Gender Studies

OK, now I’m going to offend Floyd “I have a naturally high testosterone level”  Landis  and get myself barred from every gender studies program in the world.  But it will be a lot of fun.  Here goes:

All cyclists are, or should have been born, women because

• We absolutely must have the right shoes.
• We absolutely must have the right bag.
• Not having the right outfit can ruin our day.
• We accessorize, accessorize, accessorize!
• We know that titanium is sooo 1996.
• We spend more to get less.
• We justify maxing out credit cards and raiding 401 K’s by saying, “I bought it on sale!”
• We can never be rich or thin enough. (Don’t I know about this one!)
• No matter what we do, we end up with “helmet hair.” 
• Our spouses/partners/loved ones simply cannot understand.

Trust me: I know!

A Full Bike Rack, Again

Last week, when I encountered the full bike racks at my part-time gig, I didn't have a camera.  Well, today I brought my camera with me on my ride to work and...the racks were full again.  Many of the same bikes I saw last week were there.  But there were a couple of interesting ones that weren't there before, like this Pinarello cyclo-cross bike:

I certainly can do without that color:  It just screams "1980's."  (It just screams, period.)  But it is otherwise a nice old-school European lugged steel bike.  


Notice the low-rider pannier carrier on the front.  I believe that for touring, the best thing besides a full touring  or randonneur/audax bike might be a cyclo-cross bike.  They usually have enough clearance for wider-than-normal road tires and fenders.  Plus, they often have cantilever brakes, as this bike has.  


That Pinarello is a far cry from my LeTour.

I was able to park it only by doing what I did last week:  I emptied and folded my rear baskets in, which allowed me to fit the bike inside the inverted "U" shaped rack.

Campus security wants cyclists to park only in the designated bike areas.  I asked someone why there aren't more racks.  "Most days, it's not like this," he said.  "The weather's nice today," he explained.


The good news, other than the fact that there are so many racks, is that they're close to the campus security station.  


At the end of the day, I took a spin over to Fort Totten, which has become one of my favorite parks and bike-pedestrian trails in the city.  As it was a warm, clear day, a lot of people were there.  So it wasn't hard to find someone to take a photo of me.

So...a full day of teaching and about 30 miles of cycling, in total.  When I got home, I indulged myself with a platter from the King of Felafel and Shawarma.  Yum!


And now Charlie  and Max are calling.  At the end of a full day that included a full bike rack.

Labor Day: Cycling and the End of a Summer Romance

Today I did something I promised myself I wouldn't do this weekend:  I cycled along some beaches.  


If you've read some of my previous posts in this or my other blog, you know that I love the ocean.  However, I didn't want to deal with the crowds and traffic I expected to find today, which was Labor Day.

However, the South Shore beaches on Long Island and the Rockaways didn't have nearly the crowds I expected.  I'm sure that some people who go to the local beaches on other summer weekends were elsewhere:  out of the area, or at barbecues or other gatherings with families and friends.  But I think that the breezy and  relatively cool weather (The temperature didn't rise much past 70F along the beach areas, and didn't reach 80 in Manhattan.) probably deterred some people.  Even Coney Island, where I ended my ride, had fewer people than I anticipated.

It's hard to go to a beach at the de facto end of summer and not think of another feature of the season:  the summer romance.

I've had a couple of those, and one with whom I shared cycling, including some rides to the beach.   


The time was one summer in the mid-1990's.  That was an interesting time to be in New York:  the city was, in various ways, just beginning to transition out of the '80's. It was still early in Rudy Giuliani's long tenure as Mayor, and Times Square was in its last days before Disneyfication.  Even apart from that, one could sense that much that was familiar in the city would soon disappear and be replaced by edifices that are more glamorous, high-tech or simply tourist-friendly.  And while the city had eradicated graffiti from the subways and other public areas, at least for the time being, it was not hard to see that with all of the hip-hop that was playing, there was and would be other things pour epater la bourgeoisie--precisely because the bourgeoisie were taking over the city in all sorts of ways nobody had previously imagined.


