The Real Joke

I thought it was a joke: “Bicycle tour of historic Venice set for Jan.21. Once, many years ago, I visited “La Serenissima” and discovered the semi-hard way that such a thing is not possible.

At least, you can’t do a bike tour of what people think of as “Venice”.  The folks who pose next to their wheels for their Instagram selfies on Ponte dei  Sospiri didn’t pedal there—not legally, anyway.  In fact, they couldn’t have brought their bikes their legally in any fashion.  Wheeled vehicles—including cars, trucks, motorcycles, scooters or even skates, as well as bicycles—are not allowed in the city’s historic center.  Exceptions are made for wheelchairs and other devices to help the disabled, and cops tend to look the other way for young children on toy bicycles or tricycles.
When I say I learned the “semi-hard” way, I mean that I’d heard and read about the ban but, being young, I thought I could find a way around it.  Or, I’d ride until I was stopped. You might say that I was living by the belief that forgiveness is easier to get than permission.

I disembarked from a train at the Santa Lucia railroad station.  A friendly attendant carefully brought my bike out of the baggage car.  I wheeled it from the station, across the Calatrava Bridge to the Piazzale Roma, one of the entrances to the historic center.  

There stood two carbineri.  One waved his finger.  The other pointed to a railing where other bikes were locked. I nudged a couple of those bikes to clear a space for mine.

While you can’t ride in the city center, you can take some nice spins on the “mainland,” across the lagoon from the city.  If you had your heart set on riding, though, it can be a little sad:  You’re looking at the places where you can’t ride.

On the other hand, Venice’s city center isn’t a bike-friendly place.  The streets are even narrower than those of other European cities and are almost always full of tourists.  Also, to get to or from almost anyplace in the city, you have to cross a canal.  That means crossing one of the bridges, most of which are arch-shaped and accessible only by stairs. You’d probably spend more time carrying or pushing your bike up or down stairs than riding it!

Such is not the case in another Venice: the one in Florida. Unlike the Queen of the Adriatic, the Shark’s Tooth Capital of the World (!) does not have a network of canals in its center, though many private properties, as in other parts of Florida, have canals—mainly for drainage or irrigation—running through them.

As far as I know, bicycles have never been banned in the town by the Gulf of Mexico.  So the announcement is not a joke.  The real joke, I believe, is calling Venice, Florida “historic” when its namesake in Italy has stood
for more than a millennium and a half.

The Weather Or The Season?

This area has just experienced what might have been one of the warmest January weekends in its history.  Temperatures reached 21C (70F).  Saturday I pedaled to Connecticut; yesterday I took a shorter trek through Queens and Brooklyn.  I did both rides in shorts.  I saw a few other similarly-attired cyclists.

There were, however signs that it is still winter.

Even so, other cyclists as well as runners, couples with strollers, single people walking their dogs and others simply walking ambled by.

Some were dressed for the weather, others for the season.

Under Their Own Power

What can you do with an electric bike?

The Mountain Bike Becomes A City Slicker

A while back, I got a '90's Cannondale mountain bike for not very much.  I could have ridden it as-is, replacing only the shifter.  But I decided to make it into a second city bike-commuter, sharing duties with my Fuji Allegro.

One thing I really didn't was the suspension fork that came with the bike.  For my intended purposes, I don't need a suspension fork.  Also, I didn't want to hunt down parts (like elastomers) for a fork that hasn't been made in about 20 years.

I know the steel fork that's on the bike now looks out of proportion to the oversized aluminum tubes of the frame.  But it'll do the job and I'm not too worried about the looks of this bike.  If anything, I'm hoping that its steampipe visuals will allow me to park it on the street without too many worries.

Some of the parts--like that seatpost and seat collar--I had lying around. (I'm not lying.) As was typical of mountain bikes of the time, the Cannondale came with a quick-release seat collar--which makes it easy for casual thieves to take your seat and seatpost!

