Sleepless As What's Under Them

The other day I got out for a bit of a ride.  On my way home, I passed through the Brooklyn Heights and Cobble Hill neighborhoods of Brooklyn.  

The Heights abuts the waterfront and the Hill is next door.  Both neighborhoods have been the home of a number of writers, especially poets--including the ones everyone's heard of like Walt Whitman, Hart Crane and Marianne Moore and ones only readers of this blog have heard of, like yours truly.

Anyway, much of the Heights gentrified decades ago--in fact, one of the first landmarked districts in the United States lies within the neighborhood.  Cobble Hill is also turning into an enclave of young professionals and families.  

One result of those demographic changes--and shifts in the city's, nation's and world's economy--is that much of the city's maritime history is disappearing.  I know about those developments firsthand:  Two of my uncles were maritime workers and their union headquarters once occupied an entire square block, and a good part of another, in South Brooklyn.  One of my early birthdays was celebrated in its reception hall; so were milestones in the lives of other family members of longshoremen and other workers.  Now that square-block sized building is occupied by the largest Muslim elementary school in America and the maritime workers are relegated only to a couple of offices in the other building.

One of the last remaining vestiges of the work those men (almost all of them were male) did is seen on this building I passed on Atlantic Avenue, near Clinton Street:

The former headquarters and workshop of John Curtin's sail-making operation is now condominums, with a restaurant and Urban Outfitters store in its street-level studios. 

Riding through the neighborhood made me think of this passage from Hart Crane's masterwork The Bridge:

 Sleepless as the river under thee,
Vaulting the sea, the prairies’ dreaming sod,
Unto us lowliest sometime sweep, descend
And of the curveship lend a myth to God.

Space Saver

Say "Munster" to most Americans and they'll think of that tangy semi-soft cheese with an orange rind.  They may have had it with their eggs this morning or on a turkey, chicken or ham sandwich for lunch.

That cheese is named for a city in the Alsace region of Eastern France, in a valley of the Vosges mountains.  The city and mountains are quite lovely, especially in the autumn.  And they can be a bit melancholy in their beauty,
in almost a New England-ish sort of way. 

There's also another city with the same name (but an umlat over the "u") in the Westphalia region of Germany--actually, not very far from the Vosgean ville.  It was in this German city that the Treaty of Westphalia, which ceded the Alsace and Lorraine regions--which, ironically, include the now-French Munster-- to France for the next two centuries, was signed.  

(France lost those territories in the Franco-Prussian War of 1870-71 but regained them with the Versailles Treaty after World War !.)

Anyway, Munster, like many other cities in Europe, has been trying to get people to forsake their cars for bicycles.  While many ride to work or for recreation, many (sometimes the same people) depend on their motor vehicles for shopping and transport.

One reason for the campaign is that Munster, like many older European cities, has narrow streets.  So, city officials realize that they can't (or don't want to) squeeze any more automobiles into the ancient lanes.

So, to spread the message, the city planning office distributed this poster (which is translated):

 

 

Where Did I Leave It?

New York City is one of the few places in this country where large numbers of people don't own, or even drive, cars.  I am among them.

It's pretty easy to tell those who drive from those who do: The latter complain about the lack of parking.  Someone with whom I used to work said that in his vision of Hell, he is doomed to forever roam the streets of Brooklyn in search of a legal parking space.

(Hmm...Would Dante have included that if he were writing The Inferno today?  If so, which circle of Hell would it be?)

That got me to wondering whether cyclists have the same problem in places where almost everybody rides.  After all, I have had to park my wheels a block or even more from my destination because there wasn't an unoccupied sign post or parking meter--let alone a bike station--where I could lock up my machine.

What do they do in Amsterdam?

From Danasaurus

Hmm...Now where did I park?

From Pedals To Motors And Back In Detroit

Today everyone thinks of Portland as the cycling capital of the United States.  That is, everyone except us New Yorkers because, well, we know that the Big Apple is the capital of everything.

Anyway, we may have the nation's oldest bike lane in continuous use (the one in Brooklyn that runs along Ocean Parkway from Prospect Park Southwest to the ocean) and Portland can lay claim to the world's first handknitted granola guard that is compatible with Shimano, SRAM and Campagnolo.  However, the American city with the richest cycling tradition may be the one people least expect.

Shinola is now crafting some beautiful and useful two-wheelers.  However, contrary to what some people believe, they are not the first bicycle manufacturer in Detroit.  They are at least 130 years too late to make such a claim (which, to be fair, they never did):  John Shire was listed as a bicycle maker--Detroit's first--in the city's 1878 business directory.  The previous year, he was listed as a carriage-maker; the following year, he would patent his improvements on the velocipede designed to make it more comfortable on the city's brick-paved streets.

From Hometown History Tours

 Shire's trajectory mirrored Detroit's industrial history:  Before it became the nation's (and the world's) motor mecca, "the D" was the North American center of carriage making, and would become one of the major hubs of the nascent bicycle industry.  In fact, some of the early automakers--including Henry Ford himself--started off by building or fixing bikes.

Henry Ford

In the 1890's and the early part of the 2Oth Century, the city on the banks of the Detroit River (the city's name is the French word for "strait")  was a port of call, if you will, for racers and other cyclists from all over the world.  It was estimated that 80 percent of the city's population rode the heavy but delicate two-wheeled vehicles, some of which snapped in half on the brick-paved streets and potholed lanes.  

