On Not Thin Ice

Skated at the local pond last night and this morning.

A family I saw there yesterday shoveled some of the snow, but skating was fine either on or off the shoveled parts.

Both times we had the pond to ourselves. Maybe it is the helpful signs posted by the City to keep us (I mean them) safe. Such a great use of tax dollars. Heaven forbid they send a park person to check the ice and put up a useful sign.

Maybe folks are inside skating on Wii. Go outside!

Winter for Reals

It is cold, snowy and windy outside.  I want to eat nonstop.  Heavy food.  Steel cut oats for breakfast just primes the pump.  It is winter!

Two nights ago I made llapingachos from the Best of Bloodroot cookbook, Volume Two.  Of course Lagusta was involved in every aspect production of this cookbook.  Llapingachos are Ecuadorian potato croquettes.  Essentially mashed potatoes with garlic and scallions formed into patties and fried.  Fried mashed potatoes!  A twist on an old Chanukah favorite?  It gets better.  Peanut salsa is spooned over the top before serving.  Roasted peanuts, scallions, garlic, herbs, tofu, miso and tamari are blended and then sauteed resulting in a creamy sauce.  I added to the sauce lime and salt.  ’Twas a hit with the crowd.  Thanks, Lagusta, Miriam and Noel!

Yesterday it was snowing and I needed to get to the vintage clothing store to pick up a gift for Lacey.  Only 4 miles to the store, but the right sides of the roads were a mess and the last mile of the trip was on a very busy four lane road.  Very commercial with stop and start traffic and entrances and exits from highways.  Passing a ghost bike reminded me of what was at stake.  Happily, all motorists were very cooperative and patient.  On that busy last mile I took one of two lanes in my direction and more or less kept up with the flow.  One time I was first in line at a red light so I pulled off the road and let the whole conga line pass.  When the light turned yellow, I hopped back on the road and was the last one through.  Doesn’t sound safe, but it worked really well.  I felt better not holding up 20 or so folks and didn’t feel pressured as the next bunch of cars was stuck behind the red light.  I was able to make it to the turn off the ugly road before they had a green.  A sigh of relief!  Took a different route home through the University of Albany campus.  The ring road was empty and the wind was at my back.  I was on my single speed mountain bicycle.  Tires pumped up to 55 and it felt like I was flying.  Made it home safely.

This morning I made more satisfying food.  Pierogies from a recipe from, broken record, Lagusta.  She said the recipe made 50.  Not sure why I didn’t make a half batch.  I now have what feels like about five pounds of eastern european goodness cooling in olive oil and sauteed onions.  I didn’t have beets, so I filled them with a mixture of unfried mashed potatoes left over from the llapingachos, sauerkraut from my recent production and onions.  These also came out beautifully.  I highly recommend you use part  of one of the upcoming days of freedom to whip up a batch.  Took me about two hours all in, including clean up (unless you count the week it took to make the sauerkraut).  No matter how many guests drop by, they will be well fed!  Thanks, again, Lagusta!

Time to walk Frida.  We’ll check out the pond.  Unfortunately it snowed yesterday.  Not enough to ski on, but probably enough to cover up what was a well frozen and glassy pond down the street.  It hadn’t looked so good in the five years I have lived here.  With the snow, we’ll probably need to shovel wherever we want to skate.  I wonder if I want to skate that badly!  Might be easier to pedal to the woods and see if the trails are passable.

I’ll close with a beautiful sake jar.  A gift from Peter Scherr.  I need to fill and empty it tonight.  Happier holidays, thanks to Peter!

Have a great holiday.

Limit of the Law

People riding bicycles get hit by cars operated by people. Awkward wording, but I think it is the right way to express in words the risk we face when we pedal on the road. I could have written “bicyclists get hit by motorists,” but that presentation includes terms that cloud the issue for me. The terms being “bicyclist” and “motorist.”

So what is the issue today? When a person riding bicycles gets hit by a car operated by a person, will the law be there to help? I would like to think it is, but we all know that sometimes it is not. For better and for worse, the law is not self-actuating. People make laws and people enforce laws. Sometimes they aren’t there to witness the event. If they are, they sometimes make decisions with which we do not agree. Might be because they are influenced by their lifetime of experiences. Might be because they are trying to stick closely to the words in the statute or past decisions. In any event, the law doesn’t always serve up a steaming helping of justice when we are injured. Or maybe it does. Your decision on the matter depends on your expectations. Is it about winning or balancing the scales?

If we are lucky enough, we’ve only had to ponder this question in relation to the experiences of others. No examples come to mind? Here is the one that caused me to write. In short, a car turned right into a bicycle at an intersection. The bicycle was pedaled by Carmen Piekarski. Officer issued a ticket for failure to yield to a bicycle. The judge threw out a ticket because the car turned into Carmen at an intersection. One element of the offense is that the bicycle be in a bicycle lane. Carmen was traveling in a bike lane, but the bike lane markings were not painted through the intersection where the impact occurred. No bike lane markings, no ticket. Does this make you angry?

I have a similar story. On Mother’s Day in 2008, in bicyclists’ parlance, I was the victim of a left hook. I was pedaling straight along a roadway and a car making a left turn hit me. I went onto the hood, then to the ground. I was surprisingly calm. Serene almost. Very strange. My emotions make every effort to explode when I perceive anything approaching risky motoring behavior anywhere near my person when I pedal. It took me more than a decade to learn not to chase down “offenders” and give them a piece of my mind supplemented by one or even two middle fingers.

On this day, when the risk morphed into material impact, not a foul word was uttered nor a single finger paraded. Instead, I stood up, picked up my bicycle and gave it a quick inspection, parked it on the kickstand, approached the man driving the car whose hood I had just met and asked him to call the police. All civil like. He made the call.

