A Messenger For Equality

March is Women's History Month.  As I've mentioned in other posts, the bicycle--as Susan B. Anthony herself said--has played an important role in liberating women. It led to a revolution in the way we dress--freeing women from corsets, hoopskirts and bustles--which, in turn, gave us more independence and mobility, not only into the physical places where we could go, but also in what we could do for paid work (or whether or not we could do paid work at all!) as well as in our free time.

It also took us on our path toward something that, in the US, only men were allowed to do from 1776 until 1920--and a right given only to white men until 1865. I am talking, of course, about voting.  Almost nobody would dispute that when women were able to partake of the other liberties I've described, it made it possible for even the most conservative men to realize that we have the powers of discernment derived from life experience that give us at least the same ability to decide what is best for our selves, families, communities and nation as the other 49 percent of the population.  

What can't be overlooked, however, are the mundane tasks women performed as part of the project of achieving the right to vote.  Here is a bike messenger--in bloomers, one of the sartorial innovations wrought by women on bicycles--at work for the National Women's Party headquarters:

From the National Women's History Museum

Okay, I'll admit that today's post is, at least in part, an excuse to post that image!  She looks about as happy as anyone I've seen in doing her work.  And well she should have been.

The 9/11 Memorial Trail

You all know what happened fifteen years ago today.  In fact, you probably remember where you were that day.  Perhaps you knew someone who lost a family member or someone else he or she loved; you may know someone who was affected in some other way, whether physically or emotionally.

On this date last year, I wrote about a particular source of the shock and grief that day's events generated:  a lot of people, including a messenger whose bike was found a month later, went to work but never made it home.  As terrible as the deaths of firefighters and police officers were, they go to work every day with the knowledge they might not see their families or friends at the end of the day.  Messengers, as well as accountant, lawyers, maintenance mechanics and most other kinds of workers and professionals, do not have that spectre hanging over them:  They know that, barring some sort of accident, on any given day they are unlikely to encounter any situation that will end their lives before the day is over.  

I have been fortunate in that sense:  Through nearly all of my working life, I have been in jobs and professions where there was little chance of encountering any life-threatening danger.  Even when I was a bike messenger--arguably the most dangerous job I had--my situation was safer than that of any police officer or firefighter.  Even though I was living alone, there are people who would have been shocked by my not making it through the day.

On this date two years ago, I wrote about a bicycle rack recovered from the ruins of the World Trade Center.  When I learned about it, all I could think about were the people who rode the bikes locked to it. (At the time I wrote, only one bicycle had been claimed.)  Did they commute to offices in the Towers?  Did they live or work in the nearby buildings, stores, coffee shops or other businesses that served the ones high above lower Manhattan?   Were they among the ones who never made it home?  Or were they so traumatized that they didn't retrieve their bikes--or that they left New York altogether?

In the end, there really is no way to ameliorate or memorialize not only those for whom, to paraphrase Albert Camus, death came out of the clear blue sky, but those who have yet to recover the possessions, jobs, lifestyles and sense of themselves they might have had before disaster struck.  And that is exactly the reason why we try, and must continue to do so, in whatever ways we can.

One group of people who is commemorating the tragedies of that day fifteen years ago is doing so in a unique way:  They are creating the 9/11 Memorial Trail, which will connect the World Trade Center  with the Pentagon and Shanksville, Pennsylvania:  the sites of that day's attacks.  Some of the network will consist of already-existing lanes such as the Chesapeake and Ohio Canal towpath, the Delaware and Raritan Canal towpath and sections of the East Coast Greenway.  When finished, the network will be a 1300 mile (2100 kilometer) triangle linking the three sites.

Along the Delaware and Raritan Canal towpath, which would become part of the 9/11 Memorial Trail.

As much as I love the idea of the trail, and hope to pedal the parts of it I haven't already ridden, I also hope that no more such memorials will be necessary.

Justice Pursues And Is Pursued On A Steelman

What do you do when you realize you can't achieve some youthful dream of yours?

Well, if it involved the creative or performing arts, you can teach them and, perhaps, practice them on a smaller scale or stage--say, in local theatre or gallery exhibits.  You can also teach if you wanted to be the Great American Novelist or a poet--or you can do some other kind of writing like, say, blogs (not that this one makes any money!)

Now, if your dream was an athletic pursuit, you might find a career as a coach or in one of the industries that serves the sport to which you'd devoted yourself.  Or you can keep yourself in shape and become a trainer, or go (back) to school and become a nutritionist or some other professional who helps athletes maximize their potential.

Of course, many people who don't realize dreams with long odds enter careers very different and far from the ones they'd envisioned for themselves:  They might become everything from insurance salespeople to social workers to engineers.  If nothing else, those occupations can provide long-term stability that is lacking in  most of the things we envision when we're young.

Then there are those who simply don't get over not having "made it" and drift from one thing into another--or try their hands at metiers that are dangerous, foolish or even criminal.

When he was still pursuing his dream

One would-be Olympic sprinter made a list of occupations that, he hoped, would offer him thrills or at least satisfaction for the instant gratification he got from pumping his pedals on the velodrome.  He compiled that list after--get this--washing out of the French Foreign Legion.  On the list were jobs that were dangerous, foolish (for him) or criminal.  He tried to enter a couple of them before finally settling on the last one--which was dangerous, foolish and criminal.

