For The First Time, Again

It seems that every year I take at least one ride like the one I took today.

I didn't ride to or through anyplace I'd never seen before today.  Conditions were not at all challenging:  rather humid, but not oppressively so.  Probably the worst (or best, depending on which way I was riding) was the wind, but even that wasn't so bad.

Certainly, I didn't cover a lot of ground, at least compared to some other rides I've done.  I stayed within the confines of three New York City boroughs:  Queens (where I live), Manhattan and Brooklyn.  Then again, I hadn't really planned on doing a century--metric, imperial or otherwise--or a brevet, or any sort of ride with a name.  In fact, I didn't have any sort of plan at all.

I spun up and down major avenues, sprinted from traffic light to traffic light on 57th Street, made furtive turns into alleys and weaved among riders of Citibikes, skaters toting yoga mats and the self-consciously a la mode pushing strollers with the names of designers or athletic-wear companies emblazoned on them.  All of this was pleasant enough, even exhilarating at times.

One thing that seemed strange, even for a Sunday at this time of year, was that some of the streets were all but clear of traffic, whether of the motorized, foot or pedal variety, even though said streets weren't closed.  In fact, I could ride longer and faster in a straight line along those thoroughfares than I could on the bike and pedestrian lanes.

It seemed that almost all of the people--whether on foot, bike or skate--were in the places where one expects to find tourists:  around the Intrepid Air and Space Museum, the South Street Seaport, at the terminals for the ferries to the Statue of Liberty and Ellis Island, on the Brooklyn Bridge. (I like to think that one of the signs I'm a "real" New Yorker is that I don't ride across the BB:  when I cross the East River, I take the Queensborough/59th Street, Williamsburgh or Manhattan Bridges, depending on where I'm going.)  In contrast, the shopping areas along 14th Street and Sixth Avenue (No New Yorker calls it "Avenue of the Americas"!) were all but deserted even though most of the stores were open.

As I cycled up First Avenue near the United Nations, I realized that everything I'd seen was a sign that it's almost the end of summer.  I realized that I take a ride like this one around this time every year:  a week or two before Labor Day.  This is the "last chance" for a lot of New Yorkers to leave town and for many tourists to come here.  And, of course, New Yorkers with lots of money and vacation time have been out of town for weeks already.  It'll be a week or two before they, and other vacationers, start trickling back in--and before the tide of tourists becomes a trickle.

It's at this time of year that I feel most like a "fly on the wall" in my own city.  I am not a tourist, but at the same time, I feel as if I am looking at familiar streets and buildings from the other side of a two-way mirror.  Although I live here, I feel as if I am not entirely here.

I don't mean any of what I've said as a complaint.  If anything, I find it interesting.  In a way, I am privileged:  Although I am far from rich (by the standards of this city and country, anyway), I was able to take a vacation of my own choosing, to a place of my own choosing and do it on my own terms.  And I have had little to worry about since I came back.

In fact, I realize now that since coming back from Paris--three weeks ago, already--I've spent a fair amount of time outside the city, with the bike rides I've taken to Connecticut and the more bucolic parts of New Jersey and Long Island.  So, in a way, I haven't been living like a resident of this city.  But I haven't been a tourist, either, because at the end of the day, wherever I've ridden, I've come back to my own bed and cats--and, as often as not, prepared my own meals.   

Could it be that this time of year--the latter part of August and the first few days of September--is a season unto itself?   Is this the season of The Outsider--and was today's ride my annual Outsider Ride?  

Perhaps no matter how often we've ridden a street or trail, seen a building or field, swum in a sea or opened a particular door--whether for the first time or the last, for a moment or a lifetime-- we are visiting:  We are coming in from the outside.  But we are coming in, and we can stay as long as our time, resources and imaginations allow us.  And one day we can come back.

And we can do the same rides, again, for the first time, from the outside.  At least, that's what I feel I did today.

The Music Of The Spheres (Or The Wheel, Anyway)!

The Music Of The Spheres (Or The Wheel, Anyway!)

Now, I know most of you, my dear readers, are sensitive, socially-conscious people.  (Even if you aren't, nod in agreement!)  So, I'm going to share some "forbidden knowledge" with you that I know you never, never will use.  Right?  (Again, nod in agreement!) It's something I never, ever used myself and wouldn't, in a million years, ever use. Really!