I was unharmed but shaken, shaking actually, but I formed the idea that I wanted this man to receive a ticket.  I also wanted to have an official record of the event if my initial appraisal of bodily and bicycle integrity turned out to be wrong. A police officer arrived. I asked him not to call emergency medical responders. He agreed to call off the ambulance, but wanted the fire truck with EMT guys to come. The ambulance came, but the officer waved them away. The huge ladder firetruck arrived next with maybe six firemen. The nice captain asked if they could at least take my blood pressure and then complimented my low blood pressure, then left.  What started as a zero emissions recreational ride through the city had become an occasion to roll out every imaginable emergency response vehicle.  So much for zero emissions.  I have to admit, though, I did feel kind of nurtured.  For the time, anyway.

The officer now questioned the man driving the car in my presence. He asked the man a leading question something like “did you not see him?” A gift to the man, really, but the man was too honest to accept the gift. The man responded that he was stopped in the turning lane, started to turn left, saw me and a car traveling in my direction and, I am paraphrasing here, opted to hit me rather than be t-boned by the approaching car. I was dumbfounded. The man just admitted to the officer that he hit me intentionally. Not only was I going to get my official record of the event, and it was a juicy one, I was going to get a little slice of justice. A ticket would be issued.

Should have been easy to find a number of citations to write. Let’s start small. Failure to yield? Or maybe take it up a notch, with careless, negligent or reckless driving. Or maybe go all the way to vehicular assault? To be honest, I don’t know which of the citations I list has the potential for the stiffest fines. I just listed them in order of increasingly menacing titles. I don’t even know the specific elements of the offenses in New York, or even which of the offenses are on the books here. That said, I was sure the officer had some powerful law at the ready and would be laying it down.

Turns out the only thing that got laid down was me. After hearing the man’s admission of guilt, the officer said he was glad I was ok and that he would not be writing the man a ticket. He cautioned the man to be more careful in the future. I of course had made a note to be more careful in the future, but that was after I metaphorically picked up my jaw from the pavement. What was my outward reaction? Calm. I thanked the officer, shook his hand, and then shook the hand of the man who had just assaulted me with his car. Surreal. Had I died and my ghost was taking care of the final details on my behalf?

I pedaled my bicycle home in my new Casper the friendly bicyclist guise.  I trued the front wheel and put black fingernail polish on the front rack to cover a small abrasion. Lacey was out o town so I called and shared the story.  She was also out of town the time I got hit on my motorbike, which day was also a holiday. December 25. See the pattern? Don’t pedal when Lacey is gone if it is also a holiday.

I will never learn. After I hung up the phone, I put on my coat, mounted the same bicycle and took another ride around the neighborhood. Like getting back on the horse, right? I didn’t want to be sit around nursing a new phobia. I was going to exorcise it.  I was a little scared.  Thirty minutes into the ceremony a person driving a car tried to give me a right hook.  This time I was on the brakes in time. What are the odds?  I went home.

So where was the law when I needed it? Surprising even to myself, I think the scales were best balanced by leaving the law out of it. Good that the police report was filed had it become necessary, but I do not think a citation would have woken up the driver any more than the act of hitting me and the arrival of the police officer, the fire truck and the waived off ambulance. A lot of lights and action even without issuing a ticket. I suspect the man got the message. I believe the officer checked the fellows license and saw a clean record. I hope if the man was one ticket away from losing his license that the officer would have given him that final ticket, but my sense of the man was that he honestly made a mistake. I didn’t smell alcohol. He apologized profusely. A person driving a car made a mistake. No one and no thing was seriously injured. Let’s all be more careful. Isn’t that enough?  Maybe not.  Occurs to me the man should have been compelled to get an eye test.  I don’t know if officers can do that, but maybe they should have that tool in their belt.

Where was my ire?  It is always right under the surface straining to break free when people almost hit me.  We bicyclists feel it when they read stories like mine and Carmen’s.  Comments to Carmen’s story include a call to disbar the judge (akin to “Throw out the ump! He s blind!”), a call to stripe all intersections (the accident took place in Portland, so extending the stripes just might happen), and hand wringing expressions of dismay that bicyclists are unprotected by the law. Something more must be done!

Maybe I wasn’t angry because I wasn’t injured. I remember a mental victory dance as soon as I stood up after being hit.  What else mattered?  Had I been injured, I surely would have reacted differently. I wouldn’t have worried about the failure to issue a ticket. If I had been injured, levying a small fine against the driver wouldn’t have helped. I would have focused my effort toward the civil courts to try to extract cash from the driver or his insurance company to pay for any needed medical care. A second scale.  One much better designed to take care of the victim.  The other scale, the criminal court scale, really only takes care of future victims and I don’t think it does a very good job of it at that.

Carmen, and the commenters who worry about riding without the protection of the law, should remember the civil courts. Carmen had roadrash and is undergoing physical therapy for an injury to her shoulder. Maybe her bicycle was damaged, too. If the total damages are sufficiently high and the driver had insurance or personal assets, Carmen could recover in a civil lawsuit. Or settle outside of court with leverage of a threatened civil suit. That said, if Carmen has health insurance, I doubt she will bother. Health insurance should cover the physical therapy, which should be the biggest expense unless she was pedaling a Vanilla or some such lux-o-ride. In the end, I wonder how Carmen feels? What will she do? I hope Carmen heals in all ways and can enjoy pedaling again.

I did next to nothing and feel good about my decisions. Maybe it wasn’t only because I escaped injury. Maybe it was because I had the chance to face the driver who had wronged me. Literally look him in the eye and have a conversation. I remember thinking that the driver who hit me with his car was my neighbor (in the sense that he lived in the area). I was happy that he stopped and was apologetic. I was happy that he called the police for me. I was happy that he wasn’t drunk. He seemed like a good guy that made a mistake. Who hasn’t? Here I was standing, yes happily standing, talking to another Albanian and working out a resolution. It was as close to pleasant as I can imagine. This is significant and has implications beyond the one experience.

