest-standing friends. They came to town because their son has just begun to live and work in New Jersey, for an American branch of a company for whom he'd been working in France.

 

Meeting in Bushwick was Jay's idea.  This wasn't his or Isabelle's first time in New York--Jay actually lived here for a time--but he was looking through the Guide Routard (a sort of French counterpart of the Lonely Planet guide) for something "different."  So, as per the guide's suggestion, we started at the Montrose Street subway station, crossed Bushwick Avenue (the bane of Brooklyn cyclists) and wended our way through the back streets of a Bushwick industrial zone.

I have cycled through those streets, sometimes as a destination, other times en route to or from other places.  While I've seen buildings torn down and built up, spaces opened and closed, people and organizations coming and going, I don't think there's any neighborhood or district that shows me how much this city changes over time.  For one thing, some of the murals themselves change.  Also, I remember when the graffiti on the buildings wasn't of the kind that people like Jay and Isabelle would take a subway ride, or people like me would take a bike ride, to see. About twenty years ago, people--mostly men--worked in the warehouses and workshops during the day.  Anyone who stayed after business hours was too poor to live anyplace else.  Young people didn't move to the neighborhood; they looked for ways out of it.  And whenever I rode through it, I was the only adult cyclist for blocks, or even miles, around.

Of course, people change, too.  After a morning of wandering through one of the most expansive displays of truly public art in this city, we went to Christina's (Was our choice influenced by the mural? ;-)) in Greenpoint. It's a sort of cross between a New York/New Jersey diner--complete with Frank Sinatra and '70's pop tunes playing in the background--and a working-class eatery one might find in Cracow. I think we were the only non-Polish people in the place. Over pierogis and blintzes, we talked about their son, Jules, and how he wants to "voyager a travers  le monde"--see the world--just as we did when we were young. Actually, there are still places I want to see, and to re-visit.  But the pandemic has postponed travel plans for the past two years.  And, although I am fully vaccinated and take precautions, Jay reminded me of why I want to wait.  He and Isabelle didn't plan on coming here until a week or so before they arrived, which meant that their flights were expensive.  But, more to the point, he said that if, by some chance, he or Isabelle were to test positive and had to quarantine, or new restrictions were imposed--or a flight were abruptly cancelled--it could cost thousands of euros or dollars.

I told them that, if everything works out, I hope to return to France in January.  Seeing them gave me hope for that.  If nothing else, I felt as if I'd reconnected with what and whom I have known and loved, in all of changes and the ways they haven't changed.  

After I send this post, I will take another early ride and get home in time for brunch.

In Place

Yesterday I was torn between taking a familiar or a new ride.  So I did a bit of both:  I pedaled through areas of Westchester County I hadn’t seen in a while, on roads I’d never ridden.

While riding, I couldn’t help but to think about how two affluent towns, so close, could feel so different. Scarsdale, New York, like Greenwich, Connecticut, is one of the most affluent towns in the United States.  Both have quaint downtowns full of shops that offer goods and services you don’t find in big-box stores.  But while some Greenwich establishments have the intimacy of places where generations of people have congregated, others are like the ones in Scarsdale and other wealthy parts of Westchester County:  more self-conscious—you can see it in the names, some of which show merely that whoever came up with the name took French or Italian—and more trendy while trying not to seem trendy.  

Also, the mansions of Greenwich are set further from the roadway than those in Scarsdale.  I suspect that has to do with the differences between the towns’ zoning codes—which has to do with the philosophies of the people who made them.  Also, part of Greenwich includes farms where horses are bred and herbs are grown.

In other words, they reflect the difference between New England and suburban New York wealth (though Greenwich is certainly part of the New York Metro area). 

While both towns have public art and sculpture, I don’t think I’ve seen anything like this in Greenwich:

Simone Kestelman, the creator of “Pearls of Wisdom,” says she was inspired by what pearls mean: something to wear for special occasions, purity, spiritual transformation, dignity, charity honesty, integrity—and, of course, wisdom acquired over time.