OK, here goes:  If you really want to insult a musician (or, more precisely, someone who fancies him- or her-self as one) and be politically incorrect (Now why would you want to do that?), here is what you say:

"You're a real artist.  You have a Van Gogh's ear for music."

Now, I assure you, I love Van Gogh more than any Japanese banker who paid $100 million for one of his paintings.  (When you're poor, you console yourself by saying things like that!)  One of the high points of my second bike trip in Europe was stopping in Arles and sitting on the cafe terrace Vincent graced with his paintbrush.

So... what would it be like to have a Van Gogh's ear for music--at least, before he did that little bit of DIY surgery on himself?  Somehow I think he would have heard things most of us can't.  After all, isn't his painting about seeing what most of us don't?  (Perhaps the same could be said for any great artist.) Sometimes I think that in "Starry Night", he was hearing--and feeling, and perhaps even smelling and tasting, as well as seeing-- all of those lines and colors as he painted them.  

Likewise, I wonder what other artists heard in the music they listened to.  Many a writer has expressed his or her perceptions about Mozart, Marley and Monk, as well as musicians in every other part of the spectrum--and alphabet!   But we don't often hear what painters, sculptors and others who work in visual media feel when they listen to musical maestros.  If they were to turn to pianos instead of palettes, or using their voices instead of violet and vermillon (or cellos instead of celeste green)--or if they composed instead of chisled--what kind of music would they make?

(Let's hope that if they write, they won't over-use alliteration!)

I believe I may have stumbled onto what sounds Marcel Duchamp might have made had he turned at least one of his objets into a musical instrument:



Now tell me:  Whatever you think of him, who else but Frank Zappa could have done it?  

And who else but Steve Allen could have gotten away with bringing a then-unknown musician onto his show, and letting said musician do, basically, what ten-year-old boys (and, sometimes, girls) had been doing for decades with their bicycles?  Who else could have, in front of a national audience, treated such a musician as if he were, well, a musician?  

At the time of that broadcast--1963--most American audiences weren't ready for the Beatles or Bob Dylan, let alone Frank Zappa.  I'm not sure Steve Allen was, either.  At least he deserves credit for his willingness to expand his own horizons--which, of course, was the first step in helping to expand the horizons of his audience.

What would Marcel Duchamp have played on that bicycle wheel in his studio?  

How Did They Stay On Track?

I have ridden on two velodromes in my life:  Kissena and "T-town".  The first time I rode Kissena, which is just a few kilometers from where I live, it more closely resembled some trails I rode in Vermont than any other track.  Another rider, who was a bit of a tinkerer, quipped that it was inspiring him to design the world's first dual-suspension track bike.  The Lehigh Valley Velodrome--commonly called "Trexlertown" or "T-town", today known as the Valley Preferred Cycling Center--was like a mirror by comparison.

Riding on both tracks gave me butterflies in my stomach, along with an adrenaline rush.  I don't know how fast I rode (Somehow, I don't think Chris Boardman or Francois Pervis had anything to fear!) but I know I was riding faster than I ever did on a road or trail--without even trying!  and at angles I couldn't even imagine myself reclining or sitting!  It was probably as close as I ever came to defying gravity.

One thing you have to remember when you're on a velodrome--or any time you ride a fixed-gear bike:  Keep pedaling!   If you stop, you'll fall off--and, if others are riding on the 'drome, into their path. 

I have never ridden a high-wheeler ("penny farthing").  But I imagine that the same principle holds true:  After all, if the wheel is moving, so are the pedals.  I also imagine that if you suddenly stop pedaling, the resulting fall could be even nastier than the tumble from a modern track bike.

Perhaps one day I will ride a high-wheeler.  But I simply cannot imagine riding it on the track.  I wonder how these guys did it:

Edward Adkins: A Victim of Phantom Law Syndrome

During one of my many rides to Point Lookout, I was riding between a traffic jam and the shoulder of Lido Boulevard, just west of the Meadowbrook Parkway entrance.  As I recall, it was a weekday, so I wondered why there so many cars along the Boulevard headed away from Point Lookout. 

