Fifty Years Ago Today

Today I am going off-topic.

One of the most tragic events--no, I take that back, the single most tragic event--in the history of the United States took place fifty years ago today.

I am talking about the assassination of Martin Luther King Jr.

Now, I don't mean to diminish how terrible were the killings of John F. Kennedy, Malcolm X or the unfortunate souls who perished on 9/11.  They were all awful, and it could be said the country and this world weren't the same after them.  

Perhaps I see the murder of MLK as I do because it's the first assassination I can recall clearly.  I have only vague memories of JFK or Malcolm X, and the fall of the Twin Towers doesn't have a single tragic figure that stands out.  But, even at my tender age, I could see that Martin was emblematic (though neither I nor anyone else in my milieu at the time would have used the word) of everything that was necessary and possible.

Martin Luther King Jr. is kissed by his wife, Coretta Scott King as Nipsey Russel, back left, and Harry Belafonte, right, look on in 1963.

America is, of course, not alone in venerating its military leaders.  And I am not foolish enough to believe that this country, or the world, will ever exist without armies and munitions.  But the only hope the human race has, I believe, is to work toward, if not ending, then at least diminishing, the role of the military and war--and indeed all violence--play.  Doing such work, I believe, is inseparable from the struggles for social and economic justice.

That last sentence is something Martin understood, perhaps too well.  When he said as much, in a speech he gave exactly one year before he was gunned down, many of his longtime supporters abandoned him. President Lyndon Johnson championed both civil rights and America's involvement with the Vietnam War.  When Martin denounced the war, some of his supporters took it as an attack on the person who brought to fruition some of the things for which Martin and his followers fought.

Some Americans--including some of my acquaintance, a few of whom are related to me--simply cannot understand why Martin Luther King Jr. is "the only person with his own holiday."  In some states, at least, that is not the case: Lincoln's birthday is celebrated before "Presidents' Day".  But, really, if only one person in the United States of America is to have his or her own holiday, I cannot think of who else that person could or should be.

In short, I feel he is this country's greatest hero, and we are still hurting from losing him.                                                               

But I'm A Rider, Not A Fighter!

Make love, not war.  But be prepared for both.

I don't remember where I first read or heard that aphorism. Perhaps it was a slogan for a store that sold sex toys and guns.  Now, where I would have found such a store, I don't know...

Seriously, though:  I have long felt that the bicycle is one of the greatest "weapons for peace", if you will.  If nothing else, it could help reduce our dependence on fossil fuels if more people start pedaling instead of driving to their jobs and schools, to shop or just for fun. That, in turn, would lessen the likelihood of a war over finite resources.

Also, I think cycling breaks down at least some of the social barriers that are created, or at least fortified, when people are encased in shields of metal and glass.  Although some cyclists play games of one-upsmanship when it comes to equipment or the level of another cyclist's skills (actual or percieved) and physical fitness (again, a or p), I think it's harder to feel superior to, or to be made to feel inferior to, other cyclists when one is on a bike.

That could be the reason why, in my experience, cyclists are generally more accepting of other people's differences than other people.  That may be a reason why our politics tend to tack a bit more to the left than average.

Still, we face the reality of war--or, at least confrontation, if not violence--just as anyone else does.  Back when crime rates were higher here in NYC, I knew of cyclists who were jumped for their bikes, or who fell victim to thieves who strung fishing line between two poles at just the right height to snag a cyclist.  Some perps also scattered debris on streets or created other obstacles to stop or divert cyclists and snatched their steeds from them.

In those days, one had to use particular caution when entering or exiting the Williamsburgh Bridge:  neither the Brooklyn neighborhood for which it is named, not the area on the Manhattan side of the bridge, had begun to gentrify. Two old riding buddies, and another acquaintance, lost top-of-the-line bikes when approaching or leaving the span.

Concerns about crime were not, however, new to cyclists in those days.  In fact, our peers from a century earlier also had to think about highway robbers, sexual predators and other predators.  Such criminals, it seems, were enough of a concern that one Marcus Tindal wrote "Self Protection On A Cycle" for Pearson's, a magazine that, apparently, was a more left-leaning and even more literary version of The Atlantic or Harper's.