One might expect to see something like this in Greenwich:

Indeed, the town has public horlogues like that one,  But I encountered it in the Bronx, across the street from Montefiore Hospital!

Title IX, Fifty Years Later

 On this date in 1972–fifty years ago—Title IX became law in the United States.

It’s commonly associated with its most visible manifestation:  women’s sports in educational institutions.  It is, however, a broad piece of legislation (Do I sound like a lawyer or politician?) stating that no educational institution that receives Federal funding—as most, even private colleges and schools do—can discriminate on the basis of sex.

The title of this blog is “Midlife Cycling.”  I am, however, old enough to have grown up with a girl much smarter than I am and possessing talents I can only wish for but whose parents did everything they could to keep her from going to college (or art school, her dream) because “she’ll get married, stop working and it will all be wasted.”

That rationale was used to impose strict quotas on—or ban outright—women in graduate schools, medical and law schools and even undergraduate programs like engineering. Those schools and programs just happened to offer access to some of the highest-paying jobs which, in the minds of decision-makers (nearly all men) “men need more” because they were going to support those women who were denied access to those programs and jobs—and the children those men and women would have.

Such attitudes were also used to discourage or bar girls and women from participating in sports. It was a kind of circular argument:  Girls’ and women’s participation in sports was pointless because once they graduated from school or aged out of whatever program they were in, there were no more opportunities for them, professionally or otherwise. That women and girls didn’t participate in sports was the rationale for not creating such opportunities! 

In addition to being circular, such an argument was hypocritical and nakedly sexist:  To my knowledge, no boy or man (including me, in my previous life) was ever discouraged from participating in sports because he had little or no chance of getting a scholarship or making a living from it.

One irony of Title IX is that sports is not mentioned anywhere in it.  Only subsequent revelations that women’s and girls’ sports budgets were as little as 1% of those for men’s and boy’s teams caused the law to be applied to sports programs.

While female participation in sports is undoubtedly much greater than it was half a century ago, it—and, perhaps more importantly, the budgets for it—are still much lower than those for males, and not nearly in proportion to student enrollment. Women make up nearly 60 percent of college and university enrollments but only 44 percent of varsity athletes.

What’s even more revealing is that budgets for women’s sports teams are not even in proportion to their level of participation.

Much of that has to do with priorities. In most colleges and universities, most of the revenue comes from football (American-style) and basketball.  While there are many women’s basketball programs, they, with few exceptions, don’t garner the attention devoted to men’s teams.

I think the reason for that is also the reason why, even sports in which women’s participation is greater, men’s abilities are prized over women’s.  Because, on average, they are taller and stronger, men can jump higher, hit harder and run faster.  Those abilities translate into dunks, tackles and sprints:  the sorts of things used to promote football, men’s basketball and other men’s sports.

If there were as much respect accorded to the qualities of female athletes—such as flexibility, resilience and endurance—there would be more respect for, and professional opportunities in, not only women’s basketball, but also in other sports like volleyball, gymnastics and, yes, cycling.

Speaking of which:  About 200 post-secondary educational institutions sponsor club-level cycling teams, which compete against other schools but are usually funded by the students themselves.  As of 2020,  21 colleges and universities have what are known as “varsity” cycling teams.  They are funded by the schools, just like (but not at the level of) football, basketball and other “major” teams.  All 21 of those schools have both men’s and women’s teams. In a few, the dollar value of the average woman’s scholarship is greater than the average men’s; in others, it’s less or equal.

So, while intercollegiate cycling might be doing a little better in gender equity than other intercollegiate sports are doing, as researchers might say, the sample size is small.  But, given what I’ve said about the differences between male and female athletes, and the fact that some overall cycling records have been held by women, I think the potential of women’s cycling, whether collegiate, Olympic or professional, has yet to be realized.

A Joycean Parade of Cyclists

 Today is, of course, St. Patrick’s Day.