I soon had my answer.  Just past the high school, a truck crashed--apparently, from swerving.  The light turned red; I stopped.

"Ma'am.  Get over here!"  I didn't think the burly man in a suit was yelling to me--until he scuttled in front of me.

"I'm talking to you!  When I say come, come!"

"Why?  You're not my father!"

"Don't get cute with me!"

"As if I could..."

"Listen, I don't wanna arrest you..."

"For what..."

"Never mind.  See that truck over there."

I nodded.

"Well, there's a guy on a bike under it, with his skull crushed.  Doesn't look like he's gonna make it."

"Oh, dear..."

"Listen, that coulda been you!"

"Well, I'm careful."

"Well, you were riding carelessly."

"How so?"

"You were riding between cars..."

I wasn't, but I didn't argue.  Then he lectured me about bicycle safety, pointing out that he was a "bicycle safety officer" for the local police department.  I had the impression that everything he knew about bicycle safety, he learned from one of those movies they used to show kids back in the days of "air raid drills".

"That's against the lore (translation:  law), ya' no'."

Then he ordered me to take off my sunglasses.  "Doesn't look like yer under the influence."  Squinting, I slid them back onto my face.

"Where do ya live?" he demanded.

"Astoria."

"You rode all the way from Queens?"  Again, I nodded.

"Well, at least you're wearing a helmet.   The guy under the truck wasn't."

Silence.  Then, "Listen, be careful. I really don't want you getting hurt.  And remember...don't ride between cars.  If I see you doin' that again, I'll hafta write you up."

Later, I looked up the traffic and bicycle codes for the town where I encountered that officer.  I couldn't find any prohibition against riding between cars.  Nor could I find any such regulation in county codes or New York State law. An attorney I contacted called that officer's assertion "nonsense".

Now, the officer I encountered that day may have been upset after dealing with a cyclist who got his head crushed under a truck. Or he may have been having a bad day for some other reason, or had some sort of unspecified rage--or a more specific animus against cyclists, or me as an "uppity" (at least, in the eyes of someone like him) female.  

Or he may have just been suffering from what I call "Phantom Law Syndrome".  

To be fair, police officers aren't the only ones prone to PLS. Lots of people think there are, or aren't, laws against one thing or another in their jurisdiction.  So, they might break a law without realizing it, or keep themselves from doing something because they believe, incorrectly, that there's a law against it. Or they might accuse someone of breaking a law that doesn't exist.

Also--again, to be fair--laws change.  Sometimes they're struck down, aren't renewed or replaced with other laws. Or  they're passed with little or no fanfare.  So, it's not inconceivable that some officer or detective wouldn't be aware of such changes.

I was reminded of those things, and the encounter I've described, when I came across the sad saga of Edward Adkins.

Edward Adkins

Nearly two years ago, a police officer saw the Dallas native riding his bicycle, sans helmet, in his hometown. Apparently, the constable didn't realized that the city's ordinance mandating helmets had been struck down, at least for adults, a few months earlier.  Adkins, 46 years old, lives off odd jobs and didn't have $10 to pay the fine.  

Now there is a warrant for his arrest, which he can pay off--for $259.30.  

Now, I am not a lawyer, and I certainly am not familiar with the police or courts in Dallas.  Still, I can't help but to think that there must be a way to lift the warrant--and to void the ticket because it shouldn't have been issued in the first place.

Even if he has such recourse, though, I imagine it would be very difficult for Adkins to pursue.  After all, doing so would take time and money that he, apparently, doesn't have. 

It also doesn't help Adkins that, in addition to being poor, he is black and lives in a neighborhood comprised mainly of people like him.  Living under such circumstances leaves you even more vulnerable to police officers and other authorities with PLS.  For that matter, laws that actually do exist for such things as wearing helmets and against such things as riding on the sidewalk are more often, and more strictly, enforced in poor minority neighborhoods than in other areas.   I have witnessed it myself:  Not long ago, while riding through the East New York section of Brooklyn, I saw three officers grab one young black man who rode his bike on the sidewalk while a young white couple pedaled through a red light.

