I don't remember whether I heard or read this bit of advice: Never ride through water if you can't see the bottom.
I'm sure most of you have heard something similar, perhaps in a parental lecture. Yet, I'm sure most of you have gone against that admonition at some time or another. I know I have on numerous occasions, with and without fenders and raingear.
It's almost inevitable that you'll ride through some inundated pothole, or slosh through some area where water has backed up because of a stopped or overflowing drain, especially if you use your bike as a vehicle after a storm like Sandy or the Nor'easter that's raging up this way. If you've spent any amount of time riding off-road--especially if you ride cyclo-cross or cross-country, as I did--you're almost certain to slice across a stream or muck your way through a marshy area. And you more than likely won't know what you've gotten yourself into until you're soaked or covered with mud!
A British cyclist in the Lake District took the challenge of riding through a (visually, anyway) bottomless body of water. Sixteen-year-old Matt Whitehurst claims he rode across 75 foot-deep Lake Buttermere last July.
He claims that Photoshop was not involved in any way, shape or form.
What's that lump under his rear tire? Could he be on the back (or head) of the Loch Ness Monster? Hmm...If that's the case, does his feat qualify as cycling--or surfing?
It seems that since Hurricane Sandy left, the weather has been colder than I can recall it being at any time last winter.
Of course, I don't claim to remember every single day about last winter. (At my age, it's hard to remember every day last week!) But I do recall that it was an exceptionally mild season, and that we had our only snow well before the winter started and a couple of cold days after it ended. But in between, the only signals of the season seemed to be the bare trees and short days.
So now I have some winter clothing I bought last year but never used. Mainly, I bought wool undergarments and socks, as well as some insulated waterproof boots.
The good news is that I don't have to buy those things this year, and that even if I do no clothes shopping for this winter, I'll still have some things I can donate to the hurricane victims.
Somehow I suspect this winter won't be so mild.
I don't mind cloudy days. Actually, I like them, especially for cycling, particularly along a seacoast.
However, during the past few days, clouds have spread a thick gray curtain between us and the light of the day, even though Sandy had passed.
Today, though, those clouds gave way to the less ominous overcast skies one often sees in coastal areas. And we saw something that might have been reported as a UFO, given recent conditions: the sun.
In fact, near the end of my ride this afternoon, I saw a sunset that caused me not to rue the fact that it came so early as a result of turning the clocks back an hour:
I captured the light as best I could with my cell phone from the Unisphere.
As Yogi Berra once said, "It's deja vu all over again."
I could have said the same thing the other evening when I came to the Brooklyn side of the Manhattan and Brooklyn Bridges. Motorized traffic had all but come to a standstill, and I could feel (and hear) the mounting tensions. The bicycle and pedestrian lanes were better, if only in comparison.
I suppose that the near-jamming of two-wheeled and two-soled traffic is a good sign: At least some people realize that cycling (and walking) can be viable options for them. Plus, cyclists and pedestrians seem to have more patience than motorists.
In witnessing the throngs of cyclists and pedestrians, I had a flashback:
Some say that the eleven-day New York City Transit Strike of 1980 was the first time since the turn of the century when large numbers of people rode bikes or walked to work. Speaking anecdotally, I can say that is probably true: Up to that time, I couldn't recall seeing so many people getting to their jobs or going to shop, or even to the movies or theatre, under their own power. I was in my final semester at Rutgers and came into the city three times during that strike. The second time, I brought my bike on the train into the city and the third time, I took the 25-mile ride in.
The strike is also said to have initiated the practice of wearing sneakers on the way to work and changing into heels or other dress shoes upon arriving. I don't detect any sartorial statements emerging from the disruptions of mass transit caused by Hurricane Sandy. However, I think--or, at least, hope--that some people who've begun riding or walking to work will continue to do so after full service is restored on the subways and buses. It seems that many people who pedaled or hoofed it to work during the 1980 strike abandoned those habits once the trains and buses started to roll again.
I hope not to have deja vu about that!
I was lamenting the fact that I won't be able to take a big trip this year.
However, I am experiencing the weather and seeing the kind of light one finds in London, Copenhagen and other northern European capitals.
Somehow, though, I don't imagine they've had anything like Hurricane Sandy. Then again, I'm sure they have other kinds of rough weather that I didn't spend enough time in those places to experience.
But I digress. Apart from the chilly, damp air and gray skies, something else gives the part of the world in which I live the flavor of northern Europe:
Those bikes are parked outside PS 1. It seems that every time I ride down that way, I see more and more bikes parked there:
Those racks, installed recently, aren't enough for the bicycle traffic that stops at the museum. Almost as many bikes are locked and chained to lamposts, parking meters and other immobile objects on the surrounding blocks. Some of those bikes are interesting and unusual, such as this one:
A few A. Sutter bicycles, which were made France, made their way to these shores before and during the '70's "Bike Boom." They are much like other French bikes of the period--a little nicer, perhaps than Peugeot, but not quite as nice as Motobecane. But definiely, quintessentially French, for better and worse.
I mean, nobody else did chainguards the way they did them in Gaul. And their fenders are, rightly, the ones that inspire the ones Velo Orange and other companies make:
The bike in the photos, and most other A. Sutters, were manufactured in Chatellerault, in the Loire Valley. A. Sutter also offered a top-of-the line racing model that Olmo made in Italy. Like most top-of-the-line Italian racing bikes (as well as some from other countries), it was equipped with Campagnolo Nuovo Record components.
I don't know whether A. Sutter is still in business--and, if they are, whether their bikes are still made in Chatellerault or anywhere else in France.
If they're still being made, I wonder whether they're available in the light blue of that bike. Lots of bike makers made light blue bikes, but this particular shade, by itself, all but marks it as a French Bike.
Now, for a very different blue bike, take a look at this:
You've probably seen Austro-Daimlers before. They're another marque associated with the '70's Bike Boom. They might be best-known for one of the most elegant catalogs ever produced and their pledge that their top-of-the-line bike, the Ultima, would "leave the factory in a specially prepared foam-filled case." The ladies' version of the Vent Noir might be the most elegant mixte that wasn't made by a French constructeur or English hand-builder!
Even their lower-and mid-level bikes reflected the attention to detail of their best machines:
I find it interesting to see bicycles like this one that are more than three decades old but look as if they just left the showroom. Was it stored in one of those foam-filled cases?
Anyway, enough about bikes. I took a spin down to Brooklyn, and passed by Pratt Institute. I can hardly imagine a campus looking more autumnal than this:
