Pedaling Into The Wind--And Understanding Vincent?

On Sunday, I felt I had done a Fall ride, even thought the season hadn't "officially" arrived and the temperature felt more like early summer.  But the signs of the season were there, including fallen leaves on a trail.  And the wind into which I pedaled on my way up to Connecticut had an autumnal tinge to it.

Today, I rode into an even stiffer wind out to Point Lookout.  At least when I rode to Connecticut, I was pedaling Arielle, my Mercian Audax, and could shift gears.  On the other hand, I had to push my way through an even stiffer wind on on a fixed gear:  I chose to ride Tosca, my Mercian fixed-gear, because the route is flat and, well, I felt like riding a fixed gear.

When I got to Point Lookout, I saw this

and thought, "I pedaled into that?!!"

I could feel the effort in my legs, but they didn't ache and I wasn't tired.  I just needed a little nourishment and hydration.  Best of all, I felt I was experiencing an elemental, intimate truth through my senses, as if an old wound had turned into a pore, an ear, an eye.

The wind seemed to be a form of light.  And that light was a motion, the "motion" part of "emotion":  a life force that illuminated and moved everything in a dance of the sprit--which I don't mean in a religious way.

Visions of Vincent Van Gogh's "Starry Night", "Irises" and "Mountainous Landscape behind Saint-Remy" flashed through my mind.  Of course, there is some visual connection between what I saw today and what Van Gogh painted from his asylum room.  However, I soon realized why I was thinking of Van Gogh, and those paintings in particular:  They, more than any others I've seen, render those transformations and transmutations of light, wind, motion, emotion and the life force I was seeing in Point Lookout.

I then realized that my favorite visual artists do exactly that, each in his or her own way:  The forces of nature and the forces of the human spirit--in other words, the very forces of life itself--become, not only manifestations or expressions of each other; they become each other and they seem to emerge from the canvas, paint, stosne, bronze or whatever the artist used.  

Now, you might think all of this is just hallucinatory rubbish resulting from an overflow of endorphins after riding into a 40-50 KPH wind.  If it is, well, what can I say?  It was still worth it.  The ride, I mean.
 

Riding To Eat, Eating To Ride

It's been said that there are basically two types of people:  those who eat to live and those who live to eat.

I think you can substitute the word "ride" for "live" and describe a lot, if not most, cyclists.  If you think I'm in the "ride to eat" category, I wouldn't argue with you!

The ride I did today proved it.  Now, we have all sorts of wonderful places to have breakfast, lunch, dinner, snacks or anything else you can think of here in New York--and, for that matter, in my own neighborhood. But today I rode about 70 kilometers each way, and crossed a state line, to go and eat in a specific place.

Why?, you may ask.  Well, the place where I had my late lunch/early dinner is something we don't have--at least, to my knowledge, in Queens or anywhere else in New York City.  

You may be wondering what sort of restaurant New York wouldn't have.  Think about a Maine lobster shack.  It makes sense that we wouldn't have them here because we don't have lobsters in our local waters.  For that matter, I don't think any stretch of shoreline within 400 kilometers of New York has them.  

So...Imagine the lobster shack without the lobsters.  I know that sounds contradictory. So let me clarify:  The spirit, the essence of the lobster shack.  In other words, a place that serves up fresh seafood, without fuss or pretense:  what fishermen and their families might cook for themselves, and each other.

The place I'm talking about also sells fresh, uncooked seafood.  Some--like shrimps--don't come from anywhere near these shores.  But other things in the shop come from about 30 kilometers, or more, out to sea from the shop.

That place is the Keyport Fishery in New Jersey.  When I was in high school, my mother used to buy fresh fish from them every couple of weeks or so.  It's probably the reason why my siblings and I grew up liking seafood:  The stuff we ate was always fresh.  One of the best meals we ate every year was a traditional Italian Christmas Eve feast consisting of calmari, scungilli and other marine delicacies.  The fish my mother and grandmother cooked came, of course, from the Keyport Fishery.

Every once in a while, I get a craving for one of their platters or sandwiches.  Today was one of those occasions.  So I rode down to Keyport, via back roads, and opened the door to a shop and kitchen that's hardly changed in four decades.  