In his article, Tindal outlines the various ways in which a cyclist can fall prey to thieves, thugs and perverts--and how to fight back. Here is an illustration from what is, to my mind, the most interesting part:

Tindal shows us that the bicycle itself can be one of the best weapons for self-defense.  Interestingly, many of the illustrations are of women on bikes, reflecting the cultural changes that the bicycle engendered (pun intended).  And some of the advice is, shall we say, quaint--like the suggestion 

More than a century after its publication, someone turned the article's illustrations into an enjoyable series of animated GIFs.

My Bike Went To Puerto Rico. But My Soccer Ball Didn't.

This morning in my local post office, one of the clerks was chatting with a customer.

"So, are you following the Copa America?"

The customer shook his head.  "In Puerto Rico, no soccer.  Just beisbol."

It had never occured to me before.  Soccer--or what the rest of the world calls "football"--has never been very popular in Puerto Rico or, for that matter, the Dominican Republic or Cuba.  Or Haiti.  On the other hand, lots of young people play--and lots of people, young and old watch--the game in Jamaica and Trinidad.

Although futbol has grown steadily in the US--newscasts routinely feature the results of matches--interest in the game seems to have bypassed Puerto Rico, at least for the time being.

The customer added this observation:  "In Mexico, they love futbol."

His observations are accurate.  In fact, Mexico even hosted the 1970 World Cup tournament, which attracted practically no attention in the US.

It's as if Customs and Immigration were stopping every ball floating across the Rio Grande or rolling across the line in the sand that separates California, Arizona and New Mexico from the country to which they once belonged.  Hmm...Would Donald Trump try to stop the "beautiful game" from invading America's heartland?

Now, one could argue that the reason why baseball gained such popularity in La Isla del Incanto, but soccer didn't, was the influence of the US, which colonized the island in 1898 as one of the spoils (along with Cuba and the Phillipines) of victory in its war against Spain.  Speaking of which...the Phillipines have never been known as a soccer powerhouse.

I mention the conversation, and my musings about it, because it got me to thinking about why certain sports, including cycling, become popular in one place but not in another.

From "My Bike Went to Puerto Rico", in  Bicycling

Bicycling has been both a popular spectator and participant sport (and recreational activity) in most European countries, and in England, practically from the time bicycles first appeared.  Until World War I, it was at least a popular in the US.  Right up to the six-day races of the 1930s, some of the best racers in the world were American, and at least until Babe Ruth reached his prime, cyclists were among the best-paid athletes.

The decline of cycling in the US, particularly in two decades or so after World War II, has been attributed to increased affluence-- which put the price of automobiles within reach of most working people and families--along with the construction of the Interstate highway system and cheap gasoline.  It took longer for affluence to come to Europe, and even after it did, the price of cars and, especially gas, remained prohibitive for many people.  

So, bicycles continued to serve as a primary means of transportation, and even recreation, in Europe, particularly among the working and middle classes.  Also, my tours on the continent were made possible, in part, by well-developed systems of secondary and tertiary roads through the countryside and small towns, especially in France, Belgium, the Netherlands and England.  Much of the United States lacked such routes; in fact, in some remote areas (for example, in the Rocky Mountains and the deserts), the interstate highways were the first roads to be built.  So, while Americans were taking to the highways for their vacations, Europeans continued to pedal the paths of Provence and byways of the Black Forest.

It's been said that because Europeans vacationed as well as commuted on their bicycles, they appreciated the physical effort and discipline it took to ride long distances, day after day, and that is why they continued to support bicycle racing.  Meanwhile, in the 'States, kids pedaled to school or the park, and their bikes were discarded as soon as they got their drivers' licenses.  So, they couldn't understand, let alone care, about grown men (or women) riding hard and fast every day for three weeks, only to win or lose by seconds.