OK, so what does that have to do with cycling and summer romance?  Well, it also seemed that around that time, more and more people were coming to the city, not only as tourists, but to jump-start careers and other parts of their lives.  One such person became my summer romance--and sometime biking partner--that year.


She had come to New York as a visiting faculty member and researcher at the New York College of Podiatric Medicine.  Eileen was a podiatrist who had been practicing in an area of rural Maine far removed from the vacationers of Bar Harbor and other resorts.  The college wanted her for the expertise she'd developed in treating foot problems in juvenile diabetics, if I recall correctly.  


To this day, I wonder what she saw in me back then.  Yes, I was in very good shape:  I was riding everywhere I couldn't fly and lifting weights.  But in New York City, there had to be thousands of men within a few years of my age who also fit that description.  She also said I was "erudite" and "charming."  Again, if that was true, I was only one of many.


During the course of one of our rides, she said she couldn't believe there was so much waterfront in New York City.  I told her that, even after living much of my life in New York, I couldn't believe how little respect New Yorkers--or policymakers, at any rate--seemed to have for it.


I also took her on some of the most strangely bucolic rides she'd ever taken:  the Wall Street area on a Sunday, for one.  And  we went on eating tours in Chinatown, Flushing, Bensonhurst (which still was mainly Italian) and other neighborhoods--on our bikes.


By Labor Day, she was back in Maine.  This is the first time in many years I've thought about her.  I probably wouldn't have thought about her if I hadn't gone off on the tangents you've read (if you've read this far) in this post.  It's not that we had an angry breakup or any other cataclysm:  We simply had the understanding that our relationship, such as it was, would continue only as long as she was in New York.  She was a good biking partner, and good company overall.  But, as far as I can tell, she was a straight woman to the core, although she did once say that one of the things she liked about me--and the very reason why we couldn't be long-term partners--was that, as she believed and I know, I am a woman at my core.


Then again, some things are meant to last only the summer.  Fortunately, cycling is not one of them, at least for me.


Finally, here's proof that one should take summer romances--and, at times, even cycling, only so seriously:

Remembrance of Bikes Past

Funny how, after getting a new bike, I'm having a remembrance of bikes past.  Not that the new bike makes me wish for the old ones.  Rather, I think it has to do with the fact that Helene is my first new bike (and the second bike I've bought) since my surgery.  


Perhaps one day I'll sit down and list, and possibly write remembrances of, other bikes I've owned and ridden. 


While searching for something else on the internet, I came across this photo in ratrodbikes .  

My very first bike (that I can recall, anyway) was the diamond-frame version of this bike:  a Royce Union three-speed.  


The bike was my grandfather's last Christmas gift to me.  I was seven years old, if I recall correctly, and it would be another three years before I could ride the bike!  Being the eldest sibling, and growing up in a time when adults (including my parents) rarely, if ever, rode bicycles, I had no worries about my treasure becoming a hand-me-down.  


I rode the Royce-Union until I got my first ten-speed at age thirteen:  a department-store Murray that I managed to wreck within a year.  Then, with money I saved from delivering newspapers, I bought a Schwinn Continental for the princely sum of 105 dollars, including tax.  The shop in which I bought that Schwinn also sold Peugeots, including a PX 10 for 250 dollars.  Then, I thought it utter decadence to spend that much on a bike.  Three years later, I would pay 350 dollars for the very same bike--used!  


I hope that one day soon,  I will list all of the bicycles I've had--or, at least, the ones I recall.  Until then, consider this the "down payment."  In a sense, that's what my Royce Union three-speed was.

