A Beast Of Burden

For one more day, one more post, I am going to keep up the silly "theme association" I started the other day.

My post on Monday mentioned, in passing, Jean Paul Sartre.  Tuesday's post featured a photo of him on Le Petit Bi, a French folding bicycle developed just as Europe was going to war.  Yesterday, I wrote about another folding bicycle (actually a sort-of folding bike), the Donkey Bike.

So now I'm going to show a bicycle--or its rider, depending on your point of view--serving as a donkey:

From Top At World

Perhaps he is employed by a certain Presidential candidate.  If that's the case, he might not get paid.  Worse, he might need to build a wall around himself if he presses said candidate for what's due, or anything else!

When I was a messenger, I might've built such a wall, or protected myself in some other way, when I went to some of the locales I serviced--especially when I knew what was in some of those packages I carried.  Let's just say that the contents of some of those packets were, um, plant-based and others were chemical.

In other words, although we were employed by a legitimate courier service, my fellow and messengers and I became, at times, offspring of donkeys and horses, if you know what I mean.  I don't think most of us signed on for that.  I know I hadn't.

In Polka Dots, On A Donkey

You're probably familiar with "word association", as a game or a technique for sparking creativity--or as part of therapy.  For example, "dog" can lead to "cat", "walk", "shoe", "sole", "survivor", "guilt" and so on.  

Well, my blog is lapsing into a kind of "theme association".  The other day, I happened to mention Jean-Paul Sartre.  Yesterday I showed him on a folding bicycle.  So today I am going to--you guessed it--talk about a folding bike.

The bike in question first saw the light of day fifty years ago.  I don't know how long it was in production.  In fact, I could find almost no information about it.  But I did find this neat promotional video:




I just love the polka-dot pantsuit the woman is wearing.  I think that no matter what she was wearing, she would have had trouble mounting that high-wheel bicycle.  Of course, nobody would have been riding such a bike in 1966, but I guess the makers of the video had to find something that would have been difficult for just about anybody to ride.

I also love seeing folk singer Pete Newby looking more like an Oxford professor than any folk singer I've ever seen.  Can you imagine him (or anyone) going to the Tweed Ride with the Donkey Bike?

Now, I admit, the Donkey isn't a folding bike, strictly speaking.  It probably doesn't even qualify as a collapsible bicycle.  With such a small front wheel and wheelbase, it needed only a way to quickly remove the handlebars in order to fit it in a car trunk.




The handlebar is probably the strangest, and most interesting part of the bike.  I've flipped handlebars on my bikes, but I don't think doing so changed the look--or, I imagine, the ride quality--as radically as bars that can be ridden as far forward as most racing handlebars, then be shifted to a position under the seat so that the bike is ridden with the rider's hands grasping at their sides, rather like riding a sled.

I can just imagine a bunch of "mods" cruising up and down London streets on their Donkey bikes.  Really groovy!

Into The Fold On Being And Nothingness

Handing over a bank note is enough to make a bicycle belong to me, but my entire life is needed to realize this possession.

That insight came from none other than Jean-Paul Sartre.  Yesterday, I made a reference to him.  Well, wouldn't you know it?:  Today I came across the above quote, and this photo:


Here he is riding "Le Petit Bi":

This bike has been all but lost to the mists of time or, more precisely, the ashes of World War II.  Andre Jules Marcelin, a French Nobel Laureate (1926) physicist, invented it and received his first patent for it in Luxembourg in October 1939.  The following year, he received patents for it in France and Switzerland.

No one seems to know who manufactured the bike or how many were made.  All that is certain is that only a few exist.  Did the war severely curtail their production?  Or were many destroyed in bombing raids and such?

Professor Marcelin did his research at the Laboratoire de Chimie Physique (Chemical Physics Lab) of the Sorbonne-University of Paris.  He and other Sorbonne scientists held seminars on Monday nights where writers, poets, painters and other artists to speak.  It's possible that Marcelin met Sartre there, as well as Francois Picabia, seen here on a Bi:

Interestingly, that photo and the one of Sartre ended up in a Nazi propaganda magazine called Signal, which tried to show that life was normal for the French people under the German occupation.  

That Marcelin went to the trouble of filing for patents in multiple countries shows that he saw some sort of commercial potential in the Bi.  He even had plans for a foldable tandem and a motorized Bi:

Perhaps most intriguing of Marcelin's designs is the one he patented in 1935, four years before the Bi, for what looks like a foldable recumbent bicycle.

Whatever its history, the Bi did have something of a legacy.  One of the first lightweight folding bicycles, the Bickerton, came out during the 1970s.  The first prototype of it borrowed heavily from Le Petit Bi:

The Bickerton that finally came to market had a significantly different design, most likely because Harry Bickerton (who was an engineer) saw that he couldn't make the bike out of aluminum (as he did to achieve his bike's light weight) if he were to use the Petit Bi design.

So, although Andre Jules Marcelin patented Le Petit Bi, perhaps no one will realize its possession--or, more precisely, it.

Loves "Bicycle Thieves." Hates Cyclists?

Nobody has an unbiased opinion--well, all right, nobody has an unbiased opinion, right?

So let's just say that nobody can be, um, neutral when it comes to Woody Allen.

As repulsed as I was by his affair with, then marriage to, a woman decades younger than he whom he and his ex-wife adopted as a baby, I was--still am--willing to admit that I enjoyed Annie Hall and Manhattan when they came out.  I thought even Hannah and Her Sisters and Stardust Memories were pretty good.  All right, I'll admit that part of the latter film's appeal for me lay in my uncle's bit role in it.

Emma Stone and Joaquin Phoenix in Irrational  Man

But almost nothing he's done since Hannah has appealed to me.  Irrational Man, which came out last year, was torture to see:  It felt like a murder mystery written the way some self-absorbed sophomore imagines how Jean-Paul Sartre or Soren Kierkegaard might have written it.  Or, perhaps, it's Woody Allen's own idea of how he might have made Dead Poets Society (a favorite of mine) were he up to the task.

I know, I'm not Pauline Kael.  So why am I ranting about a would-be auteur whose time has come and gone in this blog?  Well, I have recently found another thing to further becloud my judgment when it comes to Mr. Allen:  He's anti-bike.  More precisely, he's anti-cyclist.

Woody Allen at the Community Board meeting n which he voiced his opposition to bike lanes on Manhattan's Upper East Side.

He didn't become that way overnight, although it became plain for all to see when he opposed the city's plan to paint a bike lane on East 70th Street--which just happens to be the street on which he lives.  (A little bit of NIMBY, wouldn't you say?) For years, he's been blaming "out of control" cyclists for making the city a worse place.  Why, he even blames them (us:  He thinks all cyclists are "out of control"!) for everything from making the streets more dangerous to--are you ready for this?-- that there is no "graceful" way for any street on the Upper East Side, where he lives, to accomodate bike lanes.

He made his prejudices known at his local community board's hearing in May.  But not everyone who attended that meeting agreed with him.  And, apparently, not the city's Department of Transportation, either:  While they decided not to paint lanes on East 70th and 71st Streets, they are going to put them on East 67th and 68th Streets as well as 77th and 78th, and 84th and 85th, Streets.  Traffic on each of those streets is unidirectional:  eastbound on the even-numbered streets of each pairing, and westbound on the odd-numbered ones.  All of them run from Central Park (at Fifth Avenue) to the East River.

For what it's worth, Allen still says that Bicycle Thieves is still one of his favorite films, but admits that he doesn't have it in him to make anything of its magnitude.

Get Well, Ely!

I was going to write another post about another Lovely Fall Ride.  Today's trek was different from yesterday's LFR in that I didn't leave the confines of the Five Boroughs. In fact, I traversed only two of those boroughs:  the one in which I live--Queens--and neighboring Brooklyn.  All of my ride covered streets that are entirely familiar to me but were accented by the clear mid-October afternoon accented by hints of the impending sunset and the crisp air.

Yes, I could write about today's ride which, while shorter and less varied than yesterday's ride to Connecticut, was still soul-satisfying.  Funny that I should choose such a term given that I wended along the side streets of the Hasidic enclave in the southern end of Williamsburgh.  Wooden booths enclosed balconies and building entrances; tents were erected in lots and alleyways:  I then realized that today is the beginning of Sukkot, or the Feast of Tabernacles.  People gathered inside those booths and tents to commemorate the Exodus; those structures are meant to invoke the gathering of people who, so often, have been dispersed.

But I am not going to talk more about a Jewish observnce, of which I have very limited knowledge and experience.  I also won't talk about my ride because, well, I can do that whenever I want to.  Instead, I want to tell you about someone who's been part of my cycling life over the past three years, even though I've never met him.

We've talked on the phone, exchanged e-mails and responded to each other's post on Facebook.  I made a promise, sort of. to come out his way and ride with him.  And, if he's ever out this way and he has time, we're going to take at least one of the rides I've described in this blog. 

(Once, about a year or so ago, he was here in NYC, but only for two days, and had a commitment with a relative.)

So, aside from his good cheer and inspiration, how else has he affected my cycling life?  Well, he's made some things that are on all of my bikes.  They have become some of my favorite accessories, ever.  And now that they're on my bikes, I can't imagine my bikes without them:  They work so  well for me and the way I ride, and they highlight the beauty of my Mercians.

I am talking, of course, about my Ruth Works bags:  The Brevet bags on the handlebars of Arielle and Tosca, my Mercian Audax and fixed-gear bikes respectively.  The Randonneur bag on Vera, my twin-tube Mercian mixte.  The clutch on the handlebar of Helene, my modern Miss Mercian.  The seat wedges on all of those bikes, and the shopping panniers I use on my commuter.  And a large seat bag I sometimes use, and the panniers he made but which I haven't used yet.

Ely Ruth Rodriguez made all of those bags for me.  After he made those first bags--the Brevets and seat wedges--I fell in love with his work. And those bags just seemed to belong on my Mercians.

Today I found out that he suffered a heart attack while out on a ride.  I don't have a lot of details, but we exchanged e-mails and he says he's resting now.   

I hope he recovers quickly and well.  After all, I want to ride with him and, well, I might ask him to make another bag for me when he's up to it. But most important, he's a nice, engaging person with a family who loves him.  

Another Connecticut Ride, And Why I Did It

Another Beautiful Fall Day today.  If I don't have some really urgent commitment, and I am not out and on a ride, someone should check my pulse!

"Ride me!"

Seriously, it was just one of those days when I couldn't have not ridden, even if I tried.  And I don't know what would have motivated me to try.

Anyway, I did the most quintessentially fall ride I could do without taking a train or plane--or accompanying someone who was driving a few hours out of town.  You guessed it:  I rode to Connecticut again.  On Arielle, my Mercian Audax, of course.



This time, though, I changed my route a bit.  I've found more segments of the East Coast Greenway I hadn't ridden previously:  Today I took it all the way from the Bronx to Rye, which is near the Connecticut line.

Most of the route follows secondary roads that are commercial strips or main streets of residential neighborhoods in several Westchester County towns.  Some parts of it are two-lane streets with cars pulling in and out. The drivers, thankfully, seemed cognizant of cyclists and gave me as much of a berth as they could.  I also noticed that they were very careful before opening their doors and didn't honk or yell at me when I was just ahead of them and they were trying to pull into a parking spot.  Maybe they were in a good mood:  After all, it was Saturday and most of them were shopping or getting waffles or ice cream in the cute little stores.

And, where I couldn't find any more ECG signs--near the Rye train station--I followed a hunch and took a left on Purchase Street, which I rode for about a kilometer to a fork, where I decided to hook right onto Ridge Road.  Not surprisingly, I had to climb a couple of hills, though they weren't terribly steep or long.  And it brought me to Port Chester, where I know the side streets well enough that I could follow them over the state line.

So,on today's ride, I managed to avoid US 1--and the entrance and exit ramps for I-95 and other highways--altogether.  That alone was enough to make me happy.

Even better was the opportunity to see the changes in foliage.  In just over a week, I saw more reds and yellows in the trees and bushes.  

And, interestingly, some flowers have come into bloom.

Some years, there is a week or so when the Fall seems like a second Spring. The colors are, of course, different, but no less vivid.

To think that I was offered such treats during a ride when I felt really, really good!  

Today I also realized another reason why I've done my Connecticut Ride so often.  It's like one of those meals that offers a nice combination of tastes, textures and even colors.  This ride takes me from my block of brick houses, across the park that is Randall's Island, through the industrial areas and shabby but lively tenement-lined streets of the South Bronx, along tree-lined streets in Westchester County and around the vast estates and horse farms of Connecticut.  And back again.  Pretty good for a day ride, wouldn't you say? 

Is This The Year Of "39er"?

Bigger is better.  Height makes right.  Size matters.

You've heard all of those ridiculous notions before.  Of course I don't believe any of them:  If I did, I never could have undergone a certain medical procedure that has allowed me to become, completely, the person I am.

There was, however, a time when I believed "bigger is better", "height makes right" and "size matters".  When I was a kid, I wanted to "graduate" to bigger bikes.  That meant going from a bike with 20 inch wheels--like most "choppers" and other kids' bikes of the time--to one with 26 inch wheels, like the kind found on three-speed bikes.  Later, I would believe--as many other people did--that 27 inch wheels were one of the things that made ten-speed bikes "better" than other kinds of bikes.

Now we have "29ers"--which are really just 700C wheels with wider rims and tires.  That size is used mainly for mountain bikes, though I have heard of a few other kinds of bikes made with it.

Not to be outdone, Patrick Ng has designed a "39er":

Yes, that bike has 39 inch wheels.  Of course, such a bike cannot have the same frame dimensions as a 29er, let alone a 26 inch mountain bike or 700C road bike.

As an example, the chainstays measure 637 mm and the total wheelbase is 1487mm.  To put that into perspective,  a typical 29er has chainstays of about 440 to 465 mm and wheelbase of 1160 to 1220 mm.  Touring  bikes with 700 C wheels have similar dimensions, while racing bikes are shorter.

Perhaps the wildest part of this bike's design is its steering:  The handlebars are nestled inside the main triangle and control the fork by a pair of cogs linked with a chain.  The handlebars are so placed to give a riding position roughly similar to that of a 29er bike and to prevent massive toe overlap with the front wheel.

Perhaps you are scared or appalled by this bike. Or you might want to be the first kid on your block to have it.  If you're of the latter category, you're out of luck:  This bike is no more than an artist's rendering of Patrick Ng's whimsical design, and there are no plans to produce it.

This bike, however, is not the first far-fetched machine Mr. Ng has designed. Check out his Ridiculous Bikes--Roost Carbon:



Only the 28 inch wheels bear any semblance to current standards.  Its 188 mm rear axle spacing (vs. 130 on current road bikes and 135 on mountain bikes) is needed to accomodate the 13-speed cassette with a range of 11 to 53 teeth.  And, with its 1500 mm wheelbase, I can only imagine (as if I want to!) how it handles.

Patrick Ng may have designed these bikes tongue-in-cheek, and we can laugh at them. But one thing we should have learned in recent years is that no idea is so ridiculous that it won't become an industry standard.

If anyone decides to produce 39ers, the marketing campaign could include one of my favorite Queen songs:





Now, if someone wants to outdo Mr. Ng, he or she would have to design a "49er".  That person could get rich by linking it to a certain San Francisco sports team.  Of course, it would have to be painted red and gold!

No Clear Skies Ahead--Or For The Ride Home

Maybe, even after all of these years, I'm not a real New Yorker after all:  I still enjoy the views when I'm crossing some of this city's bridges.  This morning, as I wheeled across the Queens span of the RFK Memorial/Triborough Bridge, a woman who I thought was out for her morning run stopped mid-span to take photos of the skyline.  I didn't mutter "tourist" or any of the other epithets a jaded resident of the Big Apple might hurl at such a person.  

In fact, I stopped to snap a picture.  But I didn't take one of those photos that includes silhouettes of the UN Towers and the Empire State and Chrysler Buildings.  Instead, I turned my camera (my cell phone, actually--the woman was using a real camera) in the opposite direction:

The Hell Gate Bridge, which carries Amtrak trains to and from New Haven, Providence and Boston, winds through the Bronx and upper Manhattan.  They are to the west (and north) of Astoria, where I live and begin my commute. 

You can see the skies turning gray to the west.  That meant, of course, that the clear skies I was enjoying as I crossed the bridge would, more than likely, move across the river.  And, depending on what time of day I went home, I could contend with rain while crossing the bridge or on the other side.  

