Proposal

 Some day—perhaps soon—I’ll believe that I’ve moved to the most wonderful neighborhood in the universe. As much as I love my new apartment (even if it is smaller than my old one), its views and its light, and as friendly as my neighbors have been, there are still things I miss about Astoria.

Those things include, of course, my friends—with whom I’ll try to stay in touch.  Also, it had, if not the best, then some of the best, of New York:  It’s about as close as you can get to Manhattan without being there, but it doesn’t have the self-conscious hipsterism of Williamsburg, Greenpoint or Bushwick.  

Oh, and there was the food. I’m finding good eats here, but I still haven’t come across a bakery, let alone one that makes bread or cookies like Parisi’s or bagels like Lots o’ Bagels. 

And of course, there are the rides.  I could continue to do them, but I would have to ride (or take a train) to get to them.  I’m just starting to discover some good routes here, but I’m still in the “It’s not the Fort Totten ride!” stage.

Finally, there are the characters.  I’m sure I’ll find them here, but I still think of the ones I just left. They include the guy who hung out by the train station and the stores. He approached me and, probably, every other woman in the neighborhood, with this proposal:  “Will you marry me?  I’ve got food stamps!”

I have to admit, there are worse—or at least more bizarre—pickup lines.

Soon I will return to regular posting.  I have been so busy—and tired—that it seems like a miracle that I actually managed to do two rides—about 25 miles each—that had nothing to do with commuting or errands.

They Didn't Take Only Bike Lights

 A year or so into the COVID-19 pandemic, some bicycle shops—including Harris Cyclery, Sheldon Brown’s “home” shop—closed for business. They were, ironically, casualties of the COVID-19 Bike Boom:  When their inventories sold out, no new merchandise was available because lockdowns disrupted supply chains.

Now a long-established bicycle shop may close due to a lack of inventory. Its situation, however, has nothing to do with the pandemic.

About two weeks ago, Najari Smith opened the doors of his shop, Rich City Rides, as he had every day for the past ten years.  However, that day’s shop opening would be unlike any other. 

He saw, “all the display cases emptied out.” Looking around, he noticed “all the inventory we had on the wall,” which included lights, locks and other accessories, “was gone.”

Now, his shop is far from the first to experience a burglary.  But losing about $10,000 worth of merchandise “hurts on a different level,” he explained, “because we’re not a big box store.” The impact is so great that Rich City Cycles will have to shut down “for the foreseeable future,” he declared.

Such a theft not only affects the livelihood of Smith. It also has a negative impact on a community. Smith has organized and led numerous rides.  Also, he has been in business long enough that “kids you meet at 15, they have their own kids now.”  In other words, he is a mentor and probably a friend to many in his community.

Moreover, the shop, like others, “represents a culture,” according to Contra Costa County Supervisor John Gioia, who represents the district. That culture is one of health, environment, working with young people and young adults,” he elaborated.

Such values are badly needed in Richmond, California the shop’s locale. The city, on the northeastern shore of San Francisco Bay, seems to have been untouched by the tech fortunes that have transformed San Francisco, Sm Jose and other community in the area. While Richmond includes suburban-style middle-class neighborhoods, it also has the notorious “Iron Triangle” and other areas afflicted by crime and poverty—and few options for healthy food and recreation.

Smith and his business partner hope to re-open their shop—and provide its tangible and intangible benefits it has provided the community.

Here is their GoFundMe page.

They Won’t Obey The Law. So Why Pass It?

 

Community Board 6, Manhattan . Photo by Kevin Dugan for Streetsblog NYC.

People kill people. Therefore, laws against homicide and manslaughter are pointless.

Any lawyer who made such a statement probably wouldn’t be a lawyer for much longer. And anyone else who uttered it might be committed—or, in some places, elected.

While nobody in Manhattan’s Community Board 6–which includes the east side of the borough from 14th to 59th Street, one member of that wise and worldly body said something that is, at least to mind, just as logically flawed.

