Mommy Dearest Rides A Bike

Last year, I wrote about someone who was a BMX rider before there was BMX--or, at least, before anyone coined the term "bicycle motocross".

The moves of this rider could put those of even some of the most accomplished BMXers, never mind hipsters on fixies, to shame.  And said rider made those spins, twirls and climbs with a grace unmatched by just about anyone else--decades before David Mirra or Ryan Nyquist were even born.

This rider's unique style was partly a result of her training.  All right, I let it slip that the rider was a woman.  Moreover, she was at least twice the age of most BMX riders when she made those moves.

Lily Yokoi's best-known (at least to mainstream American audiences) performances were on episodes of The Ed Sullivan Show and another variety show called The Hollywood Palace.  The latter, which aired on 9 October 1965, was hosted by none other than Joan Crawford.

It's easy to assume that show was as close as Ms. Crawford came to a bicycle--unless you've seen this:

Of course, it's easy to dismiss that photo as staged or retouched.  For one thing, it doesn't have a very natural look. (Then again, "natural" wasn't considered a virtue when that image was made.)  For another, the image appeared among other photos of major Hollywood stars on or with bicycles. Those luminaries include Bing Crosby (and his sons in their letter sweaters), Bob Hope, Ronald Reagan and Jane Wyman (they were married then), Humphrey Bogart and Lauren Bacall. 

I am talking about the 1946 Schwinn catalogue.  Why was there such an emphasis on glamor ?  My guess is that in the first post-war year, people wanted to be dazzled after the austerity that resulted from the war and the Great Depression that preceded it.  The "lightweight" bikes of that year, such as the Continental, seemed to emphasis their "European-ness", which was equated with elegance and sophistication.  In contrast, the wide, swooping curves, wide tires, lush chrome and flashy paint of Schwinn's (and other American bike makers') 1950s cruisers seemed baroque.

But I digress.  Turns out, "Mommie Dearest" wasn't just posing for a one-off photo.  While there are no accounts of her doing audaxes or races, she apparently got around on her bike.  Whatever her riding style, hardly anybody looked better!

As I understand, she was not the only Hollywood actor or performer who was riding in those days.  Some rode just because they liked it; others pedaled off the stresses and frustrations of working, as Jimmy Stewart would after spending hours in a wheelchair, with a fake cast on his leg, for Alfred Hitchcock's thriller Rear Window.

 

Grass On Top, Bicycles At Base: From The Vision Of Oculus

Here in New York, we (those of us who aren't architecture critics, anyway) learned of him from this:

Oculus lifts its wings just north of Liberty Tower, where the Twin Towers of the World Trade Center once stood.  It rises, like a cross between a ghost and a phoenix, above the transportation center that brings seven New York City subway lines, as well as the PATH system, together.

It lifts and spreads our vision over and across a plaza surrounded by tall glass and steel towers.  In a way, it's almost an inverse image of I.M. Pei's Pyramid in the Louvre courtyard, which directs our vision from a focal point above the ground and, like Oculus, spreads it, though toward the ground, in a milieu of cream-gray Oise stone walls.

Although I like Oculus, I think it's fair to criticize it for housing what is essentially a high-end shopping mall on the site of one of the worst tragedies in this country's history.  (Ironically, it sits in the same concrete bathtub as the 9/11 Memorial Museum, which is as muted and somber as the Oculus is light and airy.)  But I also feel that beauty, in any form, is a fitting way to honor victims of a horrific event.

Oculus' designer created another iconic transit hub twenty-six years ago.  In fact, it is now one of the busiest rail terminals in Europe.  But, in an ironic twist, this terminal, designed to facilitate the movement of people to, from and through a major city, has been plagued with congestion.  Now the architect who created the train station is going to add something to it that might help to alleviate that overcrowding, at least somewhat.

Santiago Calatrava, who hails from Spain but is now based in New York, has unveiled plans a grass-topped office block on the plaza of his Stadelhofen Station in Zurich, Switzerland.  His glass "twenty first century office building" will feature bulging walls with slanted angles at the corners that--to my eye, anyway--are somewhat evocative of the ribs that comprise Oculus.  There will be a triangle of grass on the roof.

But one of the most intriguing aspects of this planned building (and the reason why I'm writing about it on this blog!) is that the plan includes public parking for 1000 bicycles on the ground level.

With his plan, Calatrava becomes the latest in a growing number of architects to integrate cycling infrastructure into an otherwise commercial project.  If successful, it will have the benefit of making both cycling (particularly for transportation) and mass transit more convenient--or, to some, simply more palatable. Whatever you think of his designs, he ought to be commended for that.

A Beautiful Ride, Indeed!

Perhaps I am more fortunate than most people.  After all, on two consecutive days, I took rides that--as familiar as they were--nourished my mind and spirit, if in completely different ways, as they exercised my body.

And I rode to work with the sun blazing over Hell Gate as a cool breeze floated over me.  "You look happy!" one of my students observed.

Happy, indeed.  After riding to work, I got to talk about poetry.  Between classes, I checked my e-mail.  Someone sent me this:

A beautiful ride, indeed!

The Beginnings Of Change

Today I took a ride down to the Rockaways, and along the South Shore of Queens and Brooklyn.  

The skies were even clearer than they were at the end of my ride yesterday, and the Atlantic tides seemed benign and powerful at the same time, much like today's sunlight.

Still, I found myself overtaken--at moments, overwhelmed--with melancholy.  The cool breezes and low tides evoked sense-memories of rides I took, alone, along the Jersey Shore between Sandy Hook and Point Pleasant Beach during my teen years, especially during the fall of my senior year in high school.  