I would have kept the wheels, which consisted mostly of no-name components. But I got a really good buy on a pair of Sun CR18 rims.  They're a 26 inch version of the 700C rims on the Fuji, which have served me well.

Whatever this bike lacks in aesthetics, I think it more than compensates in simplicity and usefulness.   Yes, that's a Velo Orange Porteur handlebar, in the 22.2 size.

On a bike like this, I don't expect a ride anything like that of any of my Mercians.  For that matter, I didn't expect anything even as nimble as the Fuji--which isn't set up for that.  But I have been pleasantly surprised.  My commutes and errands don't seem any slower than they've been on the Fuji.  An added bonus is that I can ride through just about any pothole or other obstacle without a second thought.

Bike Thieves Meet The Id

Alert:  I will talk politics and religion in this post.

Donald Trump may well be the first American president to rule entirely by his id.  

That's the part of our psyche that reacts to immediate needs and impulses.  Much of our education and acculturation is, essentially, training in not living by our ids.  Of course, your teachers, parents and other authority figures don't tell you that (unless, perhaps, they're psychologists or psychiatirists).  In my milieu, I don't think anyone had even heard of that two-letter term, just as they never used words like milieu.  I didn't hear such words until I went to college.

Because of such training, most of us will only go so far in response to being wronged.  I don't think any previous president would have assassinated the military leader of another country because, well, the leaders of their country did things we didn't like.  (And he said he was doing it to prevent a war:  Even Rudy Giuliani would have a hard time being more Orwellian!)  Likewise, most sexual abuse victims won't do what a 19-year-old in France did to the priest who sexually abused him and his father:  He rammed a crucifix down the prelate's throat.

I have retaliated with physical violence once in my life, when someone tried to sexually assault me.  I'll admit I've thought about reacting with force, but didn't, on more than a few occasions.  And I have made threatening gestures against potential aggressors--including a would-be bike thief I scared away.

I'll admit that at the moment I confronted the perp, I thought about doing what a couple in Visalia, California did. Corey Curnutt and Savannah Grillot baited would-be bike thieves with a bike planted in their front yard.  When someone tried to steal it, they rushed out and beat, with baseball bats, the person who tried to take it.

According to police, they did this four times between July and November of the past year.  I'm guessing that the vigilante couple would have been caught eventually, but they probably hastened their arrests by posting videos of their deeds on YouTube.

Now I'll confess that if I were on a jury, I really wouldn't want to vote to convict Curnutt or Grillot--or the young man in France.  But one reason why we're taught not to live by our ids is that part of our psyche is incapable of restraint.  Plus, almost every ethical and moral system of which I'm aware condemns retaliatory violence.  

All right, I'll end with one more confession:  I cheered when Thelma shot Harlan.  Then I felt ashamed of myself--just a little.  At least I knew "Don't try this at home."  

If You Want The "Perfect" Bike

Today you can walk or ride down Franklin Street in Greenpoint, Brooklyn and see twenty-something bro's with beards even longer than those of the Hasidic men who live only a few blocks away. 

Those same young men are, as likely as not, to be washing down their "artisanal" food with "craft" beer--while tapping away at iPads pulled out of their handmade bags.

If you've been following this blog, you know about my bikes and bags.  So I am not one to criticize someone for buying things that are made by hand or in small batches.  But for much of human history, the wish not have things that aren't made by machines would have seemed ridiculous.  One of the goals of almost every technological revolution--including the Industrial Revolution of two centuries ago and today's Digital Revolution--is to have fewer, or no, humans involved in the creation and production of everything from screwdrivers to software.

Indeed, I can recall companies boasting that their products were "untouched by human hands" before you picked them up from the shelf to buy them.  To those early industrialists in Manchester, St. Etienne, Chemnitz and Paterson, the idea that someone would willingly pay more for an item made by hand would have been blasphemous.  While profit was surely a major, if not the primary, motive for automation, those engineers and entrepreneurs were also guided by the belief that "perfecting" their products meant having fewer and fewer people involved in making it, and they saw a "perfect" product as a goal.  The reason, expressed by someone explaining his move from human workers to robots, is that the inanimate laborers "don't get sick, don't have bad moods, don't talk back and don't make mistakes."