Or could it be that Jason Froimowitz has access that I lack to powers of reasoning. He was reactingto a bill, proposed by City Council Member Robert Holden, that would require, “ every bicycle with electric assist, electric scooter, and other legal motorized vehicle that is not otherwise required to be registered with the DMV, to be registered with DOT and receive an identifying number which would be displayed on a visible plate affixed to the vehicle.”

That sounds good on its face. But, perhaps not surprisingly for anything from Holden—who’s never met a cop or car he didn’t like—it’s not very well thought-out.  For one thing,  doesn’t address a legal loophole that allows moped buyers to leave the shop without registering the vehicle. So someone could buy a moped and the city would be none the wiser—and thus unable to enforce a mandate to plate.

The bill also does not acknowledge a major source of dangerous moped and ebike operation:  food delivery apps, which guarantee customers that their ramen will be delivered within 15 minutes or some similar time frame.  As it stands, delivery services and the restaurants that employ them face no penalties when their delivery workers maim or kill someone.

To be fair, requiring registration—from the point of sale onward—would make it easier to hold Doordash and their ilk to account, in part because the police will have one less excuse for not enforcing bans on motorized vehicles in bike and pedestrian lanes—and for not citing dangerous operation on the streets.

Froimowitz's objection to the bill, however, has nothing to do with the flaws I have enumerated.  Rather, he seems to think that passing any law to address the issue is pointless.  This would-be bastion of jurisprudential logic instead offers up this analogy as his reason for voting against the bill:

We currently require registration and license plates for motor vehicles in New York City and there is a prolific problem of vehicles obstructing, and removing, and defacing those license plates, so I fail to see how a solution requesting new implementation of  license plates would be effective. 

Before I proceed, I must say that I fail to see how a vehicle can obstruct, remove or deface a license plate.  And I am trying to wrap my head around "a prolific problem."  When someone or something is "prolific," they produce something in abundance, whether it's fruit from a tree or writing from a blogger.  A problem does not produce anything; it is produced and whatever produces it might be prolific if it is making more problems or anything else.

Now that I have pointed out the mixed metaphors and overall lazy use of language by a member of a community board that includes some of the city's most affluent and presumably best-educated residents, I will say, in fairness, that he is right on one count:  No regulation will stop all dangerous, discourteous and simply stupid behavior.  But to use that as a reason not to require registration and plating is a bit like saying that there shouldn’t be any restrictions on guns because someone, somewhere will find a way around them.

He Gave The Kids Bikes. His Reward: His Shop Was Torched

 Even if I’ve grown more cynical about the human race—which is an occupational hazard of being in, ahem, midlife—I have continued to believe that bicycles and bicycling can bring people together.  After all, I have seen people from almost every set of circumstances imaginable on bikes.

And, although I have neither had nor wanted children, I believe that people and societies are no better than how they treat children (and old people)—and those who try to help them.

So, one bit of news out of Taibe, an Arab Israeli town, shocked and saddened me.

A week ago, Alaa Amara was asleep, with his phone silenced. One could understand if he wondered whether the news he received after walking was a bad dream.  Of course it wasn’t—but he wasn’t surprised.

A few days earlier, Amara, an Arab Israeli who owns a bicycle shop, decided to help evacuees from Gaza-adjacent communities. He told the Times of Israel that his friends “gave them items, food, they had what they needed.” The children, however, “didn’t have anything to do, no school,” he noticed.

So he brought a donation of 50 children’s bicycles. “I did it to benefit the children. They don’t know about war,” he explained.

Images of him delivering the bikes appeared on social media. They won Amara a champion in Yosef Haddad, an Arab Israel commentator who is pro-Israel and therefore controversial, to say the least.

Oh, and the children are Jewish.  That, and Haddad’s endorsement, put a target on Amara and his business.

Which is why the news he got last Saturday didn’t surprise him:  While he slept, his shop was torched.

A friend has set up a Pay Pal account and a crowdfunding effort has raised, so far, 550,000 Israeli New Shekels (about USD 137,000). Amara estimates damage at NIS 800,000 and he had no fire insurance. So, while donations could increase, he doesn’t know what he’s going to do next. If he opens another bike shop, it will be elsewhere, he said. “I am afraid to be in Taibe now,” he said.

