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.
The other day I took a ride to Point Lookout. Despite the warmth and humidity, I didn’t see many people along the Rockway beach and boardwalk, or on the Nassau County south shore. I felt as if I had the seaside to myself. Well, almost....
...and until I got to Point Lookout.
The tide was out. But I behaved myself. I’m not proud of myself: What else could I do?
Today is US Independence Day. I'm going to sneak in a bike ride before going to a barbecue with friends. (I've been riding quite a bit lately; I haven't been writing about it because I've been taking familiar rides, e.g., to Greenwich and the Rockaways and Point Lookout.) One thing I won't do, though, is decorate my bike for the occasion. I mean, really, why should I when one can see creations like these?:
Are bicycles a human right? The organizers of a workshop don't ask this question directly. But they could have: Their event, to be held on the University of California-Davis campus on 1-2 November, is concerned with "mobility justice." The school's Feminist Research Institute is inviting "emerging scholars" whose work "engages issues of race and inequality in studies of bicycling and sustainable transportation." These junior scholars and graduate students will discuss ways in which "complex systems of history, power and oppression affect people's movement and ability to live, work and play." The goal is to make bicycling, along with "new mobilities" and other forms of sustainable transportation, "accessible and desirable to all."
This sounds interesting and necessary. As I have said in other posts, bicycles and other sustainable forms of transportation are vital to our future for all sorts of reasons, from mitigating climate change to making cities more habitable. But they're also vital, in some places, for giving people any sort of mobility at all: Think of jungles and other rural areas where, even if people could afford cars and trucks, they wouldn't be able to use them. Well, judging from what UC-Davis Feminist Research Institute says about its upcoming workshop, they seem to think mobility is a human right. I would agree, and bicycles are certainly part of that.
If you read this blog regularly, you probably "love" your bicycle(s). I use the word "love" in quotations because, although most of us would say that our bikes make our lives better in any number of ways, what we mean by "love" can be very different. For me, my bicycles have meant that I can commute without having to deal with traffic jams, crowded subway or bus stations and the costs of gasoline, tolls and parking, among other things. My bikes have also given me many hours of pleasure, whether I've pedaled the back streets of the Bronx or Belleville, a path through Cambodian rice fields or jungles or a seaside ramble. Oh, and I've even moved my possessions from one apartment to another on my bike. In short, I have a difficult time imagining my life without bikes or bicycling. Others could say the same thing, though for very different reasons.
Esther Deaver is one such person. Known as "The Bicycle Lady" to residents of Winston-Salem, North Carolina, she not only depends on her bike; she lives on or with (depending on your point of view) it. She doesn't own much else in this world, and most of her meals consist of what she finds or local residents and merchants give her. As you have probably realized, she lives on the streets. There are a number of stories about how she got there, but the most verifiable accounts say that she went to Winston-Salem with a church group and lost touch with her family. Not surprisingly, mental health issues seem to have played a role. She has never tried to harm anyone, and attempts to place her in institutions have been unsuccessful. So some people keep an eye out for her and try to help her in whatever ways they can. Other people, though, are not so benevolent. One took her bike recently. An anonymous benefactor left her a new one. The gift has everything she likes except for a banana seat and sissy bar. But the owner of a local bike shop says he can remedy that for her. Even with that anonymous gift, she still feels sad about losing her old bike. It may have been the sort of machine at which many of us would have turned up our noses. But she loved that bike in ways most of us could never understand.
A couple of months ago, I wrote that Jonathan Maus, the editor/publisher of Bike Portland, was trying to persuade the Oregon legislature to legalize the "Idaho Stop." In essence, it allows cyclists to treat a red traffic signal as a "stop" sign and a "stop" sign as a "yield" sign. What this means is that a cyclist wouldn't have to stop unless traffic were crossing the intersection. That allows cyclists to get out in front of the traffic approaching him or her from behind, and to cross ahead of incoming traffic. These maneuvers prevent cyclists from being hit by turning vehicles. Of course, people who don't cycle don't understand as much. They think that cyclists must behave exactly like drivers and stop when and where the drivers stop. They also think we are supposed to ride as far to the right as possible, which of course exponentially increases our chances of getting flattened by a turning car or truck--or of getting "doored." Apparently, 28 such people in the Oregon legislature think this way. Fortunately, 31 others "get it", and voted to bring the "Idaho Stop" to Oregon on Tuesday 25 June. The bill will now go to Governor Kate Brown's desk for signing, and will become law six months from now, on New Year's Day of 2020.
