Leaving Waterloo

Sheldon Brown dubbed the quarter-century or so following World War II as the "Dark Ages" of US Cycling. Few adults cycled and nearly all of them were clustered around a few cities.  So, perhaps not surprisingly, high-quality cycling gear was difficult to come by, as nearly all American bicycle manufacturing consisted of bikes for kids.  Those tiny number of shops and mail-order companies that offered high-end parts and bikes, as often as not, ordered them for their customers from Europe or a few companies in the US.

As for the bikes:  Some frame builders, like Dick Power of Queens, New York (who, interestingly, sponsored and mentored female riders) and George Olemenchuk of Detroit, turned out some well-crafted machines that rode well. But they made small numbers of frames that rarely, if ever, were ridden by cyclists beyond their immediate environs.  Quite possibly the only nationally-availabe, US-made, world-class (Did I use enough modifying phrases?) bike was Schwinn's aptly-named Paramount. But you couldn't buy one of the showroom floor--unless, of course, your local Schwinn dealer stocked one (and if they did, the probably stocked only one) and it happened to be the right size for you.

1971 Schwinn Paramount

 

Then came the 1970s "Bike Boom."  High-quality racing and touring bikes from England, France, Italy and Japan appeared even in small-town bike shops.  Some might debate that they had ride qualities that the Paramount lacked, but few argued that the workmanship of those imported bikes was better. But they--especially the Japanese bikes--offered much better value for the money, as the Paramount's price doubled within three years.

More to the point, though, the newly-available bikes made Paramounts, as nice as the were, seem stodgy.  And, according to people in the industry, the Paramount's production facilities and methods were dated.  Moreover, by the end of the decade, a number of American custom frame builders like Albert Eisentraut and Bruce Gordon were turning out bikes that rivaled those of their overseas counterparts.

So, in 1980 Paramount production moved to a new facility in Waterloo, Wisconsin.  (Not long after, much of Schwinn's other production shifted from Chicago to Mississippi.) These changes occurred around the same time Schwinn ownership and management shifted to a new generation. But the company failed to keep up with changes in the industry--they were late to the mountain bike and very late to the BMX game--and declared bankruptcy for the first time in 1991.

In the wake of those developments, two members of that new management generation--Richard Schwinn and Marc Muller--took over the Paramount facility and started a company familiar to a generation of American bike enthusiasts:  Waterford.  It focused on building, essentially, updated custom versions of the Paramount:  hand-crafted lugged frames from Reynolds, Tange or other high-quality alloy steel tubing.  Later, they added another line of bikes--Gunnar--with TIG-welded steel frames that weren't available in custom sizes or colors.

A late-model Waterford

Last month, Schwinn and Muller announced that Waterford/Gunnar was closing up shop.  The reason, they said is that they and several other key employees are retiring. They fulfilled their remaining orders and sold the building.  This Saturday, the 24th, there will be a "farewell" ride beginning at the factory, where there will be an "open house."  On that day, an online auction will begin.  Running until 10 July, there won't be many frames or forks available for sale.  But it might be a good source for current or aspiring builders or manufacturers or a collector with "an interest in something from the legendary Waterford factory," according to the company.

Riding To Emancipation

 On this date in 1865–two months after the end of the US Civil War and two and a half years after the Emancipation Proclamation, Union and US Army Major General Gordon Granger arrived in Galveston, Texas to announce the end of slavery.

So why did it take so long to release Black people from bondage in Texas?  Well, Texas was the frontier—at least for the Confederacy.  In those days before the Internet, electronic media, telephones or even, in many areas, telegraphs, news traveled slowly.  (That is why. until Franklin D. Roosevelt’s first presidential victory, presidents were inaugurated in March even though they were elected the previous November.) I suspect, however, that Emancipation would have come slowly to Texas even if communication were faster because slavery was a major reason why it seceded from Mexico, became a Republic, was annexed to the United States and seceded from it. And it had, by far, the largest number and area of plantations. In addition, historians estimate that 80 percent of Texas cattle ranches relied on slave labor.