I went with a flounder platter.  Three large filets are lightly battered and fried, and served with KF's homemade cole slaw--yes, it tastes home made; it's not drowining in mayonnaise--and Freedom Fries.

Yes, they call them Freedom Fries.  Of course, they weren't calling them that when I was young.  But, apparently, they started calling them Freedom Fries, as so many other places did, during the Iraq War, when France wouldn't commit their troops to the effort.  One of the sons of the family who owns KF served, as a Marine, in the war.  And the family includes others who've been Marines in other wars.  So I guess I can understand why they never bothered to change the name back.  

After eating that moist, flaky flounder and savory coleslaw, I can forgive that. The fries were good, too!  

Cycling In Autumn--Or Fall?

So...Is today the first day of "fall"?  Or is it the first day of "autumn"?

Whichever word you choose, it's the season that began this morning in this part of the world (i.e., the Northern Hemisphere). Most people use "Fall" most of the time.  I do, too, at least when I'm speaking.  Using "autumn" in most everyday speech sounds affected or like a translation from another language.  At least, that's how most English-speakers hear it, I think.

But each of those words has its purpose and flavor.  "Fall" is both visual and visceral:  You can picture leaves dropping from branches and feel the descent from the fulsomeness of summer.  "Autumn", on the other hand, has more of a melancholy feel to it:  You can hear the echo of sadness being born, of an ache that is just beginning to pulse.  "Fall" is what happens in parables and allegories; "autumn" is what reverberates through poems from poets as diverse as John Keats, Stephane Mallarme, Robert Frost, Emily Dickinson and Edgar Allan Poe.

From Wheelsuckers (UK)

Today I discovered a very good reason why cyclists should say "autumn" instead of "fall". It's not that we need polysyllables to make ourselves look smart.  Rather, if you Google "cycling autumn", you will see images of people riding bikes along paths and roads ablaze with trees that have turned from green into the colors of the setting sun, as well as links to websites with information about rides in places like Vermont, where people are riding (or will soon ride) along those paths and roads.  You will also find advice on what to wear and eat, and reasons why cycling in autumn is so "awesome".  (The assonance of "autumn" and "awesome" alone is reason to ride this season!)

From Cycling across America

On the other hand, if you Google "cycling fall", you'll find some of those same images and websites. But you'll also see pictures of riders tumbling off their bikes and "worst bike crashes" videos.  You'll also find articles on how to prevent falls and the things that can happen to you if you do happen to take a spill while on two wheels.

Now you tell me:  Are you cycling in autumn, or fall?

 

The Forgotten Brooks Saddle.

Mention "Brooks saddles" to most cyclists, and the first model that comes to their minds is likely to be either the B17 or the Professional.  The former, as Brooks proudly states in its catalogues, has been in continuous production--almost unchanged--since 1898.  Very few bicycle products--indeed, very few products other than, say, foods made by secret family recipes-- have been made for longer.  A narrower version appeared after World War I and has been in production ever since. The Professional evolved from the B17 during the 1960s.

Other familiar models from the venerable saddle-maker include the B66, a sprung, double-railed model made since 1927, and the B67, which is a B66 made to fit modern seatposts with integrated clamps.  (The B66 comes with its own clamp, which fits only on plain-tube seat posts.) Similar in size and shape to the B66 and B67, the B72 replaces the straight rails and coiled springs of the "sister" models with rails that loop at the rear.  The B72--the saddle that came with many English three-speeds--offers a somewhat cushier ride than a B17 but not quite as boingy as the B66 or B67.

Other Brooks saddles have remained in production for decades and have loyal followings.  They include the Swallow and Swift.  The latter looks like a refinement of the narrow version of the B17, while the Swallow, with its cut-away sides, can be seen as a minimalist version of the Professional.  It was popular with track riders until lighter saddles with plastic bases were developed during the 1960's.

Then there are the super-heavy duty saddles one still sees on utility bikes all over the world.  An example is the B33, with its triple rails, rear coiled springs and front coils.  If you are installing one on your bike, just be careful not to drop it on your foot or your cycling season might be cut short!