(Fun fact:  Czech writer Karel Capek introduced the word "robot" to the world's lexicon with his play R.U.R., or Rossum's Universal Robots. He created the term from an old Church Slavonic word, robota, which means "forced labor," "servitude" or "drudgery.")

So the idea that some of us would actually spend money on a handbuilt bicycle frame or wheels would seem ludicrous to the initiators of those technological seismic shifts.  Even those who could afford handcrafted objects (once they became more expensive as mass-produced goods got cheaper) and could appreciate fine workmanship would have scoffed at the idea of buying something that could have been "corrupted" by human imperfection.

Such folks, if they were cyclists (or simply liked the idea of having a "perfect" bicycle) would surely have been drawn to Festka bicycles.  Co-founded 10 years ago by Michael Mourecek, Festka makes "perfect bikes," in his words.

Now, of course, most of us have different ideas as to what constitutes a "perfect bike," if we indeed have such a concept.  But Mourecek is not referring to a bike that can "do everything."  Nor does he mean the machine that's most efficient at converting human effort into speed.  And he isn't talking about a bike that doesn't experience mechanical breakdowns.

Rather, Mourecek means "perfect" in the sense of quality control in industrial production.  Given his clientele, it's no surprise that Festka produces carbon composite frames.  (They have also made steel and titanium-composite bikes, but most customers opt for carbon fiber.) In that sense, they're no different from other high-performance, high-cost current production bikes.  Most such bikes are made in China, not by engineers or scientists, as he points out, but by semi-skilled workers.  Those laborers, most of whom are women (because they're considered more dexterous than men), use blowers to stick computer-cut carbon fiber sheets called "pre-preg" (fabric impregnated with resin) onto frame-like shapes.  This process is time-intensive, which is probably the main reason why carbon fiber frames, even those made in China and other low-wage countries, are more expensive than frames made from other materials.

Another consequence of such a process is, as Mourecek points out, is the possibility of human error.  On the other hand,  "The robots are very precise; they are always in the same mood, they don't have family issues or go out to wild parties," he jokes.  "Every day, they produce the perfect job for us."

What's more, the process can be adapted to create any sort of frame geometry or aesthetic the customer desires.  As an example, Czech illustrator Michal Bacak blended Portuguese Azulejo and English Churchill Blue Willow patterns to create a pattern that makes a bike ordered by Thai bicycle collector Suratchaj Chenyavanij look as if it belongs in a china closet or curio cabinet.  Oh, and that bike's finish (which, I admit, is lovely) was embellished by 24-karat gold leaf.  

In an irony that the denizens of Franklin Street can only strain for (If you're trying to achieve it, it isn't irony!), part of the appeal of Festka bikes is, as Mourecek concedes, the perception that they're hand-made.  The fact that they cost more than most handmade machines (The "porcelain" bike set Chenyavanij back about $35,000) only helps to reinforce that feeling.

Oh, and those bikes are made in the Czech Republic: an irony that surely would not be lost on Karel Capek.

The Votes Are Here

Today I cycled into Manhattan for an appointment for an otolaryngologist.  It wasn't far--about 7 or 8 kilometers--and I rode even with the threat of snow squalls because I knew I could pedal there faster than the trains or buses (or a cab--or Uber, even!) could take me.

The office was located  Rutherford Place, just across from Mount Sinai Hospital.  The neighborhood, nestled between Irving Place and the East Village, is a real oddity in today's Manhattan:  Most of the Victorian, Greek Revival and Beaux Arts tenements and townhouses are still standing and the environs aren't really gentrifying because, well, they never fell into decrepitude.  