As for the foolish (for him), he applied to a Catholic seminary. From what I read about him, he's about as religious as I am, but it seemed, as he said, like a "fresh start."  The admissions officer, however, knew better and advised him to do some "soul searching."

As for the dangerous (and possibly foolish), he talked his way into an informational interview with the Drug Enforcement Agency.  The interviewer, like the seminary's admissions officer, quickly sussed him out: "You don't seem like the kind of guy who's going to kick down doors fighting the war on drugs."

Finally, he got involved with something illegal--ironically enough, dealing cocaine.  To finance it, he would embark on a career that was dangerous, foolish and criminal:  bank robbery.

Not surprisingly, to make his heists, he used one of the skills he honed while trying to achieve a dream of his youth.  You guessed it:  He escaped on his bicycle.  Because he could mount and take off with a burst of speed, he could ride just far enough into some alley or parking garage where the cops couldn't follow him and peel off the neat shirt,tie and slacks he'd worn into the bank. Then, in his billboard jersey and spandex shorts, and with is messenger bag slung over his shoulder, he looked like any bike messenger.  

He actually spent three years robbing and dealing before he was finally caught.  And, as was the case with many serial criminals, he was stopped because someone noticed a detail others might not have seen.

That someone was a police officer whom the rider-turned-robber eluded.  And the detail he noticed was the bicycle itself.

Officer Sean Dexter of Walnut Creek, California might not have been a bike aficionado.  But he knew that the bike--which the thief abandoned when he fled across a creek--wasn't some commuter's Schwinn.  "This bike is special to somebody," he observed.  "We gotta find out who."

It's no surprise that an Olympic aspirant and local champion would ride a bike better than the ones sold in Wal-Mart.  But the bike stood out even on the club training rides our rider-turned-robber did to keep himself in shape. It wasn't only the frame's bright orange color, or the matching deep-V rims that distinguished the machine.  It was the frame's pedigree:  custom-built by Brent Steelman.  

The getaway vehicle

Since he only built about 50 frames a year, it was relatively easy to trace the bike--even though the bank robber who was using it as his getaway vehicle bought it second hand. Dexter and other investigators followed a trail from Steelman to the shop that sold the bike to the person who ordered it and ultimately sold it to the pedaling pilferer.

Now, if it isn't ironic enough that someone was pulling bank heists on a bike built by Steel-man, the name of the racer-turned-robber seems like even more of a cosmic joke:  Tom Justice.

Maybe he should have gone to law school.  I imagine that winning a case can be quite a thrill--and lucrative.

In The Bag At The New Amsterdam Bike Show

In "What I Carried In The Original Messenger Bag"--one of my early posts on this blog-- I talked about a role the eponymous bag played in my life.


It may have been the only bag I owned at that time in my life.  Or, I may have had one or two others.  Truth is, I didn't have much I could have carried with them. 


Even so, I was always looking at bags in stores and on street vendors' displays.  After I quit messengering  (I know, such a word doesn't exist, at least not officially!), I went to work for American Youth Hostels.  At the time, they operated an outdoor equipment store and mail order service from the Spring Street headquarters in which I worked. One of the first things I did after getting my first AYH paycheck (which, believe me, wasn't much) was to buy a shoulder bag that I hadn't seen anyone else carrying.  

These days, I seem to end up with more and more bags, even after self-imposed moratoria on buying new ones, and after giving away or selling ones I have.  Even so, I'll look at more bags, as I did today in the Brooklyn Industries outlet store where Lakythia and I stopped during our ride today.


You might say I have a bag fetish. It seems that other cyclists share it.  I say that after seeing how much time and space is devoted to discussions of them on various online fora, and the numbers of them available.  Plus, it seemed that at the New Amsterdam Bike show, which I attended yesterday, there were almost as many displays, and more makers, of bags than bikes.  

There were the classic, traditional saddlebags from Brooks, which also showed a couple of modern shoulder bags, tool rolls and other bags now in their line.  There were also the icons of cordura cartage--namely, messenger bags and backpacks from makers like Timbuk2 and Chrome.

A company called Truce is making some interesting-looking bags--including long backpacks that seem inspired by rock climbers' rucksacks--in just about any kind of bright color you can imagine.  Their name and palette seem to be a rebuke or parody of the pseudo-military imagery other companies try to invoke.  

At the other end of the spectrum, literally as well as figuratively, Elektra is offering canvas panniers that mimic, in many ways, the Berthoud bags--which, in turn, are modern renditions of the French panniers of old.


So, tell me, dear readers:  Do we, as cyclists, have an obsession with bags?  Or was the high number of them displayed at the New Amsterdam show just a passing fad?  Or could it be that there really is much greater interest in--and, thus, a bigger market--for bags because more cyclists want to use their bikes for transportation and in other practical ways?  

Is Amazon Sending UPS Back To Its Roots?

I could've been....a UPS delivery person.