Thirteen years after Juneteenth, Marshall Walter “Major” Taylor was born to parents who descended from slaves. His status as the first African American to become a champion in any sport did not shield him from attempts to continue slavery by other means, not only in the South.  But his dominance as a sprinter and fearlessness and dignity as a human being makes him as much an icon of emancipation as anybody.  This has to be one of the best uses of his images I’ve seen.

Black girls do indeed bike—and so emancipate themselves, at least from some stereotypes.

Memorial Day By Bicycle

 Today is Memorial Day in the United States.  In other countries, it’s known as Remembrance Day—which I think is more fitting.

Bicycles have played an important, if unsung role, in various conflicts during the past century and a half.  Perhaps they were most prominent in World War I.

Anzac Corps soldiers in Henencourt, France, 1917

Let us not forget how useful and necessary bicycles have been to people who are trying to escape the horrors of war, like this Jewish teenager—Pessah Cofnas (yes, he survived)

From the collection of the United States Holocaust Memorial Museum 

or as a way of getting around when highways are blocked, gasoline is unavailable and other modes of transportation are disrupted or destroyed.

Let us remember those who served and sacrificed.  But let us prevent more such tragedies.

Marching, Or Pedaling, To Our Own Drummers—Or Guitarists

 I have to admit that along with the mental and physical health benefits—and sheer pleasure—cycling has given me, something that keeps me in the saddle is that it still feels subversive sometimes.

During my junior and senior years in high school, I definitely was pedaling to my own drummer (or guitar player: they were my real musical heroes, along with Bob Dylan) when my peers were leaving their Schwinn Varsities and Continentals, Raleigh Records and Grand Prixes (Is that the proper plural?) and, in a few cases, Peugeot UO8s, the moment they got their drivers’ permits.

Since then, I’ve been in the minority for most of my life: In previous posts, I recalled how I often pedaled rural roads, suburban subdivisions and city streets without encountering another adult cyclist. Then, as now, some saw me as a nuisance or even a threat:  Even during the last years of the Cold War, a man or woman astride two wheels instead of behind one and on four was linked, in some minds to socialism or communism (which, although different, were and are conflated).

Even today, as adults—mainly young ones—riding to school or work, or for fun, are more common here in New York and in other places, I still feel that bicycles are vehicles, if you will, for changes.

I was reminded of that during a late-day ride, when I was greeted by this grand dame at MOMA/PS1.

Along the way, I pedaled along a familiar path on the Long Island City waterfront.  If I were just a little more self-centered (which would be saying something!), I’d say the Parks Department landscapers were paving the way for me.

I’m told that people whose favorite color is purple tend to march, or pedal, to their own drummer, or guitarist or lyricist.

Is He Speaking With A Forked Path?

 You don’t have to read much of this blog to know or even infer my distaste for almost anything having to do with El Cheeto Grande, Ron De-Sanctimonious or George In-Santos.

But, to be fair, I’ll point out that our former (I hope)President and his wanna-but-I-hope-he-never-will-be successor—or the only living being capable of telling more lies than either—are unique among public office-holders in their meanness, maliciousness, mendaciousness or pure-and-simple dishonesty. 

I think now of Ronald Reagan’s assertion: “Trees cause more pollution than automobiles do.” Oh, and don’t get me started on “weapons of mass destruction,”  Again, in the interests of fairness, I will point out that it wasn’t the first time a falsehood was the premise for bringing the United States to war.

Deliberately misinforming their constituents—or simply making ridiculous statements—is, unfortunately, becoming even more of a normal operating procedure as politicians have to prove their fidelity to the most extreme party leaders and voters. 

Even seemingly-moderate politicos are dancing in the conga line.  Mitt Romney—who may be the only presidential candidate to castigate an incumbent opponent for doing on a national level what he himself did in his state while he was governor —has fallen in line with his party’s anti-environment, anti-cyclist stance.  Or he is yet more proof that rich doesn’t always equal smart or well-informed.

Now, before I relate his coal-lump of wisdom,’I must clarify what I think of bike lanes.  I am in favor of them—if they are conceived, planned and executed in ways that actually make cycling safer, as well as more practical and enjoyable.  Too many lanes I’ve seen don’t accomplish any of those objectives and even do the exact opposite.  

