Silver Stallion Brings Bike Repairs To A Nation In Need

I first learned of Bicycle Habitat, which would become my "go-to" shop, while pedaling the canyons of downtown Manhattan, a Globe Canvas messenger bag loaded with packages, documents and even the occasional food delivery, slung across my body.  The shop, on Lafayette Street, was strategically located for messengers like me who shuttled between the studios, galleries, professional offices and businesses of Soho and Midtown and the traders, brokers, bankers and lawyers in and around Wall Street and the World Trade Center.  

Habitat had another location in Chelsea--ironically, just two blocks from its current Chelsea shop.  But Charlie McCorkle, an owner and founding partner, once told me that even though the Lafayette shop was much smaller, it did more business than the Chelsea locale--in part, because of messengers like me.  Another factor was the American Youth Hostels headquarters, where I would work after quitting the delivery business.  People would sign up for an AYH bike tour and we'd send them to Habitat for equipment--and, sometimes, even a bicycle. (Believe it or not, some people didn't yet have a bike when they signed up for a tour!)  But after AYH moved uptown, the bulk of the Lafayette Street's location came from messengers and transportation cyclists. 

I am recalling that now because of a news item that brings to mind a phenomenon I've noticed.  In neighborhoods where people ride their bikes for fitness or recreation--or commute on two wheels when they have other options--it's not hard to find a bike shop. For example, when I lived in Park Slope, Brooklyn, four shops served an area within a one-mile radius of my apartment.  A similar ratio exists around my current residence in Astoria, Queens.  But if I venture into, say, Elmhurst, East New York or most Bronx neighborhoods, shops are fewer and farther between, if they exist at all.  And, in such neighborhoods, cyclists are as likely as not to be riding for transportation, and to be on bikes that are in more dire need of repair.

So it is in some Native American nations.  The Navajo nation encompasses an area about 50 times as large as the five boroughs of New York City and is home to about 333,000 people.  Cycling there is described as a "way of life":  While some ply the nearby terrain on mountain bikes for fun, many more depend on their bikes for transportation.  Yet, there isn't a single bike shop.  If someone needs a bike repaired, he or she has to travel as far as Gallup, New Mexico--an hours' drive away.

If Silver Stallion Bicycle & Coffee Works were near me, I'd go to it for its name alone!  But they are in Gallup. A non-profit organization, their mission is "to empower and develop youth and young adults vocational skills in the bicycle repair and specialty coffee industries."  In keeping with that, the folks of Silver Stallion are going into Dine lands and fixing Navajos' bikes for free.  

Because the work is considered a form of COVID-19 relief, the New Mexico Economic Development Department gave Silver Stallion a grant to cover expenses. In addition, the Southwest Indian Foundation donated a delivery truck and the Catena Foundation gave Stallion a grant to cover the truck's operating costs.  And Stans-Pivot Pro Team mechanic Myron Billy travelled to Gallup to outfit the truck as a mobile bike shop. Stans No Tubes, Clif Bar and other companies donated parts and equipment. 

Myron Billy. Photo by Shaun Price

Along with the donated parts, repairs were also done with parts "cannibalized" from other bikes.  The most common repairs involved freeing-up seized freehubs, replacing cables and "sliming" tubes to protect them against the abundant "goatheads." 

To continue this effort--which, in addition to providing repairs, is also imparting skills and mentorship to young people--Silver Stallion is seeking donations.  They are providing a valuable service, not only for folks who ride bikes as a way to cope with the COVID pandemic, but also to get to clinics for vaccinations and other medical care.

Permission To Roam

My orthopedic doctor and the Texas governor said, basically, the same thing yesterday.

Now, I don't  know much about my doctor's politics, but he probably has never thought about Greg Abbott in his life. So how could they have echoed each other?

Well, the Governor told businesses in his state that, starting next week, restaurants and other businesses can open fully.  "People want to go back to living," he said.  He's declared that they can.  

My doctor gave me the same permission.  He confirmed what I suspected:  My injuries from getting "doored" are healed, save for two still-visible scars.  They'll take "about a year" to disappear, he said.  In the meantime, I could use a skin ointment, but if I should I should "be careful" because I have sensitive skin.  Looking at my helmet, he grinned and crooned, "Enjoy."