Now that I think back to that encounter with the "bicycle safety officer" on Lido Boulevard, I can't help but to wonder how it might've turned out if I'd been darker and poorer (or, at least, riding a bike that wasn't as nice as the one I was riding)--or if I hadn't been wearing a helmet, whether or not one was mandated.

Why I Need To Make Wrong Turns

Sometimes I wonder whether my subconscious is steering me into wrong turns.

Freud, of course, would argue that it doesn't.  If you'd planned on going one way but finding yourself going another, deep down, you really wanted it.

Maybe he was right, although I still don't understand why I woke up next to at least a couple of the people I've woken up next to.

OK, this is a bike blog.  And my rambling ultimately has to do with the ride I took today--and one I took last week.

I rode to Connecticut again today.  I took a route that, for much of the way, follows the East Coast Greenway--I've been finding more and more of it--and takes me up a few climbs and along a ridge I discovered by making other "wrong turns".  

On the way back, though, I managed to--among other things--ride in a circle of about 15km, unintentionally.  I didn't mind:  It took me by a couple of rocky streams of the kind you expect to see in New England postcards.  Near those streams were some real, live, old-time farm houses and barns.  I guess I should not have been surprised:  I was in horse country.  

I have ridden horses only a couple of times in my life.  Given the chance, I would ride one again.  In the meantime, I am happy to see them.  They give me hope for the human race.  Why?  Well, only a century ago--even less in some places--they were beasts of burden.  In addition to carrying humans on their backs, horses pulled various kinds of farm implements as well as carts on rough roads and barges that plied canals.  Today, they do almost none of those things. But some people--some of whom don't ride--have seen fit to keep them, whether or not they serve any useful purpose.  

They are beautiful, intelligent creatures who generally treat people well, whether or not people are doing the same for them. Humans can do well to learn from them. 

The bicycle, of course, was one of the first things to take away some of the work horses once did.  People could go faster and further on two wheels.  Plus, even in postage-stamp-sized New York apartments, it's easier to store a bike--and cheaper to feed one--than a horse.

Perhaps we should thank horses for doing their work as well, and for as long, as they did--and for continuing to do it on demand.

Anyway, that loop through the horse farms and other bucolic scenes consisted of a couple of winding roads, one of which is called Round Mountain Road.  That name should have told me something!

I guess I subconsciously took those "wrong turns" because I really, deep down, wanted to see something besides downtown Greenwich and Stamford, or even the coast of Long Island Sound.  

Of course, when I am on vacation, I am always taking wrong turns.  As an example, on a day in Paris, I might decide I want to visit a particular museum or to take a ride to some particular site.  But I almost invariably end up following some street or alley or canal or another I hadn't planned on seeing.  Likewise, when I was in the provinces of France or Italy, I might decide that the destination of my day's ride would be some town or site.  But of course, I almost never took the "straight-arrow" route.  

So why does my subconscious steer me along routes the GPS would never dream of?  Well, I guess I am, if nothing else, inquisitive.  I want to see more and know more.  If I am going to spend time in a place, I want to become as familiar with it as I can.  My wanderings make me feel as if I've had a more intimate experience of the place.  For example, I have been to the Picasso Museum several times and can get to it pretty easily.  However, my experience of it seems more complete when I ride through the surrounding area--Le Marais--and, perhaps, find a street or alley I'd never before seen, or hadn't seen in a long time.

Believe it or not, even in the cities and towns and rural areas I know relatively well, it's still not difficult to find and interesting, and even new experience--simply by making a "wrong" turn.

Note:  I didn't take any photos today.  Sorry!  I guess I just got so immersed in my ride that I didn't think of taking pictures.

What If The Fish Is--Or Was--A Bicycle?

A woman needs a man like a fish needs a bicycle.

Gloria Steinem popularized that expression in the early days of the modern feminist movement.  Many people believe she coined it, though she has never taken credit for doing so.

Whatever its origins, sometimes it seems that every woman in the world has uttered it--whether out loud or to herself--at some time or another.  I am no exception.  In fact, I muttered it more than a few times--without irony or sarcasm--when I was living as a man.  

Of course, people have substituted all sorts of things for "A woman" and "a man".  After I read Nietzsche, I inserted "People" and "God".  Later, I would modify the latter to "religion".  

