In his book, Bicycle Diaries, David Byrne circles his feet over his peddles and writes about cities he has visited around the world.
Santa Fe, New Mexico is as close as I’ve been to urban cycling. Even the central plaza in peak turista season seems a quiet neighborhood compared to Byrne’s experiences in Berlin, Buenos Aries, Istanbul, London, Manila, New York, San Francisco, and Sidney.
Although they impinge with all manner of vehicular and pedestrian traffic, Byrne finds these places worth seeing from the seat of a bike. Several cities, like Berlin, Paris, London, and New York are actively promoting bicycle use with special lanes, creative racks, and short-term rentals.
Recently in Paris, I saw locals in business attire straddling loaner bikes. Renting from Velib is as simple as swiping your credit card and plucking one of their bikes from the rack. Peddle into the Parisian traffic, and if you persevere for thirty minutes, vous payez rien.
I found Byrne’s socio-cultural, artistic, and, yes, musical commentaries thoughtful once we got through the Bush Bashing. This “Talking Head” has his views and is not bashful about bringing them along on the bike. But can you think of a better place to talk politics?
The author closes with a discussion of urban planning and future travels along the streets in his home town, New York City. He peers over the horizon where technology and legislators promise to curb automobile driving freedoms in Manhattan. And what will become of urban cycling if rallies like Critical Mass “cork” in the paths of others? Will we jeopardize control of our bicycles? More of that later, and permit me to digress.
The first time I saw the New York City was on a bright Saturday in my “72” BMW 1600. Riding shotgun was David Lipp, a fellow Army classmate who was born and raised in Chicago’s near north.
We emerged from the Holland Tunnel and drove into an empty financial district not yet shadowed by the World Trade Center. Then, only stately Trinity Church stood guard over Wall Street. Lipp and I waived off a proposition from una Madonna della strada and walked over to Fraunces Tavern where General Washington bid farewell to his officers. On the way, we passed Delmonico’s Restaurant, when a ghost appeared in my imagination. It was a cigar smoking Samuel Clemens eating sautéed sweetbreads.
Back in the Bimmer, we headed north on Lafayette where Midtown’s congestion swallowed us whole. I had driven in downtown Chicago but had never experienced anything like this cacophonous gridlock.
Lipp was a huge astronaut groupie and worshipped adventures in Outer Space. His eyes grew wide, and he cried out over the din, “I can’t believe they live here.”
Even after reading Byrne’s book, I tend to agree. Permit me to paraphrase Walt Whitman:
“Take your Manhattan streets with its powerful throbs, beating drums and the endless noisy chorus.
Give me fields where unmow’d grass, fresh corn and wheat grow and serene-moving animals teach content. Grace me with solitude and glorious hills as I cycle the Upper Left-hand Corner of Illinois.”
Saturday, January 30, 2010
Monday, January 18, 2010
Call of the Wild
I confess I have never read Jack London’s classic. How could Buck (a dog) be “called” from sunny Santa Clara to the greed-fed violent frozen emptiness of Alaska?
January had me hoping for a little sun and light winds to explore a few rural roads that caught my attention while glancing over the Galena & Jo Daviess Road Guide. When I “Googled” these roads, I discovered Fitzgerald Lake, which lies just below a long 15% climb up Gamble Hill. And so on Friday, as I drove back from Woodbine along well cleared Brown and Bethel Roads, my hope became a calling to the wilderness.
On Saturday, winds wheezed, and the predicted sun merely peaked through the foggy frost as I swung a leg over my Salsa Las Cruces at Massbach Ridge Winery. Massbach and Derinda Roads were clear as a bell, but what would we find on Heer Road? Ice? Slush? Slop? All three?
The air nipped my nose as I turned off S. Derinda Road. To my great delight, the surface of Heer Road was chip sealed with a just a dusting of snow, salt and sand.
Curtiss Hill Road was gravel but hard packed, and Las Cruces’ Schwalbe tires gripped with confidence as I descended into a hushed valley. Halfway down, I stopped to photograph a barn and met a Peacock clinging to the peak waiting, as I was, for the sun to show itself.