Why was I so forgiving of this man as compared to my immediate and extreme anger toward people who pass too close or almost give me the left or right hook, but miss? I think it is because in the instant I am wronged by a speeding motorist (I think all cars drive too fast; the posted speed limit is routinely ignored and the real limit is the lower of the posted limit and the speed appropriate for the situation–driving by a person on a bicycle should require a decrease in speed) they are not people. They are anonymous motorists. It is too easy to hate a generalization, right? Harder to hate a person after you shake their hand. I think this is why the relationship between motorists and bicyclists is so often strained. Cars hide the people who drive them by enclosing them in a bubble and allowing the operator to speed away from the scene of misbehavior. Like a person wearing a mask on Halloween, they are free to misbehave. When our identity is known, our reputations are on the line.  We have a greater incentive to make socially acceptable compromises. This is why I stopped screaming at motorists. The only one who looked like a jackass was me.   The person driving the car just pushes their right foot a little closer tothe carpet and they are gone.  On a bicycle, I am identifiable, and I don’t want to be identified as being a foul mouthed, raving lunatic. I also don’t want to be shot.

This is the reason I prefer the phrase “person operating a car” to “motorist,” and the phrase “person pedaling a bicycle” to “bicyclist.”  Words matter.  They frame the way we think.  Mental habits carry over into emergency situations.  I think it is better to stress that both parties in an accident are people. Not a motorist and a bicyclist. People. Probably neighbors. What should we do? How should we react when we have an accident or almost have an accident? (Wood bike by ANT. Sadly, not owned by me.)

Start with the term bicyclist. To a bicyclist, the term bicyclist could mean a person who rides bicycles a lot. A skilled rider.  Could be a bunch of other more nuanced things, but they are surely all positive.

What image does a motorist get when they think of a bicyclist? Some are also bicyclists, so they form a positive image, but others, well, insert here the four letter words that get shouted at pedalers, or any other of the usual litany. We don’t pay taxes. We hold up traffic. We don’t follow the laws. We are a menace. I am sure every driver with bad opinions knows one person who pedals. That person is ok. Outside the generalization. Why can’t we all be outside the generalization?

Turn the page. What mental image comes up when you think of motorists? In the rhetoric I come across in bicycle specific literature, the generalizations of motorists are never favorable. It is us against them. This position is both unhelpful and inaccurate.  First, if it is us against them, I am both.  So me against me?  When I motor past a bicyclist, I slow down and give the full lane.  Excessive but polite.  Or maybe you think the generalization is valuable as a tool of prevention.  Watch out for taxi’s or some such thing.  I don’t believe the generalization will keep you safe.  Better to assume responsibility for your safety as to all other road users.  Not just one type.  Both times I was hit, I remember saying to myself just before impact “they see me.”  I relaxed and paid the consequences.  What the generalization will do effectively is make you paranoid. If it is us against them, on a bicycle I would lose every time. Luckily, it isn’t a war. I have been pedaling on the streets for over 30 years and still enjoy it. Me against them thinking didn’t keep me safe. It was my attention and the attention of my fellow road users, together, that have allowed us all to get where we are going.

In the same way that generalizations won’t keep you safe on the street, they won’t serve you in the abstract. As we know when we bother to think about it, generalizations aren’t accurate. They miss their mark. If on the web I want to yell at “motorists,” who will be on the other end to get my message? I doubt anyone is, or they are not the person I assumed them to be.  Your rant will do only one thing for sure.  Make you look crazy.

The generalization will only serve in the split second when someone passes you too closely. It will create another layer of anonymity allowing you to hate them more completely. You can release your ire and look like an ass, or worse. The people around you will have the opportunity to add your behavior to their generalization of bicyclists, the fruits of which addition we can all enjoy.

Your choice, of course. I hope you treat people as people, on a case by case basis. If the person happens to be in a car, such that you can’t engage them or even identify them, consider erring on the side of compassion when they pass you too closely. Realize they are probably your neighbor. Treat them like you might have to shovel a shared driveway with them. Maybe they didn’t mean to communicate with you through their position on the road. Maybe they made a mistake. More likely that they don’t know what it is like to be passed closely.  Forgive quickly and get  back to the business of enjoying your excellent bicycle ride.

I now try to consider close passes as victories. The driver thought they were leaving enough room and, in fact, they did. I read on Lovely Bicycles page that European motorists expect bicyclists to be skilled and riding in straight lines, so they often pass very closely. That surprised me, but there it is. Maybe some close passers here can see I am mad skilled. The close pass is a compliment! Of course I wish all cars would leave more room when they pass. I prefer being given the whole lane, but that rarely happens. I haven’t found an effective way to have that conversation with a person in a car, so I now work hard to communicate to other road users nothing beyond my intended course of travel.

In the end, I expect respect from other road users and I work hard to give it. This is my greatest comfort. Not street architecture (save that for another post, but know I’d like to pedal in a divided bike lane once in my life). Not the law (but the legal system can be an effective secondary tool if a genuine and material need arises).

This next bit is the most important part of the whole post. If you ever need the civil legal system, the one that compensates victims for losses rather than just handing out tickets, know that the scales are more likely to tip in your favor if you were following all laws at the time of the accident. Contributory negligence. Say it aloud. Then don’t do it. Don’t, that is, contribute to your injury by being negligent while the car operator is as well. Diminishes your award. Since you don’t know when accidents are about to happen, best to follow all laws at all times. Can’t follow them if you don’t know them. Even if you think you know all the laws, chances are you’ve missed something. I have read a lot, but apparently not enough. This book, from one of the most learned bicycle lawyers in the country, taught me much. Every bicyclist should read it.

Sounds like Carmen was entirely in the right. Following all the rules.  It might sound wrong that the ticket was thrown out, but do tickets really help?  There will always be drivers making mistakes, despite the issuance of tickets.  What Carmen could make use of is the civil courts.  Again, if her need is big enough.

Or maybe we want just a quick little justice fix.  A ticket to be issued.  With my accident, I sometimes wonder if a ticket would have been issued had I been driving a car when I was hit. One commenter to the article about Carmen’s experience wondered the same. Might be something to that. So maybe I am sick of being treated like a bicyclist. I want to be treated like I am your neighbor. The one who shoveled your walk when you were out of town. At the moment I am a tortilla chip eater. Does the law protect me now?

