Now I'm going to repeat a shocking confession I made in one of my earliest posts on this blog: I was a Scout.
Actually, they're called "Scouts" today. But back when I was in uniform, they were "Boy Scouts". So, you might ask, if I was dealing with a gender-identity conflict, why did I join the Boy Scouts--especially when neither of my parents, nor any other adult in my life, nudged me into it?
You might have guessed at least part of the answer: I was trying to fit in. But I also got to spend time away from home and school on camping trips and such.
I mention my Scouting because, believe it or not, the Boy Scouts had a merit badge for bicycling. (They still have it.) I was the first in my troop to earn the badge; if that troop still exists, I'm guessing that others have earned it.
For most merit badges, the scoutmaster or some other adult approved by him was supposed to supervise whatever work you did for the badge. At that time, there still weren't very many adult cyclists--at least not in the part of New Jersey to which my family had moved me. So, my scoutmaster, Mr. Kroner (who was also a county judge) basically took my word that I did the rides of fifteen, twenty-five and fifty miles. Being the good Scout that I was, I kept my Scout's honor and did those rides.
As I remember, I had to show that I could fix a flat tire and do a couple of other basic repairs. I demonstrated those to Judge Kroner. He quizzed me on the rules of the road and hand signals, and He signed off on the badge.
Actually, Cycling wasn't the only merit badge I earned for doing things I would have done anyway. As I recall, there was a merit badge for Scholarship, which required, as I remember, a "B" average and to do some sort of research project or paper. There was also one for Reading: I think I had to read twelve books and write brief reports or summaries. Mrs. McKenna, my English teacher, signed off on both of those merit badges.
Perhaps the strangest merit badge I earned was for Fingerprinting. At that time, a show called "The FBI", starring Efram Zimbalist Jr. as Agent Erskine, aired every Sunday night. My father never missed an episode. I often watched it and actually found myself fascinated with how fingerprinting and other techniques were used to solve crimes. I asked Judge Kroner about the badge; he arranged a visit to the forensics lab for me, where one of the officers showed me how fingerprints were made and what made each one different. All I did was listen to the guy and I had another badge.
But I digress. Today I take issue with the Scouts' ban policies on gays (and, to my knowledge, trans boys). But I also do not forget that they were the first group of people to reward me for cycling!
I came across this infographic from Bike Philadlephia. It compares bicyclists in the City of Brotherly Love to those of other cities.
Actually, I like it as much for its design as for the information in it!
Today, in one of the college's bike racks, I saw something interesting:
I apologize that I couldn't get take a better photo. But, as you can see, it's a small-wheeled bike that doesn't have a folding or collapsible frame. It seems like a variant on the "Shopper" bike, which Bobbin and a few other companies have re-introduced during the last couple of years.
The medium-wide semi-slick tires are what one might expect to see on a city bike. And the bike's low profile makes for quick mounting and dismounting. Those features were common on the "shopper" bikes Raleigh and a few other English companies made during the 1960's and 1970's. Those bikes were very popular in Albion, but didn't seem to find much of an audience anywhere else. I think one reason may be that, in the US at any rate, people equated the small wheels with folding or children's bikes.
The bike in the photo differs slightly from those bikes, and from the Bobbin "shopper" I saw at Adeline's and in last year's New Amsterdam bike show. For one thing, the Bobbin, like the classic "shopper," comes with an internally-geared hub, while the bike in the photo has a rear derailleur with six speeds. Also, the Bobbin and the older bikes had fenders, chainguards and lights: They looked rather like classic three-speeds with smaller wheels and a somewhat tighter geometry.
Also, the bike in the photo has white(!) rims and chain. Could the maker (I could find only a "C" logo) be trying to appeal to hipsters? Even if that's the intent, I think it's an interesting bike. I was surprised to see it parked at the college. Then again, it might be just the right bike for a lot of student commuters or for students on residential campuses. In other words, it just might become a "collegiate" bike.