Those explanations make some kind of sense, up to a point.  For one thing, it doesn't explain why the British developed a cycling culture--and racing scene--that was, at least until the 1960s, almost entirely separate from that of the Continent. (The Brits tended to focus on time trialing more than stage races.)  Also, it doesn't explain why other countries where people were, arguably, even more dependent on their bicycles than Europeans were, never developed a significant racing scene.  I'm thinking about countries like India and Pakistan, where the main sports seem to be cricket, rugby, field hockey and the ancient indigenous game of kabaddi.  Additionally, I'm thinking about China, where there are more bikes and people riding them than in any other place on earth.  Although races have become more commonplace in recent years, Japan, with about a tenth of the population, still has more events and competitors.

I understand that more cycling events, including tours and races, are also winding their way through Puerto Rico.  Although cycling might well be more popular than soccer on the island, it remains to be seen whether it attains the status that it has even on the mainland US, let alone that of beisbol.

My Tour To Somerville

Memorial Day was cool and a bit windy.  The former part I like; the question was what to do about the latter.

Of course, if you're a savvy old cyclist, you plan a ride in which you're pedaling into the wind on your way out.  That way, the wind blows you back home. 

Plus, Arielle was begging not to go on just any old ride.  She wanted to see a race. 

 
Because she's been good to me, I granted her wish.  Actually, she granted mine, too:  I felt like taking a nice, long ride.

Where did we end up?

  
No, we didn't go to the hotel, as interesting as it is.  But we went to the eponymous county--out in West-Central New Jersey.

Said hotel is located in the county seat, just down the street from the courthouse.  The name of that town is Somerville.   If you're a bike racing fan, you've heard of it:

    
The Tour of Somerville Cycling Series is a three-day event that includes several races (including a women's race) andculminates with a Senior Men's 50-mile race on the afternoon of Memorial Day.  The series has run every year since 1947.  Actually, 1940 witnessed the first Series; World War II suspended it from 1943 to 1946.  The Senior Men's Race is  officially named the Kugler-Ross Memorial Tour of Somerville, in honor of the first two winners:  Furman Kugler (1940 and 41) and Carl Anderson (1942).  Both were killed while fighting the war.

For a long time--particularly during the Dark Ages of US cycling (roughly the two decades after World War II), the ToS was, arguably, the sport's biggest--or only--showcase in the US.   Whoever won the race was generally acknowledged to be the best American cyclist.  

Calling the race a "tour" in not some francophilic (or europhilic) affectation.  Rather, it was a legalism the race's founder pulled off just so it could be held at all.   At the time, New Jersey state law prohibited racing for prizes on highways.  Somerville's Main Street is State Highway 28.  So Fred Kugler (Furman's father) labelled the Somerville event a "tour".

As you might expect, many townspeople and residents of nearby communities turn out for the event, as there is no admission charge.  Also, because the races are held on a loop of closed-off street and are therefore fast and full of tight turns, they excite even non-cycling fans.

One of the more amusing aspects of the race is watching people cross the street after the peloton has passed--until the next lap, anyway.

 
They have to be quick:

 
 Otherwise, they could meet an unhappy ending:

 
 All right.  He didn't cross the path of the peloton. He wandered into US Highway 22, which I crossed en route.  Perhaps another race will be a memorial for him.

Seriously, everyone else seemed to be having  a good time. And, given the routes I took, I ended up doing a century.  I mean, an Imperial, not a Metric One.  101 miles, to be exact.

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.

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.

We May Not Be Able To Follow The Dutch, But We Can Get To Where They Are (More Or Less)

A few days ago, Mark Wagenbuur re-posted an early post on his excellent blog, Bicycle Dutch.  In it, he outlines the developments that led to the Netherlands' much-lauded bicycle infrastructure and culture.  

Utrecht city center in 1929...

Perhaps most important, he shows that his country wasn't always the cyclists' paradise one encounters today.  Before World War II, bicycles were the main mode of transportation for many Dutch people.  Photos show streets relatively free of cars and cyclists riding among, but not competing with, trams.  After World War II, however, increasing affluence led people to foresake two wheels for four.  Another photo from 1968 shows a street as clogged with motor traffic as any in an American city (though, it's hard not to notice, the vehicles are smaller).  It was during the 1970s, he says, that the movements that led to today's system of bike lanes and other facilities began.