By that time, my mother knew I wasn't going to Mass anymore, even though I didn't tell anyone else--including, ironically, my father, who had even less religious belief (though, as it turned out, more belief in a Supreme Being or Higher Power or some such thing) than I have ever had.  Mother knew I was going on bike rides when I told everyone else--or led them to believe--I was going to church.  She wasn't happy about that, but, really, she couldn't say much about it, as she hadn't been to church herself in decades.

I took those rides because I loved riding--but also because I simply couldn't be with anyone else on Sundays, at least before dinner time.  That's when I had to be home; the hour was not stipulated, but I always knew it was some time around three in the afternoon.    

During the fall of my senior year in high school, it seemed that nothing else mattered.  At least, all I cared about on Sundays were riding and my mother's lasagna and salads.  I had no idea of where I'd be a year later:  I'd applied to a few colleges and to West Point and Annapolis--I would receive nominations to each of them--but, honestly, I didn't care which of them would take me, or whether none would.  About all I knew was that everyone I saw every day that year, I would never see again.   And, save for my mother, father, siblings and grandmother, I would probably never hear from anyone again.

Pedaling along the sea, along the curved rainbows the tides left, even if only for an instant, in the sand, was my only solace.  I had two friends during my high school years:  one died, of lukemia, during the early days of my senior year, a couple of weeks before the autumnal equinox. I still miss her.   And the other, as much as I liked him, I knew we wouldn't remain in contact for long afterward:  What we had in common was being the geeks, the outcasts, in that school.

Riding along the sea was my escape--no, it was my life itself--that year.  I don't know how I would have survived without it.  I imagined pedaling across the ocean, to Portugal, to Spain, to Morocco, to France--France!--and Italy and England.  I had never been to any of those places; they were somewhere on the other side of the tides I saw on the horizon.  

If I could have ridden to those places, I would have.  If I could have done nothing but ride that year--and for many years afterward--I would have.  The cycling buddies I would later meet would have understood why I wanted to ride; but, interestingly, my mother--who has not ridden since her childhood--might have been the only person in my life at that time who understood--though, perhaps, she might not have been able to articulate it--why I not only wanted it, but needed--and still need--it.

Somehow, I think she also understands that, in some way, that need is, and was, related to the necessity--the inevitability--of my gender transition.  Riding kept me sane, to whatever degree I was sane--or, at least, intact--and for a time, racing as well as long rides up and down mountains helped to channel the anger and aggression I felt.  So, when I called her today and, during our conversation, I told her about my ride, I could almost hear her recognition of the deja vu.  

After all, I took a ride along the shore on the first Sunday of Fall.

Following Bliss At The Beginning Of Fall (Apologies to Joseph Campbell)

Fall began the other day, though you wouldn't have known it from the weather.  Today was more like it:  cool and breezy, with bright sunshine showing, like the leaves, just the slightest hints of change in hue.

This also means the days are growing shorter.  So, if you want to ride the same number of miles or kilometers you were riding a few weeks earlier--in daylight--you have to leave earlier in the morning.  Or ride faster.

Today I woke up later than I anticipated.  Still, I decided to sit and enjoy a breakfast you won't find at very many training tables.  I blame the nice, warm baguettes I encountered in the bakery two blocks from my apartment.  (Well, now you know one reason why I'm not as skinny as I was!)  And I just happened to have a nice, ripe slice of Brie in my refrigerator. I took it out before I set out for the bakery.  When I got back, it hadn't started to run, but oozed flavor nonetheless.

Perhaps incongruously, I washed everything down with green tea.  I find, increasingly, that it's what I prefer to drink before a ride, especially since I've started to keep un-bagged tea (from Japan, no less) and an infuser in my apartment.  I'm going to keep those things in my office, too!

(Of course, while in Paris, I drank coffee before rides.  Why wouldn't I?  Who goes there to drink tea?)

Yesterday the weather forecasters told us that last night we would have rain and wind, which would bring in the weather we had today--which began with a heavy cloud cover that broke up through the morning.  Hearing that prediction, I planned on taking a ride to Connecticut.  But I wondered how realistic that plan would be, at least if I wanted to get home in daylight.  After all, it was nearly noon when I got on my bike.

And I started my ride in the teeth of a 30KPH wind. I realized that, if I wanted to return home in daylight, I had three choices:  push myself, ride to Connecticut and, if need be, take the train home from there or some other point on the way back, or just ride as far as I could in a couple of hours and turn back, whether or not I reached Greenwich.

Just about all the way up, I was pedaling into that wind.  But the ride wasn't as strenuous as I expected.  Perhaps it had something to do with the weather:  temperatures of 12 to 17 C (55 to 64 F) with muted but gradually brightening sunshine.  Also, I was riding Arielle, my Mercian Audax, which always seems to make me faster,  without trying.  And, hey, I was just feeling so, so good simply to be out riding!

Even though I took the long route up--which also happens to be the route with more hills--I got to Greenwich more quickly than I expected:  about two hours and forty-five minutes.  That meant about three and a half hours to sunset.  And I would have the wind at my back!

Mind you, I wasn't trying to better a personal record (I didn't) or prove anything to myself.  I simply felt so good today that I couldn't help but to have a great ride.  And, of course, Arielle gives such a smooth ride that I can keep on pedaling without pain, without strain and still get a good workout.

Oh...When I got home, I still had a bit more than half an hour to spare before the sun would begin to set, having pedaled 140 kilometers--and lounged for about half an hour in the public garden by Greenwich Hospital.  Most important, though, I felt so, so good!