Build It And They Won't Let You Ride On It

You win a few, you lose a few...


Today I rode to the Steeplechase (a.k.a.Coney Island) Pier.  For years, it's been ravaged by storms and tides; the section that meets the boardwalk literally had beach sand "growing" through it. 

Well, it's been re-boarded.  (Roads are re-paved; I figure that boardwalks and anything else with planks on it is re-boarded. )  Thankfully, actual boards, and not concrete substitutes, were used.  


So far, so good.  But I got about fifteen meters onto the pier (It's about 150 or so meters long.)  when an earnest young woman in a green Parks Department polo shirt blew a whistle.  "Miss! Miss!"  I turned.  "You have to walk the bike!"


Well, that was a first.  And how did she know I'm not married, anyway?

Given that it was so hot (The temperature was close to 90F, or 32C, when I left my apartment at 9:30 this morning), I expected to see more people on the pier.  If nothing else, it offers, in addition to views (and good fishing, if you're into that sort of thing), nature's first air conditioning:  sea-breezes.  It was--or felt, anyway--about ten or fifteen degrees (F) cooler than it did when I left my apartment.


But, in addition to the fisherpersons (Yes, I've seen women casting lines into the surf!), you see some interesting, if solitary characters:

Nothing like having the whole city--let alone the whole world--to yourself, eh?


Note:  I apologize for the lack of detail in these photos.  I took them with my cell phone.

An Early Morning Ride, Because I Could

Today I did something I haven't done in too long:  I took an early-morning bike ride, and I wasn't going to work.


There was a time in my life when, if such rides didn't constitute the majority of my cycling, they were at least routine.  On days when I worked in the afternoon or evening, I took such rides, and on weekends I got up early to take my long rides.


But I can't recall the last time I did such a ride.  Part of the reason is the work schedules I've had. I also can't help but to wonder whether the hormones and other changes have made me into more of a night person:  I stay and get up later than I used to.  At least I can say that, as often as not, I'm writing or doing some other necessary work when I'm "burning the midnight oil."


Today I made a point of getting out early.  For one thing, I wanted to avoid the heat this part of the world would experience later in the morning and afternoon.  But I also wanted to remember what it was like to take such a ride.


Back in the day, my early-morning rides were solitary or in the company of other hard-core cyclists, all of them male.  The latter kind left me pumped with adrenaline and testosterone:  If I went through a day cocky, it was a result of such a ride.  On the other hand, the early-morning rides I did alone left me feeling a peace with--if not within--myself and the world around me that I rarely, if ever, attained in any other way.


Today's ride--a little more than an hour and a half on Tosca, my "fixie," left me feeling contented and ready for the rest of the day.  That was definitely a good thing on a day which is not structured by outside forces.  I needed to do laundry (which I did), but there was nothing I absolutely had to get done today. But I managed to accomplish a couple of other things I could just as easily have put off. 


I say this, not to congratulate myself, but to show what a wonderful thing it is to be able to ride early in the morning without going to work.

Along The Way

While riding to Randall's Island last week, I passed the block--9th Street, from the Noguchi Museum to a construction-supply store-- on which I lived before I moved to my current locale.  


The day I moved there, nearly a decade ago, was almost frighteningly clear and blindingly hot.  I had just left the last long-term relationship in which I'd been involved; I knew I was going to embark upon a part of my life I'd spent my life avoiding but which was absolutely necessary to become the person I've become, for better or worse.


I was struck by how much the light and shadows looked like the ones I saw the day I moved there:

When Velouria came to town for the New Amsterdam Bike Show, we rode down this block.  It just happened to be along the way.

Turning Into Noir In The Bronx

I made a wrong turn in the Bronx...


It sounds like the title of noir film, doesn't it?  If such a movie were made today--in Hollywood, anyway--someone would tack a "happy" ending on it and the critics would call it "life-affirming" or some such thing.


Anyway, after teaching a class, I took a spin along the East River and into the Bronx.  (Sounds so idyllic, doesn't it?)  Because of construction (Why do they call it that when they're tearing something apart?), I had to take a detour.  I found myself under the ramp for the Willis Avenue Bridge.  If you've ridden the Five Boro Bike Tour, you've rolled across that bridge.


Underneath that overpass are some interesting old industrial brick buildings. It's sort of like DUMBO.  From one of those buildings hung one of the more interesing--and, unless you know the area, incongruous--signs I've seen:

When I first saw that sign, I thought perhaps someone was making a film.  Turns out, the place tunes, repairs and stores pianos.  In fact, they've probably tuned at least some of the Steinway pianos that are made in Queens, not far from where I live. 

 

That's all the more reason for me to be surprised if someone hasn't made a film (or part of one) there.  It's hard to find a locale that looks more Victorian, in a shadowy sort of way, than that spot where Bruckner Boulevard begins.