..

...and in 1968

Activists and planners of that time also advocated for changes in city planning to encourage motor-free transportation and recreation.  He shows motor vehicle-free central business districts, some in centuries-old areas of cities.  As he points out--in contrast to the arguments of their American counterparts--business owners report increased business because a cyclist or pedestrian is more likely to stop by whereas a driver might pass by if they can't find a parking space.

But his post also points to another parallel with the US that might help to explain why such developments are slower in coming to America. For one, he mentions that in recent years, the amount of cycling in the Netherlands has stabilized--which isn't surprising when you realize that bicycles have outnumbered people for some time. (They do in my apartment, too!)  Those statistics, though, have layers, and if you peel off one of them, you find that cycling has increased in urban areas but decreased in the countryside has decreased.  I don't know what the numbers are for the US, but I suspect that there is a similar situation at work--or that, at any rate, most of the increase in American cycling has come in or near urban areas.

For another, he talks about the resistance to making city centers more auto-friendly. (One of the images is a rendition of a proposed highway that looks alarmingly like the ones in areas like Southern California and other auto-centric areas. Thankfully, it was never built.)  While cycling declined for a couple of decades after World War II, remaining cyclists fought to make their country safer for riding.  Also, making some city centers more auto-friendly meant, not only removing bike lanes or streets that were safe for cycling, but also some beloved buildings, some of them centuries old. When some of those structures were lost, people thought that perhaps the price of "progress" wasn't worth it.

While there is some interest in preserving historic structures in some American cities, on the whole the environment in the US is more amenable to large-scale development.  Some of that has to do with citizens who still see building bigger buildings as "progress," but I suspect that it has at least as much to do with the fact that mega-developers have more influence on politics and the media, at the local as well as the national level, in the US.  

Also, business and commercial districts in some American cities, especially the newer ones in the South and West, are auto-centric by design.  In contrast, the older Dutch (and other European) city centers, with their narrower streets and smaller plazas, were created long before automobiles came along.  So, I would suspect, making them more bicycle- and pedestrian-friendly would mean, at least to some degree, returning them to their original state.  Or, at least, making them bicycle- and pedestrian- friendly doesn't require as much of a radical redesign as would be required in most American cities.

Finally, there is the matter of geography.  The Netherlands is a much smaller country, and places are closer together.  So people need less convincing to see that bicycling is a practical way to get to where they need to go--and that riding is simply fun.  If someone lives 100 kilometers away from work, as many Americans do, no bike lane is going to convince them not to drive.  At best, such a commuter might be enticed to ride his or her bike to a train or bus station--if indeed there are safe and secure parking facilities at the station. Or if there is a train or bus line at all.  That is another area in which Dutch and other European people are better-served than Americans.

So, Mark Wagenbuur has done a service by showing that his country wasn't always the cycling Nirvana we see today.  More important, he shows that it was once before a country of cyclists, but planners and ordinary citizens learned from their mistakes in emulating American transportation and city planning.  Perhaps we can learn from our own mistakes and, although we can't go about it in the same way as the Dutch (or Danes or other Europeans), we can make this country more amenable for cyclists and pedestrians.  It's one of the steps we need to take in order to keep from cooking ourselves (and most other life) on this planet!

Indian Bicycle Troops

Although I'm not a military or war buff, I find it interesting to see how various armed forces throughout the world have used the bicycle. If pedaled two-wheeled vehicles can be used under the conditions in which the military deploys them, it is, if nothing else a testament to their versatility. While I don't endorse colonialism, I couldn't resist publishing this photo of Indian bicycle troops on the Fricourt-Mametz road in Somme, France. 

From the Imperial War Museum

They were, of course, fighting for the British and their French allies in one of the bloodiest battles in all of human history. I hope those Indian troops continued to ride after the fighting stopped. After all, as much as I abhor war and imperialism, I've got to admit that it probably left them with bike-handling skills I'll never have!