Actually, I was, for about four weeks.  The venerable delivery company hired me one holiday season:  from the day after Thanksgiving until Christmas Eve.  Back then, the company employed a lot of "helpers" during that time of year.  Many of us were students, as I was.  We didn't drive:  We rode the trucks for a minute or two, leaped off, delivered a few packages, leaped back on and repeated a few hundred times.

I don't know whether UPS still hires extra help during that season.  The pay, as I recall, was decent, but as my driver said, "You earn it."  He was right:  Even though I was young and in good condition (mainly from cycling), I was still tired at the end of a shift:  I'd have just enough energy to ride my bike home.  But it was, in some ways, a satisfying job, at least for those few weeks:  People were usually happy to see us, and I got a few tips and gifts.

That driver, and our supervisor, suggested that I might want to get a driver's license and work for them permanently.  Sometimes I wonder whether I should have:  I understand the retirement benefits are good, and I could have retired by now.  Then again, even if I had more desire to drive at all, I'm not sure that I would have wanted to do it all day.

If I'd been born a few decades earlier, I could have been a bike messenger for them.  After all, I later plied the streets of Manhattan on two wheels, delivering everything from slices of pizza to documents pertaining to mergers, divorces and every other proceeding you can think of--and a few small packages with mysterious contents. (Well, at least I wasn't supposed to know what was in them. But, given their destinations, it wasn't hard to tell.)  And UPS was in the bike messenger business.

In fact, that's how it started more than a century ago:  a few young men delivered packages by bicycle and on foot in Seattle.  Now, it seems that UPS is returning to its roots, sort of.

It's partnered with the Seattle Department of Transportation and the University of Washington in a pilot program to make deliveries in the city's downtown area, around the Pike Place Market.  The program will involve e-bikes pulling wagons with detachable cargo trailers.  Those vehicles remind me a bit of the tuk-tuks I rode while in Cambodia and Laos. In fact, I wouldn't be surprised if the designers were inspired, at least in part, by them:  these containers can carry up to 400 pounds, and four adult humans (of Western size) can ride in the cab of a tuk-tuk.

According to Seattle Mayor Jenny Durkan, the alliance will "help us better understand how we can ensure the delivery of goods while making space on our streets for transit, bikes and pedestrians."  Seattle, like other American cities, has experienced an increase in motorized traffic in spite of growing numbers of cyclists, pedestrians and people who use mass transit.  

While UPS and other couriers (including the US Postal Service and Fed Ex) can't be blamed for it, one could say they are vehicles (no pun intended) for it:  According to a report from the World Economic Forum and Deloitte, in the decade from 2005 to 2015, the global total number of parcels delivered increased by 128 percent.  Much of this increase, according to researchers, is a result of consumers increasingly having single items shipped at a time.  This trend has been fueled, in large part, by retailers like Amazon and Walmart--who use UPS and the other carriers I've mentioned--who make it easy to order, and offer free shipping on, cheap items.   

If the collaboration between the UPS, the city and the university proves successful, UPS says it will be expanded to other parts of the Emerald City.  It could also be exported to other cities experiencing traffic congestion problems.

In My O-Pinion, This Could Be Interesting

Derailleurs are great.

Well, most of the time--for me, anyway.  With the exception of Tosca, my Mercian fixed-gear, my other "fun" bikes have derailleurs on them.  Cyclists have been using them for nearly a century; in that time, derailleur-equipped bikes have gone from having two cogs to eleven on the rear wheel.  (When I first became a dedicated cyclists, five in the rear was normal; six-speed freewheels were new and exotic

I think 8 rear gears is the "sweet spot" where a wide range of gear options intersects with relative durability and un-fussy shifting; 9 gears--which I use--sacrifices a bit of chain life but greater availability of cassettes across a wider selection of gear ratios and price ranges.

Aside from Tosca, I have one other derailleur-less bike:  my commuter/"beater", which has a single-speed freewheel.  Most commuters here in New York don't have to negotiate many, if any, hills.  I myself make one climb of any significance on my way to work in the Bronx.

Now,  if you don't have to ride hills or are very young or strong, a single-speed bike is a great option if you want to do as little maintenance as possible.  If you're really young and strong, or a messenger, (I was all of those.)you might even like a fixed-gear single-speed.  (At times, I have commuted on a fixed-gear and, as I've mentioned in other posts, I've been a messenger.)  But if you're not-so-young or athletic, live in a hilly area or simply want to sweat as little as possible, you might prefer a variable-gear bike.

If you want variable gears but don't want to use derailleur, you only other option--at least, if you live here in the US--is an internally-geared hub.  The most familiar kind is the classic three-speed.  Sturmey-Archer made several models, but by far the most popular (or at least common) was their AW, which came on the Raleigh, Dunelt, Robin Hood and other English bikes.  Shimano, Sachs and a few other companies also made them; the one marketed by SunTour during the 1960's and early '70'd has long been rumored to be a re-badged Sturmey-Archer.

The problems with those hubs are that they don't offer a wide variety of gears, the spacing between gears is less-than-optimal and, with the exception of the old (pre-1975 or thereabouts) Sturmey-Archer models, they tend to wear out quickly.  Moreover, they don't transmit power (turn your pedal strokes into wheel revolutions) very efficently and weigh significantly more than a hub with a cassette or freewheel combined with derailleurs.

Worst of all, if riders neglect (as most do) even the minimal maintenance internally-geared hubs require, they can fall  to the ravages of rain, wind and other elements almost as easily as the exposed parts of a derailleur.

For some time, European commuters and utility cyclists have had another option:  a gear box.  

The German-made Pinion gear box is a standard feature on about 90 different bike models sold in Europe.  It is a rarity in the US, but that could change:  The company is opening an office in Denver in conjunction with Gates, the manufacturer of the Carbon Drive System.

Think of Pinion as an internally-geared hub on your bottom bracket:  The box contains a set of epicyclic gears, like the ones inside the hub, in an oil bath.  But, unlike the hubs, which had oil caps on their shells, Pinion requires an oil change every 10000 km or so.  The good news is that Pinions appear to be more hermetically sealed than internally-geared hubs, so the lubrication is less prone to contamination and, one assumes, runs more smoothly.  

Add caption

The main downside to Pinion is, apart from its weight, the fact that it can be installed only on a Pinion-specific frame. For some, that limitation is counter-balanced by its greatly reduced maintenance, ease of shifting and the fact that it's available in a number of gear configurations, with 6,9,12 or 18 gears in a range from 295 to 636 percent.  This means a wider range of gears, with narrower steps in between, than is possible in an internally-geared hub.  It's also available with a die-cast magnesium gear box, which cuts the weight somewhat, in addition to standard aluminum model.

Do They Know What We’re Carrying?

One of my early posts, “What I Carried In The Original Messenger Bag”, detailed some of the baggage, if you will, I was hauling with my deliveries as I sluiced the Manhattan canyons of concrete, glass and steel. My traumas, fears and grievances were, of course, among the reasons why I spent a year as a bike messenger.

Perhaps I still  carry some of those psychological wounds. Perhaps I always will. These days, though, the load is lighter. So, today, I am going to mention the physical objects I take with me on just about any ride.  Perhaps you take some of them—or similar items with you.

My kit includes a spare inner tube, tire levers, a Park MT-1 tool and  Victorinox Spartan knife.

Andrew  a snack or two.  Sometimes I think animals know that.

“Oh  look, one of those funny creatures with big round feet—and something to eat!”

My First Mountain (Bike)

There's a good chance you've seen one of these bikes:

For a time in my life, I owned and rode one.  In fact, I was one of the first people to do so.

Early in 1983, I was working at Highland Park (NJ) Cyclery again.  At that time, I had the Columbus-tubed Trek 930  racing bike and Peugeot PX-10 I've mentioned in other posts.  

I didn't really want or need another bike.  However, at that time, I couldn't help but to notice the then-newfangled mountain bikes that were appearing for the first time outside of northern California and New England.  

Two years earlier, the first mass-produced mountain bike came to market:  The Specialized Stumpjumper.  Up to that time, mountain bikes were made by specialty framebuilders like Joe Breeze and Tom Ritchey and had components that the builders made themselves or adapted from existing parts.  Needless to say, those bikes were expensive:  even more costly than the best racing bikes available at the time.  In spite of the time and effort that went into building them, most early bikes rode and handled like shopping carts, at least compared to today's bikes.

Although the Stumpjumper was "mass market", it wasn't cheap:  For its sticker price, one could get a decent racing bike or a good fully-loaded tourer.  It, too, is clunky compared to modern mountain bikes, let alone road machines.  However, every once in a while I see one outfitted with decent components (some of which are original).  Because of their long wheelbases and slack angles, those early Stumpjumpers offer a cushier and even more stable (at slow speeds) ride than some cruisers, which some people love.  And, it almost goes without saying, the early Stumpjumpers are collectors' items.

I'm not sure the Ross Force 1 will ever attain such status. Nonetheless,  it holds the distinction of being the first mountain bike Ross produced, as well as the first bike with cantilever brakes to be built in the company's Allentown, PA factory.  (To my knowledge, no such bikes were ever made in their Rockaway Beach, NY factory.)

Some time in the 1970's, I believe, Ross started to make ten-speed bikes with lugged high-tensile steel frames after a decade or so of importing them from Japan.  Until then, Rosses were made like most other American bikes of the time:  from welded steel tubes.  Not surprisingly, they were about as heavy as most other American bikes.

The Force 1 featured a frame that looked--and rode--the way one of their lugged high-tensile bikes would have ridden if its wheelbase had been stretched a few inches and its angles slackened by about seven  degrees.  I couldn't complain, though:  I knew I wasn't getting a high-performance machine.  

So why did I buy it?  Well, for one thing, it was cheap:  The retail price was about the same as that of the company's mid-level ten-speed and, of course, as an employee, I didn't pay retail.  Also, I figured I could beat the stuffin's out of it, which I did.  Finally, as I said, I was curious about mountain bikes.

And, oh, I'll admit it:  I liked the way the bike looked, with its black frame and gold-anodized wheels.  