So, in light of what I’ve just said, I can understand at least one aspect of opposition to bike lane construction.  But Mr. Romney claims that bike lane construction is “the height of stupidity” because “it means more cars backing up, creating more emissions.”

First of all, independent studies conducted by, among other institutions, Carnegie-Mellon and McGill Universities, show the exact opposite.  For one thing, a bike doesn’t emit the poisons that spew from tailpipes.  For another, the studies show that on streets where a traffic  or parking lane was turned into a bike lane, there was frequent or chronic traffic congestion before the bike lane was designated.

So…Mitt Romney is now part of an unfortunate tradition—and a dangerous recent development. Is he misinformed, disingenuous or malicious? Has he steered off his own path onto the one of, for today’s Republicans, least resistance?

Photo by Doug Pensinger, Getty Images

After El Cinco, Le Huit

 Three days ago, Cinco de Mayo was celebrated by, I am told, more gringos in Los Estados Unidos than actual Mexicans anywhere in the world.

Today is another holiday or day of commemoration, depending on where you are.  Or, if you are in the Americas, you might not be aware of it.

On this date in 1945, the Allies accepted the unconditional surrender of German forces.  Since then, in France and other countries, this date is celebrated as Victory in Europe Day.  (If you hear a French person say something that sounds like “wheat-may,” they’re talking about huit mai: this date). In Germany, it is a somber day of commemoration.  Here in the US, it was observed mainly by veterans—of whom very few remain—of World War II’s European theatre.

As I noted in an earlier post, bicycles played a significant role in the war and led, interestingly, to lighter bicycles and changes in civilian attire.

Here is a photo Robert John McNary Smith, who served in engineer and weather units of the US Army, took on the Champs-Elysées on 8 May 1945.  It’s part of the National World War II Museum’s collection.

Cycling Through The PTSD of History--My Own and This Country's

Spring arrived yesterday at 17:24 (5:24 pm) local time in New York, where I am.

At that moment, I just happened to be out on Dee-Lilah, my custom Mercian Vincitore, for an after-work ride.  I knew I'd have about an hour and a half of daylight from that moment on, and I intended to take full advantage of it.

The sun shone brightly; there was scarcely a cloud in the sky.  But the wind, gusting to 40KPH (25MPH), and the temperature, which barely broke 5C (40F), reminded me that winter would not loosen its grip so easily.  Still, the ride was delightful because of Dee-Lilah (Why do you think I so named her?) and because I'd had a full day of work- and non-work-related things.

Also, I may have felt the need to work with, if not out, the lingering sadness I felt:  Yesterday marked twenty years since the United States invaded Iraq.  If 9/11 was America's first step into the quicksand of a perennial war, on 20 March 2003, this country had waded into it, at least up to the waist. If I believed in karma, I would say that the trials and tribulations this country has suffered are retribution for that act of violence--which was precipitated by one of the more monstrous lies told by a public official.  (That so many people see such dishonesty as normal in political and official discourse is something else I might have taken as some sort of cosmic payback.)

US Marines in Kuwait, near the Iraq border, the day before the invasion.  Photo by Joe Raedele, Getty Images

I remember that time all to well.  For one thing, I marched in the massive anti-war demonstration a month earlier, where I was just a few bodies away from those horses NYPD officers charged into the crowd.  For another, I was preparing to live as the woman I am now:  I had begun therapy and counseling a few months earlier, and started taking hormones a few weeks before that demonstration.  All of the jingoism and drumbeats I heard in the lead-up to the invasion-- not to mention the invasion itself, premised as it was on lies--disturbed me because they showed how profoundly disrespectful some people can be toward other people simply because they are darker, speak a different language, worship differently (or not at all) or express their gender or any other part of their identity in ways that are not accepted by the society around them.

Sometimes I am called "over-sensitive:"  I have PTSD from a few things that have happened to me and sometimes I think I suffer it simply from having been alive when great evils were committed.  It's a good thing I have my bikes, and riding!

Bicycle Licensing: An Instrument of Racial And Economic (In)Justice

Last week, I wrote about the arguments over a planned bike lane in Berkeley, California. One resident referred to it as a "culture war."

