A Nomad And A UFO

Whenever I am in Florida, as I was a few days ago, I see lots of recreational vehicles as well as "campers".  In fact, when I ride along A1A, I pass by at least one RV or camper park.

Although trailers towed behind cars or carried on the backs of trucks are referred to as "campers", and people who use them--or even RVs--say they are "camping", I have a difficult time equating them with the camping I have done.  
There were days when I pedaled until I got lost, or couldn't pedal or see--or just didn't want to ride--anymore and simply unfurled my sleeping bag in a field or stretch of woods, or under a bridge.  There were also times when I pitched a tent or simply strung a piece of canvas or plastic between trees or other immobile objects and slept under it.  Perhaps having had such experiences makes it difficult for me to think that a person watching a wide-screen TV, even if he or she is in the open air, is "camping". 

Still, I can understand why people travel with "campers" or RV's:  They want to travel whenever they want, wherever they want, with as many of the conveniences of home as they can take with them.  That is also one of the reasons why they don't, and probably wouldn't, tour or camp by bicycle:  Even if you have front and rear panniers, a handlebar bag and a seat pack, you can't carry many of the comforts of even the most basic homes.

Perhaps a UFO could get them to travel by bicycle:

UFO stands for Urban Freedom Outlander, and this trailer is the Mark II model.  If there were camper trailers in ET, they might look something like that!

If the space-alien look isn't your thing, perhaps you might consider this:


Would sleeping in either of those trailers fit your definition of "camping"?  Even if it doesn't, at least pedaling either of them constitutes a bona fide outdoor activity--and, I would imagine, a workout!

Why I Didn't Ride Today

Thick gray clouds blanketed the sky.  Still, today was mild for this time of year, with the temperature rising to 45F (8C).  Even after a week of sunshine and temperatures in the 70s, as I experienced in Florida, I would have gone riding on a day like today.

But I didn't.  Why?  

Well, believe it or not, there was something I felt I simply had to do.  If you followed the news today, you probably know what I'm about to tell you:  I marched in Manhattan.

To tell you the truth, I spent more time standing than marching.  A few hundred thousand other people can say the same:  At times, we were literally standing shoulder-to-shoulder.  

I should have known how crowded the streets would be when I rode across the 59th Street/Queensborough Bridge and, as soon as I descended the ramp on the Manhattan side, I could ride no further.   

Even though there seemed to be no room even for another flyer or sign on the Manhattan side, I found a signpost on which I was able to lock my LeTour.  I returned, hours later, to unlock and ride it back over the bridge.  

Some might say that I wasted my time, that such a march "won't change anything".  Of course, it won't nullify the result of the elections.  But it did bring together people who feel the same way: that the result of this election does not represent them, does not represent us.

Why was it important for us to come together?  We--most of us, anyway, I suspect--are angry about that the Orange Man was inaugurated yesterday.  We were not, however, acting upon our rage: doing so would have brought us down to the level of his campaign and the hatred it manifested.  I realized as much when I saw how respectful, even nice, marchers were toward each other.  Each of us, I think, was happy that the other marchers were there, whatever their reasons or motivations.  Many of us are "outsiders" or "minorities" of one kind or another; just about everyone else, I suspect, loves or is loved by someone who fits those descriptions.  Because we were there, together, we were not alienated, and the message behind our signs and shouts is that we will not allow ourselves to be alienated by the powers that are seizing control.

Tomorrow, I hear, will be like today, weather-wise--at least until mid-afternoon.  Perhaps I will ride.  But I will not regret that today I could ride over the bridge a mile from my apartment, and no further.  There is still further to go.  I can still go further.

What Now? What Next?

Like many of you, dear readers, I have dreaded this day for the past two months.  Longer than that, actually:  Unlike those of my friends and acquaintances whose world  view was best depicted by a famous New Yorker  cover`, I didn't believe Trump's victory "couldn't" or "will never" happen.

The world view of those said it "never could" or "never would" happen.

Some pundits are counseling us to "wait and see".  I wonder whether they actually believe that "it might not be so bad" or they are simply in that kind of denial into which people often descend after accidents, disasters, abuse or other kinds of life-changing truamae.  

It may well be true that the Trump presidency (assuming, of course, he makes it through his term) might be very different from what some of us might expect.  After all, he holds--or, at least, has expressed--all sorts of contradictory views, and has been known to change them "in a New York minute" or less.

For example, probably no President-elect since Reagan has expressed more disdain for environmental issues--and has been more of a cheerleader for fossil fuel exploitation--than The Orange-ator.  (Whatever else you want to say about him, Nixon was more of an environmentalist than any of his successors besides Jimmy Carter.    Yes, Obama called attention to climate change and got China to sign onto the Paris accords, but he also pursued policies that exacerbated the environmental effects of domestic energy development and, to a large degree, exported our dirty energy sources.) Given that most cyclists--or, at least, the ones I know--tend to be more environmentally conscious than the average American, one would expect them (us) to be horrified at the prospect of a The Donald in the White House.  

Moreover, he has expressed disdain for adult cyclists, especially after John Kerry crashed.  He once sniffed that he hasn't ridden a bicycle since he was a kid.  After all, real men drive Rolls Royces, right?  Actually, no:  They hire other people to drive them.

But here's where things get interesting.  You see, Trumplethinskin once sponsored a bicycle race.  Not any old bike race, mind you:  the largest one ever held in this country, at least since the days of the six-day races.  The Tour de Trump ran for two editions before he withdrew his sponsorship (citing financial difficulties) and Du Pont took over both the financial obligation and the right to name it after themselves.





Some cursory research (i.e., a glance through Google) confirmed what I'd suspected:  since the Tour deTrump/Tour Du Pont ran for the last time, in 1996, there hasn't been another stage race of quite the same stature in the USA. Raul Alcala, who won the second and fifth editions, placed as high as eighth in the Tour de France and seventh in the Vuelta a Espana.  The fourth edition of Trump/DuPont was won by a former Tour winner: Greg Lemond.  And he who is unmentionable (at least in the cycling world) won the final two editions of Trump/DuPont.  In its heyday, the race was even envisioned, by some, as part of a "Grand Slam" that would include the three major European tours and some race or races in Asia.  

It's interesting, to say the least, that Trump actually sponsored such an event, however briefly.  My research (again on, ahem, Google) indicates that no other President has ever been associated with a bicycle race, whether as a sponsor or participant--even though every President from Eisenhower onward, with the exceptions of Reagan and, ironically, Nixon, cycled during his adult life.  Even they, however, never made a point of expressing hostility toward cyclists the way Trump has.

So...What are we to make of the fact that the Inaugural Parade proceeded along a bicycle lane?  

Leaving Perfection Behind

I hold an advanced degree.  My professional life brings me into contact with some very intelligent people.  And according to the standardized tests, I am of above-average intelligence.

Now I will give you an opportunity to question the validity of standardized tests.

If you've been reading for the past week, you know that I've been in Florida and, for most of that time, have had nearly perfect cycling weather.

Well, I'm leaving it all behind me.  Yes, I'm going back to New York in January.  Flying into JFK, no less.

A Painterly Ride

I am going to write something that might cause envy or resentment in some, especially those of you who are reading behind sleet-streaked windows.

Yes, today's weather was once again glorious.  Actually, it was a bit warmer than the past few days:  During the return part of my ride, the temperature rose to 82F (28C), according to the sign on the Buddy Taylor Middle School.  And the sun shone through puffy cumulus clouds that drifted across the sky.

So I rode up to Bings Landing, the site of the Mala Compra ("bad bargain" or "bad buy") plantation, and back down Route A1A, including one of my favorite stretches.

I wish my photos could do justice to the light that flickered with the dance of the waves and reeds.  At the observation stand from which I took those pictures, I chatted with a retired couple from North Carolina who commented on the light, and the view.  "Now you know why it's called Painters Hill," I explained.

As the saying goes, a lovely time was had by all--especially the ones who came dressed for the occasion:

With their fashion sense, how could I not share my nuts, seeds and granola bars with them?  And, even in such finery, they were not too haughty to refuse!

I was not surprised to see people walking through the sand or fishing. A few even tried to ride the waves, such as they were.  But I didn't see anyone swimming.  Yesterday, I was tempted to dip myself in the water, but after taking off my sneakers and socks, and letting a few waves lap up to my calves, I realized that the water was a bit on the cool side.

Normally, on such a day, people would line the pier at Flagler Beach, whether to fish, watch birds (or wait in the hope of sighting a dolphin, whale or shark) or simply pass enjoy the view and pass the time.  But I noticed that the pier was empty, as it was yesterday and the other day.  

I also couldn't help but to think that the pier looked smaller than it was last year.  Sure enough, it is:  Hurricane Matthew washed away part of it and, according to the gate keeper, it might be closed for another year because the insurance company doesn't want people there until repairs are made and the pier passes inspection.

Still, it was a wonderful day and ride. With the kind of light I had, how could anything have been otherwise?