The bike was about what I expected:  heavy and sturdy.  It was the first bike I used as a messenger, and it served me well.  All through slushy, snowy, rainy deliveries, the bike held up nicely.  One particular surprise was the Normandy/Maillard five-speed freewheel that came with it.  For one thing, it was the only French, let alone European, part on the bike.  For another, it was the most impervious part:  The cogs barely wore at all, and none of the grit or slush seemed to enter the bearings or other parts of the mechanism.  Aside from cleaning the cogs when I degreased the chain, I didn't have to perform any maintenance on it.

Most of the other parts performed well (e.g., Sun Tour derailleurs) or were barely noticeable (cranks, seat post, and others).  The handlebars were rock-steady.  They should have been:  They were the "bull-moose" type, welded to the stem's two extensions.  I suspected that, removed from the bike, they'd make good weapons, though I never tested that idea.

It did come with one really weird component, though:  the Shimano Admas AX pedals.  In those days, Shimano had a reputation for weirdness, but these pedals made some of those early aerodynamic components seem sober.  Depending on which Shimano rep you believed, the pedals were more aerodynamic or more ergonomic than any others.  As far as I could tell, they simply had less ground clearance than any other pedal, save for one, I've ever ridden.  They met an untimely (or, perhaps not, for them) demise from curbs and such.

About a year after acquiring the bike--and a few months into my time as a messenger--I parked the Force I outside Rockefeller Center to make a delivery on a high floor. When I returned, it was gone.  All that glitters may not be gold, but it still attracts thieves, I guess.

Note:  The bike was eventually renamed the Mount Hood because of trademark issues with the Force 1 name.  The Mount Hood remained in production for several more years, first in Allentown and later in Taiwan.

Cycling Really Does Pay--In Denver

I've been paid to ride my bike, though not in a way I envisioned in my hopes or dreams.

Like other young riders of my generation, I had images of myself riding with the pros--in Europe, of course, because that's where most of the pros were.  Specifically, I saw myself pedaling with the peloton past sunflower fields, vineyards and castles, through river valleys and up mountains in France, Belgium, Italy and other hotbeds of cycling.  It was near the end of Eddy Mercx's reign, and before the dawning of Bernard Hinault's.  There were some great riders, but none had dominated the field the way Eddy and Bernard did.  So I thought I had a chance to, not only become the next champion, but to become a standard-bearer for my country.

Well, obviously, that dream didn't pan out.  My amateur racing career didn't last long:  I did muster one third-place finish. But I discovered that riding as a job isn't nearly as much fun as riding because you want to.

What led to the discovery of the latter was being a messenger in New York City.  For a while I actually enjoyed it, or at least I was OK with it because, really, during that time in my life, I couldn't have done anything else.  And I was getting paid to ride my bike!

That last aspect of the trade, if you will, lost its appeal to me after I slogged through slush a few times--and when I admitted to myself that I was doing it because I couldn't--actually, wouldn't--deal with a few things I wouldn't until much later.  And I wasn't riding much when I wasn't on the job.  

Still, though, the idea of getting paid to ride a bike always appealed to me.  (If I were President, I would...) So imagine my delight upon learning that in a major American city, people will have that privilege--at least for this month.

Bike Streets, a Denver nonprofit, has launched an all-volunteer project focused on getting residents of the Mile High City to change how they travel around their city.  Folks who sign up will have their mileage logged by Strava; depending on how many sign up, riders will earn 15 to 30 cents a mile, for a maximum of $75 a month.

Photo by F Delvanthal

Oh, and riders can pedal wherever they want:  to school, work, the store or a park, along a trail or a street.  Bike Streets founder Avi Stopper hopes that the reward will entice people to "discover riding a bike, not just for fitness, but to get to every destination they need to go in Denver, is really a viable thing and a fun thing to do as well."

That sounds like a fine reward to me--though I wouldn't turn down the money, either.

By the way, in 2018 Bike Streets created the Low-Stress Denver Bike Map, which has been used about 425,000 times. They're accepting donations to help pay for this month's project, as well as ongoing work like the map.    

This Pyschologist Doesn't Think We're Crazy

If you cycle because you want to, non-cyclists probably have referred to you by any number of adjectives and epithets.  One of them might be "crazy."

I'll admit that I actually called one of my fellow cyclists "crazy."  So, however, did other members of our "crew."  Actually, Ray Tirado wasn't crazy so much as he was fearless and seemingly incapable of feeling physical pain. (All right, some might argue that such a combination of traits might add up to a listing or two in the DSM.) Most of our rides together were off-road and he made jumps and descents that, even when I still had most of my insecurity and testosterone, I wouldn't have dared.  Even on a straightaway on a the road, under a clear sky with the wind at our backs, I could see that his attitude toward riding, and life, was different from anything I could imagine.

That said, I admire him to this day.  Even though he seemed to be riding "gonzo," whether on off his bike, he always seemed to understand who he is--which meant that the risks he took weren't just acts of hubris:  He was pushing his boundaries because he understood what they were and didn't want them to be boundaries any more.

I must admit that, to this day, I value few compliments I've ever received  for anything more than the ones he gave me for my riding (!) and "for being you," as he once said.  "You know why you ride, or do anything you do."

He got half of that statement right.  To this day, I sometimes do things without knowing why.  Cycling is not one of them, which is why it's one of the few things I can't imagine my life without.

You see, after half a century of dedicated riding--which has included commuting, touring, racing, messenger work, riding on and off the road in all kinds of conditions in about two dozen different countries--I can say that I understand the risks of sluicing through city traffic, barreling down a rocky hill or pedaling into the teeth of a mistral as well as anyone.

And I know, as "Crazy Ray" surely did, that those risks are outweighed by the benefits, not the least of which are the ones for our mental health.  One of the world's most influential people also understands as much--which is why he got me to thinking about Ray.

He's just published his latest book, Rationality:  What It Is, Why It Seems Scarce, Why It Matters.  One way you know he's an academician is that the book title has a colon in it. But he's more than that:  a real intellectual, a thinker.  That means that, as much as he enjoys cycling, it's not an unconscious or reflexive act for him.  "Given the value you put on your life and the fact that there's even a very small probability of getting killed," he asks, "does it outweigh the pleasure and health benefits of continuing to ride?"

Steven Pinker.  

The people who can't understand why we ride are usually focused on the first part of his question:  the risk.  But Steven Pinker, a Harvard psychologist who specializes in psycholinguistics and social relations, has been thinking about why he rides for as long as he's been riding. For example, as a kid, he tried to understand how he could remain upright while riding, which would lead him to learn about the brain's workings and how they relate to Newton's law of gravity.  Also, while growing up, he heard about men--including three uncles and several of his father's friends--dying prematurely of heart attacks.  So, he says, as a young man he resolved to keep himself in good cardiovascular health.  His studies in neuroscience would confirm the wisdom of his choice:  "physical exercise is one of the best ways to extend brain health."

So, the Harvard researcher and my old riding buddy--who, by the way, was a plumber--would agree on this:  Riding a bicycle is as about as rational as anything a human being can do.
 

When Hipsters And Hasidim Use The Same Adjective

From Indigo Jo Blogs

When people on opposing sides of the same issue are using "stupid" as a prefix for the same word, the thing they're talking about can't be good.  Right?


I'm thinking now of bike lanes.  Both cyclists and the people who hate us, or merely find us a nuisance, use that same adjective in reference to the lanes.  


I was reminded of this when I stumbled over a site called "Stupid Bike Lanes" and read articles like this, and the comments on them. 


Of course, the velophobes--who include all sorts of (but not all) people whose way of life or business is auto-based--think we're getting in their way of getting to wherever they have to go and believe we're getting "special privileges."


As any number of other bloggers (including yours truly) and commentators have pointed out, the antipathy toward cyclists, particularly in urban areas, is often generational and based on socio-economic or ethnic issues.  Here in New York, non-cyclists hold contradictory views of cyclists: the messenger, the hipster, the Whole Foods customer and the simply rich.  What reinforces these stereotypes is that those who most vociferously oppose the bike lanes tend to come from what remains of the blue-collar class and groups like the Hasidic and Orthodox Jews who have large families that they transport in vans.  So, they are always driving, it seems, from one available parking spot to the next and, as they see it, the bike lanes take away those spots.  


The bike lane-haters who are actual cyclists don't dispute those objections, and in fact cite one basic flaw of most urban bike lanes:  They run alongside parking lanes and, therefore, directly in the path of opening drivers' side doors.  I've been "doored" a few times: on all except one of those occasions, I was riding in a bike lane.


Some bike lanes are badly designed in other ways.  The most obvious flaw, aside from the one I just mentioned, is that many of them go nowhere, end abruptly or in the middle of busy intersections, or are so poorly marked so that only those who already know where they are can find them.  


All of the problems I've mentioned actually make cycling less safe than it is in the traffic lanes of most streets.  And they indicate that those who design them know as little about cycling as transportation, in an urban area, as those who hate cyclists.

Entering And Reaching During A Ride

The other day, I pedaled along the Queens and Brooklyn waterfronts from my apartment to the Williamsburg Bridge.  After crossing, I turned onto Clinton Street and crossed the Lower East Side and Chinatown before crossing under the Manhattan and Brooklyn Bridges. 

Then I decided to channel the bike messenger I was many years ago and zig-zag through the narrow steel, granite  and concrete  canyons of the Financial District.  There, I did something that sounds riskier than it actually is (which is the opposite of so many things done in that part of town!): I stopped in the middle of Fulton Street, with a line of cars in front of,  and behind, me.

It wasn't so dangerous because the traffic was halted for a bit longer than it normally would stop for a red light.  Guys in thick boots and safety vests were doing some sort of construction or destruction, I'm not sure of which.  So they, with the help of police, stopped traffic for a few minutes, did whatever they were doing and let the traffic go for another few minutes.

That was good, for me, because there are some things for which one should stop before entering.

I couldn't help but to feel that I was riding into the entrance of a cathedral--of tourism?  Of capitalism?  Of this city itself?

When the new World Trade Center tower was under construction, about a decade ago, I was prepared to hate it.  I never cared much for the old "Twin Towers," but after they were destroyed in the September 11 attacks, I felt that nothing should be built in their place.  I thought that the twin rays of blue light that were beamed up from the site for about a year were a fitting tribute to all of the lives lost.