When I don’t want to pedal

Snow is here! What is a pedaler to do? I could put studded tires on my single speed mountain bicycle and go for a ride, but when the weather is this bad, I am glad I want for nothing. I can stay home, attend to the shoveling and write to you.

I sold my small snow blower two years ago. My neighbor who bought it is running it just now. I can’t complain about the noise. Not only did I sell it to him, but there seems to be an unwritten exception to noise ordinances allowing any amount of racket so long as it is produced by gas powered tools designed to manage nature. The snow blower was useful to me in Omaha where our driveway ran from the street to the back of the property, and our home and our neighbors all but touched the driveway on both sides. I had to move snow forward the length of our homes rather than throwing it to the side. Not terrible when the snow was modest, but bigger snows threatened to break my spirit. We have a less challenging set up here in Albany, though, such that I hadn’t started the snow blower since moving here five years ago despite some heavy and frequent snowfalls.

Shoveling is great exercise. Work in, not out, right? I also like that it is quiet and doesn’t stink. Amazing how two or three snow blowers going at once can spoil an hour in the fresh snow. The air is choked with angry noise and heavy exhaust from the dirty two stroke motors. My first shoveling session today was at 6:00 a.m. I was the only one out and it was beautiful and quiet. Shoveling appeals to me in the same way that bicycling does. A chance to be outside without imposing myself on the world more than necessary.  The slight mechanical noise made by a well tuned bicycle appeals to me, so maybe it does to a few others, too.  I remember a neighbor that complimented the sound made by my reel lawnmower.  It does make a pleasing mechanical sound and the sound stops the instant the mower is done. What an invention!

Today, in addition to shoveling four times, I attended to work, enjoyed a session of laying on the floor with our dog (at one point she garnered the courage to lay her head on my shoulder; I hoped it would never end) and, here is what I am really excited about, nibbled on one day old batches of sauerkraut and kimchi. For this, I owe big bubbling thanks to Sandor Ellix Katz and Lagusta. Sandor wrote Wild Fermentation, from which I have so far learned how to arrive at the one day old ferments I am already enjoying. Lagusta put Sandor on my radar. I learn all my best vegan cooking and baking tips from Lagusta, so when Lagusta promotes something, I try it right away or add it to my ever growing list.

I’d like to say fermentation and friendship with Lagusta are an indivisible pair, like reading the Rivendell Reader and twining bars, but I do not know how many of Lagusta’s readers have followed her advice to get started with fermenting. It took me more than a year. I think I got pushed over the hump of inertia by becoming uncomfortable paying $6.00 for pints of living sauerkraut and kimchi from local fermenters. Don’t get me wrong, I think the price is fair (like Lagusta, I think people should allocate more money to buying good local food). I am just too devoted to too many good local foods. Tends to run the grocery bills into a place where I wonder if it is sustainable. So I bought Wild Fermentation, ordered some stoneware crocks from Lehman’s and yesterday chopped cabbage.

The sauerkraut went together first. I mixed one and a half heads of chopped cabbage, a couple of grated carrots, three tablespoons of salt and some dill seed from our garden and pounded them tightly with a wooden pestle into a one gallon crock. A plate went on top of the kraut and on top of that, a scrubbed and boiled rock. Should I admit how much fun I had scrubbing and boiling a rock? After a couple of hours, the cabbage had already released enough water to create a brine that covered the cabbage. The kraut is protected from undesirable bacteria by hiding in the brine. By evening, it was already bubbling as the wild lactobacilli ate the sugars and started letting off gas. Magic, I tell you!

Then I put together the kimchi. I soaked in a brine solution for a couple of hours two heads of chopped Napa cabbage, two sliced carrots and two cups of sliced turnip root. I ground into a paste in a mortar a third of a cup of grated ginger, eight cloves of garlic, three onions and three jalapeno peppers. I drained the brine off the soaking vegetables, mixed the vegetables with the spice paste and packed it into a gallon jar. I added half a cup of the reserved brine solution to the jar to be sure the kimchi was completely covered. Then I covered both the crock of kraut and the jar of kimchi with a pillow case. Time and lactobacilli do the rest! Too easy and too wonderful.

I am supposed to taste each daily to monitor the sourness. It is so exciting and they are so yummy already that I have and will taste them many times a day. They could be done in a week, but it depends on how much salt was used, the temperature of the ferments and your personal taste. When the ferments are to your liking, you can transfer them to smaller jars and refrigerate them. This will stop the fermentation, but not kill the living goodness. Or you can scoop some out and leave the rest to continue developing and even add more vegetables to replace what you took. Very much like a sourdough starter.

Sandor’s book teaches so much more. The next projects I will undertake are miso and tempeh. I need a few more specialized ingredients to undertake these projects. Remember that I got started to save money. As is so often the case, it will take so very many batches of everything before I save a penny if the cost of the equipment is taken into account. The crocks aren’t necessary, any glass or food grade plastic container will do, but the crocks were too beautiful to resist. Made in Zanesville, Ohio, too. I enjoy having the chance to support a domestic supplier. If I handle them carefully, they will easily outlast me.

I ordered three crocks, one of which holds one gallon, another three gallons and the final five gallons. If I had it to do again, I would have ordered more one gallon crocks. I am not sure I will need the capacity of the larger crocks. Despite excellent packaging, the five gallon crock arrived with a crack in the bottom. I was sick upon discovering it, knowing that the time, energy and materials devoted to making the crock and then delivering it to me might be wasted. Lehman’s customer service was first rate. Taking me on my word and not requiring a return of the cracked crock, they are shipping a replacement crock. No questions asked, beyond a few to determine that the package hadn’t been mishandled by the shipper (no evidence of that).

