R.I.P. John

Today I'm going to detour a bit, for a very personal reason.

In other posts, I've mentioned Millie.  I met her the day I moved to Astoria, in August of 2002.  She saw me as I unloaded boxes, bikes and two cats--Charlie I and Candice--into an apartment in the building next to her house.  She decided that she liked me right then and there, or so it seemed.  And, yes, I liked her immediately.

Well, over the years she's taken care of my cats whenever I've spent time away.  Two years after we became neighbors, I took a trip to France and she cared for Charlie and Candice, probably even better than I did.  Then, about two years after that, she took care of Candice when I went to Turkey.  Charlie had died a couple of months before that and, after I returned from my trip, I adopted a cat she'd rescued--and named Charlie.  A little more than a year after that, Candice died and another one of Millie's rescuees--Max--came into my life.

She's been as good a friend as I've ever had in my life.  So was her husband, John.

Referring to him in the past tense feels even sadder to me than the reason why I did so:  He died the other night, apparently, in his sleep.  Given that a tumor was causing his brain to play cruel tricks on him, that was probably the most merciful way he could have been taken from this world.

Millie has said she was fortunate to have married such a good man.  He could not have had a better companion in his life, especially in his last days.  And his granddaughter has told me he is one of her role models, for his honesty and kindness. I can vouch for both qualities.

The next time I have dinner, spend a day or a holiday, or simply sit with Millie--alone, or with her daughters and grandchildren--I will be happy, as always, to see her. Still, things won't be the same without John.

All I can do now is to thank him one more time.

Bound For Glory: A Sailor On A Bike

Yesterday I mentioned the beginning of Fleet Week here in New York City.  I recounted tales of Sailors Doing Strange Things, like holding doors open for people like me.

Now, when I say that's strange, I'm not denigrating it.  Nor do I intend to disparage another sailor who did something even stranger after a famous actor, who used to be a sailor himself, put him up to it.


The sailor in question was bound to do what he did.  Once he started, he was locked in.  He would not be released until he finished; the only person who could let him go was the Mayor of this city.





Everything I said In the previous paragraph is completely true. Literally.  You see, 95 years ago yesterday, a failed actor named Tony Pizzo set out from Los Angeles astride two wheels.  Fellow sailor C.J. Devine joined him on a planned bicycle trip to New York.


A transcontinental cycling expedition was no doubt more difficult in those days, as there were fewer paved roads and other facilities, especially in and around the Rocky Mountains and high deserts, were far more primitive than they are now.  So was much of the equipment cyclists used then.


But what made the trip so extraordinary is that both Pizzo and Devine were handcuffed to their bicycles.  Yes, you read that right.  Fatty Arbuckle shackled Pizzo's wrists to the handlebars at a ceremony in Venice Beach.  Arbuckle had bet him $3500 (in those days, more than most working people made in three years) that he wouldn't make it to New York by 1 November. 


Pizzo beat that deadline by two days and checked into a room at the Hotel McAlpin still locked to his bike.  The next day, Mayor John Hylan separated him from his machine.


About two months before that, Pizzo was separated from his partner when Devine was struck by a car in Kansas.


As if it weren't enough to ride several hours a day shacked to his handlebars, Pizzo ate, drank, washed and otherwise took care of himself while cuffed to his cycle.





Even more incredibly, the following year, he took the same trip--yes, cuffed to his bike.  And, the year after that, he got on his bike and pedaled to visit the governors of all 48 states.


You can read another--and possibly better--account of Pizzo's exploits on "The Bowery Boys," one of my favorite non-bike blogs.

Building Another Fleet

Here in New York, Fleet Week begins today.

As much as I'm opposed to war and militarism, I can't say I get too upset when some young guy in uniform holds a door open for me. Plus, I tell myself, most join the military because of a lack of other opportunities wherever they were living at the time they joined.  Others conflate "patiriotism" and "serving their country" with serving the war machine.  After all, that is what their schools, communities and culture--and, in some cases, their families--have taught them to think.



Even though I realize they're trained to kill for whoever wants them to kill, I almost invariably like the young people I see in uniform, whether or not they're holding doors open for me.  After all, most of them are perfectly good young men and women who have made what they believe to be the best choice given their circumstances and the values they have been inculcated with.

And, I must say, they do some good charitable work.  So I don't begrudge those--not even the USO--who help them.






Speaking of whom:  Tomorrow, the USO, along with volunteers, is building bikes for service members.  Actually, the bikes are intended for service members' children. 

Perhaps they should also build bikes for the service members themselves.  I'm sure more than a few are cyclists, in one fashion or another.  Or, perhaps, the volunteers could solicit donations for foldable or collpaible bikes the sailors and other service members could bring on ships, sumbarines and such.  I know that sailors and Marines are in good shape, but riding bikes certainly won't hurt their physical conditioning.  Plus, it would probably improve their mental health, even if they pedaled only a few miles or a couple of hours ever week. 



Of course, they can't ride when they're in a submarine,and probably can't when they're in a shop on the High Seas.  But they can ride when they touch the shoreline.  That's better than a lot of other things young men and women do when they walk on land for the first time in months!