Michelle Dumaresq: 100% Pure Woman Champ

Today is Transgender Day of Remembrance.  

This day was first observed in 1999, one year after Rita Hester was murdered in her Allston, Massachusetts apartment.  She was killed just two days before she would have turned 35 years old.


Her death came just a few weeks after Matthew Shepard was beaten and left to die on a cold night in the Wyoming high desert.  Their deaths helped to bring about the hate-crime laws now on the books in the US as well as many state and local statutes.  Moreover, Hester's killing--while not as widely publicized as Shepard's--galvanized transgender activists all over the world.

Because I am--at least to my knowledge--the only transsexual woman with a bike blog, I am going to use this post to honor one of the greatest transgender athletes of our era.

Michelle Dumaresq was born in 1970.  In 2001, she entered and won her first competitive mountain biking event--the Bear Mountain Race in British Columbia, Canada.  After she won two more races, her racing license was suspended in response to complaints from other female riders.  The cycling associations of British Columbia and Canada, after meeting privately with race organizers, tried to pressure her into quitting.  Of course, she wouldn't, and after a meeting with UCI officials, it was decided that she could continue to compete as a female.

Other female riders felt she had an unfair advantage.  Their resentment was, not surprisingly, based on a common misunderstanding.  Dumaresq had her gender reassignment surgery in 1996, five years before her first victory, and had been taking female hormones--and a male hormone blocker--for several years before that.  By the time she started racing, she no longer had any testosterone in her body (Biological females have traces of it.) and she had lost most of the muscle mass she had as a man.

I know exactly where she's been, as I also had the surgery after six years of taking hormones and a testosterone blocker.  A few months into my regimen, I started to notice a loss of overall strength, and I noticed some more after my surgery.  Trust me, Ms. Dumaresq, as talented and dedicated as she is, had no physiological advantage over her female competitors.

I remind myself of that whenever another female rider (usually, one younger than I am) passes me during my ride to work!

But I digress.  Michelle Dumaresq had the sort of career that would do any cyclist--male or female, trans or cisgender, or gay--proud.  She won the Canadian National Championships four times and represented her country in the World Championships.  That, of course, made the haters turn up the heat.  When she won the 2006 Canadian National Championships, the boyfriend of second-place finisher Danika Schroeter jumped onto the podium and helped her put on a T-shirt that read "100% Pure Woman Champ."

Ms. Dumaresq would have looked just fine in it.

Protecting Your Image

Over the past few years, I've noticed more cyclists--particularly of the commuting and utilitarian variety--wearing "urban" bike helmets.

Now, I get that not everybody likes the look of racing helmets.  But, in terms of aesthetics, our lids have come a long, long way from the days of the "Skid Lid" and "Turtle Shell".  Today's helmets are sleeker and better-ventilated than anything available thirty or forty years ago (save, perhaps for the "Skid Lid").  Plus, they offer at least some choice in colors.  When I got my first helmet--a "Turtle Shell", of course!--you could have it in any color you wanted as long as it was white.

If you have seen my bikes, you know that I'm not apathetic about their appearance.  You have also probably figured, by now, that I don't want to ride with a helmet that clashes terribly with my bike or clothes. 

Still, I try to be at least somewhat practical.  If I had to choose, I'd rather have a comfortable helmet (which, for me, means good ventilation above all else) than one that will get me admitted to the trendiest bike café.  I feel the same way about the clothes I wear while riding:  while I usually ride to work in whatever I wear on the job, my skirts are usually A-line or flared and my pants are really pants, not second layers of skin.  Also, my heels are never higher than the profile of the tires I ride. ( I will let you interpret that as you will!)

Back to helmets:  Whether it's finished in matte black or covered with tweed, if it offers any kind of protection, it's still going to look like a helmet.  Thus, for the truly image-conscious, the only solution is one that isn't visible until it's doing its job.

Believe it or not, a Swedish company has created such a helmet.  Actually, the Hovding (which means "chieftain" in the native tongue) isn't really a helmet so much as it's, as the company's website proclaims, an "airbag for cyclists". 

An airbag it is--one that, when deflated, fits into a collar the cyclist wears.  (One can debate how fashionable it is.  Let's just say it's not to my tastes!)  Upon impact, the "helmet" puffs up around the cyclist's head.  Good thing:  Any cyclist who has even half as much fashion sense as I have (which may not be saying much) wouldn't want to ride his or her city's boulevards encased in such a thing.