New York: Where Utility Bikes Are Made, Not Born

In Amsterdam and Copenhagen, one is struck by the degree to which bicycles conduct the flow of daily life.  People ride them to go to work, to go shopping, to run errands, visit friends and to do go to all of those meetings, appointments and other events that are part of daily life.  And one thing that's gratifying is that in those cities, many people who ride to work and such could afford to drive a car.  To be sure, ten-dollar-a-gallon gasoline is a strong incentive to forsake automobiles for short trips.  But I think that in those cities, people also see the practicality of cycling:  In those settings, it's often quicker and easier to ride a bike than it is to drive or even to take mass transit.  

It's been a while since I've been to the Dutch or Danish capital, but from what I hear, cycling is still as prevalent a mode of transportation as it was years ago.

What's also striking is the fact that in those cities, no matter what a person's occupation or income, he or she is likely to be riding a bike very similar to whatever someone else might be pedaling to a job, a store or a friend's house. Some might have more elegant paint jobs or a few more creature-comfort accessories, but the basic bike doesn't vary so much.  By now, most Americans have seen at least an image of the prototypical Dutch (or Dutch-style) city bike.  On it, weight is seemingly no object:  Carbon steel bikes with internally-geared hubs are fitted with racks, fenders and other accessories made of the same material.  And, of course, they have full chain cases and the women's bikes often have dress guards.  Convenience for someone who thinks of him or her self, not as a cyclist, but as a waiter, bookkeeper, technician, accountant, artist, writer or any other kind of worker on his or her way to a job on his or her bicycle.  Or, he or she is a shopper, or a grandparent en route to see the grandkids, or can have any number of other identites--and he or she is using a bike as a vehicle (in the original sense of the word) to fulfill tasks, wants, needs, or pleasures.

What I have described is true, if to a lesser degree, in other European cities. And they have their own variations on the "city bike," which have evolved out of decades or even a century or more of cycling as a part of daily life.  A French city bike, as an example, is likely to be a bit lighter than a Dutch bike, and is as likely as not to have derailleur gears rather than an internally-geared hub.  This has to do with the fact that most French cities are at least a bit hillier than Amsterdam or Copenhagen. (Then again, most cities are.)  Plus, even though Paris, Lyon, Toulouse and Bordeaux are relatively compact, given their populations, they are still a bit more spread out than Amsterdam or Copenhagen.  

Even so, they are not as hilly as many cities in the Americas.  (Lyon is an exception; even Toulouse, which is in the foothills of the Pyrenees, is relatively flat.)  And their ideas about how to ride to work are different from those Americans who ride their bikes to their jobs.

Plus...Here's something I've experienced first-hand:  Their streets are, for the most part, better-maintained than those in American cities, or at least the ones in New York.  There, bikes "age" and get "weathered;" here, a bike that's ridden  and parked on the streets every day gets beat up.  And, finally, it seems that there's more bike theft here than in European cities.

So, while shops here have begun to carry bikes that are meant to be utilitarian commuters (like the Pashleys and Abicis), I don't see that they are becoming "consensus" commuters.  I've seen a couple of those bikes hee, and a few more that strive to emulate (or cynically copy the most obvious features of ) them, like the Breezers and the city commuters marketed by Specialized, Giant and Trek.  But I think that if they are going to become standard commuters' fare in this city, that day will be some time in coming.

New York is still a city in which bikes become, rather than are made to be, commuters or utility vehicles.  I realized this when I passed by the Bel Aire Diner, which is three blocks from my apartment.  I often eat there, and I pass it (or at least see it) nearly every day.  There is always a gaggle of bicycles outside

Yes, those really are delivery bikes:  The diner does a lot of deliveries and employs more delivery men (Yes, they're all male.) than the average restaurant. 

They're like a lot of bikes that are ridden to jobs, schools, appointments and stores:  Far from their original owners and purposes.  About ten or fifteen years ago, most bikes parked on streets were bike-boom-era ten-speeds (Some of which had been turned, whether or not by design, into single-speeds.); some were English three-speeds or imitations thereof and some others were lower-end, first-generation (early-to-mid '80's) mountain bikes.