In this depressing election cycle, we could say "This country needs Hillary/Trump" (take your pick).   

All right, I'll stop preaching politics.  After all, you didn't come to this blog for that, did you?

Instead, I'll come back to the fish-and-bicycle dilemma.  Perhaps a fish doesn't need a bicycle.  But does that mean a fish can't be a bicycle?

Maybe not.  But a pike or pickerel  can be made from bike bits.  At least, French sculptor Edouard Martinet pulled off that feat:

He has also made birds and insects from bike parts and other objects he's found.  

Think about them the next time you toss out that worn chain:  A bird or a bug or a fish might actually need your bike--your bike parts, anyway!

They Rode Like They Were On Rails

Some of you have benefited from the work of the Rails-To-Trails Conservancy.  As their name indicates, they have worked to convert disused and abandoned railroad right-of-ways to paths for cycling, hiking and other non-motorized means of transportation.

Like canal towpaths, railbeds make for all-but-ideal bike paths.  They are usually flat; if there is an incline, the grade is gradual and even.  Plus, towpaths and railbeds are usually well-conceived and well-built, at least in part because the best engineers of their time worked on them; the Pennsylvania, New York Central, Union Pacific, and Baltimore and Ohio railroads attracted, and paid for, scientific and technical acumen as the major automobile manufacturers and aerospace companies would in later years.

Also, many old railroad viaducts, bridges and overpasses have endured because, ironically, in the early days of railroad engineering, nobody really knew which materials and methods were most suitable.  So, the early railroads--particularly the Baltimore and Ohio, erred on the side of caution and used what they thought were the strongest materials--as often as not, granite and iron.

What all of this means, of course, is that to make a good trail, sometimes it's not necessary to do much more than remove the tracks.  

Or maybe not even that.  

Believe it or not, in 1891, one Frank Brady of Chicago, Illinois got a patent for a bicycle much like that one.






Apparently, he wasn't the only one to patent a railway bicycle.  This one sprung from the mind of Allegheny, Pennsylvania native Henry Mann, and was patented a year after Brady's contraption:

Given that the 1890s were a Golden Age for both railroads and bicycles, it's no surprise that Brady and Mann weren't the only ones who, in that era, thought that "pedal to the metal" meant a velocipede on rails:




Note that in all of these patents, the vehicle in question is referred to as a "velocipede".  That was the common term for any pedaled vehicle; the Teetor vehicle in the 1898 patent has four wheels.  



Also note that the Teetor vehicle is referred to as an "inspection car".  Can you imagine how the world would be different if our cars were like that instead of the ones we have now?  Would our Interstate system consist of rails of steel rather than ribbons of asphalt?

Apparently, as the Bike Boom of the 1890s and early 1900s ended, so did attempts to make bikes that rode on rails.

Where Was Everybody? I'm Not Complaining!

I swore that I wouldn't ride to any beach areas on weekends this summer.   Well, I broke that promise. It was just so hot and humid I couldn't think of anywhere else I wanted to ride--or go by any other means.

Actually, I didn't ride just to one beach.  First, I heeded the Ramone's advice and rode to--where else?--Rockaway Beach.  I worried when I encountered a lot of traffic on the streets near my apartment--at least some of which seemed headed toward Rockaway.

But, as soon as I passed Forest Park, traffic started to thin out.  By the time I crossed the bridge from Howard Beach to Beach Channel, the streets started to look like county roads in upper New England or routes departmentales in the French countryside--at least traffic-wise, anyway.  And, oddly, there seemed to be less traffic the closer I got to the Rockaways. I thought that, perhaps, whoever had planned to be on the beach today was already there.

What I found when I got to Rockaway Beach invalidated that hypothesis.  Although temperatures reached or neared 100F (38C) in much of Queens, Brooklyn and Manhattan--and humidity hovered around 90 percent--there actually was space to stretch out on the beach!  I've seen days where people were literally at arm's length, or even less from each other.  That's what I expected to, but didn't, see today.

I didn't see this. (Apologies to Francisco Goya.)