Happily, the damaged crock won’t be wasted. I found a picture on Sandor’s site showing the use of melted beeswax to seal a crack in a crock. I have beeswax on hand from Rivendell, which I bought in my pre-vegan days. Rivendell sells it for use, among other things, as a mild thread lock. While I have used it as a mild thread lock with good results, so little is used that I feared I may not ever use up the dixie cup quantity. I pressed a line of wax along the crack both inside and outside the crock, and then used a hairdryer to melt the wax into the crack. Capillary action should have carried the wax into the crack, so I am hoping the crock can still be used. Too bad I will now have two five gallon crocks when what I might make better use of many smaller crocks. Learn from my mistake!

It has been some time since I posted. Late last week, before the snow arrived, I pedaled out to the closest parcel making up the Pine Bush preserve. I enjoyed one of the last unseasonably warm afternoons pedaling along flat dirt trails skirting ponds and rivers. I am sorry to have not had a camera with me. Despite having a number of mountain bicycles, I have never pedaled in the mountains. The closest I have ever come is pedaling along mostly flat dirt trails in the woods. I suspect flat and wide dirt trails are more suited to my tastes. I have plenty of fun getting off the roads, pedaling through trees and looking for critters. Now that we are back east, I could easily head to the mountains. Even so, I try to avoid putting my bicycle on a car to go bicycle. Better to make use of what you can reach by bicycle.

I was happy to find other people in the Pine Bush, too. So often I am alone on the trails. I think local woods are too often passed over for more dramatic hikes further out in the mountains. Best to hike and pedal locally as much as possible. This day folks were eating lunch by the pond and others were walking along the trails. I hope they were happy to see me, too. I was pedaling slowly and courteously, to be sure.

I wasn’t aware until this recent trip that the closest parcel in the Pine Bush had nice trails for biking, but it does indeed. I used to pedal farther out to the second closest parcel, but won’t need to any longer. The trails further out were nice, but the only route there involves pedaling along very big and busy roads. In fact, I recently learned while reading the Albany Bicycle Master Plan that the road I was using to get to the further out parcel is designated a highway and bicycles are prohibited. Very surprising, since the road is wholly within the city and it is the only way to get to very many businesses along its length.

Since I didn’t have a camera, I have posted above older pictures of the further out parcel. A very nice woods, to be sure. They were taken on a sunny day, about 45 degrees, in the middle of winter, February 6, 2006, to be exact. My dog and I had a wonderful midwinter treat. A cautionary tale, though. It was on this day and in these woods that our dog picked up ticks and developed Lyme disease. We had stopped her tick preventative for the winter, thinking ticks and fleas are dormant all winter. Not so. All it took was a single warm day to awaken the ticks. The next day we found a couple of ticks on her. Our friend and vet gave her some high doses of antibiotics to try to stem the disease. Our dog has been Lyme positive for many years now, without any visible symptoms. Certain breeds are more susceptible to arthritis, organ failure and death from Lyme disease. Again, please learn from my mistakes.

One other bit of news. I tried to pedal the Goodrich to the co-op for non-iodized salt yesterday (better for fermenting). Rolling down the driveway there was a soft rhythmic thump coming from the rear of the bicycle. The tire had in one spot all but given up on its job of holding in the tube. It let go enough to form a bubble on the sidewall. The bubble was rubbing on the fender. Not long to failure and a long walk home. Instead I switched bikes. The Goodrich will need new shoes to be reliable. I think I have just the set downstairs. Actually many sets. I bought roughly ten vintage whitewall Bridgestone tires years ago. They are old and cracked, so not terribly reliable, but I am not very worried about tires on this bicycle. Low pressure and even lower speeds give me the comfort I need to experiment with old rubber. Another project!

Goodrich Complete

I have pedaled it up and down the street and, well, it is an interesting bicycle.  My hat is off to anyone who has pedaled one of these beasts more than a couple of blocks.  My hat is off, then, to Lacey, who as I mentioned pedaled our prior balloon tire bicycle all over Omaha one fine day.  No wonder she was a little grumpy.  Maybe this Goodrich is geared higher or maybe I am weaker.  Slow is the only speed I can make it go.  Slow isn’t bad, though, on its pillowy tires inflated to a maximum of 35 pounds.  

The bearings and chain are all very well cleaned, greased and adjusted.  All the bearings and races were in very good shape.  I even rebuilt the rubber block pedals.  I have never spent this many hours on a bicycle and have it end up looking like I did so little.  Trust me.  It looks worse in person.  It really needs new paint and new chrome bits if it is to look nice.  Maybe it is best as it is, though.  It won’t get a second look outside the neighborhood bar.

The New Departure hub cleaned up pretty well.  It was pristine inside.  A delight to rebuild that.  The spokes remain terribly rusty.  The only place they cleaned well is where they were covered in their jacket of grease and dirt.  I hope they don’t mind rolling around naked for awhile.

Front hub might be a Schwinn.  Hard to make out the script, though.  There were two different bearing retainers in there.  One was National, the other, Star.  The bearing retainer marked Star was an interesting design.  The retainer was open on the outside of the donut, forming a star shape.  I wish I had taken a picture.  Now it is safely put away in a bath of Phil Wood grease.  Might be a decade or more before the hub is opened.  Interesting that one or both of the bearings were replaced.  So often bicycles aren’t used enough to warrant bearing replacement, or if they need it, they are simply discarded because “they don’t work.”

I spent a fair amount of time hammering dents out of the fenders, but when it comes to metal work, I am just a hack.  I spent way too much time getting the chain guard in place.  If it wasn’t rubbing here, it was rubbing there.

I added baskets in front and back.  Both are Wald (made in Kentucky), although the rear set is obviously many decades old.  I like that Wald designed the inside edge of the rear baskets to follow the arc of the fender.  No longer the case with their current model.  

Funny that it has Goodyear tires.  Two companies that I associate with automobile tires represented on one bicycle.  Car companies still dabble in bicycles.  Bicycles badged with the names BMW, Mercedes and Hummer come to mind.  It always makes me laugh.  Why do they bother?  I have never seen one of these recent examples on the street.  Must have sold better in the past.  There are a lot of Goodrich bicycles on eBay and such.

