Do I Want To Believe?

I have never been a fan of science fiction or anything having to do with the paranormal.  Still, one of my favorite television programs of all time is The X Files.

Really, Fox Mulder is a modern-day Captain Ahab:  He is obsessed with finding something elusive.  His obsession, like Ahab's is borne of a personal tragedy:  Moby Dick bit off part of Ahab's leg, and Mulder's sister was abducted by aliens.  The show's mantra--The truth is out there--could also have been the novel's epigraph.

Apart from that story, what I also liked so much about the show is the interplay between Mulder and Agent Dana Scully.  While Mulder seems willing to believe in just about anything, Scully is a seeming contradiction:  She is, essentially, an empiricist who believes in God.  Actually, she isn't just a Deist:  She is a full-blown devout Roman Catholic, which is even more mystical or irrational, depending on how you look at it, than Mulder's world (or should I say extraterrestrial) view.

I'm thinking about that now because I think the sky I saw near the end of my ride yesterday had something to do with the ride I took today--into Connecticut.

Turns out, I had the day off.  And the overnight morning rain brought the temperature down from yesterday's levels, which were somewhere between late summer and early fall.  Clouds blanketed the sky, but I knew (even without listening to the weather report) that there was no threat of more rain after 10 am. 

So why Connecticut, you ask.  Well, if you are a regular reader of this blog, you wouldn't ask that, as rides to the Nutmeg State have been part of my repertoire.  But you can ask anyway because I have yet another answer.

You see there have been 64 UFO sightings this year.  Why are they flying over Connecticut?  Maybe it's because aliens don't know yet that they can ride a bike up the ridge from Port Chester to Greenwich.  All they need are bikes that fit.

Do I believe that people sighted UFOs in Connecticut, or anywhere else?  On a purely semantic level, yes:  I am sure that those people actually did see things neither they nor anyone else could identify moving through the sky.  Now, as to whether they're flying saucers with alien life forms:  I don't know.  

If you are a fan of the show, you remember the "I Want To Believe" poster on the wall of the X-Files office.  Do I want to believe? No:  I have no desire one way or the other.  But I am willing to believe, if I see something I find convincing.

I didn't find it today.  But that's not why I rode to Connecticut--140 kilometers round trip--today.

Seaside Archaeology

We're just a couple of days from the autumnal equinox.  I've noticed the decreasing amount of daylight although, interestingly, about two weeks ago, the days weren't much shorter than they were when I was in Siem Reap, which is around the 13th parallel north of the equator.

But I know that in the coming weeks it will be more difficult to "sneak in" a long afternoon ride. (I'm not afraid to ride in the dark; I just prefer to ride in daylight.)  So, today, I set out for the ocean and made it to Point Lookout.

I wonder when "construction" of the Lookout spot--and beach--will end.

It looks more like destruction to me.

Perhaps, one day, whatever life forms are living on this planet will chance upon sites like these and wonder what sort of creatures roamed this land.

Of course, they would never surmise that such beings ambled forth on conveyances like this:

into vistas like this:

  

What's He Protecting?

The moment anyone with power uses the word "protect", I reach for my trusty frame pump.  Not only does it get my tires up to pressure in a pinch, it's great for swatting away stray dogs and other threats and nuisances.

You see, I've come to realize that any powerful person who thinks he or she can "protect" anyone or anything he or she hasn't met is delusional or lying.

And so it is with El Cheeto Grande.   He's passed another round of tariffs because he's, once again, got his knickers in a twist over China.  

Of course, the tariffs will not "protect" American industries because...well, they don't exist anymore, if indeed they ever did.  

(Besides, all you have to do is look at Smoot-Hawley to realize that tariffs almost never have their intended consequences.  But that would be the subject of, not just another post, but another blog--or a book!)

To wit:  Back in the Clinton administration, I tried to put together an all-American bike.  Of course, I did it on paper.  Frames and forks weren't hard to find, though they were almost always more expensive than imports.  Ditto for the Chris King headset, as great as it is. Yankee-made handlebars, stems and seatposts were available, but they were mainly "boutique" items.  

The other components, on the other hand, were a lot more difficult to find.  Sun was making its rims, and Wheelsmith its spokes, in the USA.  And there were a number of small companies fabricating hubs here in the USA, such as Phil Wood and Chris King.  They, of course, cost far more than even Dura Ace or Record stuff, but at least they kept my exercise going.

That is, until I tried to find tires.  To my knowledge, none have been made here since Carlisle ceased production, apparently some time in the early '80's.  Goodyear, Firestone and other rubber companies had exited the non-motorized trade long before that.

OK, I thought:  The tires are just one part (or two components, depending on how you look at it.). Surely, I could make the rest of the bike into a Yankee Doodle Dandy.

Then I tried to put together a drivetrain.  Mind you, this was during the days when it seemed every 25-year-old in California or Colorado who had access to a lathe was turning out lightweight (and very expensive) cranksets and derailleurs in a rainbow of colors.  I thought cassettes would be my next hurdle but, as it turned out, some company--in Massachusetts, I think--was making titanium bits--including cassettes.  

Eight speeds were the standard at that time.  If you remember anything about Shimano's 8-speed equipment, you knew that not everything was interchangeable between gruppos.  Namely, a Dura Ace hub would take only Dura Ace cassettes--not Ultegra, 105 or any other.  Turned out, the titanium cassette was made only for Dura Ace--which, I supposed, made sense, given what Dura Ace and titanium equipment cost.

(Aside:  Shimano's 9-speed stuff was interchangeable.  So Dura Ace hubs could take Ultegra cassettes, which weighed a bit more but cost about half as much.  And the standard 9-speed Dura Ace cassette was made of titanium, which pre-empted aftermarket stuff.)

But there were no chains made stateside.  Back in the day, the baloon-tired coaster brake bikes had American chains; however, as far as I know, no derailleur-compatible chain has ever been made here.  Nor were any pedals, save for the rubber-block variety found on said wide-tire "bombers".

Oh--and there were no American-made saddles.

Today it would be even more difficult to put together an all- (or even mostly-) American machine.  And almost very few bike accessories are made here.  Yet they are all subject to tariffs.

And it's all but impossible to find some items made anywhere besides China.  Almost anything electronic--lights, computers and the like--come from Cathay.  

So do helmets.  Interestingly, they have been exempted from tariffs.  It's ironic when you realize that one of the rationales for the tariffs is to protect against intellectual property theft--and nearly all helmets are designed in the US!

Of course, bicycles are far from the only things to be affected by the tariffs.  I'm not sure I'd want to be a farmer who raises corn, soybeans or hogs right about now.  But I have yet to hear anyone explain how any job or industry will be "protected" in this country.  

Faster Than An Airbus A340--Or Any Guy

I wrote one of my earliest posts about Beryl Burton.  Half a century ago, she held cycling's 12-hour time trial record.  No, not just the women's record, the record.  Over that historic half-day, she pedaled 277.25 miles (446.2 kilometers).  That was a full five miles (eight kilometers) more than the record she broke.  That margin enabled her to keep the record for two years--a geologic age in that world.

Now I am getting to write about someone who I see as one of her heirs.

Yesterday, Denise Mueller-Korenek rode a bicycle 183.93 miles (296 kilometers) per hour.  Like Burton, she broke not only a women's record--she broke the record.  

Another way her ride, though much shorter, parallels that of Burton is that she didn't beat the old record by a hair or a fraction of a kilometer per hour.  Rather, she rode a full 17 miles (27.3 kilometers) per hour than the previous record-holder--Dutchman Fred Rompleberg--who accomplished his feat in 1995.

To put it another way:  Ms. Mueller-Korenek rode nearly ten percent faster than the previous record holder.  And she rode faster than an Airbus A340 taking off.

What makes her record perhaps even more astonishing than Burton's is that Miller-Korenek is 45 years old and took 23 years off from cycling to raise her three kids.  But her coach isn't so surprised.  "I've been coaching mostly women, including Denise, for the past 35 or 40 years," he said. "My theory is that women are able to push that aging envelope a little further than men and are more capable of long-distance peak performance."

Denise Mueller-Korenek, center, with coach John Howard and Shea Holbrook, who drove the race car that paced her.

Her coach is John Howard. If that name rings a bell, it's because he was, arguably, one of the first world-class American cyclists since the days of the six-day races.  Oh, and because he held, for a decade, the very speed record Rompelberg broke--which, in turn, Denise Mueller-Korenek shattered yesterday.

Follow That Diet

When I first became a dedicated cyclist, the term "energy foods" didn't exist.  During rides, we ate granola, GORP (good ol' raisins and peanuts), bananas--or, perhaps, other fruits or chocolate.

Of course, some made ridiculous claims for some food or another--usually one that wasn't widely available.  One was "Tiger's Milk".  The joke was, of course, that you don't need to drink Tiger's Milk: Instead, you should find out who milked the tiger and eat whatever he or she eats.

I would say the same for whoever harvested this:

After he was stripped of his 2006 Tour de France victory, Floyd Landis tried to claim that the unusually high testotsterone count found in his blood was "natural" and not the result of consuming any substance.  Then he tried to blame it dehydration caused by drinking whisky.  Maybe he should have told the anti-doping agency he'd been eating Shark Balls. 

Everything In Australia Is Trying To Kill You!

When I was delivering newspapers on my Schwinn Continental many years ago, dogs chased me.   Deer crossed my path as I rode in the Bronx(!) as well as on rural descents in New Jersey and Vermont.  On another descent--in Switzerland--an Alpine ibex darted across my the road in front of me just after I flatted at about 90 KPH on a bike with loaded panniers.  A few years later, I had a close encounter with a mountain goat while pedaling--again, with loaded panniers--in the French Pyrenees.  

This summer, while cycling in Cambodia, I became wary of the monkeys after seeing one set on a tourist for her food and a pack of them attacking a dog.

And I've had cats, racoons, and other lil' critters come close to entangling themselves in my spokes.  I must say, though, that I've never had an encounter with an animal quite like the one a cyclist in Australia experienced:

Imagine being swatted on your helmet by--a magpie!  I won't accuse the filmer of paranoia when he exlaims, "Everything in Australia is trying to kill you!"

From Her Saddle To A Seat On The Board?

I'll admit I've flipped off, um, a few drivers in my time.  More than likely, anyone who's cycled in New York can say the same thing.

I'll also admit there were times I could have been more temperate.  But I'll also say that there were times when said motorists deserved my wrath.

A woman we saw back in October could say the same for someone who passed her:





That is how she greeted El Cheeto Grande.  As a result, she lost her job.

Juli Briskman's suit against her former employer, Akira LLC, was dismissed.  She then saw two options:  Keep on fighting an uphill battle in court, or try to change the laws herself.  "After lots of conversations I decided I would be more effective on the board," she recalls.

She's talking about the Board of Supervisors in Loudoun County, where she lives.  She plans to run in the Northern Virginia locale where the Board is mostly Republican but voters often choose Democrats, as they did for Hilary Clinton in 2016.

People have told her that even though his views aren't hers, she should respect the office of the president.  She disagrees, saying "I think the Constitution grants me that privilege" of expressing her opinion as she did on that day while the President headed back to the capital from the Trump National Golf Course in Virginia.

Would you vote for her?  I would.

Slasher(s) Targeting Bikes In Seattle

If you ride a bike from a bike-share program, you might want to check it out--especially if that bike is from one of the dockless share companies like LimeBike or Ofo.

An 18-year-old man in Seattle learned that the hard way.  The other night, he was riding a Lime bike near University Bridge when the brakes failed.  He crashed into a tree and landed in a hospital.

Shortly after the incident, a news crew from local station KOMO went to the scene. There, they found a Lime bike with its brake cables slashed.  Reporter Gabe Cohen said that on that day, he found four Lime bikes with their brakes slashed or ripped out entirely.

That is a particular problem in Seattle, according to Garrett Berkey.  "There are some big hills," says the Recycled Bicycles employee.  "You want to be sure you can stop safely" before riding a share bike, he adds.

Seattle police say that Tuesday's incident is just the latest in a series of brake slashings this summer. LimeBike says, however, that less than one percent of its Seattle fleet has been vandalized.  The company's phone app also allows users to flag a potentially dangerous bicycle, which is immediately deactivated. Or, you can call 1-888-LIME-345 if you see a problem.

It seems that lately, for whatever reasons, cyclists have been the targets of road rage and other kinds of hostility because some motorists believe we are taking "their" lanes and parking spaces.  I have to wonder, though, whether the person(s) who disabled the brakes on the LimeBikes were targeting cyclists or the bikes themselves.  Dockless share systems have drawn ire in other cities because users can leave their bikes anywhere when they're finished, which has led to complaints about bikes left on sidewalks and other public areas. 

At Least It's Mist

It seemed weirdly appropriate that, on the day after 9/11, I should encounter this on my way to work:

Well, at least I was going to work, not trying to escape.  And I had the expectation, as I do nearly every day, that I will leave and make it home.

Nearly 3000 weren't so fortunate on that day 17 years ago.

No Identity For Delivery Worker

Unless you've been living under a rock for the last 17 years, I don't have to remind you that today is the anniversary of one of the most tragic events in US history.

On this day in 2001, four flights were hijacked.  One crashed into a Pennsylvania field after some passengers tried to subdue the hijackers.  Another hit the Pentagon and the others, as everyone knows, crashed into the World Trade Center.

Even at this late date, remains are still being recovered and victims identified.  But there are some that, perhaps, may never be known. 

One of them, it is said, delivered breakfast sandwiches to office workers in the Towers and never came out.  His bicycle became an impromptu memorial:

Photo from Raisch Studios

To this day, no one seems to know his name.  More than likely, he was an immigrant, possibly illegal.  I can't help but to think that status, as well as his the fact that he was "just" a guy making deliveries on a bicycle, made him a low priority for those in charge of identifying victims.

I also can't help but to wonder how many more like him died that day, after pedaling down lower Manhattan's valleys of asphalt and glass to bring orders of bacon-egg-and-cheese-on-a-roll to folks at their desks.