(N.B. Please do not take anything I’ve written as an endorsement of one “side” or another in the conflict.  As Alaa Amara and his situation show, the background of the conflict is too complicated to be reduced to “sides” and has as much to do with colonialism, from outside as well as within the region, as any current grievances.)

Bringing Us Our Daily Bread

People curse and depend on them.  I'm talking about those food delivery workers on e-bikes who weave, at breakneck speeds, through traffic and buzz pedestrians and cyclists.  People complain when they're nearly struck, or simply scared, by those couriers whom they expect to bring pizza, tacos, General Tso's chicken, sushi or pad thai to their doors within 15 minutes after placing their orders.  And, since most of those delivery workers are paid by the number of deliveries they make, and depend on tips, they will continue to rush within a hair's breath of anyone who's walking or pedaling in "their" bike lane.  As much as that annoys, exasperates and freaks me out, I try not to be too angry with them:  After all, many of them are supporting families here and in their native countries (nearly all are immigrants, many of them undocumented) and have limited job opportunities because they speak English poorly or not at all and may have educational or professional credentials that aren't recognized here.

Still, as much as I respect their work ethic,  I have to admit that no delivery worker I've seen has anything on this one in Cairo, Egypt:

#video
bread delivery in Cairo 🥖
🚲#ifb #SaturdayKitchen #Food #bicycle pic.twitter.com/dxqQBUr64R

— You Must Do✍️SURVEYS (@youmustdo1) August 14, 2021

Pedaling In Smoke

Two months ago, Canadian wildfires singed the sky orange in my hometown of New York City.  At times, you could actually smell—and see—smoke from the burning trees.

Such sights and smells didn’t enshroud the ride I took yesterday. I pedaled Tosca, my Mercian fixed gear, along familiar streets from my neighborhood to Brooklyn.  While my nose didn’t detect the scent of incinerated wood and my eyes didn’t pick up ash or unusual hues on the horizon, I could sense the aftermath of a fire before I literally encountered it.

On Sunday, a fire destroyed a row of stores at the intersection of Lee Avenue and Hooper Street, by the Brooklyn-Queens Expressway. Most of the stores were closed, which is probably the reason why no one was hurt even as the stores and their contents were destroyed.

Still, such a disaster is particularly devastating for the Hasidic enclave of South Williamsburg. For one thing, the stores and the spaces they occupied were owned by members of the community, who were also nearly all of those establishments’ customers. For another, some of those stores sold the clothing and supplies kids will need as they return to school,  But most important, those stores catered to the specific needs and religious mandates of the community, particularly in food and clothing. (As an example, Halakhic law forbids the mixing of fabrics.) Those needs and requirements are sometimes difficult, if not impossible, to meet in other stores.

Anyway, I continued my ride. Sometimes it’s seemed as if I’ve been pedaling through smoke all summer.

Riding Under Smoke From Canada and France

About two kilometers into my ride today, I had this view of the Manhattan skyline:

Everywhere I rode, the sort of heavy gray haze you normally see before a summer thunderstorm enveloped the sky.  But there is no rain in the weather forecast until, perhaps, late tonight.  

As I rode, however, I convinced myself that it "wasn't as bad" as what we had earlier this month:  those blood-orange skies you saw in news images of this city.  I asked myself, "How bad could it be?" if I could see this so clearly:

at Schenectady and East New York Avenues in Crown Heights.  The mural depicts a the three main communities in the neighborhood:  Hasidim, Blacks (Caribbean and American) and hipsters/gentrifiers. 

I rode happily with such a belief or in such ignorance, depending on your point of view, to the Canarsie Pier where, not surprisingly, I saw about half as many people fishing, picnicking or simply hanging out as Tone would normally encounter at this time of year.

Still, "It isn't so bad," I told myself.

Then, as I pedaled away from the pier and was trying to decide whether to continue along the shore, west to Coney Island or east to Howard Beach, or to ride north in a more direct route home, I started to think, "something's not right."