The idea of the Hovding is, if nothing else, novel.  However, when I saw it, I had this question:  If I'm riding at, say, 40 KPH (which, believe it or not, I still do sometimes!), will the bag be deployed quickly enough?  Also, I have to wonder whether its effectiveness. affected by whether the cyclist takes a tumble on his or her side or hits something head-on.

Let me tell you: Wearing a helmet isn't so bad.  It just takes some getting used-to.  And even the least expensive helmets available today are better-ventilated, lighter and offer more protection than anything that was available when I first started covering my dome.
 

The First Bike Tour Of The First National Park

At this time of year, most of the roads in Yellowstone Park are closed to wheeled vehicles or are being prepared for winter use.  As weather permits, brief periods of day cycling (as well as walking, roller-blading, roller-skiing and other forms of non-vehicular travel) are allowed. 



Back in 1883, those roads hadn't been built.  In fact, there weren't many paved roads anywhere between the Mississippi River and the Sierra Nevada mountains.  Any sort of travel was therefore arduous; one can only imagine what it would have been like to ride bicycles with sixty- or seventy-inch front wheels through the rugged terrain of what would become Yellowstone, the world's first national park.



Even in such conditions, a few intrepid cyclists dared to pedal (or, at times, push, carry and simply slog with) their bikes through woods, canyons and rivers.  Among those cyclists were C.S. Greenbaum, W.K. Sinclair and W.O. Owen of the Laramie Bicycle Club in Wyoming.

Yes, they rode through Yellowstone on those bikes!

At that time, there were two entrances to the park. One, in Bozeman, Montana, was 900 kilometers (560 miles) away.  The other went through Beaver Canyon, Idaho, some 1500 kilometers (900 miles) from LBC's home base.



The three men chose the Idaho entrance.  To get there, they took a train across Utah and met up with a team, wagon, outfit and guide in Beaver Canyon.



Rebecca Connell Walsh made this most interesting podcast about the three men and their ride, the very first through Yellowstone:



Yellowstone's First Bicycle Explorers

Paying People To Ride To Work: Will It Work?

Some people will ride their bikes to work because they enjoy riding.  Others do it for the exercise.  Still others pedal to their jobs because it's more convenient or less expensive than taking the bus or train, or driving.

Then there are those who won't ride to work--or even get on a bike--unless they're paid.

Apparently, the council members of a town in Italy were thinking of that last group of people. 

Nestled in the hills of Lucca, in the Tuscany region, Massarossa is about 35 kilometres north of Pisa.   The town has set aside 30,000 Euros (about 21,000 USD) for a pilot scheme that would pay workers to ride their bikes to their jobs.  Cyclists would be paid 0.25Euros for every kilometer cycled, up to 50 Euros per month.  Conceivably,  a bicycle commuter could pocket up to 600 Euros per year.

Now, as I said, some people could be enticed to ride if they're paid.  That begs the question of what kind of person could be so persuaded?

The answer might come from the experience of a similar program that ran for six months last year in France.  The country's transport minister enlisted corporations and other employers to pay their employees to ride their bikes to work. 

While the number of bicycle commuters increased, it could be argued that the program didn't achieve another of its stated goals:  reducing auto traffic.  You see, most of the people who took advantage of the program had been using public transport before they started pedaling to their workplaces. Relatively few made the switch from driving their cars to their jobs.  Of those who did, most were already carpooling.

I don't know how the folks in Massarossa plan to get people away from four wheels and onto two.  But some of the plan's logistics are interesting:  Cyclists will use a phone app to record how much they've ridden. And the plan will be funded from traffic ticket fines.  By law, those funds have to be invested in road safety.

Whether or not the plan works, it's worth trying, especially if someone can come up with a way to get folks out of their cars.
 

How Are Bike Share Programs Used?

Bike-share programs, as we know them, have been around for a decade.  That seems to be enough time to notice some patterns in, and draw conclusions about, them.

A Rice University study has done just that, at least in regards to the share programs in four US cities.  It notes two very interesting trends.



From Wikipedia Commons


The first is that in Sun Belt cities, bike share programs are increasingly used for recreational cycling.  That makes sense, given the longer cycling seasons in such places.  Also, it makes sense when you realize that many retirees live in and around those cities, and that in some, "snowbirds" spend at least part of the year.  Moreover, some residents of colder climes take vacations in those places, and their cycling is, almost by definition, recreational.

The study notes another trend that I have witnessed here in New York:  More and more share bikes are used for transportation.  If someone is living, say, on the Upper West or East Sides and working in Midtown or the Financial District, riding a bike to work is almost as fast, even for a slow cyclist, as taking the subway.  Also, since many office buildings and some residential buildings have Citibike ports in front of, or within 50 meters, of them, it can be more convenient than having to walk several blocks to or from a subway station.