I hope to ride the Goodrich to my friends’ cocktail hour this evening.  Maybe that will help it get under my skin.

Goodrich

Walking Frida around the neighborhood, I passed a home in the process of puking out the current tenant and her things. I was told she had lived there for 40 years. Melancholy, to be sure. A dumpster filled the single car drive. Memories to be lost for the tenant, but when I see a dumpster I think treasure. What to do?  In the interest of living simply, I try hard to limit what I bring home. It should be easy to pass by in the light of the circumstances, but apparently that mental light bulb needs to be replaced.

Our home in Omaha home was plenty big, affording us more than ample space for treasure. Moving all that stuff to Albany wasn’t easy (even after we rented a dumpster), so I made a pledge to remove something from our new home each time I brought something in. That pledge was honored not one second. This walk with Frida would surely include another lapse, as four balloon tire bicycles rested on kick stands in front of the dumpster. I spoke to the son who granted permission to take any or all of the bicycles, as he intended to place them at the curb with a free sign later in the day.

Albany is wonderful that way. The curb on trash night is where we share treasure with neighbors. People have no concern that good and even not so good items will end up in the landfill, as items of any measurable value are gone within minutes. Junk dealers troll in pick ups starting at 5:00 or so. When I can’t resist the pull, I troll on foot. I pretend I need to give Frida a second walk, but I fool no one.

Hardly a trash night passes without some must have item popping up on a nearby curb. My best find to date was a Marantz receiver. Found it on a curb as many as ten blocks from home. In a flash, Frida’s leash was in one hand and the 30 pound receiver under the other arm. Sharp corners all around added to the discomfort. I’d make it a block or so and have to switch arms. Not knowing whether the receiver would work made the work of carrying the hunk more difficult. Got home and plugged it in. Lights! As it warmed, the smell of hot dust and stale cigarette smoke was its first offering. I added speakers and an ipod and, voila, it was fully functional. I cleaned the volume pot with some magic spray from Radio Shack and it is a delight to this day. Still defreshens the air each time it warms up. Joys beyond joys.

Victories aside, what to do about the present opportunity? Because I asked the son about bicycles, in plural, he assumed I wanted all four. I thought I might, and told him I would walk one home at a time. Again, it was about ten blocks. I walked Frida home and the time helped me see I didn’t want four bicycles, or even to find homes for them. I rode a bicycle back and pulled the oldest bicycle back alongside on its flat tires as I pedaled. Felt bad about the other lonely bicycles so I mentioned the reminders to folks as I made my way home. The Goodrich I selected weighed a ton and rolled poorly, but I think I made the right decision.

Despite my penchant for collecting multiples of other bicycle types, my relationship with balloon tire bicycles has been one of serial monogamy. Prior to the newest find, we have owned two balloon tire bicycles. First was a Rollfast I pulled out of the garbage in NYC. Step through frame and one inch pitch chain. I added tires and grips and rode it around NYC for a couple of years. Will always remember pedaling it over some bridge, maybe the Brooklyn Bridge, and looking back at the city. I felt like a time traveling hero. At the end of my years in NYC, I rode the Rollfast around Washington Square Park with a for sale sign. In under an hour a young couple bought it for $40. We still miss it.

The second was a Western Flyer. I bought that one at an antique store in Omaha and brought it to Albany. It also sported a one inch pitch chain and a step through frame, but it retained the metal gas tank and rack that are too often removed. We never rode it much, as we owned so many other bicycles. Balloon tire bicycles are fun to ride, but we rarely selected the Western Flyer over another in a line up of light weight racers, fancy tourers and high end mountain bicycles. Lacey did ride it up and over the hills of Omaha one 4th of July years ago. It was hot, the hills steep and the bike heavy. She made it home, but had nothing left, least of which a good mood. I tried to resurrect interest in it by reconfiguring it for bicycle polo. This was before I had ever so much as watched a video of the game on youtube. I had no idea that a balloon tire bicycle has no business entering the polo fray. Needless to say, the Western Flyer didn’t see duty in that potentially bicycle eating game. Sadly, the Western Flyer flew out of our driveway at our last garage sale.

Less than a year later, this Goodrich is in our home. Initial research suggests it may have been built by Schwinn for Goodrich. The original paint under the fenders is a beautiful blue. Paint on top of that was applied thickly with a brush.

When a bicycle project comes my way, I usually dive right in and don’t stop until finished.  This is the first time I remembered to take pictures before the sprucing.  At the mid point, anyway.  Is that a New Departure coaster brake hub or a wooly mammoth? Time and degreaser will tell.

When I picked up the Goodrich, I remember saying to myself it would make a fun winter project. As if I could let it sit for months. I should be pedaling next week.  I see myself rolling on the Goodrich to get coffee or a beer down the street. More to come!

Perfect Pedaling Partner

This weekend Lacey and I celebrated our 17th wedding anniversary. I have loved each year and each is better than the last.

Every aspect of our relationship has evolved. Bicycling is no exception. When we first rode together, I had trouble slowing down, and we’d bicker about something most every ride. Like so many before me, I thought a tandem was the answer. Live and learn. Riding a tandem together only accelerated the descent into darkness. Hard when you are learning how to be together to be forced to pedal at the same time and at the same speed.

Lacey has always been more fit than I am, way more fit, but she runs more than she pedals. Also does yoga and work out videos like she is training for the Olympics. But pedaling isn’t for her second nature. She pedaled lots as a kid and the stories suggest she loved every minute of it. My favorite story involved her rolling down a hill and removing all limbs from all control points. The results are predictable and she still has a small scar. She is also proud of her bike tour around the Cape as a teenager. Makes me jealous! For all the riding I have done, the only touring I have done was an overnight with a friend to a local lake. This was in July, 1981!   I am on the left, wearing the Jack Daniel’s cap.  The lake was about 13 miles from our home.  We fished, slept in a tent, had breakfast and pedaled home. Loved it, but it was no tour of the Cape.