Some of those buildings, like others throughout the city, have names that are rarely, if ever, used, today.  Some of the names make sense, like those of people who are famous or simply have a connection to the building or neighborhood.  But there are some names are just confounding:

The US Senate? On Second Avenue between 14th and 15th Streets?

I thought of the tourists and newly-arrived expats from one place and another who walked by.  Did any of them wonder whether they'd gotten off at the wrong city?   

As I was about to write this, I looked for some information about the building.  Turns out, that building was built along with another named for W.M. Evarts, a well-respected Senator who lived in the neighborhood.  Before he became a Senator, he served as Rutherford B. Hayes' Secretary of State and Andrew Johnson's Attorney General.  That meant he had the privilege of representing Johnson during his impeachment trial in 1868.  That must have been interesting, to say the least!

So I guess the name makes sense.  Even if I didn't learn about the history of the building, I suppose the name could have been justified in one other way:  Early in the nation's history, New York City was its capital, if only for a year.

Given the demographics of the neighborhood and city,  residents of the building are more likely than members of the legislative body to vote for impeaching the current president. 

Deconstruct This

I don’t spend a lot of time in hipster restaurant.  So when I read some of their menus I am, frankly, baffled.

To wit, I see words that I would never associate with food,
whether in preparing, presenting or eating it.  For example, on one menu, I saw a “deconstructed cheesscake.” Now, perhaps I’m not ironic (or something) enough, but I would think that the act of creating a comestible or serving it has more to do with construction than deconstructed.  So, if I order a “deconstructed cheesecake,” will the server bring me cream cheese, ricotta, eggs, sugar, vanilla extract, cinnamon, graham crackers (uncrumbled, of course) and cherries or blueberries?  

Oh, wait, that  server couldn’t bring me graham crackers: He or she would have to bring the ingredients.  No ricotta or cream cheese, either: only the milk, rennet and cultures.

If I were to go to a hipster bike shop, would they try to sell me a deconstructed bike?

15

A Ride Inside

One of my most interesting—and gratifying—bike rides took me through a tunnel.

The day before, I’d pedaled up the Alpe d’Huez, with a few hundred other riders, before it was closed for the Tour de France peloton.  I was riding southeast, toward Italy, along a narrow Alpine road.  Ahead of me , I saw a sign:  Route Baree.  A gendarme directed traffic—which, at that moment, consisted of a Citroen and me—away.

I watched the Citroen turn   toward a wider road.  I looked at my Michelin map. (That’s what we used before GPS.). I could see a couple of  roads that trailed off in fields or forests.  So I followed the trail of the Citroen to a road that, according to the map, led to a mountain.  But it didn’t seem to go up or around the col.

After a few minutes of riding, I saw a bottleneck—at the mouth of the tunnel.  There was another sign: that Caution! Caution! Eclairage Interrupte.

The rockslides that blocked the other road caused power outages.  So that tunnel—about half a kilometer long—was very dark. I had a headlight, but it was more for being seen than to see.  

Oh—and the two lanes that passed through that tunnel looked about half as wide as a single American lane.  One of the lanes was closed.  And there was no shoulder.

Traffic stopped at the entrance.  So did I.  A man emerged from the first car.

“Allez,” He motioned to the other drivers. “Nous vous suivrons. Pouvez rouler sur le chemin de nos phares.”

I rode through that tunnel—in the wake of their headlights. None of those drivers honked, and all of them drove behind me all the way through that tunnel.

I thought of that ride  when I heard about the Round and Round the Underground Race. On 29 March, several hundred riders will thrust and twist their way through the Springfield Underground, a limestone mine in Missouri.

As far as I know, none of those riders will have to worry about lighting.



Somehow it seems less daunting than a ride through the subway tunnels of my home town!

Like A Fish Needs A Bicycle

We've all heard the expression, "when pigs fly."

What's less likely than an airborne porker?

Now to a really important question:  Should that pig wear lipstick?