Since I am not Irish (at least, not to my knowledge!), I will not tell you whether or how to celebrate this day.  I will say, however, that so much of what we’ll see today is what I’ll call Celtic Kitsch. (Confession:  I was in college before I knew that the “C” at the beginning of “Celtic” is pronounced like a “k.”  Until then, I’d been pronouncing the word as “sell-tick,” like the basketball team in Boston.) The truth is, few can agree on what is “authentically” Irish. Although schools teach the Gaelic language, nearly everyone speaks (beautifully) the language of their colonizers.  And, apart from Roman Catholicism with a strong monastic tradition—which the young are largely abandoning—we actually know little about pre-Anglo Irish culture and history.

James Joyce understood as much.  Although all of his writing is set in his native country—which he lived away from for most of his adult life—he is not part of a “Celtic revival.” Instead, he used Ireland—Dublin, mainly—as a lens through which he could explore how people move through life, and how it moves through them—and, perhaps most important, our minds re-assemble it all, whether in images or language—or simply deal live with it as the chaos it is.  

Some have said that Joyce’s works—specifically Dubliners and Ulysses—are therefore to literature what Picasso’s Cubist paintings are to art.  Others have called him the first “cinematic” writer.  I agree with both, and would add that his narrative style is like a bicycle ride:  Whenever I take a ride, even one I’ve done hundreds of times, I see not only people and things I haven’t seen before, but a building, a city block, a tree or a seashore from an angle or in a different kind of light (or darkness) from what I saw on that same ride on a different day.

Martina Devlin, Darina Gallagher and Donna Cooney seem to understand as much.  On Sunday, they participated in a Dublin St. Patrick’s Day parade that includes a procession of 100 cyclists dressed in Ulysses-themed Edwardian clothes. They took spectators on a journey through places in the book.

Martina Devlin, Darina Gallagher and Donna Cooney (Photo by Norma Burke)

Cooney, the artistic director of the Dublin Cycling Campaign (now there’s a job I wouldn’t mind having!) said this year’s bicycle procession and St.Patrick’s Day parade are particularly special because February was the 100-year anniversary of Ulysses’ publication.  But the essence of the event might have been best summed up by Devlin, a writer whose speech included an excerpt from the novel and began with this:  “One of the landmark days in my life was when I learned how to ride a bike.”

“I felt as if I were on the road to somewhere.”

As were the cyclists and marchers in the Dublin parade, 100 years after Ulysses came into the world.

Robert Silverman: A Prophet Of Bicycle-Friendly Cities

 A few years ago, I spent an extremely pleasant long weekend in Montréal . What's not to like about a beautiful, diverse  city with good food and art where French is spoken?  

What made all of that even better?  Cycling.  La ville aux cent clochers is, simply, one of the best cities for cycling I've encountered.  The bike lanes aren't just lines of paint in a street:  They're physically separated from the rest of the traffic (although a couple I rode seemed a bit narrow for two-way bicycle traffic) and there seems to be more respect, or at least a better detente , between cyclists and drivers than I've seen in any US locale.

Moreover, the lanes I encountered weren't just paths that suddenly began in one place and just as suddenly ended somewhere else, far from any place else.  (Perhaps if I'd spent more time in the city, I might have found such useless paths.) Instead, there are at least a couple of lanes on which you can cross the city, and other lanes are actually useful in getting to and from anywhere you might be or want or need to go. You can even ride a lane to the Jacques Cartier Bridge or other crossings to or from the city, which is on an island.

What I didn't realize was that much of that pleasant, stress-free riding was a result, directly or indirectly, of "Bicycle Bob" Silverman.  

In 1975, he co-founded Le Monde à Bicyclette, or Citizens on Bicycles.  His choice of the French name was important because he knew that if he were to realize his dream of starting a "velorution " to break the "auto-cracy," he would need to reach beyond his mainly-anglophone circle.  Also, he said, the main cycling organization in his province--la Fédération quebecoise de cylotourisme , now known as Vélo-Québec, was focused mainly on recreational cycling. 