Like most American kids, though, Lacey lost interest in cycling. Then she met me. Doubt she was immediately amped to get back on a bicycle, but I took advantage of the fog of new love. One of my first gifts to Lacey was a bicycle. A Fisher mountain bicycle. Not even a Gary Fisher, but it was, and is, a very usable bicycle. I added toe clips and slicks. Slicks were great. Toe clips maybe not so great. Toe clips were new to her. As we have all experienced when new to hooking our feet to our pedals, she has fallen over while coming to a stop. I think just once, though. It was on the sidewalk in the Old Market in Omaha. I felt like shit, watching her do the slow speed “TIMBER” right in front of me and everyone else one the busy sidewalk. She didn’t need toe clips, didn’t ask for them, but I rode with toe clips so she should to (said my young brain). Learn from our mistakes!

In the early years, seemed like Lacey rode with me mostly when it wasn’t easily avoided. She was a trooper, but it wasn’t easy. Over the years, though, things changed for the better. We grew together. Lacey became a stronger pedaler. I became weaker. She became more confident in traffic. I became less confident (more conservative and hopefully safer). Of course, I bought her more bicycles.

I built her up a special Bridgestone X-02. Bought the frame in Boulder and the parts from all over. Pre eBay, so I visited bicycle stores all over the country. Then a Trek sport tourer. EBay provided a Panasonic racing bicycle with Shimano 600 parts, a pink Dawes mixte and a Bridgestone CB-1. Since we have been in Albany, we’ve added a Triumph 3 speed and an ANT.

More important than the bicycles, though, our rides got better because we started picking rides that we would both enjoy. Long rides are good when the weather is perfect. Don’t need perfect weather if we are going shorter, though. Helps if the destination is something about which we both care. Movies, dinner, garage sales, vintage clothes shopping and visiting friends are all good. Some of the best rides have no destination at all, and either one of us can veto the ride at any time. Tired, cold, hungry or bored? We head home! It doesn’t always work. We are still learning. I think critical masses are more or less off the list. Lacey isn’t comfortable around aggressive pedaling. Even though I am a very polite CMer, I am more likely to do something akin to aggressive pedaling when I am in a critical mass and Lacey doesn’t want any part of this.

The weekend we got married was warm and sunny. This weekend the weather was mixed. Our anniversary saw pouring rain all day. We got out only to walk Frida and go to dinner. It poured while we walked Frida. Dinner was nice. We drove. New World Cafe did a wonderful job catering to our needs as vegans. Only had to modify the menu a bit to make it perfect, and they were happy to oblige. Most of the day was spent in bed, John and Yoko style.

The other weekend day was beautiful. Dry with some sun. We pedaled to the Spectrum to see A Serious Man. Whoa! Serious film. See it.

Also spent some time reading. Finished David Byrne’s Bicycle Diaries. Wonderful to spend time with Mr. Byrne, and proud to have him on the team of pedalers. I hope Byrne fans who don’t pedal read this book. Might convert a few. Probably the case, though, that the overwhelming majority of readers will be serious pedalers already. Isn’t it sad? How many books have you read that advocate this or that and the reason you read them is because they advocate something you already believe in. Makes you feel good to read something touting what you already do. The folks who need to read the book seldom do.

Byrne is 55 or so. Likes to pedal slow, wearing street clothes, and explore new places. He doesn’t wear a helmet when he rides places he feels safe. Because he travels all over the globe, he gets to explore new cities all the time. Makes me want to get a folding bicycle and take it with me on business trips. I explore when I travel for work, but on foot. I can only get so far. If I only had a bicycle! I probably won’t get the folder, though. If I do, I doubt I will take it on the plane. I fly United and they charge $125 each way. If I had more time, I’d rent a bicycle. Did that once in Boston and will always remember it. The shop rented used bicycles so you didn’t look like a tourist. Boston traffic was heavy but it was easy to ride ride through it. Had lunch at a vegan Chinese joint. Visited a small bicycle shop in in Cambridge where I saw my first ANT. A special day, but it won’t often be repeated. I always want to get home to be with Lacey. She is more fun than exploring alone.

Sounds like a lot of David’s bicycling is done alone. So much of mine has been. It isn’t easy to find someone who wants to go where you want to go, when you want to go, and ride the way you ride. Partners can be found, but either they will ride too fast, too slow, run red lights or something that makes it hard. As a kid I always rode alone. Hot summers in Nebraska had me bicycling to downtown Lincoln at 1:00 in the morning. Cool and no traffic. I pedaled very quickly. Used to use the big ring up front all the time. Never do anymore. Often remove the big ring and the front derailleur from my road bikes. Sigh. Youth and the days of the big ring. Wonderful days.

Later in life I was in Omaha and didn’t find many potential bicycling partners. They were probably there, but I didn’t know them. For a time I went on weekend trips with my coworkers. We’d visit rails to trails projects in Nebraska, Iowa and Missouri. Loved it, but the trips dried up after a time. I miss them. Good riding partners, but nothing is forever.

Met a kid who woke me up to the importance of driving less. For the environment, obvious. This wasn’t always so obvious to me. He pointed out that it made no sense to put your bike on a car to carry the bike somewhere to ride. End up using more gas than if you didn’t bike at all. Better to ride around the city. Transportation biking! Can’t shake that now. It is second nature. Hard for me to ever put the bikes on the car anymore. I hear his voice when I even think of a trip. Car bike trips still happen, but not very often.

Moved to Albany and met dozens of like minded bicyclists. Thought I would never ride alone again. I organized little rides with motley crews to explore industrial graveyards in the area. I was invited to go on rides. Still am, but with increased use of the internet to organize events, it seems every ride is potentially huge and always impersonal. Can’t leave anyone out and it is just easier to send the invite to the listserve group. Sometimes this is great, but often not. I have become pretty particular about route, speed and following the law. When I have tried to set up rides with others lately, I call just one or two folks at the last minute with predictably poor results. I need to try harder and more often.