One day, I was talking with someone I admired as an artist and took as a kind of spiritual adviser. (I was young then.) I asked her what she wanted most.
I was expecting something deep and profound--or, at least, something that would have sounded deep and profound to me back then. (I think it was around the time I read Herman Hesse's Steppenwolf and Siddhartha.) Here's what she said:
A simple life and innocent times.
Now, at the time I thought neither was possible--and, that, in fact, they were marketing tropes. Yep, you can live the simple life if you can afford it, and you can have innocent times if your world is, well, a simple place. The truth is, of course, that I never could have had innocent times because I wasn't so innocent and times were never simple because I was simpler than I was willing to acknowledge.
But I digress. For the first time in decades, I thought of that encounter when I stumbled across this photo:
I can just imagine unrolling what's strapped to the saddle and unfurling myself on it, in a field where I might fill the basket on the front of the bike:
I guess there are actually people who live that way. Goddess bless 'em. (Hey, changing genders turned me into a feminist!)
Both photos come from the lovely blog A Serene Life For Me.
What if Salvador Dali were hired to design a bike frame--and he only did the top tube?
The result might look something like this:
I had never before seen such a frame sporting Bianchi logos. But now that I think of it, I'm not surprised. The Bianchi in the photo was made in Japan for Bianchi during the 1980's. Back then, the most famous Italian bicycle manufacturer was rebranding bikes built by Panasonic, Bridgestone and, it was rumoried, Miyata, for the US market.
When you look at this Panasonic closely, you realize why Bianchi made such a move. During the 1970's and early 1980's, Japanese makers like the ones I've mentioned, and Fuji and Nishiki, took over much of the entry- and mid-level market for road and touring bikes in the US. There were good reasons for that: The Japanese companies were offering better bikes for the money than most of their European and American rivals. Their quality control was more consistent: Highland Park Cyclery sold Miyata and Panasonic when I worked there, and I don't recall having to return one for a defect. On the other hand, I saw braze-ons break off a Peugeot and Treks that had miscut threads and wheels that didn't hold up for very long.
Perhaps the biggest "draw" of Japanese bikes was that their drivetrains usually shifted more accurately and (a major selling point with new cyclists) more easily than those on their European counterparts. The Panasonic in the second photo was the lowest-level ten-speed bike the company offered at the time, but its Shimano derailleur outshifted all but the very top models made in Europe at the time. The BIanchi is a few levels up from the Panasonic, and its Shimano gears were more accurate and less fussy, I would submit, than any others--except for the ones made by Sun Tour.
Of course, BIanchi would not be the only company to re-brand Japanese bikes for sale in the US. Some of the most famous examples of such bikes were the "Voyageur" and "LeTour" lines Schwinn sold; Raleigh, Peugeot and other companies would also offer bikes from the Land of the Rising Sun. Other companies, like Motobecane, would continue to make bikes in their home countries but equip them with Japanese derailleurs, freewheels and cranksets--and, later, other components--for American cyclists.
But not all of those companies offered bikes with the frame design of the BIanchi and Panasonic you see in this post. In fact, frames with top tubes so shaped were made for only a few years, or so it seemed. A couple of years ago, Trek revived a modified version of it on their "Belleville" city/porteur bike:
I have never ridden a bike with such a configuration, but I can see the benefit of it, particularly for cyclists with disproportionately short legs. I would think that people who, for other reasons, want a frame that offers more clearance than the traditional diamond design but don't want something more rigid or stable than a traditional women's, or even a mixte, frame would also like such a design.
Here's what I always wondered: If you buy one of those bikes, do you get a watch with it? Or a bike computer: Imagine if Salvador Dali designed those!
Spring has (supposedly) sprung upon us. Yesterday was Easter. So this is supposed to be a time of renewal--or, at least, to shake off my midlife crisis.
So I decided to take on a new sport. Actually, I made up my mind to, finally, take a go at one of the few areas of cycling I'd never before tried.
No, I'm not doing a biathlon or ice-fishing on my bike. What I'm doing, instead, is something I always said I was "too old" to do, mainly because by the time I'd heard about it, I was already older than most of the cyclists involved in it.
I'm talking, of course, about BMX racing. If this is how I resolve my midlife crisis, I figure it's better than being a "cougar" or buying a red sport convertible (which I couldn't afford, even if i wanted it).
So far, my decision is working out well. I already have my first commercial endorsement:
Coming soon to a box of Kellogg's Corn Flakes near you.
"Mind if I ride your wheel?"
"No, not at all!"
He didn't realize it's the best--or, at least my favorite--question anyone has asked me in a while. It's as good as "How old are you? Forty?"
We'd been playing "tag" along Cross Bay Boulevard, the road that runs the length of an island in Jamaica Bay between Howard Beach and Rockaway Beach. It's a long (about 4km) flat stretch, which makes almost anyone on a bike feel like a sprinter, at least for a few minutes. The day was sunny, though chilly, and we were buffeted by the winds one expects at this time of year. Still, I think both he and I felt about ten years younger.
Actually, I felt even younger than that. A man--a trim one, who looked like he'd been riding more than I'd been--wanting to draft my wheel. Hey, if he'd asked me, I probably would have pulled him with one hand!
Somehow he looked familiar. He was maybe a centimeter, if that, taller than me and, as I mentioned, trimmer. His dark beard was flecked with gray, and his fair black skin had a few small wrinkles. I'd've guessed him to be close to my own age. That guess would turn out to be correct.
As we talked, I couldn't help but to think we'd met--actually, ridden--together. When I was living in Park Slope, he was living on the other side of Prospect Park, in Crown Heights. Now he lives in Bedford-Stuyvesant. So, naturally, we talked about riding in Prospect Park, and how we both had the "ten lap" rule: Once we could ride that much in the park without much effort--something that would happen around this time of year, maybe a bit earlier--we'd "graduate" to longer rides outside the park,and even outside of Brooklyn or New York City. I had a feeling I'd ridden with him on at least one of those longer rides; he had the same feeling.
He also mentioned that he'd road-raced, around the same time I did. Like me, he quit racing (and I also stopped riding off-road) after turning 40: Although, ironically, I had more strength and endurance than I did 15 years earlier, my wounds weren't healing as quickly as they once did. He also gave that as a reason for not chasing trophies, and other riders.
I rode with him for a couple of hours and, actually, off the route I'd planned to ride. But I didn't mind: Just as I was wondering whether I'd ever get myself into any kind of shape, ever again, he wanted to ride my wheel. And he thought I'd been riding more than he'd been. To be fair, I have to give at least some of the credit to Arielle:
To answer a question you might be asking: He gave me his name (which was familiar) and told me where he works.
No, I didn't go hunting today. Two of my uncles and my maternal grandfather hunted for sport (and food). I cannot imagine myself doing such a thing--unless, perhaps, I were really desperate.
But I digress. You may have noticed a staff propping up the "dog". There are four such decoys or statues or whatever they are in a playground in Fort Totten Park, where I rode today.
The day was a bit colder than normal for this time of year. The wind was to be expected. However, I think it was the sky that made this afternoon feel more autumnal than spring-like.
However, Tosca looks good in any season, if I do say so myself.
The weather this "spring" is nothing like it was at this time last year. Yesterday was the first day since the equinox that the temperature rose above 50F (10C). Plus, we've had various combinations of precipitation, on and off, ever since the official beginning of the season.
Today I got out for a brief ride after an errand. Along Greenwich Street, near the meat-packing district, I spotted this:
These days, it's hardly remarkable to see a bike parked on just about any street in New York. But I wondered about the desert boots (That's what we used to call them back in the day) someone left beside it.
Sometimes I see pairs of shoes left outside the doors of buildings in parts of Brooklyn and Queens. That usually means that the building is a mosque. However, I didn't think that the building behind the shoes--and bike--was used for Islamic prayer services.
Although the "tongue" of the left shoe stuck out, I didn't get the impression that the shoes were abandoned. Still, I had to wonder why they were left next to that bicycle.
I have been cycling, in one way or another, for more than four decades. Now I do not pedal nearly as many miles (or kilometres) as I did "back in the day." But I feel that, in some way, cycling is as much a part of my life now as it was then.
Through all of those years, there was one period when I seriously considered giving up cycling altogether. I was going to keep one bike "for old time's sake" and, perhaps, for errands and transportation. But I thought that my days as a regular rider were going to come to an end.
That time came early in my life as Justine. I really didn't know how, or even whether, I could combine cycling--or, more precisely, my identity as a cyclist (There were years in which I pedaled 360 days and 25,000 or more kilometers!) with the life on which I was about to embark. One reason for that was, frankly, I had practically no idea of what the life on which I was embarking would be like. Oh, I had visions of who and what Justine would be. But, as happens with nearly everyone who undergoes a gender transition, my expectations--and the sort of woman I would become--differed, at least somewhat. Although my therapist, social worker, doctor and other transgender people who were further along in their transitions--or who'd had surgery and were living fully in their "new" genders--told me such a thing would probably happen, I had no idea of what I would become as a woman.
Also, I was trying so hard to be the sort of woman I envisioned at the beginning of my transition that it took me time to realize that it could encompass much more than I imagined at the time--and that, of course, the sort of woman I could, and would, become could be different. I'd entered my transition with ideas of what women in the '40's and '50's were like, which were the ideas to which early transsexuals like Christine Jorgensen conformed, and what the public expected of transsexuals (to the extent that they paid attention to us).
But, perhaps the most important reason why I thought I might not ride anymore was that so much of my cycling had been a means of escape, however temporary. Whether I was pedaling 180 rpm on the Prospect Park loop or hugging the edge of a virage in the Alps--or dodging taxis and giving the one-fingered peace sign to drivers who got in my way--bicycling had always been a means of escape for me. I think now of a friendly acquaintance who was one of the first women to attend her undergraduate college on a track and field scholarship. She has told me that whether she was training on local streets or pumping away during the state championships, she was "running for my life by running from my life". She never would have been able to attend her college without that scholarship, she said. But, perhaps even more important, she says she doesn't know how she would have "survived, in one piece" a childhood that included incest and other forms of dysfunction and disease in her family.
My childhood wasn't nearly as Dickensian as hers. Perhaps I shouldn't say that, for such a comparison may not make any sense: After all, she suffered at the hands of other people, while most of my torment came from within me. Still, I could relate to what she said as much as anything anyone else has said to me. Her running and my cycling had been means of escape, however momentary.
She hasn't run, even for fitness, in more than two decades. She has taken up other sports (including cycling, which is how I know her) and forms of training, but she has not run since the day she was doing laps in the park and "asking myself why," she said.
But I didn't give up cycling because, frankly, I probably have always enjoyed it more than she liked running, and I now have more reasons to continue on two wheels than she does on the training loop. Also, during my second year of living as Justine, I was running errands and shopping after work one Friday. It was a pleasantly cool day in May,and I was still in the blouse, skirt and low heels I'd worn to work that day. I had just come out of a store and was unlocking my bike from a parking meter when a tall black man chatted me up. "Are you European?", he wondered.
"Well, I've lived and traveled there," I explained. "But I'm from here, and I've lived most of my life here."
"You look more like a European woman, getting around on your bike," he said. He confirmed what I suspected, from his accent and mannerisms, that he was born in Africa but had lived much of his life in Europe--specifically, France.
That day I realized that, one way or another, I would probably continue to ride my bicycle in my new life. I would never be the same kind of cyclist I was when I was living as Nick--and, honestly, at that time, I didn't want to be. But I knew that as Justine, a newly-born woman in her 40's, I would be able to ride her bike in my new life--and my job and those stores wouldn't be my only destinations, any more than commuting and store-hopping would be my only rides.
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