Around the corner, I turned left on Gamble Hill and soon was riding along the north shore of Fitzgerald Lake. At last, the sun appeared to punctuate a particular solitude and mystery which only occurs in the hoar frost of winter.
There is a story about the ghost of an Indian chief which appears around the lake in early morning. I shifted down and commenced climbing in ernest through dark woods up the steep hill to Hanover Road.
During warm easy June cycling days, we sometimes take nature for granted. Only in January when we scarcely have a day or two together can we say we were truly called.
January had me hoping for a little sun and light winds to explore a few rural roads that caught my attention while glancing over the Galena & Jo Daviess Road Guide. When I “Googled” these roads, I discovered Fitzgerald Lake, which lies just below a long 15% climb up Gamble Hill. And so on Friday, as I drove back from Woodbine along well cleared Brown and Bethel Roads, my hope became a calling to the wilderness.
On Saturday, winds wheezed, and the predicted sun merely peaked through the foggy frost as I swung a leg over my Salsa Las Cruces at Massbach Ridge Winery. Massbach and Derinda Roads were clear as a bell, but what would we find on Heer Road? Ice? Slush? Slop? All three?
The air nipped my nose as I turned off S. Derinda Road. To my great delight, the surface of Heer Road was chip sealed with a just a dusting of snow, salt and sand.
Curtiss Hill Road was gravel but hard packed, and Las Cruces’ Schwalbe tires gripped with confidence as I descended into a hushed valley. Halfway down, I stopped to photograph a barn and met a Peacock clinging to the peak waiting, as I was, for the sun to show itself.
Around the corner, I turned left on Gamble Hill and soon was riding along the north shore of Fitzgerald Lake. At last, the sun appeared to punctuate a particular solitude and mystery which only occurs in the hoar frost of winter.
There is a story about the ghost of an Indian chief which appears around the lake in early morning. I shifted down and commenced climbing in ernest through dark woods up the steep hill to Hanover Road.
During warm easy June cycling days, we sometimes take nature for granted. Only in January when we scarcely have a day or two together can we say we were truly called.
Friday, January 1, 2010
Centurion Candidate
Just this week, I engaged in an email debate with a dear friend edited as follows:
Dave, please circulate. I am in Colorado. Liebman may be interested, Rick Long and others. http://www.centurioncycling.com/
We've been talking about this, Lyle. The admission fee is pretty steep as I recall. We can have more fun on our Tour for Cancer Century and the Cercle les Vignobles for a lot less $ ($150 for the 100 miler) and raise money for a good cause instead of lining the pockets of organizers outside our community. Nevertheless, we'll pass it on.
Certainly this is a race not a ride.
No kidding?
It is patterned after similar events in Italy. For anyone with a few competitive juices this should be investigated.
Lyle, our Cercle les Vignobles is patterned after the L'Eroica epic event in Tuscany. http://www.eroica.it/index_en.php Come ride with us around the Galena wineries, and we'll keep your heart rate at a competitive level.
It is close and an event to aim for as we do our winter training and start our Spring riding.
The Centurion isn't until August. How bout joining us closer in June for a "tune-up" at the Tour for Cancer Century?
Remember Italy has been the home for the Giro for nearly a century.
Lyle, then let’s plan to ride the 15th stage of this year's Giro which starts in Mestre just across the lagoon from Venice and finishes at the top of historic Monte Zoncolan in the Dolomites. I've talked with Trek Travel, and they will rent us bikes for the occasion. Yea, for real! If you really wanna be a stud, forget Madison; go to Italy!
Happy New Year!
Epilogue -- By definition, a Centurion is a commander of an ancient Roman company consisting of 100 men. What I wouldn’t give to have 100 people riding the Tour for Cancer Century and another 100 in our slightly epic Cercle les Vignobles. That’s $4,000 directly to our Ferguson Cancer Center if our riders each donate $20.
