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!