Luckily, I married the perfect pedaling partner. That is what Lacey is, now, after all these years of togetherness. Over hundreds of rides together we’ve learned to respect the needs of the other. We pedal the same speed. We stop at stop lights. We ride single file. We want to go the same places. Easy to coordinate with her, too, as she is always a few steps away. More often than not, then, when I am riding with someone the other is Lacey. I couldn’t be happier. Lacey is the ideal life partner, too, but we’re talking bicycles here.

I once saw David Byrne bicycling on 6th Avenue in NYC. Thought it was him, but was never really sure. Looked like him. He had white hair and a light cotton suit and was riding something that looked like an English 3 speed. Now that I know he has been bicycling around NYC for years, I am sure it was him. I’ll bet I’d like pedaling with him almost as much as I like pedaling with Lacey.

Better close, as she should be home any second.

Pedalists’ Picnic Basket

Who doesn’t like a picnic? It may be the wrong time of year (in my corner of the country) to think about eating outside, but perhaps you need a gift idea for someone who pedals. Consider this wonderful stainless steel tiffin container complete with cotton carrier and bamboo utensils. I considered it for all of about one minutes before bringing it home.

This tiffin container sports two compartments sitting one atop the other. They lock together making a secure and convenient unit in which to transport a hot lunch. The cotton carrier is lightly insulated and has an integrated and adjustable strap allowing over the shoulder transport. The bamboo utensils are cute as all get out and make for a complete set to delight your chosen gift recipient. The carrier even has a pocket to hold them.

Lunches are delivered all over cities in India in these containers. Why not enjoy an Indian business person’s lunch in a pretty setting near to you?

I bought mine at The Spinning Seed in Troy, New York. The owner of the shop is very kind and wants to share with you the eco friendly and beautiful housewares she has discovered. Her site promises an online store soon, but I am sure she would welcome your call and ship to you your very own tiffin container set.

I received no consideration for this post. I just really love my tiffin container set and wanted to share it with you. Happy pedaling!

Birds Still Fly

Fall is here and the ducks at the pond seem to be eating more and undertaking practice flights in preparation for a trip south. I am getting ready by pedaling to the grocery store. Hauling groceries is easy with my Burley Nomad cargo trailer.

I have had the trailer for at least a couple of years now and it has performed without fail. It can be fitted to most of my bicycles, provided they don’t have something funny going on in the left rear triangle (like a disk brake). That eliminates only two of my bicycles, though.

The trailer easily accepts six bags of groceries. Even when I shop hungry I have never had a problem fitting it all in. Weight isn’t an issue as the City of Albany is mostly flat. Encounter the slightest hill with the trailer loaded to capacity, though, and you will be looking for your lowest gear.

If I had it to do over again, I would consider buying a trailer made for hauling dogs rather than the purpose built cargo trailer. The dog trailer would work fine for groceries, and it might encourage motorists to give me more room as they pass. They wouldn’t know, after all, that my trailer contained only groceries. With a dog trailer, I could also travel with my dog. I am not sure she would enjoy it, but at least I could try. Actually, I have tried giving Frida a ride in the Nomad. She tolerated all two minutes of the experiment, but jumped out as soon as I slowed. Hence the need for a fully enclosed dog trailer. Could be fun. Maybe someday.

I almost forgot. Even though I try to limit communications with motorists to hand signals meant to request that they wait to pass until it is safe, I did break my rule this morning. When leaving the co-op on my bicycle, a large sedan was pulling in and headed right for me. We were traveling slowly, she eventually noticed me and then abruptly jerked her wheel to move to her side of the drive. She was on her cell, so I raised my hand to my face to pantomime jabbering on a phone and then lowered my hand to indicate my desire that she hang up. The phone remained pressed to her face and she used her “free” hand (the one that had been steering) to give me the bird. I hope her baby didn’t witness her behavior. I pedaled away without further communication, hoping only she maintained control of her car for the benefit of the people and property she was now lumbering toward. I need to redouble my efforts at limiting communication with motorists. So easily angered. Sigh.

ANT Open House

The internets said it was as likely to rain as not, but it did not, and a fine time was had by all. We arrived at 10:30 and the rides started at 11:00. Lacey, Laura and I did not get out of Mike Flanigan’s driveway before we were dusted by the pack pedaling the 15 mile ride. Perry documented my humiliation with a helmet camera. We are seen only at the very beginning, after which time Perry lit the afterburners to catch the pack and finish the ride with them. I was later assured the group didn’t mean to smoke us, but next time I will have my left crank in the 10:00 position at 10:59 so that I am ready for the starting surge. We made the best of it by stopping to photograph a peacock, taking in a barn sale and then enjoying a cup of hot cider. I also enjoyed taking first position in the buffet line, which I did with zero shame.

Laura had an especially fine time as it was her first ride on her new ANT, seen here being adjusted by Perry. Seems like he did a mighty fine job.

After the ride, we enjoyed Indian food, vegan brownies (thank you again, Betsy) and, as one could assume, much bicycle ogling.

Here is a colorful Geekhouse ride made by Marty. Hard to tell from the photograph but the rider is traveling backward. I have never had any luck traveling backward on a bicycle. When I was young, I had the same problem on roller skates. I doubt I had the presence of mind to thank Bobbie Cheever for skating backward when we couples skated. If you are out there Bobbie, thank you very much.

Mike’s scorcher was a real looker. Fixed gear in back and a roller brake in front together handle stopping, such that only one control is needed on the bars.

There was also a fair amount of horsing around on tricycles. Seems to happen every year. I can only guess this is a scheme on Mike’s part to help potential customers appreciate the benefits of a properly fitted ride.

Time was also spent in the shop looking at all the wonderful machinery Mike has plucked from various machine shops around the Northeast. Great to see that these repurposed brutes have been saved and are put to good use. Imagine the stories behind each, or ask Mike next time you see him. That is Mike on the left. I thought my camera was set to focus on the center of the image, here the pencil sharpener, but apparently it was focusing on the nearest protruding nipple. Handy mode, to be sure, but here it left Mike a little blurry. Live and learn.