There are several reasons why cycling of all kinds was so popular. One is that, in part because of its location, it attracted people from many different places--including cities and countries that had cycling traditions.  Another is that Detroit is one of the flattest major cities in America.  And, finally, even though it had become the fourth-largest city in the US by 1900, it was still pretty compact, much like downtown Manhattan or many European capitals.  So, most people didn't have to ride very far to get to work or school, or simply to get out.

What makes the history of cycling in Detroit so interesting,though, is how vigorous the city's two-wheeled scene remained even as the people (except for children) in the rest of the United Stats largely abandoned bikes in favor of the automobiles that were being produced, ironically, in Detroit.  Through most of the 20th Century--even during the "Dark Ages" of the 1950's--the Detroit News carried announcements of the Wolverine Wheelmen's rides.  Until World War II, the only American six-day race more popular than the one held in New York (at Madison Square Garden) was Detroit's. Even after it--and most other competitive cycling in the US--disappeared during World War II, criteriums and track races maintained active participation and loyal followings.  

Among those active in the Detroit cycling scene was Gene Porteusi, who opened the Cycle Sport shop on Michigan Avenue near Livernois.  At the time, it was one of the few stores anywhere in the US that carried the best racing bikes and components, most of which were imported from Europe.   His Cyclo-Pedia was also one of the first, if not the first, mail-order catalogue devoted to such goods.

But Detroit's greatest contributions to the history of American cycling may have come during the 1970's:  in another irony, during the auto industry's last "golden age" in that city.  In a previous post, I mentioned Nancy Burghart, who utterly dominated women's racing during the 1960's.  As great as she was, it took the exploits of two other racers, both from the Detroit area, to bring women's cycling (and women's sports generally) to prominence--and to establish American women as the best in that field.

In the mid- and late- 1970's, one of the most interesting rivalries developed between Sue Novara and Sheila Young.  Both were track racers and both, interestingly, came into the sport after distinguishing themselves as speed skaters. (Young won Olympic gold for the 500 meter race in the 1976 Innsbruck games.) And, as it happened, both called the Detroit area home.

Sue Novara in 1976

Cycling helped to make Detroit one of the world's great industrial centers and maintain the fabric of its life through many decades.  Perhaps people pedaling two wheels can help to bring about a renaissance of the city David Byrne counts as one of his favorites for a bike ride.


 

Commuting On The First Day Of Spring

Many people ride their bicycles to work for the first time on the first day of Spring--or, at least, the first day with Spring-like weather.

Somehow, though, I don't think the ride Marc Boudreau filmed today was his first bike commute.

The twelve-minute spin takes him from his home to his office in Victoria, British Colombia (Canada).

Carrying, Not Riding, Gaspipes

Some would argue that one can tell what kind of a cyclist someone is by what he or she carries while riding.  

That was certainly true for me during my days as a messenger.  It's also been true at other times in my cycling life.  Hey, I've even moved myself from one living quarter to another on my bike.

But at no time could I ever have held a candle to this man:

Chris Jones of Weymouth, Dorset (UK) started carrying his plumbing equipment because, he said, construction that preceded the 2012 Olympics blocked traffic.  Some of the sailing events took place in his town.

He said his service to his customers actually improved.  "On the  bike, I can tell the customers that I will be there at a certain time and know I will be there," he explained.  He knows he won't be "sitting in a traffic queue for half an hour" and therefore won't be late.

I tried to find out whether he still goes to his jobs on his bike. Somehow I imagine he does, as his bike is purpose-built.

A Day Begins With A Setting Cloud

Yesterday's post ended with a pot of gold over the rainbow.  Well, sort of.

Today's post begins--as my day did--with a cloud moving across the cityscape. 

From its path between these buldings, it "sets":

Then it recedes, eventually disappearing behind one of the buildings:

One Of Our Patron Saints

Happy St. Patrick's Day!

As I am not Irish, others can--and did-- convey the spirit of this day much better than I ever could.

Here's one of them:

He is, of course, Sheldon Brown--one of the patron saints of the cycling world.  

I can't believe he's been gone for six years already.  I hope that, wherever he's gone, he's found this:

 No doubt he's sharing a ride, a story and a Guinness Stout or two with this fellow:

A Door To A Season

Perhaps it's strange to talk about a "typical March day" in this part of the world, as this month's weather is the least predictable of all.  On any of the 31 days between February and April, we can have (and have had) everything from summer-like heat waves to the most intense blizzards.  

But somehow today seems like it could only be of this month: chilly winds are blowing under clear skies streaked by the faintest wisps of cumulus clouds.

It feels, to me, like the door to a new season.  I can see what's inside even if I can't enter yet.

Somehow this photo seems apt:

From Pinterest

 

The End Of A Short Journey On This Trek

You probably saw this coming.

In an earlier post, I mentioned the Trek 720 hybrid frame that came my way. 

Well, I put it together with some parts I had lying around and others I scrounged from bike shops where I do business.  And what little riding I've done during the past few weeks (We've had lots of ice on the streets, bridges and bike lanes!) has been done on that bike.  I didn't feel like getting road salt and sand all over my Mercians.

Now someone else has that bike.  A young female grad student I know needed some basic transportation.   

What did she give me in return?  Gratitude.  You see, I took off the seat (Brooks B 17) and pedals (MKS Lambda, a.k.a. Grip King) and let her take the rest of the bike.  

I look at it this way:  I didn't spend any money on the bike and I rode it for a couple of months.    All right, so I spent some time--but not much--putting it together.  I guess I can call that service.