If a commuter is fortunate enough to have a Citibike port near his or her residence or workplace, there is another convenience:  The bike can simply be taken from, or wheeled into, the port.  The cyclist does not have to look for a free parking meter, telephone pole or other spot where he or she can lock up a bike in relative safety.

The study also makes another interesting observation about transportation uses of bike share programs:  Workers use them to run lunchtime errands or simply to get lunch if they don't want to use their cars or mass transit but the distance is too great to walk.  This could be a very important fact to consider when starting new bike-share programs or expanding those that already exist in lower-density cities like Houston and Denver, which are more highway-oriented and car-centric than cities like New York, Boston and San Francisco.

Even though a city might be lower in population density, it can still experience problems with traffic congestion--and, in the case of Denver or Los Angeles, air pollution.  The Rice study seems to show that expanding bike share programs in those cities, and starting new ones in other cities like them, can help to unsnarl traffic tie-ups and improve air quality--which, of course, can only improve overall public health and safety.

A View During My Commute

One morning last week, fog hung low across the skyline.

To my eyes, it made the scaffolding on the building in the distance stand out all the more.  I wonder whether there is a purpose in that color scheme.  Or did the contractors just use whatever happened to be available to them?

I almost want the building to look like that when it's finished.  Somehow, it would fit in the industrial area surrounding it. 

Cranksgiving Is Just Around The Corner

Today is the 15th of November--the middle of the month.  It means, among other things, that Thanksgiving (in the US) is not far off.

When I first saw an announcement for a "Cranskgiving" ride, I thought it would be just a post-prandial pedal trip around local streets, perhaps beyond.

Turns out, the ride--at least the version scheduled in Miami--is a bit different.  For one thing, it will run on the 21st, the Saturday before Thanksgiving.  But even more important, it's something I could not have imagined before I heard about it, but made perfect sense once I did:  a combination alley-cat race and scavenger hunt/food drive.

Actually, in one way it resembles a brevet:  There are check points and riders have to stop at every one of them.  But those checkpoints aren't just tables where ride cards are stamped.  Rather, they are stores, and every rider has a list of items to buy.  The first participant to the finish line with all of the items on his or list, and having visited each checkpoint, wins the race.

Of course, one doesn't have to race in order to be part of the ride.  Simply doing it for the sake of the cause--all of the food purchased will go to Camillus House, a one-stop place for those who are homeless, addicted to substances or otherwise in need or other difficulties. 

Versions of "Cranksgiving" are scheduled in other cities on the 21st, including my home town of New York.  Had I known about it earlier, I wouldn't have made the commitments I had already made for that day. Oh well. Maybe I'll do my own version on another day.
 

The Attacks In Paris

 Allo.?

Isabelle. Je suis Justine.  Tu vas bien?

Oui.  Comment ca-va?

Bien.  J'ai vous vous reveillez?

Ah...oui.

Pardon.

No problem.  (She likes to use that phrase.) 

J'ai entendu les nouvelles de Paris.

Yes, it is terrible.  But we were not there.

Je suis tres hereuse pour ca.

Would you like to talk to Jay?
Il dort?

Oui, mais se reveillera.

I didn't want her to wake him.  At least I knew he was at home, in his bed.  But she brought him to the phone. 

Desole de te reveiller.

Don't worry.  Mais, besoin de redormir. 

That's OK.  J'ai voule etre sur que vous etes OK.

He thanked me for calling.  I assured him that all I wanted was to know that he and Isabelle were not casualties of the bombings, the shootings, that rocked Paris and its environs yesterday.  I knew that, chances were, they weren't there when those terrible events went down, but I just wanted to be sure.

Then I called Michele.  No answer.  Asleep, I hoped.  I left a message.  Just before I started writing this post, I found an e-mail from her.  All right.  I can breathe a little easier.  Can they?

None of us had gone to the Bataclan together.  But we'd walked those streets, ate in restaurants and sipped espressos in the cafes near it.  When I heard that death struck at Le Carillon, I stopped cold. 

It's just a block away from the Quai des Jemmapes, on the eastern bank of the Canal St. Martin.  Back in August, after a lovely morning ride, I enjoyed a picnic lunch of fresh foods and Badoit water I bought along the way.  As the sun softened the green tint of the canal and leaves that flickered in the breeze, it was hard to imagine anything terrible, let alone the blaze of guns or an explosion.