If it is, I am surprised that controversy about another bit of bicycle-related policy or planning hasn't been seen in the same way.  I am referring bicycle-licensing regulations.

While bike lane battles have garnered a lot of attention during the past decade or so, bike licensing has been mostly an under-the-radar issue for nearly as long as bicycles have existed.  

The battle-lines in bike-lane conflicts are drawn largely along generational lines and between business owners who fear losing parking spaces and people who want more walkable and cycle-able downtowns. On the other hand, the quieter battles over licensing laws divide people, ironically, pit people against each other in a very visible way--one that has defined some loud and violent protests in recent years. 

While there was little or no bike lane construction, at least in the US, between the end of World War I and the beginning of this century, many jurisdictions, from small seaside villages to major metropoli, have had bicycle licensing regulations on their books for decades whether or not most citizens are or were aware of them. As an example, in 1957 Toronto repealed such a law that had been on the books since 1935.  Several times since, the idea of resurrecting the law, or some version of it has been re-visited and, ultimately, rejected, albeit for different reasons.

When the Canadian city got rid of the requirement that stood for more than two decades, few adults rode bicycle.  Thus, according to city fathers (yes, they were all men) "licensing of bicycles be discontinued because it often results in an unconscious contravention of the law at a very tender age; they also emphasize the resulting poor public relations between police officers and children."  Translation: Kids break a law they don't realize exists until they're busted for it, so no wonder they grow up hating cops.

The cost-ineffectiveness of the scheme was also cited in scrapping it and against reviving it.  Also mentioned in the discussions of bringing it back to life is that licensing does little, if anything, to promote bicycle safety or return stolen bikes to their owners--two rationales that have been given for mandating bike registration in what one of the city's most famous natives, Drake, calls "The Six." The cost of administering the program has also been invoked as a reason to end, or not to begin, bicycle licensing and registration programs in other locales.

During the last few years, however, an objection to bike licensing has echoed something that has motivated so many protests of the past few years:  racial injustice.  As an incident in Perth Amboy, New Jersey showed all too clearly, in those few instances when the police stop or even arrest cyclists for riding without a license--or not wearing a helmet, or for violating some other rarely-if-ever-enforced law--the ones penalized are not White and/or do not conform to gender "norms."

David Martinez

That is one reason David Martinez worked to abolish a bicycle registration mandate in his hometown and state of Costa Mesa and California, respectively. Three years ago, he went to the police to register his bike.  When he asked about the program and who gets ticketed, "they said, 'we might ticket the homeless."  That motivated him to make a public records request.  He found that, according to the department's own data, most of the citations were issued on the city's west side, an old industrial area where, not surprisingly, much of the city's nonwhite and homeless populations are concentrated.  He presented his findings to safe streets advocates who, in turn, contacted politicians.

Now Costa Mesa is about to comply with an omnibus bill California Governor Gavin Newsom signed in October.  It calls for, among other things, the abolition of bicycle-licensing and -registration laws and regulations, which have been locally administered, throughout the state. Costa Mesa is the latest municipality to align itself with the new law.

I don't know whether Martinez or anyone else in the Golden State has framed the effort to end bicycle registration as a "culture war."  However, whether or not he has used such terminology, he (like, I imagine, Newsom) no doubt understands bicycle licensing--or, more precisely, how it's enforced--as a racial and economic justice issue precisely because it has never served the purposes (safety, recovery of stolen bikes) given as its rationale.

A Culture War--Over A Bike Lane?

When people talk about "culture wars," they're usually referring to contentious debates about issues like LGBTQ, racial or gender equality, what should be taught in schools or what place, if any, religious expression has in public life.  

For some time, i have suspected that arguments about bike lanes have been devolving from discussions about sustainable living to battles delineated by generational, class and other kinds of divides.  A woman in Berkeley, California has recently said as much.

She was referring to a plan to re-design Hopkins Street, a thoroughfare lined with shops and restaurants in an affluent part of the city, to accommodate a protected bike lane. In some ways, the debate echoes ones I hear in my hometown of New York, and hear about in other cities.  