I must say, though, that I like the new tower.  Its curves on the outside give it the grace of a dancer rising and arching her arms as she pirouettes.  It's as if the feeling of transcendence one feels under the arches of a cathedral were the result of the cathedral itself reaching for something.

I feel the new WTC, in its architecture, honors the people lost in and around the Twin Towers.  If only they were here to see it.

Is Snow The Only Thing Falling?

I woke up to snow fluttering down my window.  The flakes weren't turning into mounds, or even a scrim of powder on the streets, so I thought I'd go for a ride--and, maybe, catch some snowflakes on my tongue. (It's one of my guilty pleasures!)  But, as soon as I got out the door, the snow turned to sleet and the streets and sidewalks were being glazed with slush that, in spots, would slick with ice.  Even on my bikes with fenders, I wasn't going to ride in that.  

In my youth, I might've.  Actually, I more than likely would have.  Riding in conditions nobody else would was a point of pride, almost of definace.  I think now of the time in Vermont when the temperature dropped from 50 to 15F (10 to -10C) and a partly cloudy day turned to rain, sleet, then snow, the latter of which fell as I was descending a mountain.  I also remember the time I rode down a virage in the French Alps, near Arly-sur-Praz, on a fully loaded bike as rain fell and a loaded lumber truck rumbled--and, was that a skid I heard?--around one of those hairpin turns.  And, when I was a bike messenger, I had to ride in conditions worse than what I saw today.  

Am I getting lazy, soft, or just old?  I don't think the day was a waste:  I read, wrote and had lots of cuddle time with Max and Marley.  Still, I have to wonder about what's becoming of me.  Perhaps I no longer cast a shadow.  Then again, nobody does on a day like this.

Photo by Roland Tanglao

The Real Way To Find The Right Bike For You

I found this neat graphic on the Osprey Packs blog. 

You've gotta love some of the questions on it: "Ever worked as a bike messenger or dreamed of it?" "What's your favorite kind of equestrian event?" "Which are you more likely to consume while riding?"

 But my favorite question is the one at the top of the "chain": "Are you wearing a top hat?" Honestly, I am not, and never have.

 I've worn all sorts of things--and very little of anything at all--while riding my bike. And, before I started wearing helmet, I sported all manner of headgear, from bonnets to berets--and, yes, cycling caps. But no top hat. Or spats.

If Brooks Really Wants To Do Fashion Accessories

I love Brooks saddles--at least, certain models.  (I don't think anyone can love all of the saddles that any company makes!)  I like their bar wrap, and their traditional seat bags look nice, too.   

However, sometimes it seems that they're turning into a fashion-accessory company.  I mean, it's one thing to offer stylish saddlebags, panniers and other luggage that attaches to bikes.  I even think it's fine that they're offering backpacks and messenger bags:  They look nice, but I doubt I'll ever buy them because I hardly ever use such bags anymore.

But I have to wonder when Brooks England (the name of the company) offers ladies' and gents' "cycling jackets" that look--and are priced--more like trench coats or safari jackets from Brooks Brothers.  How many cyclists are going to buy something like that?  

Then again, BE might be trying to develop non-cycling customers.  After all, we tend not to replace our Brooks Professionals or B17s very often!  

If Brooks England really wants to become the world's first bicycle fashion house, it should consider offering things like these:

From Voochee

What's more of a "gents'" accessory than cufflinks?  (I had four pairs of cufflinks, all of which were gifts.  I never wore any of them. Perhaps that's proof I was never a "gent".)  

The part of me that still loves the Sex Pistols wants to see those cufflinks made from the dirtiest, greasiest chains and used on the most pristine white shirts.  That's the sort of thing that, perhaps, a guy would wear if he'd just won the Lotto jackpot and was going to tell his boss what he really thought of the job and company.

Now, here's something Brooks could make for the ladies:

From Chainspirations

To make this "blossom" pendant, individual chain links were disassembled and the parts cleaned and anodized.  It's offered in a number of different main and accent colors, and with several different lengths of chain.

We've all seen bracelets made from lengths of bicycle chain.  For a time, it seemed as if every bike shop employee wore them.  Here's an interesting take on them:

From Winterwomandesigns

From a meter or two away, it looks like butterflies.  And butterflies rank right up there with cats and dolphins for my favorite animal motifs.

Somehow, I think it's tasteful enough even for John Boultbee--or a woman or girl in his life, anyway.

A Generation After The Ones Who Didn't Come Home

Today, I am not going to treat or subject (depending on your point of view) you to my "Sunday funnies" feature.

Rather, I am taking this opportunity to commemorate the 21st anniversary of the World Trade Center and Pentagon attacks, and the downing of a flight in Pennsylvania.

This anniversary is significant because at the age of 21, most people in most parts of the world have all or most of the rights and responsibilities of an adult.  So, some might argue, a whole generation has been born since that terrible day.

I also can't help, as a long-ago bike messenger, to think of all of those messengers and other workers--including firefighters and other first responders and office workers in the Towers--who never made it home that day. I am also thinking of those who were spared because they had the day off, were late or were on their way when their train or bus came to a halt.

And there are the bikes that were never retrieved.

