A Cuevas Leads Me To A Beacon To Hollywood

For part of yesterday's ride to Point Lookout, an interesting fellow on an interesting bike accompanied me.

His name is Augustine, and this is his bike:

At first glance, it seems like another vintage road frame converted to single-speed usage.  In fact, it is.  But this is not just any old vintage from.  Oh, no. 

All right.  Looking at the headtube and fork crown may not give you a hint as to who made the frame.  But you can see that the builder did nice work.  You can especially see it in the seat cluster.  

It's a sure sign of someone who did some of the nicest lug work ever done in the United States: Francisco Cuevas.

He was born in Barcelona, Spain, where he learned how to make frames as a teenager.  But a little thing called the Spanish Civil War came along, followed by a Franco's dictatorship.  So, in the early 1950's, Senor Cuevas set sail for Argentina with his wife and young children.

He built frames for Argentina's national team, as well as other cyclists.  However, he and his family found themselves living under another military dictatorship, and emigrated to the US in 1970. After a stint with Metro Bikes, he built frames for Mike Fraysee's Paris Sport line, and then opened his own framebuilding shop only a few pedal strokes (literally!) from where I now live.  Senor Cuevas built Augustine's frame there.

When Cuevas came to the US, the "bike boom" was about to start.  During the "boom," boatloads of bikes came into the country, some bearing brands never before, or since, seen or heard about.  One name in the latter category is Beacon.

Apparently, there was a manufacturer of that name in Wisconsin, and a company by the same name that imported bikes.  I don't know whether they're related.  What I do know is that the importer had several house brands, including Astra (made by Motobecane in France) as well a line of bikes called Beacon, which were made in Japan and, later, Taiwan.

Like many Japanese bicycles sold in the US during the "bike boom" of the 1970's (including Nishiki, Azuki and the Japan-produced Univegas), they could be found only in the US.  In contrast, Fuji, Miyata and Panasonic made bikes in Japan that were also sold there, in addition to the bikes that were exported.

Like many of the Japanese bikes made strictly for the US market during the "bike boom," they have solid, reliable lugged-steel (usually mild steel, but sometimes chro-moly) with clean, if not flashy, lugwork and paint.  Those are the very qualities that make them good city and upright bikes, like the one I saw in Rockaway Beach:

I think about the only orginal components on Peter's Beacon are the headset and, possibly, the seatpost.  His wheels were built around a Shimano internal-geared rear hub and dynamo front hub.  Velo Orange rims are laced to them.

The rims aren't the only VO components, as evidenced by the crankset, chainguard and fenders.  This bike is practically a  "poster child" for VO!

Finally, when I got to Point Lookout, I espied this old gem by the playground:

This one looks like it's from the 1960's.  And it doesn't look big enough for most adults.  Could it be that some little girl rode her mother's--or grandmother's--Schwinn Hollywood to the beach?

Neither Rain Nor Snow Nor The Gloom Of Night Stops These Bikes

The James Farley Post Office, known to New Yorkers as "The Main Post Office" often has some interesting exhibits--including one that's there now.

It's said to be a postal delivery bicycle from the 1940s. From the looks of it, the date sounds about right.

I couldn't find any markings to identify where, or by what company, it might have been made.  Some features, such as the seat lug and cluster and the rod brakes, mark it as an English bike from that time.  Probably the only American bike builder that made frames with lugged joints was Schwinn, and that was only on its top-of-the-line Paramounts.  Also, the Paramount might have been the only American bike built with cottered cranks, as cotterless cranks were still new, rare and expensive.   And, to my knowledge, no American (and, for that matter few, if any, non-British) bikes had rod brakes.

It would be interesting, to say the least, to know that the bike was made elsewhere, as it was all but unheard-of for the US Government or military in that era to have its supplies made for them overseas.