These days, those bikes, like the ones parked by the diner, are likely to be mountain bikes from the early-to-mid '90's or thereabouts.  There are a few road machines, and still a few "classic" bikes from the '70's. Even many of the so-called "hipster fixies" started their lives as multigeared touring or racing bikes from that era.  

But, even with all of the students who ride to Pratt or SVA on "hipster fixies," or all the mountain-bikes-turned-delivery-hacks, there is still no signature commuter or utility bike for this city as there is for its European counterparts.  And, somehow, I don't think there will be, at least not for some time.   

Uncrossing Our Fingers: The Day After The Storm That Wasn't

Yesterday's radio (and, I assume, television) programming was interrupted or punctuated by updates on Hurricane Earl.  Forecasters expected it to be the biggest storm in nearly two decades:  the biggest since the "perfect storm" that inspired the eponymous book and movie.


For much of the day, it looked as if the storm would hit.  The sky was so heavy that it looked as if it could submerge everything beneath it without a single drop of rain falling.  And the air, it seemed, was even heavier, yet viscous, with heat and humidity.

But, in the end, more sweat dripped from people's skins than raindrops fell from the clouds.  Some time in the wee hours of morning, some of the wind from the storm blew the clouds away.  So, save for the difficulty of pedaling into the wind, today was a wonderful day to ride, walk or be outdoors for any other reason.  It was warm enough to wear a sundress or tank top and shorts, but the wind was brisk enough to open one's pores to the hind of chill that it brought.  


I took a very leisurely ride on my fixie (Is that a contradiction?) and basked in both sun and wind on a park bench. Tosca, my fixie, seemed to enjoy it as much as I did.  

The day after a storm, or just bracing for one, everything seems like a reverie.  Especially a bike ride.

A Full Bike Rack!

Today I cycled to my regular job and my "moonlighting" gig.  As is so often the case, my Le Tour was the only bike parked at my regular college.  On the other hand, when I arrived at my other school, I couldn't find a spot for my bike. 

The college has one designated area for bicycle parking.  It's about twenty feet directly in front of the guard station where most students, faculty and staff come in if they are driving or walking.  In it are those long racks that look like waves of steel.  One can lock a bike to the outside part of the "wave"--or inside, if the bike is small enough or can be folded or maneuvered.

Well, it seemed that every inch of space on those racks had been used!  Except for the inside one of the inverted "U"s that are part of those waves, that is. So, I took my tote bag out of my rear basket, which I folded.  Then I tilted the bike as close to paralell with the ground as I could and managed to nudge the bike inside.  Then I locked the frame's rear triangle to the rack.

My momentary annoyance at trying to find a parking spot turned to gratification that so many people rode bikes on such a hot day. (The temp got up to 97 F.)  Some of the bikes looked like they came from department stores or the worst eBay sites.  But others were well-worn  ten- and three-speeds from the 1970's or thereabouts:  a Ross Eurosport, a couple of Schwinns, a Motobecane Mirage with its original Simplex derailleur (That would date the bike at 1974 or earlier; Motobecanes started to come euipped with Sun Tour derailleurs the following year.)   Those bikes made me a little sentimental, for they were new when I was young and first becoming serious about cycling.

I wish only that I had my camera with me.  Not only could I have shown those overflowing bike racks; I could also have been vain and posted more images of myself.  I rode in a skirt and heels and received a lot of compliments on the way I looked.  The skirt was a paisley print in shades of tropical-seas-blues, white and black.  With it, I wore a tank top and short cardigan in one of the shades of blue and a pair of black sling-back peep-toe shoes with three-inch heels.

Because there were so many bikes, I'd bet that I wasn't the only well-dressed cyclist who came to the college today. 