Dave, please circulate. I am in Colorado. Liebman may be interested, Rick Long and others. http://www.centurioncycling.com/
We've been talking about this, Lyle. The admission fee is pretty steep as I recall. We can have more fun on our Tour for Cancer Century and the Cercle les Vignobles for a lot less $ ($150 for the 100 miler) and raise money for a good cause instead of lining the pockets of organizers outside our community. Nevertheless, we'll pass it on.
Certainly this is a race not a ride.
No kidding?
It is patterned after similar events in Italy. For anyone with a few competitive juices this should be investigated.
Lyle, our Cercle les Vignobles is patterned after the L'Eroica epic event in Tuscany. http://www.eroica.it/index_en.php Come ride with us around the Galena wineries, and we'll keep your heart rate at a competitive level.
It is close and an event to aim for as we do our winter training and start our Spring riding.
The Centurion isn't until August. How bout joining us closer in June for a "tune-up" at the Tour for Cancer Century?
Remember Italy has been the home for the Giro for nearly a century.
Lyle, then let’s plan to ride the 15th stage of this year's Giro which starts in Mestre just across the lagoon from Venice and finishes at the top of historic Monte Zoncolan in the Dolomites. I've talked with Trek Travel, and they will rent us bikes for the occasion. Yea, for real! If you really wanna be a stud, forget Madison; go to Italy!
Happy New Year!
Epilogue -- By definition, a Centurion is a commander of an ancient Roman company consisting of 100 men. What I wouldn’t give to have 100 people riding the Tour for Cancer Century and another 100 in our slightly epic Cercle les Vignobles. That’s $4,000 directly to our Ferguson Cancer Center if our riders each donate $20.
Passed Winter Solstice
We’re on the other side of the Winter Solstice, and the festival of light is upon us. Well almost.
Rain all day on Christmas Eve, and I circle Ohare’s terminal waiting for Katie and Scott to retrieve their bags. Meanwhile, Satchmo Louis Armstrong recites “Night Before Christmas” on the College of DuPage’s jazz station. Finally, my Santa Feans appear at Vestibule 3E, and we are off to the Upper Left-Hand Corner of Illinois through a steady rain and holiday traffic express.
It snows all Christmas Day and all the Saturday after. We have a houseful, and grandsons Luca and Massimo make enough noise to drown out all ten adults talking at once. This is Christmas at “Condo Fondo” and surprisingly not as cramped as Linda and I feared.
Outside, the snow thickens, and we join Luca and Massi for a Saturday morning sled. In late afternoon, flakes fade, and the western sky glows faintly pink. I manage 40 minutes on the trainer imagining I’m out on Schapville Road in the glorious hills.
Now it is Sunday—the first in the last two that we won’t be riding out-of-doors. Alas, I sit at the computer thinking it will be several days until we ride in fresh winter air. Meanwhile, we’re on the trainer with my IPod time transporter.
I let music dictate tempo and intensity. The Thad Jones & Mel Lewis Jazz Orchestra drives “Little Pixie.” This is big gear high rev stuff. I “scat” along, fly my head and shoulders, and give the legs their freedom. Thad’s fabulous arrangement is nearly eleven minutes long and fills the workout time with a big sound.
We switch genres and gears to Ravel’s “Walses Nobles et Sentimentale” with solo piano by Abbey Simon. For fifteen minutes, we ride from the Noble monumental “Modere” to the sublimely Sentimentale “Epilogue.” I visualize a delicate light in the French countryside.
Finally, Butterfly and Pinkerton sing Puccini’s “Bimbi dagli occhi piene di malia.” This most lovely opera duet attests that this love and all indoor cycling are temporary. I am transported from a view of Yellow Creek to Nagasaki and hence to Tuscany.
So what would otherwise be 40 minutes of drudgery pass joyously through rhythm and imagination. Now, please let the sun come out and the thermometer rise.