Here is something else that marks the bike as British or otherwise non-American:

The stand, when kicked back, would snap into the curved piece of metal protruding from the rear fender.  Probably no kickstand would be strong or stable enough to hold up the amount of weight held in the front basket:

Speaking of which:  That basket, combined with the small front wheel, make for some of the strangest proportions I've seen on a bike. But it makes sense, as such a small front wheel is probably the only thing that makes the bike maneuverable with as much weight carried in the position it would have been carried in that basket.

Many of us in the US don't realize that in many countries--including Denmark, the Netherlands, France and New Zealand--significant amounts of mail are still delivered by men and women pedaling two wheels.  The practice seems to have begun in those countries, as well as in the US and UK, during the 1890s.  It declined in the US after World War I, as highways and motorized vehicles became more common, and routes became longer.  However, bicycle deliveries enjoyed a resurgence during the 1930s and World War II, when gasoline and other commodities were rationed.   Then it fell off again during the 1950s and today seems to be limited three American municipalities:  Sun City in Arizona and the Florida communities of St. Petersburg and Miami Beach.

Since the USPS, like other government agencies, has been ordered to "go green", I wonder whether  hope that we will see more mail carriers on bikes.   The three cities I've mentioned have warm year-round weather and are flat; there are other such places in the US.  Also, in traffic-choked urban centers, bicycles can be faster and more efficient than cars.  (It is in such centers that much of Europe's postal bike fleets and personnel are deployed.)  Perhaps we're looking at a new career opportunity for hipsters and their fixies!

When Does "Parked" Turn Into "Abandoned"?

Whenever I see a bike locked in the same place for a long time, I wonder:  Did its owner suddenly have to attend to some urgent matter in some far-off place? (One commonly finds bikes locked up in and around military bases for months, even years, under such circumstances.)  Did he or she fall ill or get hurt?  Or did he or she simply abandon—or forget—the bike?

I’m not thinking, now, about those bikes that are parked in the same spot every day while their owners are at work, in school or performing some other daily ritual.  Even if the bike is locked to the same signpost, parking meter, fence or rack every day, you can see signs, however slight, of its having been moved.  Also, you can tell that the bike has been ridden, whether because of dirt, scrapes, fading or just the normal wear one sees on tires and other bike parts.

Rather, I am thinking about those bikes that have moved no more than the Pyramids have since they were parked (all right, built) in Egypt.  You can tell that they haven’t been unlocked, ridden and returned:  Everything on them looks the same, day after day, until—if the bike is left long enough—parts start to rust and paint starts to fade.  I’m thinking now of bikes that were parked outside the Cooper Square post office so long that locals joked the decaying skeletons of steel and carcasses of rotting rubber were part of the building’s design.

The Cannondale in the photo has been parked around the corner from my place for a couple of weeks, at least.  It looks just as you see it:  It stands in the same position, and it’s had its seat and seatpost missing all of that time.  I assume—or, at least, hope—the bike’s owner took them off after locking up the bike.  I hope someone else didn’t take them off:  It’s not fun to come out and find your seat missing even if that’s not quite as bad as finding your bike missing.

Since it’s a modern bike==a fairly-late-model (I say this because it was made in the USA.) Cannondale—I can safely assume that the bottom bracket is a sealed cartridge.  Even if it weren’t, there would probably be an “accordion” sleeve between the bottom bracket cups to shield the axle and bearings.

But protection doesn’t last forever.  Neither does lubrication.  But the results of either failing do.  (Remember:  I’m talking about bicycles here, oh you of dirty mind!)  Of course, the bike would have to be parked for a long time for the seals or shields, and the grease, to break down.  We had heavy, flooding rains on Sunday and Monday, and on-and-off rain ever since.  So, even if the bottom bracket isn’t affected, you have to wonder whether the rest of the frame would be affected.  

The Cannondale is made of aluminum, so it won’t rust. But that metal oxidizes and corrodes.  Perhaps those of you who are more knowledgeable than I am about metallurgy can tell whether or not there is a point at which aluminum will start to deteriorate from corrosion the way iron or steel does from rust.

Anyway, I’m sure that sooner or later the bike’s owner will come for it.  Something interesting has happened, though, in the last few days:  another bike in exactly the same color has been locked next to it.   Was that Trek recognize the Cannondale’s dark blue color the way leopards supposedly recognize each other by their spots?

A Road To Recovery Begins With VetBikes

Here in the US, today is Veterans' Day.

If you have been reading this blog for a while, you might have noticed a seeming contradiction:  although I am anti-war, I have written a number of posts about how bicycles have been used in the military. The real irony is that I have become more interested in such things as my opposition to armed conflict (in 99.9 percent of cases) increases.

As I have said before, studying military history in its truest sense (not what is commonly derided as "drum and bugle history") offers all sorts of lessons into other areas of history--and life. It shows us, very clearly, the sorts of mistakes leaders can make through their own egotism or arrogance, or through pure-and-simple misjudgment or miscalculation.  It also shows us, I believe, human nature in its most naked forms.

Now I'm going to present you with another seeming contradiction about myself:  the more I adopt an anti-war stance, the more pro-veteran I become.

Actually, my explanation for that will probably make sense (I think):  It is because I am opposed to war that I believe anyone who is sent to fight should never want for anything.  It's a disgrace that someone who has put on a uniform and faced danger should be sleeping under a bridge or railroad overpass.  I have seen a few on my way to and from work.   

Thus, I am willing to put in a good word for any organization that might help improve the lives of veterans.  Today, I learned about one such organization.

VetBikes.org is a veteran-run non-profit (501c3) that provides adaptive bicycles to recovering veterans.  VetBikes began in Seattle, but has recently opened a second location in Denver.   

Some of the machines VetBikes has provided were tailored to obvious physical disabilities such as the loss of limbs,  but most look like bikes most of us would ride, with small modifications.  According to VetBikes' website, its mission is to use bicycles, and cycling (mainly of the sport variety), to help veterans cope with their new lives.

To that end, VetBikes takes referrals from social workers, medical doctors and other profssionals for veterans suffering from combat wounds, substance abuse problems, homelessness and even blindness.  However, by far the largest number of referrals is for veterans with Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD). 




With those realities in mind, VetBikes does not merely lend bikes or have them available for the vets to take out:  It gives each vet a machine.  But  VB's program doesn't stop there:  It also offers mentors, placement in local cycle clubs (to help with community integration), professional mechanical instruction and, according to its mission statement, "an introductory path to a career in the cycling industry". 

The site doesn't mention anything about expanding beyond Washington State and Colorado, but it would not surprise me if someone in the organization has that in mind:  The need certainly doesn't stop at the borders of the Evergreen and Centennial States.  It does, however, say that it can use help, whether as a volunteer, or through donations of cash, bike parts or bikes. 

Mature? Not Yet: Disc Brakes On Bicycles

In the mid-1970s, my high school acquired its first computer.  The father of one of my classmates, who worked in a nearby military base, in one of those jobs he couldn’t talk about, negotiated the purchase.  For $6000, my alma mater got a used machine, about half the size of a classroom—and with about half of the capacity of devices kids carry in their backpacks nowadays.

When I graduated the following year, one of my relatives gave me a new Texas Instruments Model 101 digital wristwatch.  With its red LED display and sleek goldtone band, it seemed like the epitome of elegance and slick high-tech, all rolled up into one.  No one else I knew had such a timepiece:  For the one and only time in my high-school years, I was the coolest kid in the class.  At least, that’s how I felt.

Neither the computer nor my watch made it past my sophomore year of college.  The big box (“It’s just an oversized, overpriced file cabinet!” one parent exclaimed upon learning what it cost) assigned classes like “Sports Heroes” to honors students who signed up for the Shakespeare seminar.  (I know.  I was one of those students.) And that was the least of the computer’s malfunctions. Worst of all, nobody seemed to know how to fix them.

And nobody seemed to know how to fix my watch.  One shop claimed that displays of numbers that had nothing to do with the time of day were a result of “water damage” –only moments after I took that watch out of its box.  (I have since learned that technicians and reps say “water damage” when your electronic device is acting up or not working and  they can’t figure out why.)

Less than a decade after I graduated high school, the Yankees were giving away digital watches (with the team’s logo, of course) as promotional items on Fan Appreciation Day. My graduation gift, in contrast, sold for more (in non-inflation adjusted dollars) than most smartphones or laptops cost today.  And the watches the Yankees gave away were more reliable (water resistant to 100 meters, and shock resistant) than the one I got on Graduation Day.   

I was thinking about the computer and watch as I read an article in the most recent Bicycle Quarterly.

In “Are Disc Brakes Mature Technology? “, Jan Heine recounts his and other BQ editors’ experiences with both mechanical and hydraulic disc brakes on road, mountain and city bikes.  While the brakes on one bike offered the power and modulation of good caliper brakes, their performance was hampered by their incompatibility with the levers that came on the bike.  The brakes on the other bike were not as good as road calipers and, worse, there were a couple of potentially serious failures. 

Heine seems to think that disc brakes have potential, but there are issues that need to be worked out.  Braking power is still determined mainly by the size of the disc.  A larger disc is heavier and could necessitate larger forks—both of which are anathema to racers and other performance-oriented cyclists.  More important, though, is that while larger discs offer more power, they seem to offer less modulation.  From what Heine and others say, it seems that larger rotors give the brakes the “all or nothing” feel that V-brakes (at least the ones I’ve used) always seem to have.

Avid BB7 disc brake on Look X85 cyclo-cross bike

The flip-side is, of course, that smaller rotors offer less power.  And, if there isn’t enough power, whatever modulation the brakes offer is all but irrelevant.

Another problem, as Heine points out, is that on disc brakes, the pad grabs the disc on the rear.  On a front fork, that means the wheel is pulled away from the dropout (or fork end).  When you’re barreling down a hill—or sluicing through traffic—few things are more dangerous than a front wheel popping out of a fork. 

Most modern quick release levers, Heine says, aren’t secure enough for bikes with powerful disc brakes.   Through-axles, like the ones found on downhill bikes, might be a solution.  But even with them, the fork blades on most non-suspension (telescoping) forks wouldn’t be stiff enough to counter the forces the brakes would put on them.  So, Heine says, a dedicated suspension fork might be the best kind to use with disc brakes.

 (In contrast, rim brakes pull the wheel slightly upward, into the dropout.  And their forces are concentrated in or near the stiffest and strongest part of the fork:  the crown.  That is the reason why properly-installed wheels don’t fall out of forks equipped with rim brakes or no brakes.)

I myself don’t plan to start using disc brakes any time soon:  I have never had trouble getting the braking power and modulation I need from rim brakes, as long as I use good cables and pads and keep everything properly adjusted.  Plus, there is something to be said for the simplicity, not to mention the lighter weight, of such brakes.  So, I hope that disc brakes don’t become the only option on new bikes or that component manufacturers stop making rim brakes and parts.

On the other hand, I am not against some bikes coming with disc brakes, or for such brakes to be offered on bikes where they might make sense.  Most of all, I hope they don’t become a de facto standard—or the only option—before they are a “mature” technology.  At least, when my digital watch failed, I still had the mechanical watch another relative gave me for a birthday—my 12^th or 13^th, if I remember correctly.  And plenty of others were available. 

Keep Moving--On A Divvy, Manta-Ray or Featherstone

Some motorists see us as invaders, or as over-indulged, when we "take" "their" roadway and parking spaces simply by exercising the rights we have--let alone when bike lanes are built. 

Others, though, simply are baffled by us.  They are unaccustomed to seeing us, mainly because few, if any, Americans living today can recall a time when bicycles and cyclists were major presences in their cities or towns.  They certainly can't recall a time when bicycles were important parts of their community's culture and economy.