I am still thinking, not only about the fact that I saw so many bikes at my new gig, but that I see so few--often, none--at my regular job.  I think that the discrepancy has much to do with the fact that my second job has a much more diverse student body:  Some come from the poorer areas of the city, but many come from middle-class and even affluent areas of Queens.  As Velouria and others have said, the poorer immigrants-- who  comprise much of the student population at my main job--often equate cycling for transportation with poverty and lower social status:  exactly what they hoped to escape by leaving the places of their birth.  And, in those places, there it seems that riding for sport is all but non-existent.

I'll be very interested to see whether I'll continue to encounter full bike racks at my new gig.

Falling Asleep After Riding

Yesterday I biked to work after pulling an all-nighter.  Then I came home, and not long after downing a wonderful chicken and rice platter from The King of Falafel and Shawarma, I fell asleep. 

In a way, it's upsetting to know that I had fallen asleep after a mere commute on my bike.  Yes, I stayed up all of the night before and I'm not as young as I used to be.  But, still...I'm supposed to fall asleep after riding up and down mountains or a hundred-mile day on a bike laden with panniers and camping equipment--not from a mere commute.


I guess I haven't given up the notion that it's somehow more noble, or at least more fun, to fall into a long, deep sleep after an adventure or some eclat than it is to drift into (and out, and possibly into again) subconsciousness after mere routine.


Then again, last night's sleep was very restful and restorative.   And, when I got home last night, I was so tired that I wasn't thinking about the fact that I had what was basically a very routine day and ride.  It was thinking about the circumstances, and wanting to be in better shape than I'm in now, caused me berate myself today for falling asleep immediately after dinner last night.




Have you ever fallen asleep immediately after riding your bike?  What was that like?

Hello Helene!

Today I took my third and, so far, longest ride on my Miss Mercian.  

I took a route I've pedalled a number of times before on my other two Mercians and on at least a couple of other bicycles.  But this is the first time I did that ride, which is about 45 miles, on a women's/mixte frame.


From my apartment, I rode over the Queensborough/59th Street Bridge to Manhattan.  Then, I rode up the East Side to East Harlem, where I cut across to West Harlem and continued up to Washington Heights and the George Wahsington Bridge.  Then, I rode along the top of the Palisades from Fort Lee to just north of Jersey City, where I pedalled down to the waterfront.  The docks where a young Marlon Brando pouted and glowered are long gone; now tall condominium towers mute the gazes of children in the park at the base of those buildings.  

Still, there is something I rather like about the light there.  Perhaps it is its consistency:  Whether I am playing chicken with the rain or tag with the sun, everything there always seems tinged with shades of metal, in particular the kind of titanium gray that refracts into gunmetal blues that can turn almost anything from lilac to aqua.  I find it oddly comforting, even soothing.

From there, I rode some less picturesque parts of town to Bayonne, where I rode across the bridge that bears the town's name to Staten Island and the Ferry named after it.


I must say, I was surprised at both the comfort and responsiveness of the bike.  I expected both, though more of the former, as Miss Mercian's geometry is slightly less agressive than that of my other two Mercians.  However, the bike doesn't accelerate quite as quickly as either Arielle or Tosca.  Again, that was something I expected, and even wanted. 




Before today's ride, I switched the tires.  I had a pair of Paselas that, I think, were mis-labelled:  They are marked 700 X 32 C, but they seemed slightly narrower than the 700 X 28C Continental Grand Prix Four-Season tires on my other two Mercians.  The rims could not have accounted for the difference:  I have Mavic Open Pros on all three bikes.  Still, I like the response of the Paselas, so I might try them on either of the other two Mercians when the Contis wear out.


Today  I rode another Panaracer tire:  the RiBMo (I hate the acronym!)  700x35.  It weighs about one and a half times as much as the Paselas, which are about 20 grams heavier than the Contis.  I'm sure they added to the stability of the bike if they took away a bit of its responsiveness.  Since the Miss Mercian is not going to be my "speed machine", I don't mind that. Plus, I think they look more appropriate than the skinnier tires on MM.  So, I think I'm going to keep them on the bike, at least for now.