A French Dutch City Bike Leads To Romance

Can you guess what comany made this bike, or even where it was made?

At first glance, it looks like a Dutch bike, doesn't it?  And, in many ways, it resembles one.  But it's at least a few pounds lighter.


I'll show you the men's version of this bike:

Its owner added braided cable housing,toe clips, a TA one-clamp water bottle cage and a Brooks saddle bag.  Even if you can't see the decals, there's one detail that should give you a clue as to where these bikes were made.


The headlight has a yellow lens.  Until recently, the bikes (and cars) sold in a particular European country came so equipped.  That country is, of course, France.


Now do you know who made these bikes?  Clue:  They were the largest bicycle manufacturer, and one of the leading auto-makers, in Gaul.  Oh, yeah, and they made those great pepper mills.


Yes, those bikes were made by Peugeot.  When I worked at Highland Park Cyclery, I actually sold one of the women's version.  Back in 1982, there was practically no demand for such bikes in the US.  And, no "serious" cyclist rode anything but a diamond (a.k.a. "men's") frame. But the customer wanted a stable, upright, sturdy bike.  Plus, she liked the style of it.


She wore a skirt when I was fitting the bike to her.  She mentioned, just casually (ahem!)  that she had long legs for a woman her height.  As if I hadn't noticed...


Our relationship lasted, if I recall correctly, about a year.  Looking back, I'm surprised it held as long as it did:  I was in my early 20's and she was about a dozen years older.  She was a surprisingly durable rider, and was a writer. However, beyond cycling and writing, we didn't have much in common.  Plus, as the self-help folks like to say, each of us  had our issues.  


Still, I have some rather fond memories of riding with her.  And, I am responsible for the only sale of the women's version of that bike--the Peugeot VX-40--at Highland Park Cyclery.  In 1982, that was no small feat, if I do say so myself!

Smooth Sailing

On a hot day, one of the best ways to end a bike ride is with a boat ride.  That I did today on the Staten Island Ferry, after a ride on Helene that took me up the Bronx cliffs, across Manhattan, down the New Jersey Palisades into Hoboken, Jersey City and Bayonne, then, finally, over the bridge into Staten Island.


One of the nice things about riding on a hot day with low humidity, as I did today, is that the weather isn't nearly as oppressive as it is with high humidity.  On the other hand, if you're like me, you drink anything and everything in sight.  Still, I think I got to the Ferry less fatigued than these guys:

Helene is in front; the bikes behind her were ridden by the two recliners.  At least nobody can be accused of reading over this guy's shoulder!:

As befitting a high-class English lady with some French culture, Helene was her usual modest self:

With her, the ride was definitely smooth sailing:

L'Enfer du DUMBO

I've been to Hell.


All right.  I confess (Do you still go to Hell if you confess):  I wrote that first sentence to get your attention.  I didn't see lakes of fire or papal prelates or industrial/military plutocrats with encased in ice up to their necks.  And I didn't have an out-of-body experience.

But I did ride over something that, on a fixed-gear bike, can very closely resemble Hell:

Riding over this street made me think of the Paris-Roubaix race, often called L'Enfer du Nord (The Hell of the North).  Every year in April, the race organizers look for the roads in northern France and Belgium with the pointiest cobblestones or with all sorts of other hazards.

Bernard Hinault is a five-time Tour de France winner and very old-school racer:  Unlike, say, Lance, he used to ride--and, very often, win--all sorts of races all over Europe.  But he flatly refused to ride in L'Enfer.  It's hard to blame him:  He had chronic tendinitis in one knee, a condition that caused him to abandon the 1980 Tour de France while he was wearing the leader's yellow jersey.  Finally, the following year, he rode Paris- Roubaix--the only time he would do so--and won.  


Wouldn't you like to see a race like that run through DUMBO, where I took the photo?  From there, such a race could spin through other nearby industrial areas along the Brooklyn waterfront.  There are also other areas--most of them industrial or post-industrial--with Belgian cobblestones like the ones you see in the photo.  


When I had a mountain bike with shocks, I used to ride over those streets for fun.  The experience was still jarring, because most mountain bike shocks are designed to keep the bike stable rather than to cushion the rider.  It's the kind of joyously harebrained thing you do when you're young--or, as I was, full of testosterone (and, possibly, other substances).  


After bouncing along the DUMBO cobblestones, I stopped in Recycle A Bicycle, where I have been volunteering.  The young woman there was working on this bike:

She assured me that the paint job was as it appeared to me; I was not seeing an optical illusion induced by the ride I'd just done!

Effective Cycling, Revised

The latest edition of John Forester's Effective Cycling has been published.  I plan to obtain a copy, in part because I am curious to see what has changed.  Also, given Forester's age, it might be his last revision to his book.