What's more, I could ride in more or less straight lines along the boardwalk:  I didn't have to swerve or dodge skateboarders, or families with men and boys in shorts and tank tops, women in bathing suits and cover-ups and little girls in frilly dresses--or dogs on leashes that seem to span the length of the boardwalk.

After soaking up sun, surf and sand (perhaps not in that order), I ate some of the salsa I made and tortilla chips from a local Mexican bakery.   Thus fortified, I decided to ride some more.  

Along Beach Channel Drive, I encountered even less traffic than I did on the way to Rockaway Beach.  There were even empty parking spaces along the street, all the way to Jacob Riis Park.  The beach there was slightly more crowded than Rockaway, but still nothing like what I expected.  The streets from there to the Marine Parkway Bridge were all but deserted, and the bridge itself--which spans an inlet of Jamaica Bay and ends on Flatbush Avenue, one of Brooklyn's major streets (it's really more like a six-lane highway at that point)--looked more like a display of Matchbox cars than a major thoroughfare. 

Stranger still, I saw only two other cyclists on the lane that parallels Flatbush, and none on the path that rims the bay along the South Shore of Brooklyn to the Sheepshead Bay docks.  From there, I encountered one other cyclist on the way to Coney Island--a bicycle patrolman!



Surely, I thought, I'd see throngs of strollers, sunbathers and swimmers at Coney Island.  Throngs, no.  People, yes--but, again, not as many as I expected.  

I didn't complain.  I finished the salsa and chips.  They were really good, if I do say so myself.

Today: Shared Streets And Summer Streets

Today is Shared Streets Day.

No, it's not another one of those holidays created by FTD or the publishers of calendars and greeting cards.

Instead, it creates an almost traffic-free environment on what are--on weekdays, anyway--some of the busiest streets in the world.  Cars will have access to them only through checkpoints, and will be asked to drive at no more than five miles per hour (8kph).  Cyclists and pedestrians, on the other hand, will be able to enter and leave them freely.

From DIY Biking

The restricted streets will comprise a 60 square-block area south of New York's City Hall.  Most of them are in Manhattan's Financial District, which normally doesn't see a lot of traffic on weekends, especially in the summer.  In fact, I've taken dates and out-of-town visitors on rides in that area when the Stock Exchange and financial institutions are closed, and everyone marveled on how oddly bucolic it seemed.  It was as if the glass and steel towers were holding the noise and haste at bay.

Shared Streets area.

I'd bet that even most native New Yorkers have never enjoyed that part of town on a summer weekend.  For that reason alone, I think that area is a good place for Shared Streets Day.  Plus, it includes some of Manhattan's most historic sites, including the Customs House (ironically, now the home of the Museum of the American Indian),  Coenties Slip and the Woolworth Building.  It also includes such notable monuments as the Louise Nevelson Park and 9/11 Memorial and, well, tourist traps like the South Street Seaport.  

This event is being held today in addition to the Summer Streets Program, which took place last Saturday and will return next Saturday.  Nearly seven miles of major Manhattan Streets, running from Central Park at East 72nd Street to the Brooklyn Bridge, will be closed to traffic.  There will be rest stops as well as performances and other cultural events, as well as bike repair stands, along the way.

A Summer Streets stop, 2015.

While today is the first Shared Streets Day, the Summer Streets program has been held every August since 2008.  Not surprisingly, some drivers have complained about Summer Streets, although not as many as one might expect:  although not as quiet as the Shared Streets are on weekends and during the summer, traffic is generally lighter on the Summer Streets routes during those times.

Perhaps the most interesting aspect of Shared Streets, though, is that it encompasses the oldest parts of Manhattan (or, at least, the first parts to be settled and built upon by European colonizers).  Thus, for most of its history, it was traversed mainly by pedestrians; only horses and, later, bicycles would break the monopoly walkers would enjoy over the area.  Now that area of the city is being returned, mostly, if only for a day, to human-powered transportation.

How Do You Sell Cycling In Amsterdam?

You've probably heard the expression, "He/She could sell snow to the Eskimos/Inuits/Laplanders/any other native of a cold climate".

Believe it or not, Snowbrokers was "set up a few years ago to service the need of online snow sales for the Inuit community of Alaska".  Wow!  I wish I'd thought of that!  I guess it's another one of those opportunities to get in on the ground floor of something that'll reach the sky that I missed.  