Anyway, other Brooks models have been produced for a long time--or have been reintroduced-- and have their loyal riders.  Examples include the Flyer, introduced in 1927, and the stylish Colt--which, as the Brooks website slyly notes, was " first produced in 1979" but "discontinued amidst mysterious circumstances a few years ago".  Mysterious circumstances?  Hmm...was it "disappeared" by the MI6 during a covert operation in the Middle East?

Today, as I was browsing eBay, I came across a "forgotten" Brooks saddle:  the B68.

Brooks B68

I couldn't find information about its production history.  But I know that it had a leather top of the same dimensions as the B66, B67 and B72.  However, it did not have the coiled springs of the B66 or B67, or the looped rail of the B72.  Instead, it had the straight rails found on the B17, Professional and other road saddles.

Brooks 68, side view

That last attribute might be the reason why it was discontinued.  From what I've noticed,  most cyclists who want wide saddles like the B66, 67 or 72 want springs or some other kind of shock absorption.  And those who want cushy saddles aren't likely to look at any stretched-leather saddle.  On the other hand, if you ride a B17 or Professional (I ride bikes with both)--let alone a Swift or Swallow--you would probably find the B68 too wide.
  
That left the B68 with a market that's, at most, a niche:  People who ride in an upright position but don't want or need anything to soften the blows meted out by broken pavement and rocky trails.  Interestingly enough, it might have been a good saddle for fat-tire bikes.  With so much rubber between the bike and the road or trail, it's hard to imagine that a rider would need any additional cushioning from a saddle or any other part of the bike.  I could also imagine a B68 on a bike like the Surly Long Haul Trucker, particularly if it is set up with handlebars like the Nitto Bosco or the Velo Orange Left Bank.

I can recall having seen only a couple of B68 saddles.  But, from what I've read, the relative few who rode them loved them.  Perhaps Brooks will hear from those riders and the B68 will no longer be the "forgotten" Brooks saddle.

Don't Try This With Your Car

As I've mentioned in other posts, the bicycle is the progenitor of the automobile and the airplane.  It's no coincidence that the earliest inventors and innovators in the automotive and aviation worlds were bicycle mechanics, designers or makers.  After all, almost everything--including pneumatic tires and ball bearings-- that has made the car faster than the horse and the airliner more viable as a transoceanic and transcontinental form of transport than the ship or the wagon had its origins on the bicycle. 

So, it's both strange and makes perfect sense that bicycles and cycling should be used to sell cars.  The practice seems to have become more common in recent years.  I don't watch much TV these days, but I have seen commercials in which a paceline snakes along a road that rims seaside cliffs--with, of course, the car approaching and passing.

But I haven't seen a commercial with freestyle BMXers in it.  This video takes us behind the scenes as such a commercial was made:



I must say that after watching Bike Parkour, I'm not sure I'd want to buy the car that's being advertised. After all, even the most nimble motor vehicles couldn't make the jumps, hops, turns and stops the Parkour riders make on their bikes with 20 inch wheels.  I mean, driving almost anything would seem boring after that!

And no one could navigate the streets of New York  in any motor vehicle the way Desmond Rhodes does on his bike:





Now, there's proof that you don't need a car in the Big Apple!

More Signs (Of The Season, And Other Things)

The weather during the ride I took to Connecticut on Monday was a sign of Fall's impending arrival.  Today, during--you guessed it--another ride to Connecticut, I saw yet another sign the season will soon be upon us:

This trail, part of the East Coast Greenway, connects Pelham Bay Park, City Island and Orchard Beach with Westchester County.  Along the way, it passes by a horse riding academy, golf course and the shores of Long Island Sound before twisting its way through woodland that straddles the line between the upper Bronx and Pelham Manor.

Although the temperature was slightly higher (rising to 25C by mid-ride), it really didn't feel that way, in spite of the bright sunshine.  As I mentioned in my post about Monday's ride, the days are growing shorter, so the ground and buildings aren't absorbing as much heat as they did even two or three weeks ago. But, perhaps more important, the wind was even more brisk:  At times, it reached 40 KPH.  And, yes, I was pedaling into it on my way up.