Rain all day on Christmas Eve, and I circle Ohare’s terminal waiting for Katie and Scott to retrieve their bags. Meanwhile, Satchmo Louis Armstrong recites “Night Before Christmas” on the College of DuPage’s jazz station. Finally, my Santa Feans appear at Vestibule 3E, and we are off to the Upper Left-Hand Corner of Illinois through a steady rain and holiday traffic express.
It snows all Christmas Day and all the Saturday after. We have a houseful, and grandsons Luca and Massimo make enough noise to drown out all ten adults talking at once. This is Christmas at “Condo Fondo” and surprisingly not as cramped as Linda and I feared.
Outside, the snow thickens, and we join Luca and Massi for a Saturday morning sled. In late afternoon, flakes fade, and the western sky glows faintly pink. I manage 40 minutes on the trainer imagining I’m out on Schapville Road in the glorious hills.
Now it is Sunday—the first in the last two that we won’t be riding out-of-doors. Alas, I sit at the computer thinking it will be several days until we ride in fresh winter air. Meanwhile, we’re on the trainer with my IPod time transporter.
I let music dictate tempo and intensity. The Thad Jones & Mel Lewis Jazz Orchestra drives “Little Pixie.” This is big gear high rev stuff. I “scat” along, fly my head and shoulders, and give the legs their freedom. Thad’s fabulous arrangement is nearly eleven minutes long and fills the workout time with a big sound.
We switch genres and gears to Ravel’s “Walses Nobles et Sentimentale” with solo piano by Abbey Simon. For fifteen minutes, we ride from the Noble monumental “Modere” to the sublimely Sentimentale “Epilogue.” I visualize a delicate light in the French countryside.
Finally, Butterfly and Pinkerton sing Puccini’s “Bimbi dagli occhi piene di malia.” This most lovely opera duet attests that this love and all indoor cycling are temporary. I am transported from a view of Yellow Creek to Nagasaki and hence to Tuscany.
So what would otherwise be 40 minutes of drudgery pass joyously through rhythm and imagination. Now, please let the sun come out and the thermometer rise.
Saturday, December 26, 2009
December Kit
It is a December Sunday morning following 16 inches of snow in our Upper Left-hand Corner of Illinois, and as I read my morning email, I receive one from Jilly.
“Are you riding today?”
“Are you serious?” I reply.
“It’s 33 degrees, and I wanna play.” She replies.
Now she has me thinking. Why not? Here’s a promise of fresh air and time to try out two new acquisitions from Rivendell Bikes.
Form most definitely follows function at rivebike.com as exemplified by their ST gloves and possum wool bicycle hat. The gloves are like a lofty down sleeping bag for your fingers, and the “possum” tea cover fits nicely under a helmet, shelters ears entirely, and has a nice little bill to shade your eyes on a bright winter day.
So we’re off on Salsa cyclocross through slush and salt. As I ride behind the Meadows Mall, I’m surprised to find that the ice has nearly vanished, and Fairground, Park, and Becker School Roads are clear as well.
I meet Jilly, and we get in an invigorating twenty mile ride. Only our feet feel the chill.
The ST gloves are like riding barehanded in June. Forget handlebar muffs and lobster gloves; these do the trick for $30 plus shipping. And the possum bill stocking cap is light, soft and warm. Maybe by keeping body heat from escaping the lid and fingertips, we’ll get extra miles from tootsie toes. Bravo, Rivendell. Best fifty eight bucks I’ve spent on winter wear.
So, I guess this is not so much about Jilly and Dave’s excellent December 13th ride. After all, trying new winter gear nudged us out the door in the first place. Nevertheless, a glorious ride, Jilly!
Now, what about winter après cycling? Today’s ride was full of salty sand and wormy road guts, calling for a Salsa scrub afterwards.
Out comes Linda’s watering can to wash Salsa in frigid winter quicker and easier than a garden hose. I dribble warm water over the bike, and rub down lightly with a fleece mitt. Than we dry with an old towel and re-lube from a spray can of Boeshield T-9—another Rivendell miracle.
