Gerry-cycling or Bike-Mandering?

Here in the US, it seems that political campaigns never end.  El Cheeto Grande has been in office barely a year, yet there is already talk about whether he'll run for re-election--or make it through this term.  There's even more talk about the midterm elections:  This November, many members of Congress are retiring, not running for re-election or face challenges to retain their seats.  Such things are normal after a new President is elected, especially if he is from a different party from his predecessor's:  The "opposite" party usually gains a few Congressional seats in the "midterm".

Some politicians will do just about anything to get themselves re-elected, including re-drawing maps. The purpose is to isolate voters of the opposing party in districts that vote for the party of the candidate who is running for re-election.  The boundaries of some redrawn districts are abstract, to put it charitably.  Others are creative in perhaps unintentionally perverse ways, such as the infamous one drawn for Elbridge Gerry (hence the name) in early 19th Century Massachusetts.

Now, if politicians are really interested in "fair and free" elections, their maps should look more like this:

which, by the way, is a GPS map of the ride Bill and I took Saturday!

Playing Hooky--Sort Of

Yesterday and the day before, the weather was more like May--or even June!--than February.  Best of all, I managed to get out of work early enough the other day, and have enough time between classes and a late-day meeting yesterday, to do some non-commute riding.

I wasn't really "playing hooky", but I like to feel as if I were.  (Do people who say "as if I were" play hooky?)  In my defense, I'll say that I took my "guilty pleasures" in the Bronx, where I work.

New York City's most maligned borough has some of the most amazing murals.  I saw this one while riding a bike lane in the Hunts Point Market area that must have opened in the last year or two.  At least, I hadn't ridden there in a year or two, until the other day.  

Then I took in a view of the East River and South and North Brother Islands--the latter of which was the site of one of the worst maritime disasters in this city's history--from Barretto Park.

Not a bad way to end a work day, don't you think?

Losing The War He Described: Andrew Tilin

Riders take to the road and take their chances.  There, they can encounter distracted, impatient or drunk drivers, lane-hogging SUVs, deteriorating pavement and traffic-clogged grids.  Multiple dangers exist from coast to coast.

So wrote Andrew Tilin in a 2014 issue of Outside magazine.  A frequent contributor to that magazine, Bicycling and other related publications.  A dedicated cyclist and amateur racer, he knew the hazards he described as well as anyone did.

Well, he became a victim of those very dangers.  On Saturday morning, he was riding in fog with the Gruppo VOP Cycling Club, based in Austin, Texas, when he got a flat tire.  He pulled to the side of the road to change a flat tire.  Meantime, a car skidded on the slick pavement and crashed into a truck, sending it careening into the side of the road--and Tilin.  He died soon after.

Andrew Tilin (center)

In addition to his columns, he is known in and out of the cycling community for what may have been our equivalent of Super Size Me.  Several years after Morgan Spurlock lived on McDonald's food and made a documentary of his resulting weight gain and other health issues, Tilin spent a year taking testosterone and wrote about how it affected his athletic performance and life in The Doper Next Door.

Members of Gruppo VOP are planning a memorial for him.

Imprisoned In The Mist

I must say, I am really enjoying my morning commutes, now that I go through Randall's Island.  Even the knowledge of what lies beyond does not dampen (pardon the pun) my mood.

In this case, beyond that flock of geese--who are free to go wherever they like--and the fog are the most un-free people in this city.  Yes, Rikers Island is shrouded in that scrim of mist!

Well, almost:  It's hard not to feel down--no, let's say it, angry--when thinking about that place now, during Black History Month.  Instead of slave ships pulling into the harbor (Slavery was legal in New York until 1827.), black people--mostly young and male--are locked up on an island.

I channeled some of that anger into my pedals. And, I assure you, it goes into other kinds of activity!

Just A Banana Peel Away...

Today is Presidents' Day in the US.

In past years, I've shown pictures of our leaders on bikes. Two years ago, I wrote about the origins of Presidents' Day automobile sales in the Washington's Birthday bicycle sales late in the 19th century.

Today I'm going to talk about one of the most maligned Presidents of our history.

To be fair, Gerald Ford ascended to the office under difficult circumstances:  His predecessor, Richard Nixon, had resigned because he was on the brink of impeachment.  

People might've cut Ford some slack had they elected him as Vice President.  The problem was, Ford became Nixon's second-in-command when his predecessor, Spiro Agnew, resigned his office as part of a deal to keep himself out of prison for, among other things, tax evasion.

Thus did Ford become the first unelected President in US history.  Some people felt resentful of this, which alone would have been enough to sully his reputation. Fair or not, it's not the only reason why, whether professional historians or laypeople are polled, he ranks low among Presidents.  

Aside from the way he came into the office, another thing some people hold against him was his pardoning of Nixon.  But, whatever people think of that, or any of his other actions, the only other thing people seem to remember about him is his clumsiness.  According to a popular joke of the time, Nelson Rockefeller, his vice-president, was just a banana peel away from the presidency.

From what I understand, though, "Gerry" wasn't always so cllumsy.  After all, he was an athlete in his youth.  And he managed to look pretty good on a bike:

Gerald Ford, surrounded by his cousins in front of his childhood home in Grand Rapids, Michigan