In the previous paragraph, you might've noticed that Silverman had a penchant for appropriating the rhetoric of political upheval.  That was no accident:  He identified as a Trotskyite and, in his twenties, lived in Cuba, where he met Che Guevara, before he was deported for distributing anti-Soviet literature.  After that, he lived and worked on an Israeli kibutz before 
"bouncing around Europe" and falling in love with cycling while riding in France (of course!). 

His vocabulary also reflected his flair for the dramatic. Le Monde à Bicyclette staged "die-ins" to protest cyclist deaths--which have since decreased significantly--in the city and province.  Silverman and his organization argued that the reason was not, as some claimed, that cyclists were careless or they shouldn't have been cycling in the city in the first place.  Rather, he argued that there were too many cars and that their number wouldn't stop growing as long as the city's and province's infrastructure is built around moving them rather than on human interactions and sustainable transportation--and that the bicycle is as viable a mode of transport as any other.

He also led other kinds of demonstrations, like the time he dressed up as Moses* and pretended to part the waters of the St. Lawrence River to lead cyclists across. (Hmm...Maybe this is why he was called a "prophet" of the bicycle-friendly, sustainable city.) Another time, he rolled out a carpet on Boulevard Maisonneuve to press for the group's demand for an east-west cycle route (which now exists) across the city.   In yet another action--which got Silverman three days in prison--he and a group of fellow cyclists painted clandestine cycle lanes in the dark of night.

Save for his time in Cuba, Israel and Europe, and the past few years in the Laurentians, Bob Silverman was a lifelong Montreal resident born and raised in the city.  His work was therefore not only abstract ideas about sustainability (before that became a widely-used term) or even cycling itself; it was his way of trying to achieve the kind of city he wanted.  That, according to Michael Fish, the architect who founded Save Montréal at around the same time Silverman and his friends started Le Monde à Bicyclette. "Nothing since the multiple achievements of Robert Silverman  for the rights of cyclists has so affected positively the environment of the region, at almost no public cost," he explained.

He and others want to memorialize Robert Silverman, who passed away at age 87 on Sunday.

Whatever the city does, the next time you ride there (or if you ever get to ride there), thank him.

*—I tried to find a photo of “Bicycle Bob” in Old Testament prophet mode. To this day, my mental image of Moses is Charlton Heston:  a result, most likely, of seeing “The Ten Commandments “ every year, on the night before Easter, during my childhood.

  

Why Does One Steal For Three?

 I've been told, by people who have worked in it, that the art business can be as shady as any other.  Perhaps I shouldn't be surprised:  It's a world of secrecy with very little regulation.  And, as with real estate, stocks or anything else that's bought and sold, paintings, sculptures and other created objects sell for, essentially, whatever people are willing to pay for them, which leads to all sorts of unethical behavior.

Still, I have trouble imaging that anyone has ever said, with a straight face, "Psst!  Wanna buy a Monet?"  I don't know whether I'd laugh or call the police if I were to hear that.

That is the reason why I don't understand art theft--or theft of anything but basic necessities, and then only by desperate, destitute people. (Mind you, I don't condone any sort of pilferage:  I simply can better understand the motives of a person who's simply trying to survive or feed his or her family.)  After all, what do you do with Rembrandt's Storm on the Sea of Galilee? Or Van Gogh's Poppy Flowers? Or Cezanne's Boy In A Red Vest?  Hang them on your wall and invite your friends over for dinner?  I mean, if you were to try to sell those paintings to anyone who recognized them, they'd know that it was fake or stolen.  You can't make it "go stealth" the way you can with, say, a contraband high-end watch.

So it is with unusual bicycles.  Most bike thieves want to sell the bikes or their parts, so they steal stuff that's valuable but common. (That makes even more sense when you realize that for several years running, the most-stolen car was the Toyota Camry.)  I would think that it's more difficult to unload a tandem, especially a high-end one.  And I would expect that a bicycle built for three (which was misidentified as a tandem in the article in which I learned about its theft) would be even trickier to sell, "chop shop" or simply disappear. How many triplet fames have you seen?