Then again, people have come up with even crazier ideas for businesses. Like an Uber for hitmen:  surge pricing is always in effect.  Or an online social network for people who don't use the Internet.  Or one of my favorites:  an a capella singing group that only does death metal covers.  All right, that's not technically a business idea, unless you believe that performers start groups only in the hope of making money. (And we all know that no performer with any integrity would ever think of that, right?)

OK, so at least we know  Snowbrokers, Uber for hitmen, the social network and the a capella groups are jokes--just like the Swiss Navy. (I didn't find out until I tried to join! ;-))  Unfortunately, there are some things that sound like jokes but were conceived without irony or mirth, such as The Flat Earth Society and more than a few political campaigns. (Of the latter, there are some that we wish were jokes.  I won't mention any names as I am trying to remain, ahem, apolitical.)  Oh, and a Creationist theme park.

Hmm...Would all of these schemes have been funded by selling snow online to Inuits in Alaska?  Hmm...Maybe the Samis of Norway would be a more lucrative market.

Or, perhaps, selling cycling in Amsterdam.

Anna Luten, Amsterdam's "bicycle mayor"

"It is harder than it sounds," says Anna Luten.  She would know better than perhaps anyone else:  She is the "bicycle mayor" of the Dutch capital. She was chosen for the voluntary position (Her "real" job is that of brand manager for Giant's LIV line of bicycles for women.) last month by a jury of city officials and bike advocates.  

In a city where there are as many bicycles as people, "Cycling is so normal for us that it becomes boring for us, and we neglect it," she explains.  Because cycling is  "not an identity like it is in other countries, it's just the way we get around", she says, in essence, that cyclists take their position ("because we ride a bike we own the roads"), and that of the city as a bike haven, for granted.  Amsterdam's cycling infrastructure "has to improve for future generations", she asserts, because "There are almost too many cyclists and bikes."  If things continue as they are, she says, "people will stop cycling because it won't be safe".

People will stop cycling because there are too many bikes on the road?  That makes me think of Yogi Berra's observation about a restaurant:  "Nobody goes there anymore because it's too crowded".

Seriously, though:  She has a point.  I mean, in how many other cities  are there bicycle traffic jams?  (In New York, where I live, and other cities, one of the reasons why we ride to work is that we can pedal around traffic jams instead of getting into them!)  Also, because so many people ride to work, there aren't enough ferries, bridges and tunnels to take cyclists across the city's waterways.  Starting more ferry lines isn't an ideal solution for those who depend on their bicycles to get to work, as the ferry rides --though picturesque and free for commuters-- are time-consuming.  Building a new tunnel would be a very expensive and lengthy process, given the city's marshy soil.  And talk of building a new bridge angers harbor boat operators, who fear they--especially those who conduct cruises--could lose out.

Finally, for all the publicity Amsterdam receives as a cyclists' utopia, one only has to cross the city's boundaries, or go into neighborhoods like Nieuw West with large immigrant populations-- to find people who don't share Anna's--and other Amsterdamers'--connection to the bicycle.  Many of the immigrants come from places where people (especially women) didn't ride bikes. Others simply see cycling as unsafe and drive their kids to school. "[W]hen those kids hit 16, they get motor scooters, not bicycles," says Maud de Vries, who runs the Cycle Mayor program.

(I noticed something similar in Paris:  When I cycled through la Goutte d'Or,  into suburbs like Saint Denis and Montreuil (not to be confused with Montreuil-sur-mer) or even the bike lane on Boulevard Barbes, I did not see any other cyclists. In fact, I saw  motor scooters--and a lot of pedestrians--in the Barbes bike lane.)

Some would argue that Copenhagen has overtaken Amsterdam as the world's most bicycle-friendly major city.  To Anna Luten, "the rivalry isn't important, so long as each city is a good place to cycle."  Her efforts, and those of people like Maud de Vries, come from the belief that "cycling has the power to transform".  Such a transformation, she says, would mean that there are "more cities like Amsterdam, where cycling is so normal and accepted that we are not even aware of it."

Then, maybe, no one would have to sell cycling in Amsterdam--or anywhere else.