The wind didn't deter these folks who were enjoying the light and vistas of Mamaroneck Harbor:

Back to the subject of signs:  When you ride, you see the kind I've mentioned as well as the ones posted on buildings.  I hope this isn't a sign of things to come:

All right:  The name of the bowling alley has nothing to do with firearms or survivalists.  Rather, it's located near the intersection of Gun Hill (great name, huh?) and Boston Post Roads in northern Bronx.  What amazes me is that the sign looks so pristine while keeping to the look of the 1950's or early 60's.  I don't believe it's anyone's attempt at self-conscious irony:  There are no hipsters in the neighborhood around it. (Most of the residents are Caribbean immigrants or their children; not long ago it was a blue-collar-to-middle-class Italian-American neighborhood.)  I think life throws enough irony at those people.

Seeing such a sign on an absolutely beautiful and bright day, as Fall knocks at our door, is plenty or irony for me.  I love it!

A "Breaking Away" Reunion

I'm not a religious person.  Not really.  I was raised a Roman Catholic and was--OK, here's my most shocking confession to date--an Evangelical Christian for a time, when I was in college.

Then I didn't go to church for more than three decades. (I went into churches, mosques, synagogues and temples to look at art, hear music and attend weddings, funerals and all of those other things most of us attend under duress.  That's not the same as going to church!)  Finally, about two years ago, after someone's suggestion, I started attending church again for a time.  I got over that.  Now here I am again, without religion.

I mention my history of faith--or, more precisely, lack thereof--because I still believe in the concept of sin.  To me, the US invasion of Iraq is a sin.  So is any other form of genocide.  I would add slavery and any form of personal mendacity (though I am not without guilt!) to the list.

Oh, and here are two other sins, at least in my book:  remakes and sequels.  At least, that's what they are most of the time.  Thankfully, no one has been depraved enough to try to remake Citizen Kane, The Godfather (The Godfather, Part 2 is one notable exception to what I've said about sequels), Casablanca, La Grande Illusion or Ladri di Biciclette.

Or Breaking Away.  At least, no one has mentioned the "r" word.  If anyone had mentioned it, surely it would have been heard at the Interbike show this week, where Dennis Quaid, Dennis Christopher and Jackie Earle Hayley--three of the four "Cutters" from the movie--reunited.  Daniel Stern, who played the goofy, lanky Cyril, was the only one missing.

Dennis Christopher at Interbike, 17 September 2015. Photo by Jason Ogulnik, published in the Las Vegas Journal-Review.

Although Quaid became, arguably, the most famous of the quartet, Christopher's character--the wannabe Italian bicycle racer Dave Stoller--is the most memorable of the film.  I'd daresay he's one of the most memorable characters in all of filmdom.

One way you know that Breaking Away is, in its own way, a masterpiece is that it resonated even with people who've never had any desire to ride a bike.  Some have compared it to Rocky (which, I think, is a better movie than most highbrow critics are willing to admit), but I think it's both sweeter and more complex.  For one thing, there are so many subplots--about social class, generational conflicts and about youthful dreams vs. parents' aspirations for their children.  It also showed, interestingly, Dave's parents rekindling their sexual lives in late middle age.  That might be an even more radical thing to include in a film today than it was in 1979, when Breaking Away appeared in movie theatres.

Steve Tesich is the screenwriter who wove all of those elements into what I believe to be one of the best screenplays ever written. How many other screenwriters have written something that became both a film and a movie, appreciated by film critics and movie reviewers as well as general audiences?

He died in 1996, at the age of 53.  Anyone who tries to remake Breaking Away will incur his wrath. (As if I would know about that!)

 

Andy Would Park Here: Tivoli On The Hudson

I think I've found Tivoli on the Hudson.  Or, at least, Tivoli on the East River.

It's not far from where I live.  In fact, I've gone there a number of times and passed by on other occasions.  There were always bicycles parked there, but never as many as I saw today:

That's just one bike rack on one side of MOMA/PS 1 in Long Island City, Queens.  (It's right across the Kosciuzcko Bridge from Greenpoint and Williamsburg, Brooklyn.  Are you surprised?)  Here's what the full contingent of parked bikes on the museum's north side looks like:

Directly across from PS 1, on 46th Road, is a fenced-in parking lot.  This is one side of the gate:

Here is the other:

I was impressed by the sheer variety of bikes.  Of course, the one I was happiest to see was this Cinelli:

It might not be a classic model.  But at least it's made from Columbus Spirit tubing in Italy:  It's not a new ersatz "Cinelli" that's poured out of a mold in China.