The Rumseys.  Courtesy: Salt Lake City Police Department

Fortunately for the Rumsey family of Houston, it didn't take long for their three-seater to be recovered after it was stolen in Salt Lake City.  They commissioned the bike 18 years old, not only so Dave and Merle could pedal with Ford, their 36-year-old son with Down's Syndrome, but also so it could travel with them.  The bike can be disassembled to fit into a suitcase and has therefore accompanied the family on every trip they've taken.

So, as you can imagine, the bike entwines all sorts of memories with its usefulness to the family.  That is the reason why they were so glad it was returned to them.  And perhaps it was a good thing that the bike is unlike almost any other.  The Salt Lake Police didn't say whether they'd caught the thief. If they hadn't, perhaps he realized it would be too difficult to sell or otherwise unload and abandoned it. What would he have done with a Picasso or a Caravaggio?

Egyptian Art Deco Catholic In Jackson Heights

 Jackson Heights is five to six kilometers from my apartment.  I have ridden through it, many times, along various routes.  Still, a ride can lead me to some interesting corner or structure I’d never seen or noticed before.

This is one such building.  At first glance, it doesn’t seem out of place: Like most of what is now in the neighborhood, it was built during the late 1920s:  around the same time as the Empire State and Chrysler Buildings. Also, many palatial movie theatres were constructed during that time, just when movies were becoming the most popular form of popular entertainment.  So it would be easy to take this building for a Loews or RKO cinema, especially when you look up.

Those “movie houses” often combined the line structures and geometric shapes of Art Deco with Egyptian motifs. They sound like an odd pairing until you look at them—and you realize that Howard Carter discovered King Tutankhamen’s tomb in the early 1920s, setting off a fad for all things Egyptian just as Art Deco was becoming the most influential style in architecture and design.

That is why this building doesn’t look out of place in Jackson Heights and would look right in parts of the Bronx or Miami Beach, which were also developed around the same time.

What makes this building so unusual, is this:

I grew up Catholic and have entered all sorts of church buildings and cathedrals here, in Europe and Asia.  I can’t say, however, that I’ve seen any other Catholic Church building—or, for that matter, any other house of worship—that looks quite like this one. 

And to think:  I came across it just because I decided to make a turn, and ride down a street, I hadn’t before.  That is one of the joys of cycling!

A Ride From Art To Marlee

 I've ridden to museums, galleries, plays, poetry readings, concerts and other cultural events.  It's one of my favorite ways to spend a day: I get to combine some of the things I love most.  

The problem, though is parking. I know, I sound like a motorist when I say that.  But only in a few venues can one bring in a bicycle. The Metropolitan Museum has bike racks in its parking garage and valet bicycle parking during certain hours.  But at most other events and venues, you take your chances with parking on the street.

A couple of days ago, during a late-day ride, I came across a solution to the problem:

The 5-50 Gallery is located, as the name indicates, at 5-50 51st Avenue in Long Island City.  More specifically, it occupies a garage--from what I can tell, a commercial one.  Converting industrial and retail spaces to use for art and performance is not new, but this gallery's space is uniquely accessible. 

No, that isn't a portait of Marlee on mushrooms.  It's one work by Kyle Gallagher, the artist featured when I stopped by. 

The paintings have a grab-you-by-the-collar quality, full of  colors that flash with, at once, the energy of street festivals and the urgency of flashing ambulance lights.  And the way cats and other living beings are rendered makes comics seem like a kind of mythology of the subconscious,  spun from threads of graffiti, street portraiture and abstraction.

All right, I know, you didn't come to this blog for two-bit art commentary. But there was something oddly appropriate, almost synchronistic, about encountering those paintings on a bike ride through an industrial-turned-trendy neighborhood.

When I got home, Marlee didn't care. She just wanted to know, "what's for dinner?"  

From Keds To Pajamas To...Bicycles

 "They shall beat their swords into ploughshares " comes from the book of Isaiah.  It's been used as a metaphor for a transition from one industry or economy or another.  The real transition, of course, is in the way resources are in the types of resources, and the ways they are, used.  