I stopped at a Key Food supermarket for a bottle of water.  When I stepped back outside and mounted Tosca, my Mercian fixed gear (which was doing better than I was!), I felt my eyes stinging, even though I'd worn my wraparound glasses.  It occurred to me that whatever got to my eyes had to be in the air and smaller than a mosquito, gnat or other insect.

I splashed some water into my eyes and on my face and waited a couple of minutes.  Another block of riding, and the stinging returned.  I heard, from a radio of a passing car, that the health authorities declared the air quality "unhealthy."  I didn't think it would "pass" like an afternoon thundershower, so I pedaled a couple of more blocks to the Rockaway Parkway station of the L train.

During the ride, I thought about the young man a police officer shot in Nanterre, just west of Paris.  Not surprisingly, people protested, sometimes violently, in the City of Light and other French cities.  In places like Nanterre, groups of people seemingly as disparate an the ones depicted in the mural I saw.  I won't say there's more or less unity in one city or country than in another, but there always needs to be more.

If there was any good news in my taking the train home, it might be this: For about half of my ride, I was the only white person--and the only person with a bicycle.  No one seemed to care except a little girl with whom we exchanged wide eyes and funny faces.  Her mother smiled on my way out:  She looked tired and, I think, was happy that someone relieved her, for a few moments, from having to keep her kid occupied.  I guess taking the train home wasn't such a bad thing for somebody!

Fuel Efficiency

 Today is Cinco de Mayo.

So, of course, I am going to ride--and eat Mexican food.  Which Mexican food(s), I haven't decided yet.

But I think this T-shirt might influence my choice:

Me Revoila!

You haven't heard a day-by-day description because I really filled my days there and wasn't getting back to my hotel room until the wee hours of morning.  By then, between all of the bike riding, museum and cathedral visits and socializing, I was tired, though in good ways.

Perhaps, in reading the previous sentence, you might think I shouldn't be calling this blog "Midlife Cycling" anymore.  But I'll continue to do so because, well, what else am I going to call it?  Anything with "Old" or "Senior" in the title just wouldn't have the same ring. Besides, I want to stick to "Midlife Cycling" as an act of defiance, just as I continue to speak French for as long as I can get away with it after getting home from a trip.

But I digress...and now I'll confess:  I simply wanted to spend a few days un-tethered to my electronic devices.  I didn't turn on my laptop and or answer e-mails on my smartphone unless they came from my friends in Paris or anything else related to my trip. 

I mean, when the spire of the Eiffel Tower is peering from behind l'Ecole Militaire, across the street from my hotel (the Derby Eiffel), the Seine is a five-minute walk away, and art, great food, friends and new bike lanes--real ones!--beckon, why would I want to spend time with my face in front of a screen? 

During the next few days, I'll tell you more about my trip...including, of course, where and what I rode!

I'm Canadian. Really I Am... Je Suis Canadienne. Vraiement!

 It's the day after Christmas.  Most schools, colleges and universities are closed, and will be for the rest of this week, as is the custom for the week between Christmas and New Year's Day.

Here in the US, banks, post offices and many workplaces are closed.  I claim some responsibility for that.  You see, I am really Canadian.  Really, I am: Je suis canadienne. (Is there a gender-neutral term for "Canadian" in French?) Today is a holiday in the Great North, and in Jamaica, Australia and, of course, the UK.  

In other words, it's celebrated just about everywhere English is spoken--except for the US. When we declared our independence from the Crown, it seems that we tried to break every one of His/Her Majesty's customs and traditions--except, of course, for speaking English.  But we altered the meanings and usage of many words, and the conventions of speech of writing, to the point that George Bernard Shaw once quipped that America and England are separated by a common language.

Today things are closed in the US mainly because it's Monday and Federal law says that if certain holidays fall on a weekend, the subsequent Monday is a holiday.  

But I'm going to allow myself to think that we're really celebrating Boxing Day because, well, why shouldn't we?  According to some sources, this holiday originated with upper-class families who sent their help--who, of course, worked on Christmas Day--home with boxes of gifts and food for their families.  Other sources say that it was simply a day of charity, when boxes were given to the poor.