Most of the commutes I've done to jobs I've had in the past have taken me along streets in residential, commercial or industrial areas.  I get to sample all three during my current commute.  However, riding to my current job also involves riding over the Queens span of the RFK/Triborough Bridge which, at mid-point, is separated from the East River by about 90 meters (145 feet).  It's a bit like riding in a helicopter:  It allows me views I never had on previous commutes.  It also allows me to see incoming weather in ways I never could before.

I still listen to the weather report before I leave and prepare myself accordingly.  As useful as that is, there's still nothing like seeing a real-time video of the day's conditions unfolding.  The raingear is in my pannier, but literally seeing what's on the horizon prepares me in a unique way for a ride home that could be very different from my ride to work.

Playing Chicken With The Sunset

In earlier posts, I've written about "playing chicken with the rain".   On days when precipitation the clouds look ready to drop buckets, I might for a ride, all the while daring the sky to deal me a deluge.  I feel I've "won" the "game", if you will, when I arrive home (or wherever I'm going) just as the first drops plop against my skin.

Today there was absolutely no risk of rain.  It was one of those perfect fall days, with the kind of sunlight that feels as if it's trickling through leaves even though the sky is blue.  And the wind and the waves echo a softly crackling flame.  At least, they seem as if they should.

The waves...Yes, I took an afternoon ride to the Rockaways.  Although the water is still warm enough (at least for someone like me) to swim, the air was cool enough that nobody tried.  In fact, the only people in the water were a few surfers.

But I was playing chicken.   You see, I started in the middle of the afternoon and lingered on the boardwalk (actually, it's concrete now) at Rockaway Park.  A month or two ago, I could have lingered--or ridden--even longer than I did.  Well, actually, I could have done that today, too.  But I was also thinking about the time of day--or, more precisely, the time at which the day would end.

After lingering, I rode some more along the boardwalk and, after crossing the Veterans Memorial Bridge into Beach Channel and Howard Beach, took a circuitous route through streets of wood-frame houses--some with boats in their driveways--away from the ocean and bay and up the gradual climb to Forest Park, right in the middle of Queens.  From Forest, I rode streets I've ridden dozens, if not hundreds of times before as the sun began its descent just beyond the railroad tracks and the East River.

Yes, I got back to my apartment just as the twilight began to deepen into evening and the street lamps were lighting.  I had lights with me--  I always keep them in my under-seat bag--but I didn't have to use them.

In other words, I played chicken with the sunset.  And "won"!

Caught On The Train

Every city's mass transit system has its own rules about bringing bicycles onto trains, buses and other vehicles within the system.  Here in the New York Metropolitan area, each part of the system seems to have its own regulations.  For example, on PATH trains, bikes are allowed only in certain cars on the train, while on Long Island Rail Road and Metro North and New Jersey Transit trains, bikes are allowed during certain hours and in certain areas of each car.

On the other hand, in New York City subways, there don't seem to be any rules at all.  At least, I haven't found any, aside from a prohibition against locking a bicycle to any part of a station, such as a gate.  But there is a certain unwritten etiquette which, from what I've seen, nearly every cyclist follows.  Mostly, it's common courtesy:  Don't block doorways or get in people's way, and try to keep your grimy bike away from passengers' clean clothes.  And try not to bring your bike on the train during rush hours!

I try not to bring my bike onto the subway at all, not out of fear, but mostly out of pride.  I prefer to ride the entire length of my route whenever I can; I'd rather be riding my bike on even the busiest streets than wheeling or holding it in a crowded subway car.  If I've had a mechanical breakdown or some other problem (thankfully, these things have been rare for me) and have no other way of getting to a bike shop, home, work or wherever else I have to be, I'll get on the train.  Also, if I stay out later than I'd planned and I don't have lights with me, or if it's a cold day and it starts to rain heavily, I'll get on the train for safety and health reasons.  But I try, at all costs, to avoid "bailing out" because of tiredness. That, to me, is an admission of defeat.  I can't remember the last time I did that, but I can recall one or two occasions when I got on the train because I just didn't feel like riding anymore.  

I wonder what this guy was thinking and feeling when he got on the train: