When Is A Bicycle "Irrelevant"?

I was intrigued by the headline:  Woman Flees Police On Irrelevant Bicycle.

It got me to wondering:  What, exactly, is an irrelevant bicycle?  Is it one that can't be ridden anymore?  Or is "Irrelevant" a brand?  (Now that would be terrible marketing!)

Turns out, said velocipede matched the description of one that was stolen in Hilo, Hawaii.  That is why cops pursued its rider--29-year-old Maria Duquette.  I probably would have believed, as they did, that she stole the bike, which she used to lead the gendarmes in a wild chase through Hilo Town to the Hilo Bay Front.  There, she ditched the wheels and jumped into the water.  

She swam, and cops lost sight of her.  A helicopter and boat search didn't yield any sign of her.  Later, though, someone saw her on Coconut Island.  She tried, again, to swim away, but officers pursued her into the ocean and took her into custody.  She was charged with traffic violations related to the chase and disobeying an officer's direction.

So they got their perp.  But, as it turned out, the bicycle wasn't the one that was reported stolen.  I guess that's what the headline writer meant by "irrelevant"--to the investigation.

As some of you might know, newspaper headlines are almost never written by the person who wrote the article.  I am sure that such was the case for the story and title I've linked.  I feel sorry for whoever wrote the article:  When I wrote for a newspaper, a few of my articles bore titles (not written by me, of course!) that were silly or even irrelevant.

A 400-Year Debt

My birthday is 4 July:  US Independence Day.  So, what I am about to say may seem treasonous, or even sacrilegious, to some.

The most important, if not the singular defining, event of US history did not happen on 4 July 1776.  Rather, it occurred 400 years ago on this date.

On 20 August 1619, the White Lion (you can't make this stuff up!) landed in Point Comfort, near present-day Hampton, Virginia.  Of the White Lion's commander, one Captain John Jope, colonist John Rolfe wrote, "He brought not any thing but 20.  And odd Negroes, which the Governor and Cape Merchant bought for victuals."

The details that would have fleshed out Rolfe's clinical description are lost to history.  Did he mean that  twenty-some-odd black people disembarked from the vessel?  What sort of "victuals" were exchanged for the captive human beings?  Peanuts?  Corn?  Barley?

What is not in doubt is that the dark-skinned arrivals from Africa were the first documented black slaves in America.  This does not mean, of course, that they were the first black slaves in the so-called New World:   Columbus reportedly brought slaves on his second voyage, and some historians argue that there were Africans--who may or may not have been slaves--on this side of the Atlantic even before Columbus' arrival.  But the arrival of black slaves on the White Lion is the first documented importation of African slaves to the soil of what would become the United States.  Moreover, it is the first documented sale of slaves.

The White Lion was not the first ship in which those slaves would be imprisoned on their way from the West Coast of Africa to the East Coast of North America. They started their terrible journey on the San Juan Bautista (really), bound for the Spanish colony of Vera Cruz on the coast of what would become Mexico.

But just a couple of days before the San Juan Bautista would have reached port (Transatlantic journeys in those days typically took about two months), it was attacked by pirates looking for Spanish gold.  Some of those pirates were on the White Lion; the others sailed on the Treasurer, which would arrive in Virginia a few days later.

As James Baldwin has pointed out, African-Americans are the only race of people (save for Native Americans) to be conceived in America.  And, at the time he was writing his seminal essays, the United States was the only nation besides South Africa that had a legal definition for black people--and used it to subjugate them.

I believe, as some black historians and writers believe, that the arrival of slaves (even if they weren't the first) on this date 400 years ago marks the real beginning of American (or at least US) history.  For one thing, it marked the beginning of European subjugation of a land and its people, which would not have been possible (at least under the conditions that prevailed) without the forced labor of black people.  The wealth of this country was built, literally, on the backs of Africans, even in those parts of the country where there weren't plantations and slavery ended before the Emancipation Proclamation.

What is commonly forgotten is that during our Civil War, there were large pro-Confederate contagions in some northern cities.  In fact, New York, which then consisted only of the island of Manhattan, was a bastion of Dixie sentiment, as many of the city's bankers and merchants had ties to the cotton- and tobacco-growing industries of the South.  (In contrast, Brooklyn, which was then an independent city and didn't have the same ties to plantation owners--and where freed and runaway slaves settled in Weeksville and other communities--was staunchly pro-Union.) 

So, no matter where one was at the time of the Civil War--or long afterward--its economy was, in some way or another, a product of slavery.  Everyone in this country is a beneficiary, in some way or another.  I include myself:  My grandparents, as poor as they were, still had more rights in this country than any African (or Native American) had the day they arrived in a port built, at least in part, by the labor of those people who had no freedom--and the profits of those who traded them, or traded with plantation owners, merchants and others whose prosperity built by them.

Of course, it wasn't just our economy that "benefited" from slavery.  The terrible experiences endured by slaves--and their children who were "freed"--were the raw material of some of the greatest art this country has produced.  I am talking, of course, about works by writers like Baldwin and Toni Morrison, but also jazz--the only truly American musical genre besides country and western--which has influenced all of the music, everywhere in the world, that's come along since.

And, finally, it's hard not to think that the "generational trauma" and prejudice experienced by the descendants of slaves motivated some of the greatest athletes this country has turned out.  Forget about "some of":  I am willing to say that the four greatest athletes to come from the United States are Muhammad Ali, Serena Williams, Jackie Robinson and, of course, "Major" Taylor, the incomparable cyclist who became the first African-American champion in any sport.  

The country in which I was born and have spent most of my life owes, I believe,  much more to what took place on this date 400 years ago than most people realize--or I was taught in school.

(In my next post, I'll return to matters more directly about cycling--my own and in general!)

Wheels To Woodstock

We were conversing the other night, my mother and I. We talked about the usual things:  family, the weather, things that are and aren’t the way we remember them. Her doctor visits and stroll on the boardwalk, my bike ride that day, to Connecticut—and my recent trip to Greece.  Oh, and we said a thing or two about the state of the world. That the weekend marked the 50th anniversary of Woodstock came up.  She saw some footage of it on TV, she said, and became wistful.  “You know, I would’ve liked to be part of something like that.  All of those people, and they all girls along and had a good time.”  She wouldn’t have wanted to partake of the drugs—she’s never done such things. I pointed out that there were indeed intoxicating substances consumed, but among half a million attendees, there must have been at least a few people who didn’t “toke” or “drop”.

Of course, she could no more have made the trek than I could’ve: “I had four young kids”—one of them being, of course, yours truly.

As with the Stonewall Rebellion, which happened a few weeks earlier, a lot of mythology and misconception surrounds what one commentator has called “the world’s first viral event.”  (Interestingly, ARPANET, the predecessor of the Internet, was getting started around the same time.). But from what I’ve seen, heard and read, my mother’s perception about the camaraderie of Woodstock is accurate:  According to police and civilian reports, there were no reports of violence.  Also, there were only two overdoses reported.

On the other hand, one of the major misconceptions about the event is it’s location:  It wasn’t in the town of Woodstock.  The name came from the company that organized the event, which was actually held nearly 40 miles away from the fabled Catskills ‘burg.

I’ve been there three times, twice on bicycle tours of the area.  There’s lots of lovely riding up that way and, not surprisingly, the area is well-served by bike shops.

The upstate New York haven is far from the only town called “Woodstock.”  Every US State seems to have one and many seem to have more than their share of cyclists—and bike shops.

Here is a bike that would look out of place in any Woodstock—actual, historical, mythical or otherwise.

What Did You Hear?

You're pedaling down a litter-strewn street or a pebbly path.  You hear something go "clang".  And you feel a thump.

You wonder:

Any Color, As Long As It's....Plum?

How might the world be a different place if Henry Ford had said that a customer could have a Model T "in any color so long as it is plum"?

Better yet...What if he'd offered a bicycle in that one shade?  He did, after all, repair, design and manufacture bicycles before he turned his attention to automobiles.

The closest we may come to answering the answer to those questions comes in the form of RE:CYCLE, a bike just developed by the Swedish start-up firm Velosophy.

So how did plum purple (which, as you've probably guessed, I love) come to be the one and only color  you can choose for your RE:CYCLE?

Well, it just happens to be the color of the Nespresso Arpeggio pod.  Turns out that Nespresso, a Nestle-owned company, has been trying to encourage the recycling of its pods, which are made of aluminum.  Turns out, the metal can be melted down and recycled almost indefinitely, so today's Nespresso pod or Coke can can be tomorrow's Swiss Army knife bodies, fancy pen or--you guessed it--bicycle frame.  As Jimmy Ostholm, the brainchild behind RE:CYCLE, says, finding a way to convert the lightweight aluminum into a material rigid enough to meet bicycle maunufacturing safety standards "isn't rocket science."  The problem, it seems, is to get consumers to embrace the idea of re-purposing the containers that brought them their "morning Joe."

The bicycle's color isn't the only clue as to its origins.  The bell is shaped like a Nespresso pod, and the front carrier has straps to hold a take-out coffee cup.  

In case you're wondering:  It takes 300 of those Arpeggio pods to make one RE:CYCLE frame.  Oh, and it takes about 150 years for one of those capsules to decompose in a landfill.  It can be argued that we'd be better off if we didn't have single-use containers in the first place. (In 2016, Hamburg, Germany became the first city to ban all types of single-use coffee pods in its government offices.)  But given the numbers I've just mentioned, the RE:CYCLE, while not the solution to all of our waste problems, is an example of how we can move toward  more circular, sustainable ways of consumption.

And you can have whatever color you want...as long as it's plum!

Mayor Wants To Hold Motorist Accountable In Latest Cyclist Death

Too often, a motorist kills or maims a cyclist and gets not much more than a traffic summons--or a sympathetic pat on the back from a police officer. 

The cynic in me, and other cyclists, believed that Umar Baig would be the latest such driver.  Last Sunday, in Brooklyn, he sped through a red light on Coney Island Avenue. Another driver, traveling on Avenue L, T-boned his car.  Both vehicles spun out of control. One of them struck 52-year-old Jose Alzorriz of Park Slope, who became the 19th cyclist killed on New York City streets in 2019.  

Baig was briefly held and released.  The NYPD says it will charge him, but they did not say with what. Presumably, they will come to a determination after working with the Brooklyn District Attorney.

If Mayor Bill de Blasio has his way, Baig will not be the next driver to get tea and sympathy, and maybe a ticket.  "If you kill someone through your negligence, maybe that's not murder one, I'm not a lawyer, but I'd say it should be a serious, serious charge, with many years in prison" he declared. "It's not that that something unavoidable happened," he explained. "He blew through a red light at high speed, and someone is gone now, a family is grieving."

Let's hope that the Brooklyn DA and the NYPD see the situation as the Mayor has seen it.   Already, nearly twice as many cyclists have been killed in 2019--with more than a third of the year to go--as in all of 2018.

Yes, This Is A Love Letter To Greece!

A week after my Greek adventure, I am still reflecting on it.  And my toe is still healing.

Despite that mishap, my Hellenic holiday is one of the best I've ever spent.  I know I will always return to France because it's become a part of me, but, of all of the countries I've seen, Greece is the one to which I most passionately hope to return. I didn't do as much cycling as I'd hoped, in part because of the injury.  One day, though, I hope to return and do some more cycling--and, of course, to experience more of what the country and its people have to offer.

First, let me say something about the people.  If any of you are Greek, I hope you won't take offense to this:  In all of my travels, I've been to only one other country where the people were as effusively yet genuinely friendly as the Greeks:  Turkey.  A friend of mine once described me as an "extroverted introvert."  Yet I did not find the Greeks, as outgoing as they are, intrusive.  Perhaps it has something to do with being in a country that produced philosophers who wrote about balance and harmony:  Who better to understand the introspective soul within the effervescent, demonstrative personality?

If this view isn't worth pedaling up a road with five hairpin turns, what is?

Then, of course, there is the sheer physical beauty you encounter throughout the country, whether on the islands, or in the interior or Athens.  The Aegean Sea really is as blue, and its beach waters as clear, as what you see in photos all over the Web--and in postcards!  Seeing the temple to Zeus and the sanctuary of Athena in Delphi is even more awe-inspiring than I ever expected.  And, finally, even in its grittiest alleyways, Athens has a beauty very different from any other city I've seen--in part because you're never more than a few steps from a view of the Pantheon, and a subway ride can take you through an archaeological site.

That combination of classical balance and harmony with the large, wild bursts of line and color in the graffiti that adorned abandoned villas (and, in a few cases, defaced others) paint a portrait of a people and culture who have endured difficulty--whether from the economic crisis of 2009, the military dictatorship of the '70's or the Nazi occupation--but have not been broken.  Although I still love New York, so much of what I first loved about it has been co-opted or even destroyed by the pursuit of profit, always by those who already have much.  I don't know what the future holds for Athens, or for Greece, but I sense that Greeks young and old, contrary to what you may have heard, work hard but are still working to live, not living to (or for) work.

Finally--since this a blog about cycling, after all--I will say something about cycling.  I greatly enjoyed the cycling I did, although (or perhaps because) cycling in Greece was a very different experience.  Riding in Athens is different from riding in New York because the streets are narrower and there are almost no bike lanes.  (In fact, the only lane I encountered was the one I rode to the marina.)  Also, motorists are different:  A cyclist needs to be careful because most Athenian motorists aren't accustomed to seeing us.  This is in contrast with the open hostility one too often encounters from drivers in New York and other American cities, and is an even starker contrast to the relative bicycle-friendliness of, say, Paris or Montreal, let alone Amsterdam.

There is, as Manos at Athens by Bike told me, "no bike culture in this city, at least not yet."  Along the route to the marina--which parallels the #1 (green) Metro line, I did notice a shop in the process of opening, and there were a couple of stalls in the Flea Market that were as well-stocked (albeit with local brands) as shops I've seen elsewhere.  But in the city, or on the islands, you're not going to find the lycra-clad cyclists on carbon-fiber bikes.  They may show up one day, but I didn't see them on this trip.  On the other hand, in the countryside between Athens and Delphi, I did see a few cyclists who looked like they were doing some serious training on late-model, high-quality road and mountain bikes.

But as much as I like bike "culture," cycling is all about riding.  And people.  And places.  And history and culture.  Oh, and food.  Greece has all of that, which is why I want to return.  Maybe, by then, there will be more "cycling culture"--or I will help to create it!

How Did It Get Here?

Now I'm going to subject you to another "look at what I found parked on the street" post.

I've seen this bike a few times before, locked to a post underneath the elevated tracks on 31st Street.  It's a spot I pass often, as it's right by Parisi bakery, a Dollar Tree store and a pub whose name I can't remember because I never go to it.

In my neighborhood, Astoria, you can see a greater variety of bikes than in most other New York City communities.  Even so, this one is unusual:  It's more like bikes I saw in Cambodia and Laos than anything I've found here.

First of all, that top tube has to be one of the thinnest I've ever seen.

And that internally-expanding rear hub brake is something, I believe, that has never been standard equipment on any bike made in, or exported to, the US.  I've seen brakes like it on a few older bikes in Europe, but not in the US.

I'm guessing that someone brought that bike with him or her from Southeast Asia or Europe.  

What’s This, Mulder?

While pedaling streets that straddle and crisscross the Brooklyn-Queens border, I came across this:

It looks like a decent bike, but the frame is obviously not custom or even the product of a small-volume builder.  That is why it caught my eye:  Rarely, if ever, are mass-produced mixte or women’s frames found in such a large size.

I tried, but couldn’t, determine its provenance.  A couple of details, like the heart-shaped cutout in the seat lug, led me to think it’s Japanese because my old Nishiki had a similar detail.  Also, the largest mass-produced diamond frame on a 700c-wheel bike—71 cm—was made, ironically, in Japan by Panasonic.

On the other hand, the shape of the twin laterals made me think of French bikes.  Also, the only part that seems to be original—the Weinmann centerpull brakes—indicates a European bike of some sort.

I would love to know more about it—and how it ended up on    Halsey Street by the Brooklyn-Queens birder.

Disguised For A Naked Bike Ride

Naked Bike Rides are held in London and a number of other cities every year.

Some riders paint their bodies, while others get onto their bikes the way they came into this world, except bigger.  The only requirements seem to be that participants are riding a bicycle and not wearing clothes.

I am sure at least a few riders cover themselves as soon as the ride ends.  Somehow, though, I doubt that any have done what a man in Wilton Manors, Florida did.



The unidentified chap was riding, naked, down a local street.  Police were called.

Then the guy entered a local store, put on an article of clothing and told an employee he was trading the bicycle for the garment.  

Oh, but it gets even better:  When he got outside, he took off the article of clothing and exposed himself to passerby.  

The cops showed up.  He wouldn't give his name.  And the constables couldn't ID him because, well, he didn't have any ID on him.  After all, we don't come into this world with a musette bag.

He was arrested and charged with "lewd and lascivious conduct" and "obstruction by disguised person."

That second charge, I don't understand  Then again, since most of us wear clothes most of the time, I guess going au naturel could be a "disguise."  After all, there aren't many people who know what most of us look like without our clothes on.

Now, if the guy had kept the bike, he could have finished his ride naked--and, perhaps, evaded the cops!  And he wouldn't have needed to disguise himelf.