Today, of course, few people in any of the countries that observe this holiday think about those origins.  But many people--some of whom, like Moses and Ann Mathis,  I've mentioned on this blog--keep up with the tradition in their own ways: They collect and, sometimes, repair bikes that go to children who might not otherwise get them. 

NSW couple reach out through social media to gift refurbished bikes to kids doing it tough https://t.co/IspkgWQUEt via @ABCaustralia

— Justine Valinotti (@madame_mercian) December 26, 2022

Kellie Ward and Jason McMillan also are keeping up the tradition.  Two years ago, the Tamworth, Australia couple bought a second-hand bike, fixed it up and offered it to a family in need via social media.  They received 40 responses.  Two years later, businesses have pitched in with enough bike parts, helmets and other items for 11 kids to receive bikes.

While it's odd that a Southern Hemisphere country where Summer begins in December adopted the customs of a Winter holiday from the Northern Hemisphere, it's nice to see that folks like Ward and McMillan are, in their own way, keeping up one of England's more laudable traditions.  

Oh, and I wouldn't mind seeing Boxing Day enshrined as a holiday in the US.  After all, as Stephen Marche points out in his Times editorial, sometimes people need a holiday from a holiday!

If It Leads To Pho, Let It Snow

When the weather outside is frightful
Vietnamese food can be so delightful.

OK, the writers of "Let It Snow" probably never tasted Vietnamese food.  But Wanya Morris and Brian McKnight, I am sure, comforted themselves with their favorite foods on cold, stormy nights.

That is, of course, unless their culinary pleasures weren't available.  Depending on where they lived, they might not have had access to Vietnamese, Chinese, Mexican or whatever foods because the weather was too frightful for the delivery people.  After all, for how little they make (without benefits), who has the right to demand that they complete their appointed rounds through rain, snow, sleet or hail?

Such a dilemma confronted Philip Marciniak.  On a normal day, he makes his rounds as an appliance repairman on electric cargo bike.  His business includes, not surprisingly, electric bikes.

On Monday, roads in his hometown of Saanich, British Columbia were rendered impassible by a heavy snowfall.  And Marciniak really, really wanted his Vietnamese food. 

So what did he do?  He mounted a snowplow to his bike and soon he was enjoying his pho.

OK, so he didn't have his "light bulb moment" when he hankered for Ca Kho To.  He'd been working on his electric bike-plow prototype for at least a year before using it to retrieve his Asian treats.

While he doesn't think his contraption will replace truck-driven plows, he plans to use his bike-plow to get around when the weather is frightful. He jokes, however, that he might plow on request--as long as the right meal awaits.

If plowing a path leads to Pho

Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow.

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.

Emissions

Here I was, thinking that Trump/MAGA crowd had a lock on science denial or sheer irrationality.  And that the Swiss education system inculcated its charges with scientific literacy and critical thinking skills.

But it seems that you don't have to belong to tRUMP end of the elephant party to come up with something as ludicrous as "Kung Flu" or the notion that climate change is a "Chinese hoax." (And here I was thinking that Donald Trump's racism extended only to Blacks and Mexicans.)

You see, a professor and researcher at the University of Fribourg, Switzerland wrote something that translates into something like this:

Today everything is climate.  Many want to replace the car with public transport and bicycles.  They believe that the latter burden society less and are climate-friendly.  That's wrong.

Photo by Toby Jacobs

It appeared in a column the professor wrote for the German-language Swiss newspaper Handelszeitung. The esteemed writer and thinker goes on to make the claim that official data show bikes, trains and buses to be better than the environment because of "creative accounting" and "official tricks."

He bases his claim on the following:

Although the whole debate is about energy and climate, the bicycle is treated as a perpetual motion machine. But cyclists need additional energy. For this, they have to eat more, which puts a strain on the climate.

Economical cars need 5 litres of gasoline per 100 kilometres, causing 12kg of CO2 emissions, i.e. 120 grams per vehicle kilometre – and 30 grams per passenger kilometre for a four-person occupation.

Cyclists consume around 2500 kilocalories (kcal) per 100 kilometres during normal riding. They have to compensate for energy and muscle consumption through additional food intake. So, they would need about 1 kilo of beef for the 2500 kcal. This causes them to produce 13.3kg of CO2.