An example was 5 Pointz, an old water meter factory converted to artists' studios in Long Island City, just four kilometers from my apartment. Its owner also held a competition every year to decide which artists would grace its exterior with mural art.  It actually became a tourist attraction; people would ride the 7 train from Manhattan just to see the building as the train made its turn from Court House Square to Queensboro Plaza.

Sometimes I fall into the cynicism that tells me if I like something enough, it won't last.  In this case, that jadedess was justified:  The owner sold the property, tore down the factory and build just what this city--and the world--needs:  two luxury condominium towers, which kept the name "5 Pointz."

But some property-use conversions are more welcome.  I am thinking of what David and Louise Stone have done in Williamsport, Pennsylvania.  Their Bicycle Recycle shop, like other similar programs, "rescues" used bikes and either refurbishes them or strips them for parts to repair other bikes.  Some of those bikes are sold; others are donated.  And some of the the bikes and parts are used to train volunteers who work with them.  Their work, they say, is motivated by their knowledge that bicycles can change lives.

What might be most unusual about them--aside from the fact that they started Bicycle Recycle when they were of a certain age--is their location.  Yes, it's was a factory. What it made, and what distinguished it, seems about as incongruous for a bicycle-related enterprise as anything can be.

The name says it all:  The Pajama Factory.  Today it houses other businesses and artists' studios, in addition to Bicycle Recycle.  But it wasn't any old pajama factory: It was the largest of its kind, where, starting in 1934,  the Weldon Pajama Company  produced more of the garments than any other facility in the world. (Was Williamsport ever described as a "sleepy" town? Sorry, I couldn't resist that one!)  

The complex, however, dates to half a decade before the first sleepwear was made in it.  The Lycoming Rubber Company, a subsidiary of the US Rubber Company, built it between 1883 and 1919 as a place to manufacture their tennis, gym and yachting shoes--and their most famous product, Keds sneakers--in addition to other rubber goods.

From Keds to pajamas to recycled bikes--that's certainly an interesting trajectory.  And the Stones sound like interesting people.

What Would The Wright Brothers Have Done?

Photo by Cornelius Frolik

Two New York City boroughs, the Bronx and Queens, had similar histories and patterns of development, at least until the 1970s.  During that decade, fires ravaged parts of the Bronx, and others areas of the borough were gutted by de-industrialization and disinvestment, both by the city and private entities.  Still, the Bronx has more buildings and districts considered historically significant—some with landmark designation—than Queens has.  In fact, there are more Art Deco buildings in the Bronx than anywhere else in the United States except Miami.

One  reason why the Bronx has more historically significant buildings is, ironically, that the devastation of the 1970s discouraged developers from coming into the Bronx—and, as they are wont to do, tear buildings down.  On the other hand, during that time, Queens had a Borough President—Donald Manes—who never met a developer he didn’t like and had absolutely no interest in historic preservation.

I mention all of this because whenever a building is suggested for preservation, there is a debate about what, exactly, makes a structure historically significant and to what lengths should a city, county or other entity go to preserve it.

Specifically, both questions are being debated about 1005 West Third Street in Dayton, Ohio.  The city government wants to tear down the building because its internal structures have deteriorated after decades of disuse and neglect.  “It could collapse tonight, it could stand for another three years—nobody knows,” says Don Zimmer, Dayton’s nuisance abatement program supervisor.  

The Dayton Landmarks Commission has, however, denied the city’s request to tear it down.  They, along with Preservation Dayton, argue that at least  the building’s exterior could be preserved, which might entice a would-be investor.

So why are they debating about this particular building?  It’s not because the edifice was home to Gem City Ice Cream Co., as significant as that might be to some people in the area.  Rather, it has to do with GCICC’s predecessor:  a bike shop.

Specifically, it was home to the Wright Brothers’ first bicycle shop.  Yes, those Wright Brothers—who based much of their first successful aircraft’s design on their bicycles.

One wonders what they would do about the building.