It's been more than a month since I did two of my regular long rides (Connecticut and Point Lookout).  The reason is not my injuries:  rather, it's the snow and ice that's covered many of the roads.  Also, Marlee seems to be guided by her animal instinct to hibernate and takes any chance she can to curl up on me and doze.  She's so cute, and calms me as much as a meditation or therapy session, that I want to stay with her.

I want to get out because, even on rides I've done dozens of times before, I notice something or another that previously escaped my attention--or wasn't there. During my ride to the doctor's office, a traffic light stop at Third Avenue and 17th Street brought this into my view:

I hadn't been inside that building in years--or looked at its exterior.  Whenever I entered, I listened to music or poetry.  I don't know whether its architectural details were covered, or perhaps I just hadn't noticed them because I always arrived at night, when throngs of people fronted and filled it.

Perhaps I will always think of that building--as long as it's still there--Fat Tuesday's, the jazz club/performance space that occupied it for years.  It closed around 15 years ago, when the changes I've witnessed in this city accelerated.  After that, it was occupied by a variety of venues, including a yoga and Pilates studio.

But, as you can see, the designers and builders of the edifice probably didn't envision any of the venues I--or most people living today--associate with it. Constructed in 1894-95, it originally served as a restaurant and beer garden.  The latter is not surprising when you realize that the surrounding neighborhood--Gramercy Park/Irving Place--was, at the time, said to be the home of more Germans than any place outside of Europe.  

The building would later host the German-American Athletic club and the German-American Rathskeller.  Given this history, it's makes sense that it's named for Joseph Viktor von Scheffel, a German poet and novelist.  

I don't know what "Allaires" refers to.  Ironically, when I first saw that name, I thought of a village in Brittany, France (through which I've biked) and a park in New Jersey where I biked, hiked and camped as a teenager.  That park was named for James Allaire, who owned an ironworks and village on the site.  The metal produced there was shipped to Allaire's factory in this city, where parts for steam ships were made.  He had a home on Cherry Street, about a mile from Scheffel Hall, so it's possible that his family owned all or part of the building or businesses that were in it.

One more thing:  Given the building's literary and artistic associations, it's not surprising that O.Henry wrote some of his stories--and set one of them, "The Halberdier of the Little Rheinschloss" in Scheffel Hall.

Anyway, as you can see, I didn't need permission from a doctor or governor to go back to doing the things I normally do:  cycling and learning about whatever I see along the way.  Marlee doesn't always approve, but, hey, nobody's perfect!

Painting--And Cycling--En Plein Air

 On a recent post, Coline commented, "Cycling helps clear thinking" and "opens the mind to exploration."

It also sparks creativity.  Lewis Williams understands this as well as anybody does.  For his 60th birthday, the Montrose, Colorado-based artist wanted to "rattle the cage a bit" to "see what would his shake out."  So, he decided to combine one of his preferred methods of working--plein-air painting--with his love of being outdoors and bicycling.

Yesterday, he embarked from San Diego on a cross-continental cycling trip.  He plans to arrive in Bar Harbor, Maine during the first week of August.  Along the way, he'll ride two historic trails, he says.  And he plans to paint outdoors, in the open air (the meaning of "plein air") along the way.  After that, he plans to participate in the Plein Air painting competition of the Red Rock Arts Festival.  

His wife is accompanying him on this journey, he says.

I know how difficult it is to carry cameras and multiple lenses--not to mention other photographic equipment--on a bike, especially if you're carrying camping equipment and clothing for a multi-day tour.  I imagine that it's so much more difficult for a painter to carry supplies.  So, he outfitted a van for camping and attached a trailer to carry his art-related necessities.  

The purpose of the vehicle is not just as a "sag" wagon one sometimes sees on organized rides.  Williams says that if any of his riding or painting takes longer than he anticipated, he and his wife will "mix up the riding with the driving" as needed.

This tour is an extension of an ethos he lives by:  "Find creative outlets in your life."  He, who has worked with senior citizens, believes that people are "not too old to do what they want to do or try something new." Why else would he embark on such a journey for his 60th birthday?