In Cuba: Away From Bikes, And Back

It happened in the US after World War I.  It happened, perhaps to a lesser degree, first in England, then in Continental European countries, after World War II.  And it happened in China and Cuba during the early years of this century.

The "it" is this:  Greater prosperity led people to forsake the bicycles they had used for transportation and recreation in favor of automobiles.  When it happened in the US, surviving bike manufacturers sold the public on the idea that a bicycle is a toy--or, that if it is indeed useful as transportation, it is suitable only for those who aren't old enough to drive.  On the other hand, in England and the rest of Europe, adult cycling survived mainly as a recreational activity practiced by a slowly but steadily declining portion of the population.  

In the US, England and continental Europe, those who switched from cycling to driving seemed, as often as not, to see the bicycle as a symbol of privation--or of those things which they had "grown past" or "grown beyond".  This was particularly true for poor or working-class people who acquired the means to own a car:  They simply would not dream of "going back".  I believe that this is one reason why we see more bicycle disdainers among people who are, say, over 50 than among the young.  

Similar phenomena have taken place in China and Cuba.  In both countries, especially China, the bicycle was a, if not the, primary means of transportation-- particularly in cities.  The leaders most identified with those two nations--Mao Tse-Tung and Fidel Castro--had much to do with turning people into cyclists.  Both rulers saw the bicycle as a "people's" way of transportation, and the "Communist"* parties they led promoted it as such. 

But while the numbers of bicycles and cyclists in China grew steadily from the time of the Revolution (1949) until the end of the century, Cuba experienced a surge in cycling during the 1990s.  The Soviet Union, the island's chief benefactor, had just collapsed.  In its wake, the supply of cheap petrol that had flowed to the Pearl of the Antilles dried up.  So did the cash subsidies from Moscow, which meant that less was spent on public transportation and other infrastructure improvement.  

And so did the supply of bicycles from the Soviet Bloc.  Some people bought bikes from foreign tourists or other sources.  It was at that time that the first bicycles were manufactured in Cuba:  one model, called the Minerva.  It left most people wishing for imports and black- or gray- market bikes:  The Minerva was of "poor quality," according to Lazaro Pereira, a bicycle repair specialist in the city of Cardenas.  "The forks split, and when this happened, passers-by would mock people falling off their bikes," he recalls.

I imagine that alone would have stopped some people from cycling.  But in the early 2000s, the island began to recover from the loss of Soviet subsidies and cycles, and people abandoned two wheels in favor of four.  Bicycles developed a "negative connotation...associated with the poverty that characterized this period," according to Naybis Diaz Labaut, the owner of VeloCuba, a repair and rental enterprise in Havana.  She has seen "significant movement in the world of bicycles in Cuba" during the past five years or so, which has allowed her to open two shops.

All of the bikes she rents, or that her guides use on tours, were purchased from foreigners.  Even with the increased interest in cycling, the bikes sold in Cuba are "Chinese models made of iron" and "of poor quality," she says.   She believes that cycling "has a big future in Havana" even though it has yet to achieve the popularity it's regained in the provinces.

Still, one of the biggest challenges to the growth of cycling in Cuba, she says, is motorists--and not only because many of them won't get out of their cars and bike on their bikes.  There is a "lack of motorist education," she explains:  A generation of people has grown up without cycling, while some older motorists have been away from cycling for a long time.

That sounds like a problem we still have in the US and it won't change tomorrow, as several post-World War I generations didn't ride bikes as adults, or at all.  At least the Cubans have lost only a decade or so rather than a generation.

The War Between Blue And Orange

Everyone knows that New York is a big city.  How big is it?

Well, in terms of population, it is about three times as large as Los Angeles or Chicago, its nearest competitors in the US.  Its population is also that much greater than any European capital except London. (I know:  Some will say England isn't really part of Europe!)  

As for its geographical size, the Big Apple doesn't come anywhere near that of those sprawling municipalities found in the American South, West and Southwest like Jacksonville or Phoenix.  Still, it is a good deal larger than the aforementioned European capitals or even some American cities like Boston or San Francisco.

When most people talk about "New York City", they are referring to the island of Manhattan--which, until 1898, was indeed the whole.  But in that year, as the US was taking Guam, the Phillipines, Puerto Rico and Cuba from Spain in retaliation for something the Spanish didn't do*, New York City annexed the counties of Kings (Brooklyn), Queens, Bronx and Richmond (Staten Island).  As a result, the city was ten times as large as it was in 1897--and larger, in area, than almost any other city in the world:  at that time, those sprawling Sun Belt cities either didn't exist or were hardly more than villages.

To put the city's size in perspective:  You can cycle from the Porte de Clignancourt, at the northeastern end of Paris, to the Porte de Saint Cloud, in its extreme southwest, in 50 minutes or less, depending on your pace and route.  However you go, you won't have to pedal more than about 12 km, or a little less than 8 miles. On the other hand, a ride from Columbus Circle, in the center of Manhattan, to Rockaway Beach stretches for about 25 miles, or 40 kilometers.  If you ride about 25 kilometers (16 miles) in the opposite direction from Columbus Circle, you can go to City Island, near the northeastern extremity of the Bronx.

I am thinking about this because a San Francisco-based bike share company Spin announced a plan to bring its services to the Rockaways and other outlying areas of the Five Boroughs.  The city, however, put the kibosh on that plan, citing the "revenue contract" is has with Citibike.  That agreement gives Citibike gives exclusive rights for its first two phases, which include Manhattan, Brooklyn and parts of Queens--though not the Rockaway area.  

Long Island City, the Queens neighborhood closest to Manhattan, is part of the area included in the agreement.  But it didn't receive its first Citibikes until last spring, some three years after the blue bikes first appeared on Manhattan streets. Astoria, where I live, borders on LIC and is slated to get its first Citibike stations in the coming months.

That begs the question of just how long it will take for Citibike to reach neighborhoods like Rockaway Beach which, in the summer, has some of the most crowded bike lanes.  The district's City Councilman, Eric Ulrich, has said that allowing Spin--or, for that matter, any bike sharing program--in the Rockaways should be a "no brainer" because, among other things, "it doesn't cost the taxpayers a dime."

So why won't the city allow Spin to operate in the Rockaways?  I suppose the places that rent bikes might object, but I don't think they are a terribly large constituency.  And they're all seasonal.  I'm not a lawyer, but I should think that there would be a way to provide a temporary or provisional permit for Spin to operate, at least until Citibikes come to the Rockaways.

The reason why the city won't do that, I believe, is this:  Spin charges only $1 for 30 minutes:  less than Citibike's rate.  Also, Spin's technology is more advanced, so it is easier for someone with the right app to access one of Spin's orange machines than it is to use a Citibike.

In the meantime, in Ulrich's words, the Rockaway Beach--a location for bike shares if there ever was one--is "deprived" of such services, all over a war between Blue and Orange.  In this city, it makes no sense.

*--This event is commonly called "The Spanish-American War."  I think of it as the American lynching of Spain.

The Navy Yard Bike Lane

If you've been reading this blog, you know how ambivalent I feel about bike lanes, especially ones that are next to parking lanes.  Now I've seen something that makes me feel more ambivalence on top of what I already felt about bike lanes:

This lane, which runs alongside the westbound lanes of Flushing Avenue in Brooklyn, has a  three-foot high concrete wall separating it from the rest of the street. It parallels the southern boundary of the old Brooklyn Navy Yard.  


Most of the Yard is fenced off, but it's possible to catch a few glimpses of some of the old buildings.  Yes, they do have a sense of history to them, as do many buildings that were used for the purpose of war.  On one hand, I feel about them the way I do whenever I'm on the any site where death reigned:  A combination of anger and grief over the sheer futility and waste of lives.  On another hand, I find it interesting in the way old industrial areas are:  Such places represent ways of life that have come, or are coming to an end and skills and knowledge that are, or are becoming obsolete but that were once indispensable to large numbers of people.  In other words, they're a bit like the nearby docks of Red Hook and Bush Terminal, where male relatives of mine worked in jobs and trades that, for all intents and purposes, no longer exist.  For that matter, neither do the jobs my mother and grandmother worked in the factories that once operated very near the Navy Yard. 


I sometimes think that the only real advance the human race could make is to realize that war is obsolete, or at least ultimately useless.  But, of course, that would also mean the end of large parts of the economy as Americans and many other people in this world know it.  


All right...I'll get off my soapbox.  Standing on them is risky when you're wearing high heels, or bike shoes with Speedplay cleats.  (Look cleats are somewhat less risky.) Besides, what I've just said about the military-industrial-financial complex is not the only reason why I'm ambivalent about the bike lane I just found.


I decided to ride the lane on my way home from DUMBO.  It's narrow, but as long as you're looking ahead of you, the oncoming cyclists won't be a problem.  The problem I found is the lack of a connection between the point where the lane meets the exit ramp of the Brooklyn-Queens Expressway and the bike lane that parallels Kent Avenue along the Williamsburg waterfront, just north of the Navy Yard.  The gap between those two sections of bike lane isn't more than a hundred meters, I'd guess.  But cars are exiting the highway, and I'd bet that most drivers don't know about the lane.  And any cyclist who is riding the lane for the first time probably won't know that there's a point where the lane meets, but doesn't cross, the highway exit ramp.


Perhaps, in another post, I'll tell you about something that happened to me along that stretch of Flushing Avenue before the lane was built.  Don't worry:  It wasn't terrible, just ironic.

Making Our Heads Spin

I try not to repeat what other bloggers have already written.  But I simply can’t help myself (Well, I could, but it’s easier and more fun not to!) from talking about something The Retrogrouch noted: leather hairnets are coming back.

 

If you’re of a certain age, you remember them.  You may have even ridden one.  They are lattices, usually black, that look like pie toppings made out of leather (at least they were back in the day).  And they offer just about as much protection in a crash. 

 

For years, I owned one but never used it.  When I first became a dedicated cyclist—during the ‘70’s Bike Boom—it was pretty much the only kind of headgear, aside from caps, available for cyclists.  A few riders wore other kinds of helmets designed for ice hockey (which professional hockey players weren’t wearing) and other sports, or for construction.  But most of us didn’t wear any head protection (except for a cap) because those helmets were bulky, cumbersome or poorly ventilated and, even though many of us had “leather hairnets”, most of us didn’t think they would protect us in any meaningful way.

The original Bell Biker ("turtle shell") helmet, 1975

Not long after Bell introduced its “turtle shell” helmet, another company began to market something called the “Skid Lid”.  It looked like someone constructed a “leather hairnet" out of foam-lined plastic and removed the lid.  It may still be the best-ventilated hardshell helmet ever made, but as Retrogrouch notes, it probably wouldn’t protect you from anything more intense than a skid.

Skid Lid helmet, circa 1978

The first hardshell helmet I used regularly was the Bell V-1 Pro, which came out during the mid-80’s.  It tried to mimic the styling of the “leather hairnet”, but nobody was fooled.  At least it offered meaningful protection and was lighter and better-ventilated than Bell’s (and other companies’) earlier offerings.

Bell V1 Pro helmet, circa 1985: the first helmet I wore regularly (yes, in this color--don't you just love it?)

Now, it seems that some company in Taiwan is offering "leather hairnets", not only in classic black, but in a variety of neon hues and patterns as well as the tricolore and tricolori of the French and Italian flags. They're listed as "SPIN--Foldable Vintage crash hat", which may be just a very bad translation of something. It seems that someone’s idea of “retro” means combining the worst of two earlier eras:  the pre-Bike Boom days and the ‘80’s.  I fully expect they’ll be a hit with the wannabe hipsters!  Maybe those who have taste, or simply money or pretention, will buy the “authentic reproductions” Brooks will be offering.

"SPIN Foldable Vintage Crash Hat"

 Note:  “Leather hairnets” are very similar to headgear worn by American football players before World War II.  Some of us thought that Gerald Ford was, well, Gerald Ford because he wore one when he played college football during the 1930’s.

Pre-war American football helmet