In some places, such a time really wasn't so long ago.  Detroit, Boston, New York and a few other cities had vibrant, if small, cycling communities during the "Dark Ages" of US bicycling:  roughly the two decades or so following World War II.  Also, a few colleges and universities, including Princeton and the US Military Academy (West Point) had very competitive cycling teams.

There are, however, a few more communities in which bicycles as well as bicycling were an important part of the history and culture, and even the economy.  One such place was Shelby, Ohio.  So was a much larger city about 500 kilometers west:  Chicago.

Mention the "Windy City" and, in regards to cycling, a certain name enters people's minds.  Hint: It starts with an "S".  If you grew up in the US, there's a good chance you rode--or had--one of their bikes. And, if you became an active rider or simply an enthusiast, you might have bought one of their top-of-the line bikes.

I'm talking, of course, about Schwinn, which manufactured bikes on the city's West Side for nearly a century.  But in 1900, it was just one of 30 bicycle manufacturers making its wares along Lake Street!  Perhaps not surprisingly, the "Second City" was also home to one of the most intense racing scenes, and vibrant cycle cultures, to be found anywhere in the US, or even the world.

While much of the current bicycle culture in American cities began with young, educated and affluent people--and is frankly consumeristic--Chicago's cycling culture thrived, then survived to the degree that it did, largely because of its industrial, working-class roots and immigrant (particularly German) communities.  This story is  one that the Chicago Design Museum tells with "Keep Moving:  Designing Chicago's Bicycle Culture," an exhibit it recently opened.

The Museum places a Divvy (from the city's bike-share program) alongside a Schwinn Manta-Ray and an 1891 Featherstone-- believed to be the first US bike offered with pneumatic tires--and other bikes that were made, or had some other significant connection to, Chicago.  There is also memorabilia related to the bikes, including material from Carter Harrison's successful campaign to become the city's mayor.

So why is Carter Harrison's important in the story of cycling in Chicago?  Well, to demonstrate his athletic bona fides, he wore his Century pin--signifying that he'd done a 100-mile bike ride--on his chest while riding his single-speed bike.  

And to think that a certain presidential candidate ridiculed a Secretary of State for falling off his bicycle! Hmm...Would El Cheeto Grande have won Harrison's election?

Susan B.Anthony, Muhammad Ali And Flight:370

 Today is International Women’s Day.

Whatever your gender identity or your anatomical configuration, if you are a cyclist, you should recognize the importance of women in cycling and, well, the world.  For one thing, we are the majority of humanity.  For another, there have been many great female cyclists, most of whom have ridden without recognition and support. A few, including Beryl Burton, have even beaten men’s records.

But perhaps the most important reason of all is that anyone who cares about gender equality needs to recognize the role the bicycle has played in the long journey toward that goal. After all, Susan B. Anthony said that the bicycle did more to liberate women than anything else. (That is why oppressive regimes like the Taliban forbid or discourage women and girls from riding them.) Bikes provided, and continue to provide, independent mobility. They also released women from the constraints of corsets and hoop skirts which, I believe, helped to relax dress standards—and thus make cycling easier—for everyone.

Today also happens to be the anniversary of two events that occurred during my lifetime.  One is one the greatest aviation mysteries of all time:  the disappearance of Malaysia Flight 370 ten years ago. Such an incident would have caused consternation in any time, but have become much rarer over time.

While that tragedy may not seem to have much in common with bicycles or bicycling, the other event is somewhat more related.  On this date in 1971,”the fight of the century” took place between Joe Frazier and Muhammad Ali. Joe won that bout, but Ali would win two rematches.

To this day, I can’t recall another sporting event-and very few events of any kind-that were preceded by as much anticipation and hype. I’m no boxing expert, but I doubt that there has ever been a title match between two opponents so equally matched in talent and skill but so different in style. Also, Ali had been stripped of his titles—and his boxing licenses—for three years because of his refusal to register for the military draft that could have forced him to serve in the Vietnam War.