Business owners fear that the loss of parking spaces in front of their stores, restaurants and other enterprises will hurt them.  And car-dependent people, who include the city's fast-growing population of senior citizens, worry that they will lose access to goods and services they need and enjoy.  On the other hand, cyclists, pedestrians and advocates for mass transportation argue that the very things that attract people to the city cannot be sustained without reducing the number of private automobiles on the city's streets.

A driver parks in front of a shop on Hopkins Street during a rally in support of a bike lane. Photo by Ximena Natera for Berkeleyside.

The discussion, according to Donna Didiemar, has been drifting away from one "about bike lanes" and instead is "turning into a culture war."  She and others are, in essence, saying that the debate is one over what kind of city Berkeley will become.  Bike lane proponents tend to be younger and, in the eyes of opponents, more "privileged," while opponents are seen as adherents to an old and unsustainable way of thinking.

It won't surprise you to know that I am, mostly, in the camp of bike lane builders and those who advocate for pedestrians and mass transit.  But opponents of the bike lane have made a couple of valid points.  One is that the lane won't necessarily make cycling safer.  That is true if the lane crosses in front of driveways, as too many bike lanes do.  Also,  cars may need to pull into the bike lane to get out of the way of emergency vehicles: something I've encountered while riding.  

One irony is that some of the entrepreneurs and residents of the street are artisans or people who were simply attracted by the very things that make an area a candidate for sustainability:  shops and other amenities close to residential buildings.  Another is that planners, including those who want to build the bike lane, still seem to be operating from a set of assumptions about what cycling and walking are and aren't.  That, I think, is a reason why a discussion about a vision for the city (and not simply a bike lane) may well be turning into a "culture war."

This Veteran Was A True Hero

 The more I am opposed to war, the more respect I have for veterans.

As counterintuitive as it may seem, my opposition to war is exactly the reason why I believe that veterans—especially if they have been in combat—should never want for anything.

That said, I don’t think that the uniform is a halo.  As much as I respect military service, I’m not naive enough to believe that all former service members are heroes in civilian life.  And I don’t think that said service should be a “get out of jail free card.”

Which brings me to Paul Whelan.  I feel for his family, who are about to spend another holiday without him. On the other hand, I think that false equivalencies have been made, and blame has been misplaced, since Britany Griner has returned home while he’s still incarcerated in Russia.

The Trumpists are blaming Biden.  Truth is, Mango Mussolini didn’t do a damned thing to help Whelan, who was arrested four years ago. And, although I’d like to see Whelan returned home, he’s not quite the hero Fox News and other right-wingers have made him in light of his military service—from which he was less-than-honorably discharged.

On the other hand, Steve Pringle was a hero. The Army Veteran started Build A Bicycle-Bicycle Therapy on Michigan’s Upper Peninsula.  The shop’s name reflects Pringle’s purpose or, more precisely, mission: He wanted to help veterans who, like him, had trouble re-integrated into civilian life.  It grew to include programs for rehabilitated prisoners, people with disabilities and others who have trouble finding employment.  

Steve Pringle gives a bike to Kadence Horton of Iron Mountain, Michigan.  Photo by Ryan Gorza, Detroit Free Press.

Money was never his motivation, he said.  That is why he often offered steep discounts and gave bikes away.  His work would range beyond his home base:  He was delivering bikes in Florida, where he operated another shop like his “home “ shop in Michigan, to children and families whose lives were upended by Hurricane Ian.

In a terrible irony, he became another victim of that storm. He drove the bike-laden truck into an intersection, where another vehicle struck with such force that the truck reportedly hit a pole and rolled over.

That intersection didn’t have a “Stop” sign:  Ian’s winds blew it away.

Paul Whelan’s military service didn’t make him a hero. Nor did Steve Pringle’s.  But Pringle became a hero to many who died in the service of the people who have the most reason to revere him.

A Race, A Marathon, A Derby: Georgia, 1949-50

What was an American bike race like in 1949 or 1950?

One could be forgiven for thinking such a thing never happened.  Sheldon Brown has referred to the two decades or so after World War II as the "Dark Ages" of American cycling.  Schwinn was the only US manufacturer with even a pretense of quality. High-quality, high-performance bikes were difficult to obtain:  One either had to special-order them from abroad or be a member of one of the small, close-knit clusters of cyclists in Boston, New York and a few other cities where small-time custom builders did their work.  

