Bike Season Budding Under Cherry Blossoms

Today's rain felt more like it was driven from November than something that fell from a late April sky.  And the temeperature reached only 8C (45F).

But the cold gray dampness might have made the cherry blossoms, which finally began to bloom during the past few days, all the more vibrant.  Their fresh pink flowers are always a sign, at least for me, that it really is spring.  And that, of course, usually means a nice atmosphere as well as backdrop for cycling.

And wouldn't you know it?  I came across this:

From Elm City Commuter

And this:

In an eBay listing

I hope that, in spite of the fact that I've done so much less cycling this year than I'd done by this time in other years, this cycle season, and I, are about to bloom.

Que votre route soit couverte de petales de fleurs de cerisier.

If You Find It, Is It Still Abandoned?

Believe it or not, there was actually a time in my life when I wanted to be an archaeologist.  Of course, all I knew about the profession came from watching National Geographic shows; shortly thereafter, a similarly naive longing to be an oceanographer or marine biologist was fueled by seeing Jacques Cousteau's adventures on television.

As for the archaeology fantasy:  I had visions of finding people, animals and artifacts frozen in a particular moment when a storm or avalanche struck, smoke choked, a tide engulfed or an advancing glacier encased, them.

What if I were to find a bicycle abandoned or forgotten in a particular moment?  Would I find it in the remains of an ancient house, dump or street?  In an alley, perhaps?

 

Monkey, Longhorn Or Ape Hanger

One of my favorite non-bike blogs is Old Picture of the Day.  Sometimes the images are worth looking at purely for aesthetic reasons; almost all of the others are interesting in some aspect of life, past or present, they reveal.

In each post, a (usually brief) comment accompanies the photo.  Those are worth reading because they convey "PJM"'s deep appreciation--and, sometimes, personal connections--to the photographs he collects and displays.

His post today included this photo, along with a reminisce about his own childhood bike, which was very similar to the one in the picture:

One thing I found interesting about the responses he got to his post is how they described the handlebars.  I have heard to bars like the ones in the photo referred to as "Longhorn" bars (even though I grew up in Brooklyn and New Jersey!)  and the bars on bikes like the Schwinn Sting Ray and Raleigh Chopper (the ones with "banana seats")as "Ape Hangers".  But one commenter heard them referred to as "monkey" bars".  What's really funny, to me, is that some of the adults I knew during the  '70's "Bike Boom" referred to the those funny-looking dropped handlebars on those newfangled ten-speeds as "monkey bars"--meaning, I presume, that only a monkey could ride them.

 

Shoehorned

Does your gym offer amenities like this?

Joined At The Lugs?

Before you know it, Spring will come...

Oh, right, it is Spring now.  I guess it's a month late:  We've got March winds, but it's April.  I guess we'll get the showers in May and the flowers in June.

And what about the weddings?  Will they be in July?

Not that I'm planning on having one.  For now, I'm still living by Carrie Bradshaw's maxim, "Friends don't let friends get married."  Sometimes people give the best advice before they break it!  

Anyway, I not only don't plan on getting married, I haven't been invited to a wedding.  Not that I'm complaining.

But if I have to go to a ceremony, I wouldn't mind being summoned to it by this:

From Kristen Archer

Apparently, the bride-to-be designed this invitation herself.  She even had a bicycle-themed bridal shower!

I can think of one couple in particular for whom the invitation would have been most appropriate:

They are, of course, Harriet Fell and the much-missed Sheldon Brown.

If You Can't Do Iditarod

Last month's running of Iditarod was said to be one of the most difficult and dangerous in the history of the annual race, maninly because a key section of the race was all but snowless.  So, instead of sliding along white trails, competitors rumbled and bumped along rocks and dry earth.

That was not a problem for Dan Burton of Saratoga Springs, Utah.  You see, he didn't compete in Iditarod.  However, made another journey that some of his famly members and friends thought was even more Idit-iotic than the race in Alaska.

In February, he became the first person to ride a bicyle from the coast of Antarctica to the South Pole.  Although large chunks of the continent's coastal ice shelf are breaking off and floating and melting away, Burton did not have to contend with rocky ground.  However, he had to pull himself out of a crevasse and be careful of all sorts of other hazards not easily seen in the ice and snow.

Dan Burton with his bike.

One thing that makes his journey truly remarkable is that he did it solo:  No team backed him up.  When his wheel needed repair, he fixed it by himself.  And he pulled all of his supplies--including the freeze-dried meals he cooked--in a sled behind his bike.

Speaking of meals:  Most of the time, he cooked in his tent, as it was more fuel-efficient.  And, yes, he slept in that tent every night of his trip.

In all, he says he covered 730 miles in 51 days of cycling, although he's not completely sure because he lost his GPS. Thirteen miles a day may not sound like much,  but it's quite a feat when one considers that he spent much of his time pedaling into headwinds and rode through temperatures of minus 30 degrees.  That's a bit worse than the coldest morning commute I ever had.

Let's hope the climate doesn't change so suddenly or dramatically that Burton is the only one to cycle across Antarctica to the South Pole.  I think he's happy with the distinction of being the first.

Naked Bike Ride In Portsmouth

I have cycled up several Alpine and Pyrennean peaks, as well as mountains in Vermont, Pennsylvania, California, Nevada and upstate New York.  And I am not boasting when I say that I've done other things most people wouldn't try.  As a result, some people say that I have courage.

If I do, it has its limits.  You see, there's something I'm not quite ready to do yet:  a naked bike ride.

Naked bike rides are held all over the world.  However, one place I think I'd like to take such a ride is Portsmouth, England, which will host one on 24 May.

Portsmouth is on the south coast of England and is the only island city of the UK.  According to some surveys, it has the largest percentage of LGBT people of any city in the country.  And it's also considered, perhaps not coincidentally, as one of Albion's centers of environmental and "green" movements.

That last fact has a lot to do with the ride:  Its organizers want to call attention to unsustainable fossil fuel use as well as other practices that are ruinous to our planet.

I love the idea although I'm not sure, exactly, of what a naked bike ride has to do with environmentalism.  Maybe it has to do with riding in our natural state.  Then again, the riders paint their bodies and wear things we don't bring with us into this world. 

Anyway, I wish all the folks in Portsmouth a good ride!

N.B.:  The photos in this post are from last year's Naked Ride in Portsmouth.

Embarking With A Koala

If you've been following this (or my other) blog for a while, you've probably noticed that I like to tell stories about myself.  You've also probably noticed that I like to tell stories about other people, and times and places other than my own, especially if those stories have been untold or forgotten.

That is one reason why I've written posts about (or in which I mention)  Beryl Berton, Nancy Burghart, Sue Novara, Rebecca Twigg, Jeannie Longo, Paola Pezzo and other prominent female cyclists.

And, yes, this post will be about another. But it will also touch upon a topic--a nation and culture, really--I've never mentioned:  Australia.  This omission does not come from any sort of bias; it has mainly to do with the fact that I've never been anywhere near the world's smallest continent or sixth-largest country, depending on how you look at it.

Nearly everything I know about it comes from reading and chance encounters with Australians in other parts of the world, including my own home town.  One of the few things I know is that the Aussie population--about a tenth of that of the US, even though the two countries are roughly the same size--includes a disproportionate number of long-distance cyclists.  That's not so surprising when you consider Australians' affinity for sports and outdoor activities and the fact that so much of the country is undeveloped.

One of those riders was someone named Billie Samuels.  I have been trying to find some information on her, to no avail. I guess I have to look in actual book (I think I can still do that) of Australian cycling history.

I learned of her only through stumbling over the photos I've included here.  Whoever she is, I want to know more because, hey, how could you not want to learn about someone who starts a ride from Sydney to Melbourne with a koala mascot on her handlebars?

(The photos in this post come from Vintage Everyday.

Opening

We've all taken one of those rides in which we can feel our whole bodies loosening up and everything within us opening and expanding.  At least, I hope you've taken at least one such ride in your life.

I did, yesterday.  It was one of those clear, breezy and mild spring days that so many of us dream about during the short days and long months of winter.  And, naturally, I took another ride to Point Lookout.

It seemed as if the sea and sky were stretching even further than I ever imagined they could.  But something else happened that I don't recall having experienced before

.

i could almost feel my bike--Arielle--stretching her wings, as it were, and taking in the air and light.  The day seemed to liberate her as much as it did me.

  
It used to be (and perhaps it still is) that the highest compliment someone could pay a bike is that it felt like an extension of his or her body while riding it.  I felt something even better:  Arielle was an extension of me and seemed to be experiencing the same sensations I had.

And, as always, she looked great.

By the way, I want to make another plug for Ely Rodriguez's Ruth Works bags.  I think the Brevet bag you see on the handlebar is becoming my favorite bag of all time.

Out Of Shape

Be careful of whose bike you fix...

All right.  So nobody told me that when I was working in bike shops.  But I could have said something like that yesterday.

You see, I went for a ride with the friend on whose Brompton I worked.  Of course, he rode said Brompton and showed me that while my mechanic's skills are still mostly intact, I am really out of shape.

My excuse is, of course, that I did so little riding this winter because of all of the ice we've had on the streets.  I suppose I could have gotten myself a trainer or rollers or something.  I actually used to ride rollers during the winter.  But I found that it's harder to keep myself motivated while riding indoors than it is when I'm in the open air.

Still, even with how few kilometers or miles or whatever I've ridden this year, it's still a shock to me that my condition is as it is.  I guess one reason why I didn't realize it until yesterday is that all--i.e., what little--riding I've done this year has been solo.  This is the first ride I've taken with anyone else.  

We weren't in Kansas. From 21 Bikes.

 The thing that really shocked me, though, is that he was riding faster than I was--and he smokes.   Mind you, he's not a chain-smoker.  But we did stop once so he could light up.  Of course, there was a time when racing cyclists were advised to smoke, as it supposedly "opened up the lungs". But I don't think anyone has made that argument during my lifetime. 

And, to top everything off, I deviated from my new eating habits when we stopped at a Korean barbecue restaurant.  I mean, the food was good.  And I tell myself that yesterday was a holiday, which is a time to let loose, at least a little.  Still...

Oh well. At least we rode--about 65 kilometers, after Easter service at the church where we met.