I have one of the early editions of the book, from 1985.  It may have been the first publication--at least in this country--to advocate and explicate the concept of Vehicular Cycling.  This means that cyclists should ride as if their bikes are vehicles--which, in fact, is what they are for many of us.  That means, among other things, taking and using lanes in similar ways. In turn, he says, motorists and policy-makers should treat bicycles as if they are vehicles.  


At the time the first edition of the book came out, Vehicular Cycling seemed like a radical idea.  Even more radical was his notion that there shouldn't be separate infrastructure for cyclists because if cyclists acted more like vehicle operators, there wouldn't be any need for separate bike paths and such.


Almost everything urban planners have done to promote cycling and make their cities more "bike friendly" runs counter to what Forester says.  One reason for that is that most planners are not cyclists; even the ones that are labor under the same misconceptions the non-cycling public has.  Also, it seems that cities can get money for building bike lanes, but not for Effective Cycling courses (or any cycling courses, for that matter).


I don't entirely agree with Forester's idea that there should be no infrastructure for cyclists.  If Vehicular Cycling became the norm, there wouldn't be as much need for paths and such.  There are a few areas, I think, in which such lanes make sense.  However, I would rather not have any lane at all than lanes that are poorly conceived- and -constructed and therefore even more dangerous than the streets from which the lanes are supposed to protect cyclists.  


Still, I think the fact that such questions are being discussed at all is perhaps Forester's greatest contribution.  

Sun, Rocks, Waves And Arielle

Yesterday was brutally, if not frightfully, hot and humid.  Today was merely hot, and less humid.

 So, during my ride to Point Lookout, I didn't sweat as much as I normally do on such a ride.  And I didn't even feel tired until after I'd had supper.  Now I realize why I'm ready to fall asleep:  I rode 65 miles in direct sunlight.  Even though I stopped twice to replenish my sunscreen (and did so when I reached PL), my skin must have absorbed a pretty fair amount of solar radiation.

The "rocks" at PL are, as you can see in the photos, concrete blocks.  That means, among other things, that the "beach" looks different every time I see it.  If I were a painter or better photographer, I could do all sorts of interesting things with the lines and light that present themselves.

Somehow, even my bikes look different whenever I ride them there

From The Land Of The Rising Sun To L'Arc de Triomphe

In perhaps no other nation is track racing more closely followed than it is in Japan.  At least, one could easily have such an impression upon seeing how much money is bet on the keirin races and how many people watch them.


Also, more bicycles are equipped with components from Shimano than from any other company.  In fact, Shimano's offerings displaced their Campagnolo counterparts as racers' equipment of choice for much of the 1990's and in the early 2000's.


So, perhaps, one might wonder why so few Japanese cyclists have raced outside of their own country.  I thought about this today, when I watched the sixth stage of the Tour de France on NBC.  One of the commentators (not Phil Liggett) pointed out that two of this year's riders, Yukiya Arashiro and Fumiyuki Beppu, are among only four Japanese racers who have completed the Tour de France in its history, which has spanned more than a century.

Fumiyuki Beppu (l) and Yukiya Arashiro.  From Velo News

Now, to be fair, for a variety of reasons, through most of the Tour's (as well as the Giro d'Italia's,  Vuelta d'Espana's and the Milk Race's) history, nearly all who rode in it came from a handful of countries in western Europe and, to a lesser extent, the British Isles.  In fact, no American rode it until Jonathan (a.k.a. Jacques or Jock) Boyer entered in 1981.  He didn't make it to l'Arc de Triomphe that year, but he finished a more-than-respectable 12th two years later.


Since Boyer competed, the American contingent has become a significant part of the peloton in le Tour as well as other European races.  Also, increasing numbers of riders have come from the former Soviet bloc countries as well as Latin America and Canada.  However, Japanese cyclists have remained conspicuously absent.


Part of the reason for this may be that road racing isn't nearly as strong as keirin racing in Japan.  That almost seems paradoxical in a country where parents often tell their children, "The nail that sticks out is hammered down."  One would think that road racing, in which most riders participate as members of a team, would be more popular than track racing, which tends to be more individually focused.  Then again, non-team sports like sumo wrestling are wildly popular, while sports like soccer have nowhere near the following they enjoy in Europe, Latin America or even in other parts of Asia.


I can think of one reason which might, at least partially, explain the relative lack of popularity of road racing in Japan:  It's a country about the size of California with about four times as many mountains and five times as many people.  In such a place, I imagine, suitable roads for racing are scarce, and if the logistics of devising a course from them are daunting in European countries that have a century-plus history of racing, things must be even more difficult in Japan.


On the other hand, the Japanese are noted for overcoming difficulties.  For that reason alone, they may become even more of a presence in international racing in the future.  Perhaps Toshiba, Panasonic, Shimano and other Japanese companies will sponsor teams that will carry the Rising Sun around l'Arc de Triomphe.