I first learned of this friction fighting wonder from David Bell at MelloVelo in Santa Fe, New Mexico and rediscovered it on Rivendell’s site. Boeshield is a great all purpose lube for bikes, and slicks up our garage and Chevy Blazer doors when WD40 and lithium grease leave the squeak. Google “Boeshield T-9” for details.
And about our feet; our cold numb feet after our winter ride? No matter! We pull on Keen’s new Winterport II boots while cleaning Salsa. This is truly our acquisition of the season. We feel Birkenstock support inside these warm dry light weight slip-ons which grip the ice and snow like Blizzaks. These boots are it. Unfortunately, they are not available in women's sizes.
And so, this is a Sunday December story (perhaps too commercial). Winter riding brings the joy of outdoors after a stormy confinement. Inevitably, sunlight will clear the roads, and all will be well again.
“Are you riding today?”
“Are you serious?” I reply.
“It’s 33 degrees, and I wanna play.” She replies.
Now she has me thinking. Why not? Here’s a promise of fresh air and time to try out two new acquisitions from Rivendell Bikes.
Form most definitely follows function at rivebike.com as exemplified by their ST gloves and possum wool bicycle hat. The gloves are like a lofty down sleeping bag for your fingers, and the “possum” tea cover fits nicely under a helmet, shelters ears entirely, and has a nice little bill to shade your eyes on a bright winter day.
So we’re off on Salsa cyclocross through slush and salt. As I ride behind the Meadows Mall, I’m surprised to find that the ice has nearly vanished, and Fairground, Park, and Becker School Roads are clear as well.
I meet Jilly, and we get in an invigorating twenty mile ride. Only our feet feel the chill.
The ST gloves are like riding barehanded in June. Forget handlebar muffs and lobster gloves; these do the trick for $30 plus shipping. And the possum bill stocking cap is light, soft and warm. Maybe by keeping body heat from escaping the lid and fingertips, we’ll get extra miles from tootsie toes. Bravo, Rivendell. Best fifty eight bucks I’ve spent on winter wear.
So, I guess this is not so much about Jilly and Dave’s excellent December 13th ride. After all, trying new winter gear nudged us out the door in the first place. Nevertheless, a glorious ride, Jilly!
Now, what about winter après cycling? Today’s ride was full of salty sand and wormy road guts, calling for a Salsa scrub afterwards.
Out comes Linda’s watering can to wash Salsa in frigid winter quicker and easier than a garden hose. I dribble warm water over the bike, and rub down lightly with a fleece mitt. Than we dry with an old towel and re-lube from a spray can of Boeshield T-9—another Rivendell miracle.
I first learned of this friction fighting wonder from David Bell at MelloVelo in Santa Fe, New Mexico and rediscovered it on Rivendell’s site. Boeshield is a great all purpose lube for bikes, and slicks up our garage and Chevy Blazer doors when WD40 and lithium grease leave the squeak. Google “Boeshield T-9” for details.
And about our feet; our cold numb feet after our winter ride? No matter! We pull on Keen’s new Winterport II boots while cleaning Salsa. This is truly our acquisition of the season. We feel Birkenstock support inside these warm dry light weight slip-ons which grip the ice and snow like Blizzaks. These boots are it. Unfortunately, they are not available in women's sizes.
And so, this is a Sunday December story (perhaps too commercial). Winter riding brings the joy of outdoors after a stormy confinement. Inevitably, sunlight will clear the roads, and all will be well again.
Sunday, November 1, 2009
Crossing to Safety
I borrow this title from a novel by Wallace Stegner.
We have dear friends who just returned from a cruise of the Danube. They left the country while Judy’s mom was sick with pneumonia. She needed to stay in touch, and thanks to the rapidly developing digital world, she was able to pop into an internet café or otherwise borrow a laptop from a shipmate.
One rainy afternoon, I shared a beer with Mida Smith. Among other things, we talked about a bicycle ride she and Tim took across the USofA in 1999. Mida reminisced that, “It was the greatest feeling of freedom I’ve ever had in my life.”
