Connect--Or Follow--The Dots

In a normal year, the Tour de France would be in its third or fourth stage right about now.  Depending on where the prologue was staged, the riders would be pedaling by Picardian poppy fields, zagging along la Cote Opale or, perhaps, winding past Burgundian vineyards.  While they might encounter some hills along the way, they probably would not have begun to ascend the tortuous mountain climbs for which the Tour is famous.

So, there wouldn't be much talk about who would be "crowned" King of the Mountains

and wear the "royal" polka dot jersey.

Perhaps the only riders who get more respect than its wearer are the ones who sport the overall leader's maillot jaune (yellow jersey) or the points leader's green jersey.  Having pedaled up a few Tour climbs, including the Alpe d'Huez, les deux Alpes, Col de Lauteret,  and le Col du Galibier, there are few athletes I admire more than those who make such ascents on a regular basis!

Plus, I'll admit, I am just enough of a fashionista to want to wear a polka dot jersey!

Helmets Off

For a long time, I resisted wearing a helmet.  Then again, when I was becoming a serious cyclist, helmet-wearing hadn't become the norm.  

These days, if I leave my apartment with my bike and without my helmet, I quickly realize that something is off.  I feel as if I were in one of those dreams where I'm naked and everyone else is clothed.  

Just as what you wear can be a life-and-death matter (especially in extreme weather), protecting your head can protect a lot of other things.  The doctor at the hospital told me as much:  As much of a mess as I was after my recent accident, I at least don't seem to have brain or spine injuries.

I have had two occasions when, if wearing a helmet didn't save my life, it at least spared me worse injuries.  The first time, a truck driver flung his door open into my side, sending me on the one and only somersault I've ever done on a bicycle.  I came out of it with a sprained wrist.  A few years later, I rode up the wrong side of a BMX mound and did an unintentional "flip."  My helmet literally broke in two, but I--and my bike--remained intact.

After such experiences, you might (understandably) expect me to wonder what members of the Tacoma city council were thinking.

Last week, they voted for an ordinance that, among other things, repeals the city's law--on the books since 1994--requiring for helmets for cyclists. 

Lisa Kaster, a senior planner and active transportation planner for the city, cited "outdated, inconsistent code language" that "doesn't align with best practices or city and state policy" as a motive for the the Council's action.  

As in many other cities, bicycling has become a bona fide means of transportation as well as recreation in Tacoma.  Also, other forms of non-motorized mobility, such as scooters and skates, have gained popularity.  It seems that Council members faced the same dilemma that vexes their counterparts in other cities:  How can a law be written to be fair and relevant to current practices yet flexible enough to accommodate change?

Interestingly, Washington--like most other US states--requires helmets for motorcycle riders.

While I encourage people to wear helmets, I am still not certain that such a practice should be mandated.  At least, I don't think requiring helmets will prevent all, or even most, serious head injuries, not to mention other maladies.  Wearing a helmet while engaging in unsafe practices, such as wearing headphones or riding against traffic will not protect the helmet's wearer--or anyone else.

I Will Survive: I Ride Again

Gloria Gaynor is most famous for I Will Survive.

I could have sung that to myself yesterday.

For my birthday, I simply had to end my longest spell without cycling in eleven years.  

In 2009, I didn’t ride through most of the summer and fall. I was recovering from my gender-affirmation surgery. Although I missed riding, my doctor, therapist, friends and others helped me to prepare for my “vacation” from it.  Also, I gave up those few months in the saddle for something I’d wanted for a very long time.

On the other hand, my latest spell without riding was induced by something that I did not foresee when I slung my leg over my bike.  Most of us are aware that a crash or some    other mishap can befall us, but I suspect that few, if any, of us ponder that possibility as we put our feet to the pedals.

The seeming randomness of my situation could explain why I felt more anxiety—and, perhaps paradoxically, urgency—about going for a ride.  

Oddly enough, I was more worried about having lost strength and endurance during my latest period of healing than I was after the much longer period without riding that followed my surgery.  Of course, my memory of walking up climbs no steeper than highway ramps in those days colored my perception of what my latest return to cycling would be like.

That fear, thankfully, was unfounded.  Then again, I rode maybe 10 kilometers, so my legs weren’t challenged.  I also didn’t notice any change in my balance or anything else.

I have to admit, though, I had an “oh no, not again moment when a delivery guy on an electric bike whipped around a turn and directly into my path.  

We could have collided head-on. We didn’t.  He could have side-swiped me and caused me to crash.  He didn’t. I could have cursed him out, in English or Spanish. I didn’t.  

Neither of us knew what the other had experienced a moment, a day or a month prior—or would experience.  There were only our roads ahead of us, whether or not they would intersect again.

His next delivery, my next ride.  Fate brought us to that moment.  For now, at least, I know I can ride again because I rode yesterday and many days before.  I have survived;
I hope I will continue to survive, and ride.

My Age

Je suis le soleil.

I am the law.

Believe it or not, Donald Trump didn't utter the first of the above declarations, mainly because he doesn't speak French. (He barely speaks English.)  But if he could--or if he had any flair for figurative language--he would. "I am the sun" would sum up the way he sees himself.

He probably wishes he could make the second statement.  Sometimes I think he hired Rudy Giulani for the express purpose of finding a loophole in the Constitution that would allow him to appropriate such power unto himself.

Now I am going to say something just as audacious and ridiculous--and something El Cheeto Grande has fever-dreams about saying:  I am this country.

How is that?, you ask.  Well, today is Independence Day here in the US. Or, as some people like to say, it's this nation's birthday.

It's also my birthday.  And I am identifying myself with this American nation because, for the first time, I feel as old.

My wounds are healing and I have to go for another MRI in a week.  Hopefully, it won't tell me I'm not as well as I feel because, well, I'm used to feeling better than I feel now.

Fourth of July Bike Ride, 1934

I might get on my bike today.  If it doesn't leave me in more pain--and if I don't crash--I'm sure I'll feel younger, or at least better.

If only a "cure" for this country, or this world, were so simple!

I'm sorry for whining.

On The Mend

I'm still on the mend, but I hope to be on my  bike soon.

Meantime, I've been taking some walks.  My energy level is still low:  Simple tasks tire me out.  Perhaps the worst part of this is the pain I'm still feeling in my shoulders and down the sides of my neck.  The doctor says it's muscle strains and pulls; there isn't much I can do but to "let them heal."

Only Marlee is happy about the situation:  She loves to cuddle, and I'm more available than usual!

We want to thank you for your support!   Once again, here is my GoFundMe page.