(I'm sorry I couldn't take a better photo with my cell phone, and without getting flattened by a truck!)

One of the strangest bikes had to be this:

In the mid-to-late 1970's, Raleigh's top-of-the-line racing bike was the "Team."  The bike in the photo is a "Team":  It's the "Team Record", a Record--then Raleigh's bottom-of-the-line "sport" ten-speed--painted in Team colors.

The frame was made of mild steel, as were most of the components.  However, someone fitted a carbon fiber fork and a Shimano aero wheel to the front.  And, of course, the bike was turned into a "fixie".

Somehow it makes perfect sense that it was parked near that Cinelli--and across the street from bikes with everything from Brooks saddles and hammered fenders to carbon fiber aero bars.  And it makes sense that they're all at PS 1.  If Andy Warhol rode a bike, that's probably where he would have parked it.

Would she have been the next Edie Sedgwick?:

More Fruits Of The "Harvest", After Work

Today brought more of what we've had for the past couple of days--and what meteorologists are forecasting for the next couple of days:  summer warmth and early autumn light.

All right, they didn't forecast the light, except to tell us what time the sun will set.  But the sun is taking on an early twilight glow and, as I mentioned yesterday, I am seeing a few trees start their color changes.  It's quite lovely:  the first signs of autumn hues haven't yet brought the melancholy that comes later in the season (which, by the way, I often enjoy). 

Another day in the cusp of two seasons gave me another opportunity to relish my harvest, so to speak: I took an after-work ride to Coney Island.  While I enjoyed the ride, I did notice it more when I pedaled into the wind today than I did yesterday or on Monday, when I rode to Connecticut.  Perhaps it was a result of riding late in the day, after work.  Or it may have just been a matter of riding my  Schwinn LeTour instead of one of my Mercians.

Whatever the case, I had an easy ride back.  And it was interesting, to say the least, to see how much difference a week and a half makes on the number of people who go to the beach:

Some folks, like the ones in the photo, will go to the beach on any day the weather is remotely summer-like--and sometimes not-so-summery.  They are the ones who have decided it's still summer (which, of course, it still is--at least officially).  They are not like the ones who don't ever go to the beach after Labor Day or before Memorial Day, whatever the weather.

I guess we have equivalents to both kinds of people in the cycling world.  Some hang up their bikes as the days grow shorter, while others take any opportunity, at whatever time of year, to ride.

As for me, I will continue to enjoy the "harvest" for as long as I can--and continue to ride as long as the streets aren't covered with ice.

The Harvest Begins

The other day felt autumnal.  It wasn't just the cool, crisp air or the fact that I was in Connecticut.  I couldn't pinpoint exactly why I felt the fall had begun, or was well on its way, but I think I now know why.

Today the temperature reached 31C (88F), but the day still seemed autumnal.  Granted, we didn't have the sauna-like humidity we had during an earlier heat wave. But there was something else.  At first I thought it was just a feeling, but I realize now it was as visual as it was visceral.

Before going to work, I managed to ride by the Concrete Plant Park along the Bronx River.  I could swear I saw the first tinges of yellow and orange in a few trees:

And, because there is less daylight every day than there was earlier in the summer, the sun isn't as intense, and the ground and buildings don't have as much time to absorb the heat. So, while the air temperature climbed over 30C, the heat didn't feel as oppressive as it did a few weeks ago.

There's one more signal of Fall, for me.  My rides, whether to Connecticut or the college, seem easier now.  That is one of the things I've always loved about cycling in September and October, at least in years when I've done a decent amount of riding:  I can climb hills in a gear or two higher than I did in, say, April or even June.  Also, on my ride the other day, I was pedaling into a 20-25 KPH wind most of the way to Connecticut and barely noticed it.

Since I have never farmed (and probably never will), the kind of cycling I've experienced this week is probably the closest I will come to a harvest:  I am enjoying the fruits of all of the pedaling I've done over the past few months.