In the middle of the journey of my life, I am--as always--a woman on a bike. Although I do not know where this road will lead, the way is not lost, for I have arrived here. And I am on my bicycle, again.
You know it's summer--or close to it--in this part of the world by the fulsome, verdant foliage:
Those trees stand next to the Veterans' Memorial in Greenwich, Connecticut. Yes, I took a ride there. Once the rain stopped, around ten o'clock yesterday morning, the sun appeared as if it were in the next frame of a film. And, while it brightened the day, it also turned the air soupy in short order. Still, it was a good day for a ride. Arielle, my Mercian Audax, was ready for anything:
On the other hand, Marlee and Max were ready for only one thing:
Some parents talk about their failures in raising their children. Of course, "failure" can be defined in any number of ways: Perhaps the child didn't follow the career path the parents wanted. Or he or she married the "wrong" person or didn't get married at all--or didn't have kids. Or end up with the lifestyle the parents envisioned. I have to say, I am guilty on all counts. My career and lifestyle are nothing like what my parents--especially my father--wanted from and for me. And, yes, I married the "wrong" person--and never married again after that. But none of that is either of my parents' fault--really. I will, however, admit there is one area in which I've failed miserably in the making of my parents. You see, I tried to turn both of them into cyclists--even to the point of giving them bicycles as gifts for some occasion or another. I don't think my mother ever rode hers (If I recall, it was sold when my parents moved from New Jersey to Florida.) and my father may have ridden a couple of times with me. Though his bike survived the move, it, too was eventually sold. So...I can't say that my father (or mother) and I bonded over bike riding. For that matter, if I recall correctly, I didn't learn how to ride from either of them: I got those lessons from my grandfather (who died before I turned eight) and an uncle. I failed, but I think my parents have forgiven me by now. A lot has been forgiven, or simply written off as vodka under the bridge, as Alexandr Revva might say. (Why did I choose him? I confess: He's one of the few Russians whose name I can spell!) Anyway, in the spirit of father-child relationships, I offer this, from one of my favorite comic-strip series:
My "winter" project is more or less complete. Back in December, I found a 1981.5 Trek 412 at an estate sale. It was looking for a good home. I thought I'd finish it during my January recess from school and ride it during the winter.
Well, as with almost any project, not everything went exactly as planned. Some parts I'd intended to use didn't fit or work with other parts, and, well, I changed my mind about a couple of things along the way. I finally got it into rideable (for my purposes, anyway) condition by Spring recess, in April. And, as I mentioned a few days ago, gearing wasn't quite to my liking--and the crankset (which had been sitting in my parts box for I-don't-know-how-long) stripped when I tried to remove it. So I had to "destroy it in order to save it", to paraphrase one of the more unfortunate commands of all time. But now I think the only thing I might change is the bars--to drops. (Actually, I might make this bike "bi" and switch between drops and Porteurs as need, and whim, dictate!)
In putting the bike together, I didn't try to do an "original" or even a "period" restoration. Instead, I tried to rebuild the bike in the spirit of the original (Yes, I know, that's an extremely elastic term!) while suiting my needs and tastes as a rider. So, I decided not to refinish the frame (also, in part, because I didn't want to spend the time or expense) and when I didn't use parts that came with the bike, I installed components and accessories from within a few years of when the bike was made--or that at least don't look out of place on a bike of its time.
What that means is that the bike now consists of the following: Frame and fork-- Trek 412, of Ishiwata 022 tubing. Headset-- Stronglight A9 roller bearing (came with frame) Wheels-- Rear: Specialized sealed bearing hub (made by Sansin) sealed bearing Sun CR 18 Rim, 700C 36 DT spokes, 2.0 straight gauge, 3 cross Front: Suzue sealed bearing hub Sun CR 18 rim, 700 C 36 Wheelsmith spokes, 2.0 straight gauge, 3 cross Continental Gatorskin Hardshell tires, 700 X 32 Crankset-- Shimano A 124 triple (1986 model), triple 46/42/28 rings Derailleurs-- Rear: SunTour VxS with sealed pulleys Front: SunTour Spirt (top-normal) Shifters: SunTour PD-M (racheted) Freewheel-- SunTour Winner Pro five-speed, 13-26 Chain-- SRAM PC-830 Pedals-- MKS GR-10 Platform (like Lyotard Berthet) MKS "Basket" toe clips Generic leather toe straps Brakes-- Weinmann Carrera (first version) with Mathauser "Kool Stop" pads Tektro 4.1 inverse levers Handlebar-- Velo Orange Porteur Stem-- Specialized 9mm, made in Japan (Nitto?) Seat post-- SR Laprade alloy (came with frame) Saddle-- Brooks B17 Fenders-- Velo Orange Hammered, 45mm, with flap from RuthWorks SF Rear Rack-- Blackburn Expedition stainless steel Front Rack-- Nitto M18. Bottle Cages-- Twofish Pump-- Zefal Competition, converted I plan to put a decaleur made by Mark Guglielmana on the stem. I've been using it on Vera (my Mercian mixte) and like it a lot. The reason I want to shift it to the Trek is that there isn't enough room under the headset nut for a decaleur (or anything besides a headset spacer). The Stronglight A9 that came with this bike isn't the original: Apparently, the original (probably Japanese) had a smaller stack height. Moving the decaleur will allow me to use my RuthWorks Randonneur bag on this bike. Rebuilding this bike has been an interesting--and so far worthwhile--experience!
We've all seen the "On This Day In History" columns. I like to look at them: Sometimes I learn about people and events I never knew before.
For example, I didn't know that on this date in 1903, Ford Motor Company was incorporated, and in 1961, ballet star Rudolf Nureyev defected from his native Soviet Union.
I have long known, however, that quite possibly the most-commemorated events of this date never actually happened. Yet they will be remembered long after most of the others are forgotten.
I am not talking about the fact that, one year ofter Henry Ford's motor company came to be, one of the most famous writers in history got married. And he married the most unlikely of people: someone who had no interest in literature and, when asked by a journalist what she thought of Andre Gide--on the occasion of his winning the Nobel Prize for literature, no less--said, "When you've been married to the greatest writer in the world, you tend to forget the little guys."
The literary spouse in question is Nora Joyce. And, of course, she was defending the reputation of her beloved Jimmy. And he wrote a book containing the people and events that are being commemorated today--far more than the founding of FoMoCo or the defection of a ballet dancer. The events happened on this date in 1904 and, like the people involved in them, were creations of the man who set them down on paper.
Now, you all know no one ever called him "Jimmy". (At least, I don't think anyone did!) James Joyce wrote a book that did exactly what he said it would: It's kept generations of professors, critics and scholars busy arguing over what it's "about".
The truth is (drumroll), his Ulysses is the Seinfeld of modern literature: It's not about anything at all. At least, not really. Sure, there are parallels between his characters and those of Greek mythology. But the stories about the gods and demigods, like all tales embedded in systems of belief, are explicit attempts to explain the meaning and purpose of, if not life itself, then the world around us.
I can find no such attempt in Joyce's book. When I say that, I don't mean it as a condemnation: One could (and I have) argued that some of the great works of literature--including no less than Shakespeare's Hamlet-- really aren't "about" anything, except perhaps the foibles of the characters themselves.
Now, of course, even with all of my erudition (ha!), you shouldn't take only my word. I am even willing to consider (though not without a fight) that I could be wrong. You see, the esteemed author of the "Cycling In The South Bay"--whose credentials are impeccable--claims that Ulysses is really a book about bicycling.
On what is this claim based? CITSB's author offers the following evidence--13 mentions of bicycle or bicycling in the 782-page tome:
“They passed from behind Mr Bloom along the curbstone. Beard and bicycle. Young woman.”
“His eyes followed the high figure in homespun, beard and bicycle, a listening woman at his side.”
“Gerty MacDowell loves the boy that has the bicycle.”
“As per usual somebody’s nose was out of joint about the boy that had the bicycle off the London bridge road always riding up and down in front of her window.”
“W. E. Wylie who was racing in the bicycle races in Trinity college university.”
“But he was undeniably handsome with an exquisite nose and he was what he looked, every inch a gentleman, the shape of his head too at the back without his cap on that she would know anywhere something off the common and the way he turned the bicycleat the lamp with his hands off the bars and also the nice perfume of those good cigarettes and besides they were both of a size too he and she and that was why Edy Boardman thought she was so frightfully clever because he didn’t go and ride up and down in front of her bit of a garden.”
“His right hand holds a bicycle pump.”
“He smites with his bicycle pump the crayfish in his left hand.”
“Love on hackney jaunt Blazes blind coddoubled bicyclers Dilly with snowcake no fancy clothes.”
“He had sometimes propelled her on warm summer evenings, an infirm widow of independent, if limited, means, in her convalescent bathchair with slow revolutions of its wheels as far as the corner of the North Circular road opposite Mr Gavin Low’s place of business where she had remained for a certain time scanning through his onelensed binocular fieldglasses unrecognisable citizens on tramcars, roadster bicycles equipped with inflated pneumatic tyres, hackney carriages, tandems, private and hired landaus, dogcarts, ponytraps and brakes passing from the city to the Phoenix Park and vice versa.”
“of course hes mad on the subject of drawers thats plain to be seen always skeezing at those brazenfaced things on the bicycles with their skirts blowing up to their navels even when Milly and I were out with him at the open air fete”
“pretending to read out the Hebrew on them I wanted to fire his pistol he said he hadnt one he didnt know what to make of me with his peak cap on that he always wore crooked as often as I settled it straight H M S Calypso swinging my hat that old Bishop that spoke off the altar his long preach about womans higher functions about girls now riding the bicycle and wearing peak caps and the new woman bloomers God send him sense and me more money”
“can Milly come out please shes in great demand to pick what they can out of her round in Nelson street riding Harry Devans bicycle at night”
QED
Actually, I am rather willing (Is there such a thing?) to accept that writer's claim, especially after stumbling over this:
Jim Joyce, eh? Well, even if he'd used a less-obvious pseudonym, all of those critics and professors and commentators he wanted to keep busy would have found him out sooner or later, don't you think? ;-)
When you're in the big city, it's all about being seen. I'm not talking about the paparazzi spotting you in a trendy Meatpacking District bar or along a Paris boulevard--although I could be. Rather, I am referring to cycling along a city's streets and byways, especially at night. These days, most of us are using "blinkies" attached to our helmets, bags or bikes. On most urban thoroughfares, brighter is better, as you want to stand out among the streetlights, neon signs and other sources of ambient urban light. Many of us have also taken to wearing reflective vests over our clothing. There are also all sorts of other accessories made of reflective materials we can use. Now Michelin--yes, that Michelin--has come up with a new and possibly better way of making us more visible to drivers and others.
Its new "Bikesphere" is a "smart" device that attaches to the handlebars. It has light and proximity sensors that analyze what's going on around the cyclist. If a car approaches, it laser-projects a red ring of light around the cyclist. As the car draws closer, the projection intensifies and is more visible to both the cyclist and motorist.
This beacon is meant to show a "safe" distance between the motorist and cyclist. According to Michelin, more than t 20 percent of drivers don't honor this distance--usually because they don't realize how close they actually are to a cyclist--and cause more than 5000 avoidable crashes every year. In daylight, and in good-visibility conditions, Bikesphere saves its batteries and activates only its shining "position lights". Bikesphere is the first product to come out of Michelin's Trendy Driversmovement, which crowdsources ideas and provides funding for them. Currently, Bikesphere is not available for sale, and Michelin has not yet given as to when it might be.
I'm all for trying to reform and rehabilitate offenders--until, of course, the offense is against me. Then I want to throw the book at the offender! All right, that's an exaggeration--but only somewhat. Even the most fervent advocate of capital punishment does not believe it should be used against, say, thieves. (At least I hope and assume that's the case!) But, hey, when someone steals from us, especially something we love and depend on--our bikes, that person becomes Jack The Ripper, John Dillinger and Willie Sutton all rolled up into one. And we want to see that person punished--and get our bikes back. Now, of course, we have different ideas as to what constitutes appropriate punishment for a bike thief. A relative of mine believes that "we should do like they do in Saudi Arabia" and cut off the hands of thieves. (By the way, that practice, as barbaric as it is, actually isn't as common as my relative and others seem to think it is.) Of course, I don't advocate anything like that. At least, I haven't favored it since I calmed down from the last bike theft I suffered. And there are some punishments that I think are too extreme even for bike thieves:
Now, I don't read Portuguese, but I understand enough French, Spanish and Italian to figure out that the 17-year-old boy's forehead tatoo reads something like, "I am a robber and a loser." The AP translated it as "thief and loser", but the tatoo artist fancied himself as a bit of a poet: "ladrao" rhymes with "vacilao", which is why I chose "robber". The "branding" was indeed done by a 27-year-old tatoo artist, one Maycon Wesley Carvalho dos Reis. (Say that three times fast!) His friend, 29-year-old bricklayer Ronildo Moreira de Araujo, caught the boy trying to steal a bike in a city near Sao Paolo, Brazil. When de Araujo and dos Reis were arrested, they said they were trying to teach the boy, and all thieves, a lesson. The boy has been unnamed because Brazilian law prohibits the press from identifying minors. Jurisprudence in the land of Ordem e Progresso also defines torture--the charge against de Araujo and dos Reis-- as a "heinous" crime, meaning its perpetrators cannot be released on bail. They were caught thanks to someone who captured them on a cellphone video when they apprehended the teenaged would-be thief. As for that boy: Volunteers have set up an internet funding page to raise money for his tatoo removal. Now, I think what those men did was just a bit much. Just a bit. And I suspect that I'll feel that way--at least, as long as I don't lose another bike of mine to some thief! ;-)
The weather has been so strange this year. February was warmer than April (or so it seemed), and after a spell of summer-like heat and sun in the middle of last month, skies turned gray and the air as chilly as that of early spring. Now we are experiencing a heat wave: For the third day in a row, the temperature topped 90F (32C). So I packed a mini-picnic lunch and rode to the most logical place: the water--to the ocean, to be more exact. I took a familiar route down to Rockaway Beach and along the south shore of Queens and Brooklyn to Coney Island, and along the Verrazano Narrows and East River back to my place. In all, I did about 85 kilometers of riding.
And I took my winter-project Trek for the ride. I've made a couple of changes on it, both of which turned out for the better. For one thing, I converted the double chainring setup to a triple. Actually, the crank is made for triples, but I had originally used "Gran Fondo" 46/30 gearing on it, with a 46 in the middle position and a BBG bashguard/chainguard replacing the outer chainring.
After a couple of rides, I remember why we used to ride half-step gearing. If you ride, say, a 12-25 or even a 12-27 nine-speed cassette, the differences between the gears aren't nearly as great as they are on almost any five-speed freewheel, except for the "corncob" (a.k.a. "straight block) ratio--which, at my age and given the fact that I'm long past racing, I will never use.
As it happens, I've been riding a 12-25 nine-speed on Arielle, my Mercian Audax. On the other hand, the Trek now has a 13-26 five-speed freewheel, with between-gear gaps nearly twice as wide as those on the nine-speed cassette. So, the 46 tooth chainring gives a 3.54 ratio (or, a 95.5 gear), while the next cog--15 tooth--provides a ratio of 3.06 (82.8). I find ratios in the 3.2 to 3.4 range very useful--at least, that's what I often ride on Arielle (48 tooth chainring with 15- or 14-tooth cog).
Now, I know the Trek is inherently a heavier bike with somewhat more relaxed geometery, and that I've added racks and fenders to it. Still, I missed having gears in the 3.2 to 3.4 range. So, I added a third chainring to the front: a 42 tooth in the middle, with the 46 tooth in the outer position.
Now it will just be a matter of re-acclimating myself to more frequent front shifts than I've become accustomed to making. On Arielle, and even on Vera, my Mercian mixte (which has a 46-30 setup), I almost always ride the larger chainring.
The other change I've made to the Trek is the brakes. The Weinmann 605s, especially with the Mathauser Kool-Stop pads, were fine. But I got a good buy on a lightly-used set of Weinmann Carreras. I noticed the difference (also with Mathauser Kool-Stop pads) immediately: The Carreras have a firmer, more positive, feel. I think it's mainly a result of their beefier arms. Next to the 605s, they're a bit clunky. But the Carreras have a nice finish, which looks especially good next to the hammered fenders, I think.
I may make one more change to this Trek. I like the way they look with the Velo Orange Porteur bars, but I get the feeling the bike is really made for dropped bars. And, now that Helene is gone, I've thought about returning the Porteur bars to Vera. While Vera's been fine--not surprisingly, a bit more aggressive--with dropped bars, I liked her ride with the Porteurs. And I liked the way she looked with them, too! Then I have to name the Trek.
Today is the 50th anniversary of one of the most important (in my opinion, anyway) legal decisions in the history of the US. On this date in 1967, the Supreme Court ruled that laws against interracial marriage ("miscegenation") were unconstitutional. Earlier this year, I saw "Loving", a film inspired by the case. I'm surprised the film isn't better-known. For one thing, few cases or films ever had a more apt name. Mildred Jeter was a black woman who married her childhood sweetheart, Richard Loving, nearly a decade before the Supreme Court decision. Because their home state, Virginia, had "miscegenation" laws on its books, they went to Washington DC to get married. Then they returned home, where their union was illegal. So, acting on what is said to be an anonymous tip, police officers of Old Dominion dragged them from their bedroom just five weeks after they married. They pleaded guilty, and the judge allowed them to flee to Washington DC. But the Lovings were country people; city life did not suit them. After five years in the nation's capital, one of their children was struck by a car. That was the "last straw" for Mildred. She wasn't looking to "make history" ; she simply wanted to go back to Virginia and live in peace with her husband and kids. She appealed to then-Attorney General Robert F. Kennedy, who referred them to the American Civil Liberties Union, whose lawyers took the case to the nation's highest court. A few of my students saw the film, which sparked discussions in class. They were astonished to learn that the entire story unfolded during my lifetime: The Lovings, in fact, married one week after I was born! My students--save perhaps for those who come from cultures in which marriages are arranged--simply can't imagine not being allowed to have relations with whomever their hearts dictate. Anyway, I know none of this has anything to do with cycling, so I will tell you about something that does: On this date 200 years ago, Karl von Drais took his "dandy horse"--what is now commonly called the "Draisenne" or "Draisine"--for its first relatively long ride. That is seen as the day when the potential of his creation--commonly acknowledged as the first true ancestor of the modern bicycle--was first recognized, much as the Wright Brothers' flight over Kitty Hawk showed the possibility of flight. Of course, much of the "buzz" today concerns electric bicycles. So, perhaps it was inevitable that to commemorate this bicentennial, someone would come up with--you guessed it--an electric Draisenne.
And what is it called? The Draisine 200.0, of course! What would Karl think of it?