Outside of those communities of folks who rode in Central, Fairmount and other urban parks, few American adults rode bicycles.  The moment a teenager got a driver's license--sometimes sooner--his or her bicycle was discarded or passed on to a younger sibling.  Knowing that provides context for the story I'm about to relate.

On 12 May 1949, this headline appeared in the Bulloch (Georgia) Herald:  "Bill Hollingsworth Wins Bike Race."  The accompanying article reported that he "pedaled the 10-mile course from Brooklet to Statesboro in 27 and 1/2 minutes to average more than 20 miles an hour. Forty-five seconds later Buck Barton (ed: Does that sound like a Southerner's name, or what?) rode in for second place."

The article continued by listing the other finishers and mentioning this:   "The winner was presented with a new bicycle by John Denmark of the Denmark Candy Company."

If you are beginning to suspect something about the contestants, it will be confirmed by the announcement of the following year's edition of the race.  No, there wasn't doping.  The riders were actually notable, yet typical for that time because, as the 9 March 1950 issue of the Bulloch Times and Statesboro and Statesboro News announced, "boys living near Pembroke can get their entries from the Pembroke Journal."

The race, organized by the Statesboro Recreation Department, was "open to all boys who are not at least 13 years old."  Once again, the first prize was a new bicycle--"super deluxe"--to which the Statesboro Elks Club added a $25 cash prize.  They went to the previous year's runner-up, Buck Barton who "pedaled 24 miles in 78 minutes in a driving rain."

In a role-reversal, the previous year's winner was the runner-up, Bill Hollingsworth.  For his efforts, he received "a baseball glove, cap and ball given by the sponsor and a swell Bronson rod and reel given by Watson Sporting Goods."

Somehow I don't think the Statesboro Bike Derby looked like this.  Photo by Martin Young.

In addition to the ages of the riders and the prizes, something else about the coverage of the races stands out to me:  It was referred to, interchangeably, as a "race," "derby" and "marathon."  I guess anybody who rode more than a mile or two was riding a "marathon," and any sort of contest could be called a "derby."

I don't know whether the race, derby or marathon was held after 1950.  The following year, Jackie Simes and Jack Heid pedaled a Schwinn Paramount tandem (believed to be the first one ever made) to victory in a tandem race through Johnson Park in New Brunswick, New Jersey.  It would be the last professional race in the US for nearly a quarter-century.

What were the prizes in that race? I'm confident that they didn't include a baseball glove, a "swell" rod and reel or a "super deluxe" bicycle.

Did They Blow Up The Bike Lane?

Eighty-one years ago today, Japanese forces attacked Pearl Harbor.  

Most histories record it as a "surprise" attack.  That it probably was to most people, though various accounts claim that military intelligence officers, diplomats and, possibly, FDR himself, ignored warning signs.  Whatever the truth is, the attack drew the US into World War II.

On that day, about 2400 military service members died.  I grew up seeing commemorations, some of which included survivors of the attack, in part because one of my uncles was an American Legion post commander.  Until fairly recently, I saw many more observances:  Queens County, where I live, had (and, possibly, still has) one of the largest populations of veterans in the US.  

During the past few years, I've heard little, if anything, about the attack.  There aren't many Pearl Harbor veterans left, and the youngest would be about 98 years old.  And, understandably, those who served in later wars don't have quite the same connection to Pearl harbor or World War II.

I understand that it's possible to cycle to Pearl Harbor on a designated bicycle and pedestrian lane.  If I ever go to Hawaii (something I have never had any inclination to do), I'm sure I'll check it out.  Yelp reviews of the lane are mixed.  More precisely, they seem to range according to whether the reviewer is a resident or tourist.  And they seem to be cyclical:  Sometimes people rave about the ocean views and the fact that it's flat; other times they lament that the path looks and feels as if it subject to the attack 81 years ago--and hasn't been fixed since.  

She Survived Kyiv—But Not Bethesda

 In 2020, I crashed and was “doored” barely three months apart. A few people asked whether I’d give up cycling.  A couple said I should.  But, as I pointed out, I had been a dedicated cyclist for nearly half a century, with no mishaps that caused serious injuries, before those experiences.  Other people drove for less time and had more serious accidents but didn’t give up driving.

A cycling calamity cost Dan Langenkamp even more than both of my crashes cost me, because the price he paid is permanent.  

He was a press attaché and spokesperson for the U.S. Embassy in Kyiv.  His wife, Sarah, was a diplomat. They cycled in and around the city with their son, to work and school and for pleasure. Cycling had been such a part of their lives that Sarah gave him a bicycle with the words “It’s been a great ride!” painted on it.

Along with other Americans, they were evacuated from Ukraine when Vladimir Putain’s, I mean Putin’s, forces invaded the country. They returned to Bethesda, Maryland and worked in nearby Washington, DC.  They continued their bicycle-centered lifestyle until August, when Dan and Sarah were riding home from an open house at their kids’ elementary school. 

A flatbed truck made à right turn. The driver “wasn’t looking,” Dan said.  He made it home but she didn’t.  That truck “crushed” Sarah. He used that word to convey the “violence “ of what happened.  “It was as if the war followed us,” he lamented.

He’s since left his State Department job to advocate for “road safety.”  He understands that agitating for “bike safety “ or “driver awareness” is not enough.  Better road and lane design is also necessary.  So are safety features on trucks, he notes.

He is beginning his campaign today, with a bike rally which includes a ride that will re-trace Sarah’s last.

People in his life have asked him whether he thinks about not riding anymore. Some have implored him to do so.  Of course, he won’t.  Giving up cycling because of bad, careless or malicious drivers, he insists, would be “like changing your life because of terrorists.”

Mary Louise Kelly did a sensitive interview with Dan that aired yesterday:

But she is no safer roaming an unfamiliar city in a warzone than any human would be.  If anything, she's in more danger, as she doesn't know her way around and doesn't speak Ukranian or Russian.

Oh, and she didn't have an umbrella.  And it started to rain.

That's when she spotted, and ran to, one of the zoo's keepers.  They embraced.  The keeper slung a yellow rain slicker over the animal--and propped her on the seat of a bicycle.

Now Chichi's ride is over and she's back in the zoo.  But even though it's more secure than Feldman Park, neither she nor the keeper are out of danger:  Several volunteers who helped to evacuate the animals have been killed during Russian attacks.

Whatever happens, I suppose Chichi won't ever forget her bike ride.

The Glass Ceiling

 The other day, French President Emanuel Macron talked about something that happened in a velodrome.  The thing is, that velodrome hasn't stood in about 60 years, and the event wasn't a bike race.

 

Six-day race at the Velodrome d;Hiver,  Photo by Henri Cartier-Bresson

Eighty years earlier--on 16 and 17 July 1942--French police rounded up thousands of Parisian Jews (at that time, Paris was said to have the fourth-largest Jewish community in the world) in "Veldeev"--slang for le Velodrome d'hiver.  

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The track racing venue, which also hosted other sporting events, was so named because it was covered with a glass ceiling, which allowed races and other events to be held during the winter (hiver) and made the velodrome the first with that capability.  That glass ceiling (as a feminist, those words trouble me, even when they aren't a metaphor!) was painted dark blue to make it less visible to bomber navigators.  

"The glass ceiling" has become a metaphor for the ways in which women are not allowed to reach their potential in various professions and careers.  For Parisian Jews, however, it became a literal trap:  It kept the heat of one of Paris' hottest summers in a space where there wasn't enough room for them to lie down, let alone move around.  Not surprisingly, many suffered from heat exhaustion and other illnesses; it is not known how many perished there.  What is known is that 13,152--some really more dead than alive---were herded into buses that took them to the trains that delivered them to death camps, mainly Auschwitz.  Only 400 captives survived.

I first learned of "Veldeev," like so much else, by accident:  I heard someone mention it during my first European bike tour.  I went in search of it only to find out that such a search was like a quest to see the prison that stood on la Place de la Bastille.  