  

Bike rack at the 9/11 Memorial

What They Really Mean By "Suspension"

I've been called "crazy" and worse for crossing city, county, state and national boundaries--and mountain ranges--on my bike.  And for working as a bike messenger in Manhattan. And riding on a velodrome.

But I admit there are some things I haven't tried, and don't plan to.  I don't know whether I fear heights more than other people, but what these women are doing is above my pay grade.

They weren't doing a "one off" stunt.  Rather, the contraption they're pedaling almost 1000 feet above Wansheng Ordovician Theme Park in China is an attraction open to the public. 

R.I.P. Eddie B.

He has been beatified as "Father of American Cycling."  He's also been villified as the one who brought "Old World methods," if you know what I mean, to this side of the pond.

Edward Borysewicz passed away on Monday from COVID-19.  Known as "Eddie B" to his proteges and detractors alike, he is best known for training and developing the first generation of American cyclists since World War I who challenged, and sometimes defeated, their European counterparts. 

Born in Poland, he was a finalist for the Peace Race (often called "The Tour de France of the East") before a misdiagnosis of tuberculosis led to a treatment he didn't need--which, in turn, led to liver damage that ended his career. "I went in feeling like a rooster and came out feeling like a pigeon," he recalled.  (It's been speculated that this "misdiagnosis" was retaliation for his father's outspoken anti-communism.)  He continued to race, if not at the same level, and later turned to coaching.

In 1976, he accompanied the Polish team to the Montreal Olympics where Mieczyslaw Nowicki, one of the riders he coached, won two medals.  From there, he took a vacation in the US, where by chance, he met Mike Fraysse.   

It just happened that Mike Fraysse was the team manager for the US cycling squad.  He also owned Park Cycle in Ridgefield Park, New Jersey.  In addition to being one of the premier pro shops, and employing the likes of Francisco Cuevas and Pepi Limongi to build custom frames, Park Cycle served as a training facility for some budding talent.

He spoke no Polish. Eddie B spoke no English.  So, on a ride, they talked about training and other things in French.  It was there that both Fraysse and Eddie B saw an opportunity.

It just happened that the riders passing through Park Cycle included, or would come to include, Alexi Grewal, Andy Hampsten, Connie Carpenter, Davis Phinney, Beth and Eric Heiden, Betsy Davis and Rebecca Twigg.  None of them would go to Moscow for the 1980 Olympics, as then-President Jimmy Carter imposed a boycott.  However, when the Games came to L.A. in 1984--and the Soviet Bloc countries, in retaliation, boycotted--the stage was set for victories American cyclists hadn't experienced since at least their grandparents' youth.

Eddie Borysewicz with Greg LeMond, 2006.  (Photo by Mitchel Clinton)

The US team brought home glitter the Trumps would envy.  Alexi Grewal won gold in the men's road race. Connie Carpenter took the same in the women's road race, with Rebecca Twigg winning the silver medal. Steve Hegg won gold in the individual pursuit while Mark Gorski and Nelson Vails (a former NYC messenger) finished 1-2 in the men's sprint.  Hegg, David Grylls, Patrick McDonough, Leonard Nitz and Brent Emery would combine for a silver medal in the team pursuit.  Nitz would also take bronze in the individual pursuit, which Ron Kiefel, Roy Knickman, Davis Phinney and Andy Weaver also won for the team time trial.

Before these victories, no American had won an Olympic medal in cycling since in 1912.  Two years later, another Eddie B-coached rider achieved something that was thought impossible for an American rider.  I am talking, of course, about Greg LeMond's first Tour de France win.

Rumors--some later substantiated--of doping and other risky practices have long beclouded the Tour and other major races.  LeMond, throughout his career, denounced these practices because of the risks they posed, and denied having "juiced" himself.  Although Lance Armstrong and others have attacked him, there has been no credible evidence of LeMond doping or otherwise cheating.

On the other hand, controversy would later descend upon the Olympic medalists when it emerged that some of them had received blood transfusions.  While not illegal at the time, the US Cycling Federation banned it in January 1985.  The transfusions were organized by Ed Burke, the Federation's athletic director, and Borysewicz claimed that they took place without his knowledge or approval.  Nonetheless, he and Burke were fined.

Eddie B would continue to coach elite cyclists to victory, including Lance Armstrong.  But he always proudest of LeMond, whom he called "a diamond."  He also took pride in discovering riders like Twigg.  

His biggest contributions to American cycling, however, may have been in changing the ways Americans approached cycling.  First of all, he used his academic training to create more scientific methods of training and nutrition for his riders.  Second, and perhaps more important, he helped to re-orient the mentality of American riders, and of the American public, toward cycling.  

He didn't want John Howard, arguably the top male American cyclist of the 1970s, on his team because he had a "Texan" mentality: He was, Eddie believed, focused on his individual success.  Americans of his generation, according to Borysewicz, did not share the European concept of cycling for and with a team.  For all of their individual successes, he trained his cyclists to ride as a team, even if they were in individual pursuits like the sprint.

All of that, I believe, ended American cycling's inferiority complex.  After the victories I mentioned, other American cyclists--and the American public--believed they could ride with the best in the world.  That, perhaps, is Eddie Borysewicz's greatest legacy.