After my canal-side reverie, I retreated to Le Carillon for a cappuccino to cap off my lunch.  By that time, most locals had finished their lunch and were back at work or passing the rest of the day along the old, narrow streets.  I went to Le Carillon because it was the nearest café, but it was a place I would have chosen otherwise: It seemed like a real old cozy neighborhood watering hole Parisians themselves would habituate, not some place trying to look the part for hipsters who wanted an "authentic" experience. 

I sat at a wooden table on the sidewalk.  So did a few other people.  It's hard to imagine that sidewalk with bodies sprawled over it--even more difficult than it was, the first time I saw the Place de la Concorde, to visualize the blood of French monarchy and nobility spilled all over it.  But certainly not as difficult as it is for those who witnessed the darkness that descended upon the City of Light.

 

Vendredi 13eme Avec Jacques

I typed "Friday the 13th bicycle" into a Google search bar.  This is what came up:

"Montxgear" posted it on Pinterest with the caption "Friday 13th, 1922.  Jacques may not have won the Yellow Jersey today, but he did  receive the Pink Cravat for the most expressive moustache."

When I was a kid, it seemed that every "evil villain" (Is there any other kind?) had a sinisterly baroque moustache.   I think of such characters as Dishonest John (who had the best laugh of any cartoon villain), Snidely Whiplash, Boris Badenov and Dick Dastardly.  

Turns out, some of the biggest villains in real life had similarly imposing moustaches--among them Joseph Stalin, Gengis Khan and Saddam Hussein.  (So that's where he hid the WMDs!) 

Friday the 13th and bad guys with moustaches:  They go together like bike racing and...

Reunited With A Favorite Bike

For those of us who are dedicated cyclists, nothing hurts worse than having our beloved rides stolen.  It's happened to me a few times.  I lost bikes that, frankly, were meant for the purpose: "beaters" that were meant to be locked in urban combat zones.  However, I also lost a relatively nice bike and my first custom build to thieves.

For a time, I thought that having had more than one bike stolen was a sign that one was a true New York cyclist.  Just about everyone with whom I've ridden in the Big Apple has had at least one bike to theft.  In fact, one fellow with whom I sometimes rode in Prospect Park actually sat shiva after losing his classic Ron Cooper.

(I am now recalling how, when drafting him, I would see the tzitzit dangling from the tallit katan he wore under his jersey!  Only in pre-hipster Brooklyn, right?)

For about 99 percent of us, having a bike stolen means never seeing it again.  That's because bikes are pretty easy to transport, take apart and repaint.  Also, law enforcement agencies--at least here in the US--don't seem to make bike theft a high priority.  That's at least somewhat understandable in areas with lots of violent crime but less so, I feel, in relatively tranquil places like suburban or rural college campuses.

Still, when we lose our bikes, we try not to lose hope of being part of the 1 percent whose machines are recovered.  As with just about any other kind of theft, the more time that elapses from the moment the bike is filched, the less likely that bike is to be reunited with its owner.  And, of course, if you lose your wheels far away from home, there's even less chance that you'll ever see them again.

Such a realization left a fellow named Thomas "bummed/heartbroken" the day he left Japan in 1992.  For the previous two years, he'd been stationed in the  northern part the country as a US Navy Pilot.  The riding was "beautiful" there, he says, and the Mercian Strada he'd purchased as a college student a decade earlier got him around. 

He'd raced on that bike against folks like Davis Phinney, Alexi Grewal and Andy Hampsten before even most cyclists had heard of them.  It also made an appearance in the movie American Flyers.  As he explains it, he rode as an extra with the Cinelli team.  The bike the team issued him broke three weeks into the filming, so his Mercian took over.

Well, one cold day a year into his tenure in the Land of the Rising Sun, he stopped at a ramen house to warm his bones with a bowl of noodles.  He parked his Mercian outside the eatery and--you guessed it--his bike wasn't there when he came back out.

He filed a report with the local Japanese police as well as with base security.  No luck--at least not for a while.

In 2009, he was stationed with a squadron in San Diego. As he tells the story, one "glorious" day (Aren't they all in San Diego?), a box appeared on his front porch.

You guessed it:  his Mercian was inside the box.  At least, the frame was, anyway:  the Campagnolo and Cinelli parts, and even the fork, were stripped off. 

Somehow or another, the frame was recovered in Japan.  Because he was in the military, Thomas was much easier to track down than his bike. 

He spent the next few years tracking down replacement components. Once he found them, he sent the frame back to Mercian for restoration. "I'm sure that my next ride on the bike will give me just as much and more joy than that first ride in 1981."

Even though I read and watch all sorts of dark and moody books and films, I like a happy ending now and again.  This one is even better than the one in Breaking Away, don't you think?