After the war, the Velodrome's was used less. Its condition deteriorated to the point that when the last six-day race was held there, in November 1958, the glass ceiling leaked and electrical cables hung from loops. (Jacques Anquetil, the first five-time winner of the Tour de France, participated in that race along with other top riders of that time.)  Those conditions may have contributed to a fire that destroyed part of the building, which led to it being razed the following year.

Although there is a plaque commemorating the Velodrome and "Rafle"(roundup), few people seem to remember much, if anything, about them.  The few who still can recall that terrible time were very young when they were detained--or witnessed the arrest of their friends and neighbors.  One of them is Jeannine Bouhana (nee Sebanne), who received letters from her friend, Rachel Polakiewicz. How those letters reached Mademoiselle Sebanne is not exactly known:  Anyone's best guess is that Rachel tossed those letters out the Velodrome and someone picked them up.

Hearing Jeannine talk about that time, and reading Rachel's letters, it's hard not to be struck by a couple of terrible ironies.  One is, of course, that in a velodrome--a place where motion is celebrated,--people were confined.  Another, related, is that in a place where athletes made or heightened their reputations, thousands of everyday people, in essence, had their lives taken away from them. Finally,  events the "Vel" hosted its  most celebrated events during the winter, while its most infamous episode unfolded during a heat wave.

Motion and confinement, celebration and defamation, life and death:  all of them, under a glass ceiling.

 

Freedom Rides

Although the holiday will be commemorated tomorrow, today Juneteenth. On this date in 1865, the slaves of Texas got word that they were finally free, some two years after Abraham Lincoln delivered the Emancipation Proclamation and two months after the Civil War ended.

This date was first declared a Federal holiday last year.  The law making it a Federal holiday stipulates that if it falls on a weekend, it will be observed on the Friday before or Monday following, whichever is closer.  So, the first two observances of Juneteenth have resulted in three-day weekends!

In any event, there are a number of "Freedom Rides."  I plan to ride, possibly with others who are observing the holiday--and to attend a dinner with some friends.

 

From BikePortland

 

The Unofficial Beginning

 Here in the US, the Memorial Day weekend is often seen as the “unofficial beginning of summer.” The weather, and my rides, certainly lived up to that billing.

First, as an aside, I’ll tell you how the holiday came to be the “unofficial beginning of summer.  One interesting fact about Memorial Day is that the date on which it’s observed has nothing to do with any battle, the birth of any historic figure or any other historical or mythical event.  When the holiday was first designated, it was called Decoration Day (when I was a child, some people still referred to it that way) because people—some of them newly-freed slaves—decorated the graves of Union soldiers who died fighting the Civil War.  In those days, there wasn’t a flowers.com or even very many florists.  So, people had to pick flowers from their gardens or the woods.  And, as the holiday was commemorated only in the northern US, late May was chosen because that’s when flowers are in full bloom in this part of the world.

Anyway, about my rides: They are both trips I've taken many times before. On Saturday, I pedaled up to Greenwich, Connecticut via the Pelham Bay Park trail and back roads and streets in Mamaroneck, Rye and Greenwich.  The weather was all but perfect:  warm, but not too, with a breeze that seemed to ripple the wisps of clouds in the blue, sunny sky. Yesterday, I rode to Point Lookout on a warmer day, though the temperature dropped a good bit after I crossed the Veterans' Memorial Bridge (how appropriate!) to the Rockaways.

I felt great after both rides. That, to me, is another sign that summer is, if not here, at least close:  I am in better shape.  But, apart from the roads and views, the rides offered one interesting contrast.  My ride to Connecticut reminded me of the ones I took in the early days of the pandemic:  I saw hardly a car or SUV, let alone a truck, along the way.  I glanced out to the main roads and didn't see much more traffic, and when I passed over the highways (the Cross Bronx Expressway, Hutchinson River Parkway and New York State Thruway), I saw even less traffic than I normally see on a Sunday morning or afternoon.  On the other hand, not surprisingly, I saw a lot of vehicular traffic on the roads leading to the beaches and foot traffic along the boardwalks and pedestrian paths.

Today is, in more ways than one, the day after--the  beginning of summer, for one thing.