So why is “The Fight” worthy of mention on this blog?  Well, as I mentioned in a previous post, a boy named Cassius Clay might never have grown up to become Muhammad Ali, “The Greatest,” had his bicycle not been stolen. In recounting his loss to á police sergeant, he vowed to “whup” the thief.  The sergeant, who just happened to train boxers on the side, admonished young Clay that he should learn how to fight first.

So..did you ever expect to see Susan B. Anthony and Muhammad Ali mentioned in the same post—much less one that includes Malaysia Airlines Flight 370?

You, Too, Can Ride An Air Donkey

A week and a half ago, I gave some examples of oxymorons.  As I mentioned in that post, some people would argue that "carbon fiber Brooks saddle" is one.

How about "Air Donkey"?

No, it's not a no-frills airline.  (Please click the link:  the clip is precious!)  Nor is it a cheaper version of a sneaker teenaged boys of all ages (and genders!) wait hours on line and spend whole paychecks to get.  And it's not a game in which people deemed to unstable for military service or the police department work out their aggressions.

Rather, Air Donkey might be described if you created a bike rental service by crossing Uber with Airbnb.



An bicycle outfitted for Air Donkey

At least, that seems to be the vision of Erdem Ovacik, who recently co-founded the Copenhagen (where else?)-based startup which has just opened a Kickstarter appeal to fund their project. 

Essentially, Air Donkey would involve people renting out their bicycles by the day or week to tourists, commuters or whoever else is looking to get around the city on two wheels.  The firm behind Air Donkey--Donkey Republic--says the system has been tested around Copenhagen and is ready to go.



The Air Donkey starter kit.

Members will purchase a starter kit that includes a special rear-wheel lock that can be released with a phone app (and can go 500 days between charges), stickers to mark the bike and a listing on the company's website, which keeps track of available bikes via the locks. 


Users simply have to find a bike, pay the rental fee and use the app to unlock the bike.  Air Donkey recommends a rental fee of 10 Euros a day; it's estimated that the one-time cost of the starter kit will be 80 Euros.  Thus, it shouldn't take long for a member to recoup his or her outlay.



The Air Donkey lock

It all sounds good. However, being the cynical (!) New Yorker I am, I found a problem: the lock. It only allows the bike to be locked to itself or tethered to an immobile object with the attached cable.  The "leash" on the lock is flimsy, especially for a bike that's supposed to be parked on the street so that would-be renters can easily access it. Crooks who aren't particularly enterprising have broken much thicker and stronger cables, chains and locks. Also, I have to think that if thieves found ways to steal Citibikes from their ports, they wouldn't have much difficulty in stealing an Air Donkey bike without cutting the "leash" or even breaking the lock.

On the other hand, as Ovacik points out, the system is intended for everyday, utilitarian machines--the kind people typically have in their basements and storage rooms--not fancy racing bikes.  The bikes people would rent are more likely to have baskets or child seats than heart rate monitors.  Hence the "Donkey" in the name.

Even so, Air Donkey would make a greater variety of bikes available than any municipal bike-sharing system like Citibike could.  A bike shop could rent out, say, a Dutch-style city bike, a three-speed, a low-level mountain bike and other kinds of machines in the Air Donkey system.  And, many riders could find and return bikes in and to more convenient locations, particularly areas of cities where bike-share ports are difficult or impossible to find. 

Whatever its flaws or drawbacks, I hope that the program succeeds and, as Ovacik plans, it's expanded to other cities in Europe and beyond.  Anything that can get more bikes on, and more cars off, city streets is a good thing!




 

They Stormed The Beaches—With Bikes

 Today is D-Day.

On this date in 1944, Allied forces landed on the beaches of Normandy, France. This daring operation is cited as the door that opened to liberating France and, ultimately, western Europe from Nazi occupation.

The Allies included, among others, American, British and Canadian soldiers, sailors and airmen.  Don’t ever forget the Canadians:  Military strategists and historians have long praised their tenacity and steadfastness.

Like other troops, the Canadians had their weapons: guns, explosives, bayonets—and bicycles.

About 1000 “paratrooper” bikes accompanied Canadian forces on D-Day. Most were left behind when the soldiers were deployed to other fields, sent home or died. Locals picked them up and used them up. Therefore, the one in the photo—in the collection of the Juno Beach Centre, the Canadian museum near the landing beach—is one of the few that survive.

It was issued to Sherbrooke, Quebec Marius Aubé, who served with the Royal Canadian Army Service Corps. He befriended a local farm family and when he departed, he gave the bike to Christian Costil, the family’s 14-year-old son.  He used it on the farm and, later, on his rounds as a meter reader. from which he retired in 1985.

The bike also kindled a lifelong friendship that included letters which were donated, along with the bike, to the museum after Costil died in November 2020.

Even without such a back-story, that bike is interesting. For one thing, Birmingham Small Arms—BSA—made it.  As their name suggests, they also supplied the British and Canadian forces with firearms.

As you can see from the photo, there are two large wing nuts in the middle of the frame. This allowed the bike to fold, and the trooper to hold it close as he disembarked from a ship, marched—or parachuted. For the latter maneuver, a soldiers would lower the bikes so it hit the ground before he did. That would cushion the impact somewhat and the soldier simply had to straighten the wheel and tighten the wing nuts before pedaling away.

Shin's Tricycle

On this blog, I have written several posts about bicycles, and the ways they have been used, in war.  It may surprise you to learn that the reason why I am interested in such things--and in military history, with an emphasis on the history--is that I am anti-war.  In fact, I believe that the only chance the human race has of surviving-- let alone becoming a better, more enlightened species--is to render war obsolete.  Only then will we be truly able to address issues of environmental degradation and economic injustice.

That last sentence also explains why I am anti-war and pro-veteran:  To me, few things show how pointless war is than seeing a veteran sleeping under a bridge, highway overpass or train trestle, as I sometimes see on my way to work. It also explains why I see bicycling to work and school, and even for recreation --and not as a self-conscious fashion statement or a callow attempt at irony (Can it really be irony if you're trying to achieve it?)--as an instrument for attaining peace and justice.

So, in that spirit, I am posting this photograph:

Why?, you ask.  Well, on this date 70 years ago, a boy named Shin and his best friend, a girl named Kimi, were playing with it when--to paraphrase Albert Camus in The Plague--death rained on them from the clear blue sky. 

When Shin's family found him under a house beam, he was too weak to talk.  But his hand still held the red grip of that tricycle.  And Kimi was nowhere to be found.

Shin would not survive that night.  Nor would Kimi, who was found later.   Shin's father could not bear to leave him in a lonely graveyard, so he was interred--along with Kimi and the tricycle--in the family's backyard.

In 1985--forty years after the first atomic bomb leveled their home town of Hiroshima--his father decided to move his remains to the family's gravesite.  He, with the help of his wife, dug up the backyard burial ground.   There they found "the little white bones of Kimi and Shin, hand in hand as we had placed them," according to the father.

Also present was the tricycle, which the father had all but forgotten.  Lifting it out of the grave, he said, "This should never happen to children.  The world should be a peaceful place where children can play and laugh."

The next day, he would donate the tricycle to the Hiroshima Peace Memorial Museum, where it is exhibited with other artifacts, as well as drawings, photos and stories from survivors of the first atomic bomb, exploded over the city 70 years ago today.

The tricycle inspired a children's book written by survivor Tatsuharu Kodama.  Published in 1995, Shin's Tricycle is narrated by Nobuo Tetsunani, Shin's father.  It's as painful as it is beautiful.  I urge you to read it--and to take a good look at those stark drawings!