Where Is She Now?

I've arrived!  

Well, at least I'm at my destination, for now.  I'm still napping on and off, so I have only seen a little--and done no bike riding--so far.

I'll give you some clues as to where I am.  Part of my trip involved riding this:

And I entered this land through a portal:

Along the way, I saw this:

Well, all right, that doesn't tell you much.  I did push the green button:  the bathroom was one of the cleanest I've seen in a public place!

Everything that follows will be more interesting, I assure you!

On My Way, Again

Well, I'm off to another adventure.  You'll soon hear about it.  I may not make daily posts because I don't know how good the Internet connections are where I'm going.  Also, I might just be too busy riding, walking and taking in the sights, sounds and other sensory details to spend much time in front of a screen!

All I'll say is that it's very far from any place I've never been before and that the people's first language is one I don't speak.  You might say that this trip is my other "big" gift (along with Dee-Lilah, my new custom Mercian Vincitore Special and the yet-unnamed vintage Mercian I just bought) to myself for my round-number birthday.

I hope you'll accompany me!

What Does He Think Of His "Bicycle Friendly" City?

This is a question I've asked, sometimes rhetorically, on and off this blog:  What, exactly, does it mean to be a bicycle-friendly city.

In the immortal words of one Dr. Tom Hammett of Chattanooga, Tennessee, his city's boast of "Bicycle Friendly" status is "mere bull droppings."  In a letter he wrote to his local newspaper, he writes of the hazards that still exist for cyclists, including those too often imposed, wittingly or unwittingly, by law enforcement officials.  One of them, he says, nearly killed him.

You might disagree with his politics, but he does make a valid point:  that in most cities, even the so-called bicycle-friendly ones, safe facilities for cyclists are "limited and do not serve the entire city," as Dr. Hammett complains.  "In general, our transportation grid is lousy," he points out.  Which brings me to another point: You can't have a bicycle-friendly city unless the whole transportation grid--including that for motor vehicles, not to mention public transportation--is well-designed.  Few cities, at least here in the US, have those things. Simply having a car-free commercial strip downtown doesn't cut it.

Cyclists at the Chickamauga Battlefield, Chattanooga, TN. From Outdoor Chattanooga.

What's really interesting is that Dr. Hammett isn't some hipster who moved into the city because he wanted to walk to his favorite bar and pedal to work.  He is a retired physician who says he "loves" Chattanooga--where, apparently, he spent his professional, if not his entire, life.  And he recognizes that his, and other people's (whether or not they're cyclists) quality of life in that city is intertwined with making it truly "bicycle friendly."

Chasing Storms, And History

When I was a student, one of my classmates said he wanted to become an agricultural metorologist.  Naturally, being a city girl (well, guy in those days), I didn't know such a job existed.  So he furthered my education.

Anyway, he once said only half-jokingly that his studies and an internship in a weather station actually made him a worse forecaster.  Growing up on a farm, he said, you read almanacs and learn how to read the sky, the wind and other parts of your surroundings.  Studying meteorology, he said, "takes you away from that" because "it's all about technology" which, he claimed, "destroy your intuition and common sense."

William Minor probably would agree with him.  He left a 30-year career as a news reporter for the Miami Herald and moved to Pennsylvania, where he lives a plain and simple life among the Amish.  But unlike the Amish, he spends a lot of time away from home, chasing storms--or, more precisely, weather.  On his bicycle.

William Minor, center, with biologist Jan Goodson and NC State College intern Austin Mueller.

Since he is a volunteer firefighter (at age 75!) in his new home, he also uses his work to help raise awareness of volunteer fire departments, which he says are vital to the fabric of America.  Wherever he goes, he checks with a state trooper or other law enforcement official to help him find a local fire station and make contact with its chief.  Once he finds them, he asks whether he can stay.  They usually oblige him but, as he says, he promises to keep out of the way and spends time helping to clean them and with other tasks.  

In away, those two pursuits--weather and fire departments--aren't so disparate.  Going around the country by bicycle helps Minor to see them close up and document how they are changing--and how they, in turn, can change the country.

Wherever he goes on his bicycle, he tows a trailer full of equipment that he uses to take soil samples, record cloud patterns and gather other data.  He emphasizes that he is not a meteorologist; rather, he is a researcher, just as he was when he was writing about Watergate or his travels with Jacques Cousteau.  

He does, however, offer some warnings.  "The earth is in for a major weather cycle," he declares, and all of it--at least on the East Coast of North America--has Hurricane Matthew as its precursor.  "We fail because we don't pay attention to history," he warns.

He believes that he is recording that history from his on-the-ground data.  We had better weather forecasting forty years ago, he explains, "when there were only two weather satellites.  Now there are 19-plus" but people don't pay attention to what's going on around them and notice the patterns, he says.

Hmm...I wonder what that old classmate of mine is up to.  If he's a meteorologist, agricultural or otherwise, perhaps he should get on a bicycle and follow William Minor.  The firefighters would probably welcome him.

A Ride That Leaves Nobody Behind

People have gone on bicycle rides to support all kinds of causes,from veterans' affairs to peace, from liberating people to conquering diseases, and everything in between.  I've participated in a few myself.  The great thing is that most cyclists ride for causes I support.

That includes Gennadiy Mokhnenko.  He's a pastor who directs the Pilgrim Republic Children's Home in his native Ukraine.  Its focus is on orphans and other "vulnerable children"--of which the Ukraine, like many other countries experiencing upheval and poverty, has many.

In fact, one of those children became one of 32 childen Mohnenko and his wife, Lena, have adopted.  Andrey Dudin was the first of them, in 1999, when he was 12 years old.  He'd been homeless for six years when the Mohnenkos took him in.  Now he is accompanying Gennaidy on the US leg of his World Without Orphans bicycle tour, which began in 2011.



They ride every summer and the US leg of their ride is being supported by Serving Orphans Worldwide, a nonprofit organization based in Bristol, Tennessee.  Its work complements that of the Pilgrim Republic Children's Home, in that it rescues, trains and supports struggling childrens' homes worldwide.  Both organizations want to dispel some of the myths about adoptive children:  namely, that they can't be loved as much as biological children and that if their biological parents were addicted to drugs or alcohol, they will end up the same way.  "It's a stupid idea," says Mokhnenko.  He uses himself as an example:  "I grew up in an alcohol addicted family and I'm a pastor of 27 years."

As of this writing, he, his adoptive son and other cyclists are riding through Tennessee. They began this part of the tour in Los Angeles in May and will end in about three weeks, he says, when they reach Miami, Florida after "pedaling 60 to 80 miles a day."

Which Way Will You Go?

During my childhood, it seemed that every bike manufacturer was trying to appeal to boys' fantasies of driving "muscle" cars down endless stretches of highway. Examples include Schwinn's "Krate" line,and Raleigh's "Chopper."

I was reminded of those bikes when I came across this:

Keep your eyes on the road and your hands on the wheel!

What If George Mount Had Gone To Moscow?

If you are "of a certain age," as I am, you might remember a recurring Saturday Night Live sketch called "What If?". It was a sendup of talk shows that presented counterfactual historical events.  Perhaps the most famous of them was "What If Eleanor Roosevelt Could Fly?"

Since then, the internet has opened the door to all manner of "alternative history" sites and discussion boards.  Some are, of course as far-fetched (in some instances, without trying to be) as SNL's segments.  But others pose some really serious and interesting questions. For example:  What this country (and world)  be like had Franklin Delano Roosevelt had kept Henry Wallace as his Vice President in 1944 and not allowed Democratic party bosses throw him under the bus in favor of Harry Truman?

Now, this post is not going to ponder anything quite as earth-shattering as that.  Instead, I am going to pose a question that entered my mind after reading an excerpt from Daniel de Vise's The Comeback:  Greg LeMond, the True King of American Cycling, and a Legendary Tour de France.  In it, de Vise discusses the racing scene that developed in and around Berkeley, California in the late 1950s and early 1960s, when cycling was a fringe activity in the US.

A decade later, one of the first world-class male American riders since World War I would emerge from that milieu.  He would finish his career with 200 victories in amateur and professional races. But it was a sixth-place finish that really set the stage for the generation of American riders--which included LeMond--that would follow.

When George Mount finished three places behind the medal-winners in the 1976 Olympic road race, it was by far the best showing by an American rider since Carl Schutte won the Individual Time Trial bronze medal (and the US team won the bronze for the Team Time Trial) in 1912.  In the six-plus decades since Schutte and his teammates ascended the podium, no American rider or team had placed in the top 60 in any Olympic competition.

George Mount, circa 1974

Mount's victory in Montreal was broadcast all over the world.  It was the first time in decades significant numbers of Americans paid attention to bike racing.    Some European scouts took notice of him, too, and soon he found himself racing with an Italian club.  In his early 20s at the time, he seemed destined for greater successes--including a medal at the 1980 Olympics, held in Moscow.

Except that he didn't get the chance to go to Russia.  In response to the Soviet Union's December 1979 invasion of Afghanistan, US President Jimmy Carter declared a boycott of the Games.  Other countries would also decide not to send their athletes to Moscow that year, though some for other reasons.  

Though he has never said as much, it's hard not to think that the missed Olympic opportunity was at least one reason why Mount decided to turn professional that year.  He would enjoy success on the European racing circuit, and expressed no regrets when he retired from racing just before turning 30.  Still, it's fair to ask whether spending another year or two as an amateur--and winning an Olympic medal--might have aided him in his development.  Would his continued successes created momentum that American cycling could have ridden (if you'll pardon the expression) well beyond LeMond's victories?

Riding Every Linear Mile

One of the great things about cycling in my hometown of New York is that it allows me to see a lot of street art close-up.  My commute to work takes me through an industrial area of the Bronx where murals of one kind and another cover the walls of industrial buildings.  It's become such a part of the landscape that nobody, it seems, refers to it as "graffiti", a term that implies impermanence and echoes disdain.

I have also seen street art, or the art of industrial spaces, while pedaling through streets and along canals and railways (some disused) in other cities on both sides of the Atlantic.  I'm sure other cyclists have had their minds and senses similarly enriched in cities I have yet to visit.

Detroit is one of those places and Thomas Leeper is one of those cyclists.  Except that he claims he's "not really a bicyclist."  Whatever he chooses to call himself, he's ridden 2200 miles of The Motor City's streets during the past sixteen months for his passion project, Every Linear Mile.  

He's been photographing graffiti, murals and other kinds of art, including found-object-art, he's seen along the way.  His goal, he says, is to "give kudos" to folks who are "helping to beautify the city" with their work.  "Ninety-nine percent of it was created with no financial incentive in mind," he explains, so their efforts don't cost anything to the financially-strapped city.

Since he began the project, he's had 11 flat tires, stepped on seven nails, has had nine verbal offers of drugs and been chased by eight dogs.  "I've learned how to ride fast when I need to," he says, and keeps pepper spray on him, but "has never really felt unsafe."  

When I Couldn't Look Out

The other morning, I woke up early and wasted little time in getting in the saddle.  I figured that if I got home by noon--which I did--I could beat the worst of the heat and humidity predicted for the day.

The weather reports also said there could be heavy fog and mist in coastal areas--where, of course, I planned to ride.  Specifically, I headed for Point Lookout because I enjoy the ride and because it's 125 kilometers:  not a bad before-lunch total.

I knew about the construction at PL, but I didn't mind:  I knew that, as the name implied, there would still be something worth looking out at.  And I figured the mist and fog would make it seem even more littoral.

That they did.  But the only problem was that I couldn't see anything at all, besides machinery, at Point Lookout.



Should it have been renamed, if only for the day?

The Fourth

In France, they have le quatorze.  Here in the US of A, we have The Fourth.

It's what we call our Independence Day.  Today, though, when I hear "the Fourth", I can't help but to think of the Amendment--which, like so much else in the Constitution, is in peril.

But The Fourth is also my birthday.  And this year it just happens to be a round-number year for me.  I'll let you guess which one! 

For the occasion, I gave myself a gift--which actually came to me all the way back in March.  I am referring, of course, to Dee-Lilah, my new Mercian Vincitore Special.


You could say, though, that I got an unexpected gift when the bike I mentioned yesterday--a 1973 Mercian King of Mercia--showed up on eBay.  In my size.  And the seller dropped the price.

And I'm going to meet friends.  I am lucky indeed.  Now, to do something about my country!