Meat-eating cyclists therefore cause 133 grams of CO2 per passenger-kilometre – four times the number of well-occupied cars. If they obtain driving energy from milk, they emit 35 grams of CO2 per passenger-kilometre, which is still almost 20 percent more than the car. Unfortunately, this miserable record also applies to vegans.

  

First of all, he conveniently doesn't analyze the CO2 emissions of a vegan cyclist's diet. From what I understand, it's much less than that of a meat-eater.

Which brings me to my next point:  He doesn't mention anything about the diets of the motorists or their passengers.  If anything, I would expect them to be more likely consumers of meat--or any other food whose cultivation, processing and preparation produces high levels of emission--than cyclists.  So, if one adds the emissions produced by the diets of motor vehicle drivers and passengers, and adds them to the emissions created by automobiles (and what it takes to keep those vehicles on the road), how does it compare to what cyclists,  and mass transportation users generate?

Oh, and as one commenter to the article noted, if we follow the professor's logic (if we can call it that), "joggers and hikers are even worse than cyclists because they need more food" and "pedestrians are the climate killers par excellence."  

So...Is the author of the, um, interesting column an engineer,  environmental scientist, or any sort of expert on public health?  

Of course not.  Reiner Eichenberger is a professor of financial and economic policy.  

He reminds me of another economist who tried to deny science:  Peter Navarro, who famously claimed Anthony Fauci "was wrong about everything I have interacted with him on."  Professor Navarro defended his assessment thusly:  "My qualifications in terms of looking at the science is that I'm a social scientist."  Hmm...The university I attended wouldn't allow liberal arts majors to fulfill their science requirement with economics, political science, sociology or the like.  But the esteemed professor has a Ph.D. and therefore, he said, "I understand how to read statistical studies, whether it's in medicine, the law, economics or whatever."

Now, to be fair, I am sure that Professors Eichenberger and Navarro do indeed know how to read statistical studies.  Mark Twain said there are lies, there are damned lies and there are statistics.  In that vein, I will say that there are fools, there are damned fools and there  folks who quote statistics and there are folks who quote the folks who quote statistics."  In other words, just because someone can quote numbers, it doesn't mean they have critical thinking skills--or what's known in my old neighborhood as a bullshit detector. 

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.

Fuel For Thought

Yesterday, my brother told me he'd spent over $100 to fill his gas tank.

On one hand, I sympathise with him.  For one thing, he is my brother. (This is what age does:  I didn't say, "in spite of the fact that he's my brother." LOL)  For another, he lives in an area that's more car-centric than my hometown of New York.  Even if that weren't the case, he'd rely on his car because medical conditions constrain his physical activity, at least somewhat.

On the other hand, I remind myself that petrol prices are only now surpassing levels I saw when I first set foot (actually, bike tires) in Europe, back in 1980.  I could get into a rant about how playing nice with Saudi Arabia and giving tax breaks to oil companies wouldn't have continued to keep down the price at the pump forever, but it would be just that--a rant.  Others with far more expertise in national and global politics and energy markets can explain it better, or at least in more depth, than I ever could, even if I were to hijack the focus of this blog (really, it exists).

But what my brother told me is nonetheless relevant and can perhaps be best illustrated by something I've just come across.  In Electrek, Micah Toll points out that at the current average cost of gasoline in the US--around 5 dollars a gallon (around a euro a liter)--it would take only five fills of an F-150 truck's tank to buy an entry-level electric bike.  Or, it would take someone fueling an evil SUV six times, while a sober, sedate sedan would need to be topped off seven to eight times to buy a basic e-bike like Ancheers being sold on Amazon--and driven by many delivery workers here in New York.

Photo from Electrek

The old adage "your mileage may vary" applies in more ways than one. If you live here in New York or in California, where gasoline averages more than $6 a  gallon, it would take even fewer fills to equal the cost of an ebike.

Of course, a regular bicycle, especially a used one, can be had for less, even as we enter a third year of COVID pandemic-induced shortages.  I don't know whether the gas-bike equation I've described will persuade many people would persuade to give up driving, even for short local trips.  But it's certainly food, or fuel, for thought.  So is this:  Once gas is burned, it's gone.  A bike, however, can last for years, or even decades.

 

One Person's Junk Is Another Person's Jump

I've taken more than a few rides that included the Concrete Plant Park.  I love that what could have been a remnant--a ruin, really--of the industrial past could be turned into a visually interesting recreational space.

The Concrete Plant Park could have become a dump, or worse. Such a fate has befallen too many other sites of closed factories and schools or abandoned residential and office buildings.  Instead, it's a place where folks like me ride, run or walk, or take their kids just to get them out of their crowded apartments.

Now I've heard of something that's perhaps just as innovative:  Using stuff that's been dumped to make a bike park.  That's what some folks in Colorado have done.  The result, aptly named Junk Yard Bike Park, is set to open on Monday, Memorial Day, thanks to Rocky Mountain Outdoor Center in Colorado Springs, near the entrance to Browns Canyon National Monument.  

The idea for the park came to RMOC owner Brandon Slate not long after he and his business partner, Ryan Coulter, after they inherited the Arkansas River site in 2016.  They started riding their mountain bikes among--and, in some cases, on--the junk when they realized the potential for creating "a bike park that will not only fill a local need but also draw people to RMOC to take advantage of the outpost's other features, such as its microbrewery, food truck and riverside setting."  

The site, they say, will include bike lines for cyclists of various skill levels,  a pump track and access to singletrack with mellow downhill sections and more technical drops.

Oh, and if you really want to have fun, you can drop from an old school bus or jump over a rusted classic car.  You can't do that in Concrete Plant Park, or any other salvaged post-industrial site I know of.

Beauty Or Taste?

When I recall the places where I've stopped to eat or drink during a ride, I wonder just how good the food or beverages actually were.  Cycling heightens all of the body's and mind's functions, including the senses.  So the fruit and cheese from a roadside market, or the baguette or pastry from a little bakery after a few hours of pedaling is the best I've ever tasted.

So I wonder what how good lunch, or a snack, would have been had I stopped on a recent ride:

I was tempted to stop for the name alone.  The Miss America Diner's sign says it's been in business, on the west side of Jersey City, since 1942. Is the food really that good--or as good as I would remember after a long day's ride?

 

Or would it be beautiful?  Hmm...In other restaurants, the waiters sing and dance.  Does the diner have a talent competition?

I haven't followed the Miss America pageant in a while, but I hear that they it away with the swimsuit competition a few years ago.  Somehow I don't think it would work very well in an eatery.

In the not-too-distant future, I'll ride down that way again. Maybe I'll stop in the Miss America diner.  Will I remember the food the way I remember all of those things I've eaten at the end of a long ride?  Or will it just be beautiful?

I Hope They Have Their Cinco De Mayo Some Day

Today is Cinco de Mayo.  

One day, I hope Ukranians will have a similar holiday:  They are fighting off an invasion attempt, just as the Mexicans did--successfully-- 160 years ago. 

The funny thing about this day, and other Mexican holidays like Dia de Muertos, are more likely to be celebrated by Americans who see it as an excuse to party.

I plan to ride and, yes, eat Mexican food.  I'm told that what they serve  at Los Portales, around the corner from my apartment, is authentic.  I suspect it is:  I see Mexicans eating there.  All I know is that it's good, as I've eaten there, and ordered take-out from them, any number of times.

What's Your Energy Food?

Like many adolescents, I baby-sat.

Two of my regular sit-ees were two boys, Michael and Peter Reck.  (Yes, that was their last name.)  I would ride my Schwinn Continental to their house, where I parked it in the garage vacated by Mr. and Mrs. Reck's Volvo when they went out for the night.

The boys were funny and engaging.  I made some atttempts to be entertaining.  They especially liked my impression of a Sesame Street character:  the Cookie Monster.

I hadn't thought about them, the cookie monster or the fact that I parked my bike in place of the family car until I came across this: 

By Mike Joos, who also did this.