On one hand, we have the digital connection on the Danube, and on the other a near independence from that sort of thing across the Kansas plains.
When I ride my bike, my mobile is always on in my back pocket. But I beg only a silent comfort. Otherwise, when it rings, the aggravation level rises to distraction. Jilly Whiting’s phone invariably rings at least three times while we’re riding. Then we must endure repeated reminder beeps.
We are children with digital toys. We must have them, and yet we reject these tools when we seek our freedom of solitude.
The other day, a young man rode his hot crotch rocket past my condo. Looking like Tom Cruse in Top Gun, he dismounted and immediately pushed up his shades and flipped open his phone. Solitude done; back to the world. Or one's internal vision of one's world?
Here’s a thought. We could ride our bicycle from Freeport to LaCrosse, Wisconsin. Certainly, some of those rural roads run through hills inaccessible to the cellular net. Then if we have a problem, we must seek out a stranger to visit with. Perhaps this is partly what Mida meant by feeling freedom.
Is it an opportunity to solve problems on one’s own or approach a stranger on a personal level and gather a smile. How self satisfying this can be as opposed to a raucous too familiar flip phone stuck in your ear and a vacuous too familiar conversation.
We have dear friends who just returned from a cruise of the Danube. They left the country while Judy’s mom was sick with pneumonia. She needed to stay in touch, and thanks to the rapidly developing digital world, she was able to pop into an internet café or otherwise borrow a laptop from a shipmate.
One rainy afternoon, I shared a beer with Mida Smith. Among other things, we talked about a bicycle ride she and Tim took across the USofA in 1999. Mida reminisced that, “It was the greatest feeling of freedom I’ve ever had in my life.”
On one hand, we have the digital connection on the Danube, and on the other a near independence from that sort of thing across the Kansas plains.
When I ride my bike, my mobile is always on in my back pocket. But I beg only a silent comfort. Otherwise, when it rings, the aggravation level rises to distraction. Jilly Whiting’s phone invariably rings at least three times while we’re riding. Then we must endure repeated reminder beeps.
We are children with digital toys. We must have them, and yet we reject these tools when we seek our freedom of solitude.
The other day, a young man rode his hot crotch rocket past my condo. Looking like Tom Cruse in Top Gun, he dismounted and immediately pushed up his shades and flipped open his phone. Solitude done; back to the world. Or one's internal vision of one's world?
Here’s a thought. We could ride our bicycle from Freeport to LaCrosse, Wisconsin. Certainly, some of those rural roads run through hills inaccessible to the cellular net. Then if we have a problem, we must seek out a stranger to visit with. Perhaps this is partly what Mida meant by feeling freedom.
Is it an opportunity to solve problems on one’s own or approach a stranger on a personal level and gather a smile. How self satisfying this can be as opposed to a raucous too familiar flip phone stuck in your ear and a vacuous too familiar conversation.
Tuesday, September 8, 2009
Sandals for US
August 17, 2009
Shimano American Corp.
1 HollandIrvine, CA 92618
We love your first generation cycling sandals and are terribly sad they were discontinued.
Please consider bringing back the original design. It was better looking, much lighter and stiffer than the big bulky thing that succeeded it.
We love it far more than any other sandal we’ve owned. Jilly particularly likes the open toe, cause she can tan her tootsies.
Best wishes,
Dave Fonda and Jilly Whiting
Chainlink Cyclists Cycling Club
Freeport, Illinois
Shimano American Corp.
1 HollandIrvine, CA 92618
We love your first generation cycling sandals and are terribly sad they were discontinued.
Please consider bringing back the original design. It was better looking, much lighter and stiffer than the big bulky thing that succeeded it.
We love it far more than any other sandal we’ve owned. Jilly particularly likes the open toe, cause she can tan her tootsies.
Best wishes,
Dave Fonda and Jilly Whiting
Chainlink Cyclists Cycling Club
Freeport, Illinois
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)