Until the other day, June had been rather gloomy: mostly gray, chilly and damp. I did a little bit of riding, mostly for some other purpose or another. The other day, however, seemed like a "breakout" day. And Arielle, my Mercian Audax, knew it:
I had ridden her a bit this year, but Friday was her first long ride: up to Connecticut, where she frolicked in the fauna and took me up and down hills. I somehow managed to make wrong turns wherever I could (Perhaps I could blame her: I think she was feeling as adventurous as I was) and entered Connecticut by way of "The Ridge" on the north side of Greenwich. That is where you find all of those houses and horse farms you see in Architectural Digest and Vanity Fair spreads. None of the climbs are long, but a few are steeper than you expect if you're not familiar with the area. And they are endless: No matter which way you turn, you have to go up a hill. And I was riding into the wind most of the way up from my place.
One nice thing about all of that climbing is that when I got to downtown Greenwich and did a little people-watching at the Veterans Memorial (where Arielle ensconsed herself among the flowers), the pear I brought with me tasted exceptionally sweet, and the bottle of water I bought (something Italian, with essences of cherry and dragonfruit) felt like a spring coursing through my body. However, if I thought I'd taken all the wrong turns I was going to take that day, I was wrong. Instead of turning on to Glenville Road, I turned on to Lake Drive, where I saw the back end of all of those estates I saw from the front on my way in, and the front of all of the places I saw from the rear earlier in the day. Or so it seemed. Buclolic it is. And hilly. When I came to an intersection that kind of-sort of looked familiar, I turned in the direction I thought was home. Instead, I found myself climbing more hills an by the time I finally realized where I was, I saw that I'd pedaled about the same distance (75 km) from the Ridge to my place--but in the opposite direction. I was just north of Mount Kisco. So I rode until I came to railroad tracks and followed them until I ran out of sunscreen. By then, I think I'd gotten more sunlight than I'd seen all month! When I find myself tiring out on such sunny day, it usually is a result of the sun. Then I hopped a train from Hawthorne back to Grand Central, without guilt: After all I'd ridden about 110 miles (170 km), against hills and wind. That seemed to whet Arielle's appetite--and mine. So, yesterday, we took a "recovery" ride--120 mostly flat kilometers to Point Lookout, with a bit of a ramble along the South Shore.
I got more sun. And Arielle got to work on her tan.
You go for a ride on a hot day. Then, at your destination--or simply a stop along the way--you sit under a tree, even if only for a couple of minutes.
Now, who wouldn't like that? And what would make it better? How about picking something from that tree and eating it?
I've been fortunate enough to do that. You probably know that even the best apple, grape, cherry or pear from your favorite farmer's market--let alone anything on which you can spend half of your paycheck at Whole Foods--tastes quite as good.
Needless to say, whenever I've had the chance to stop for the freshest possible snack, I wasn't riding in my hometown. Nor was I in any big city or suburban area. On those days, my ride took me into the countryside--whether in Vermont, the southwest of France or upstate. If you find a fruit tree in a city, chances are their bounty isn't edible: That tree is, more than likely, ornamental. Or they are grown for other purposes--like the orange trees I saw in towns along the Turkish Aegean coast, whose bitter fruit is used to make marmelade.
Imagine what it would be like to take a city ride and pick your snack off a tree. Better yet, imagine what it would be like for some kid in a urban ghetto to get a healthy snack or lunch from a tree in the schoolyard.
They are medical students at the University of Connecticut who believe that access to fruit, and all other healthy food, is "a human right" that "should be available to everyone", in Lehner's words.
So, he and Rodrigues are about to embark on an "Apple A Day" bike ride. But it won't be just any old bike ride: They're going to pedal the 3500 miles (5500 kilometers) along the northern tier route from the Pacific coast of Washington State to Connecticut.
Of course, the purpose of this ride is to raise funds--"seed money", if you will--to start their project. Their goal--apart from getting back to Connecticut for the start of the school year--is for their idea to spread to as many schools as possible. They are collaborating with the Northwest Conservation District, which will receive their funds and applications (presented by students themselves) for trees to be planted at their schools. Those with the greatest need will receive first priority, according to Lehner and Rodrigues.
Riding bikes and planting fruit trees: Those sound like good practices to me! P.S. I rode to Connecticut yesterday. More about that later.