Speaking of looks:  Check out the way the top tube is joined to the seat tube.

This bike is going to be a lot of fun and will look very  stylish doing it.   And, with her fenders, porteur bars and other accessories, she has a bit of a French accent even if she's English. I've decided to name her Helene.   

How I Ended Up Here

I wasn’t the best kid in the world.  But my parents know that, sooner or later, one way or another, I do whatever they say I should do.  It might take me 35 years, but better late than never, right?

So what does that have to do with today’s ride or anything else related to this blog?  Well, during my ride, I went someplace my father wanted me to go upon graduating high school. I didn’t go in quite the way he’d hoped, but I went nonetheless.

I’m talking about the United States Merchant Marine Academy in Kings Point, on the North Shore of Long Island.  He didn’t want me to go there specifically; he wanted me to go to one of the Federal academies dedicated to training officers for the armed forces.  I actually did get Congressional nominations to the Naval Academy in Annapolis and the Military Academy at West Point.

Every member of Congress is allowed to appoint one person to each academy (the Air Force Academy in Colorado Springs is included) and to nominate other candidate.  Being nominated is like being placed on a waiting list:  If, for whatever reasons, the appointee can’t or chooses not to go, the member of Congress can appoint one of his or her nominees.  That did not happen to me.

As you can probably imagine, I have no regrets now.  I certainly wasn’t sorry then.  Then again, anyone who’s been reading this or my other blog knows that.

However, it was a lot of fun to go there today.  It’s actually a lovely place:  It’s, as one might expect, on the water and has a couple of ships and a bunch of boats.  And some of the buildings are exquisite.  Although they are of different styles, as different parts of the campus were built at different times (and a couple of buildings predate the founding of the Academy), they actually work well together.  Perhaps it has to do that they are all in shades of beige, tan, yellow and white.  They suggested, at least for me, sand, which makes sense for a maritime campus.

Unfortunately, as you might expect in the post-9/11 world, I couldn’t photograph them.  The guard at the entry gate was very friendly, as was everyone else I encountered.  But he said—almost apologetically—that, due to “security,” photography wasn’t allowed.

Oddly enough, although I was the only person riding a bicycle, I didn’t feel out of place.   The fact that I’m old enough to be the cadets’ grandmother also didn’t make me feel strange.  And, no, that other way in which I’m different from (at least to my knowledge!) any of them didn’t make me feel distant.

Perhaps it had to do with the fact that today was one of those wonderfully beautiful and clear days that can make even someone as old and cynical as me feel as if those barriers people erect between each other don’t exist.  It reminded me of what has always drawn me to cycling, and in particular rides like the one I took today:  I feel that on my bike, the whole world is available to me.  If you don’t feel that way before you embark on a long ride, you’ll feel that way sometime during the ride.  Otherwise, you’ll quit.

That, I believe, is the reason why today, three decades after I took my first trip, I cannot imagine having experienced France or any other part of Europe in any other way.  I didn’t see as many places as my peers who had Eurail passes, and, to tell you the truth, I didn’t want to.  Even then, I knew that I would do better to experience a few places intimately than to get as many stamps on my passport as I could.  (Back in those pre-EU days, one had to go through customs each time one crossed from one country to another.) 

Anyway…How did I get from Long Island to Languedoc without getting on a plane?  I don’t know.  To be completely honest, I don’t know how I got to some of the places I saw today.  I got on Arielle and decided I had no destination in particular.  I did, however, decide that as much as I love the ocean, I didn’t want to ride through or to any of the beach areas today.  I knew that people would be going to them in droves.

Had I gone to Kings Point or one of the other academies when I graduated high school, my entire curriculum and career would have been spelled out for me.  Now, I know I like and need some structure in my life.  But I also know that the things I’ve enjoyed most—including my favorite bike rides—just sort of happened when I set out without a specific itinerary.

That’s what happened thirty years ago—and today—on my bike.