The New Toilet Paper?

Today's post relates, at least somewhat, to yesterday's.

As I mentioned, bikes are in short supply all over the world as a result of the COVID-19 pandemic.  With transit systems on severely restricted schedules, or shut down altogether, many vital workers are pedaling to work and people are using their bikes to get to appointments and whatever stores are still open.

One result is that some communities have declared bicycle shops as essential businesses.  If you're reading this blog, that designation seems self-evident.  Some people, however, seem to disagree--and have some ideas that are, to put it charitably, interesting about what constitutes an "essential" business. (Tatoo parlors? Golf courses?)

This conflict came to head in Normal, a central Illinois town of 55,000 people that is home to the main campus of Illinois State University.  Its mayor, Chris Koos, has threatened to hand out summonses to anyone who doesn't follow the State of Illinois order to maintain social distance--or any open business not deemed "essential" by the State.  So far, that doesn't sound like anything officials haven't done in other parts of the world.

Also not unusual  are the the protests against his mandate, or the fact that many of the protestors--some of whom started a Facebook group and even made death threats--own or work in hair salons and other businesses deemed "not essential."  I have never been to Normal, but I imagine at least some of them associate bicycles with the college, which they equate with privilege.

As Mayor Koos has said, they don't understand that many people depend on bicycles for transportation, in much the same way people see their cars as necessities.  Also, most cyclists were, in effect, "social distancing" before it was required.

Last week, a group of protestors gathered near the Vitesse bike shop to decry the shop's--and other bike retailers'--opening.  

Why did they choose to gather at Vitesse?  Well, it just happens that Mayor Koos has owned it for the past 42 years.  He and his employees have received death threats, and the shop's website has been "bombed".  He, however, came up with a creative response to the threats and protests.

"PROTESTER FLASH SALE," the banner read. "Protesters Only 5-6 p.m.  Bikes Parts and Accessories on Sale!"

None took the bait.  Koos seems to expect as much:  "It was as much a joke as anything."  But, he says, he would have given the protesters sale prices for whatever they wanted.

The protesers didn't take him up on his offer, but many others didn't need such a lure.  Since the pandemic hit, Koos explains, sales have been up 71 percent and the shop gets "constant service requests."  Like Charlie McCorkle and other shop owners, he says he can't get enough bikes to keep up with demand.

 "Bikes are the new toilet paper, " he says.

Finding My Corner

Sometimes I enjoy "getting lost".  Of course, sometimes it's part of finding my way.  But the pleasure comes in unexpected pleasures experienced along the way.  It might be an interesting building or landscape feature I hadn't seen before, or simply a new sensory experience or insight about something.  Other times, it's nice just to have the freedom to not travel in a perfect linear path.

I have to admit, though, that even when I'm riding for pleasure, it can get frustrating to find myself looping back to the same place three or four times.  New York has a grid pattern, even if it breaks down in places, so it's possible to go only so far astray.  Paris's streets are mostly straight, but they usually begin and end in some sort of circle or square place.  Also, because there are only a couple of really tall buildings in the City of Light, it's easy to use them to orient myself.

Now, here in Rome, they didn't have a Baron Haussmann who tried to make straight lines out of their ancient winding roads.  And, although it shares Paris' preponderance of low to mid-level buildings, the tallest or highest-standing structures (like the Vatican) don't always stand out because the city is hilly.  (Paris is mostly flat.)  In this sense, it's a lot like Prague, where I cycled a few years ago.  

I was completely unfamiliar with the geography of the Czech capital before I started riding it, so it didn't frustrate me when I found myself circling about, or simply ending up in a completely different part of town from where I intended to go.  On the other hand, I thought I still had some knowledge of this city, though I must say that I didn't cycle the last time I was here.  Turns out, I remembered some specific spots more than I could recall what's between them.  I tried, at times, to follow parts of the route on which Roberto took me, and later marked on a map.  Of course, I was trying to find my way without his knowledge of this city--and with my navigational skills, which rival those of a guy who thought he was headed to the land of the Punjabs but instead landed somewhere near Port au Prince.

Finally, after I found myself at the intersection of via XX Settembre, Corso d'Italia and via Nomentana for the fifth time, I gave up all hope of going to any of the sites I thought I just have to see before this trip is over. For one thing, I reminded myself that, for all the time I've lived in New York and spent in Paris--and for all the bike trips I took in France--I haven't even come close to seeing everything that's worth seeing.  And, I reminded myself, even if I miss the Trevi Fountain this time, it can't be a whole lot different from how it was when I saw it in 1996.  

After making that realization, I found a great viewing spot across from the Quirinale.  And, a couple of minutes later, I found what I think is my favorite spot in Rome:

I mean, where else can you find an intersection that has a fountain on each of its four corners--and each of those fountains is whimsical, and even beautiful?  

The funny thing is that a few minutes later, I found myself at Trevi, almost without trying.

The real highlight of this day, though, was going to the Pantheon:

In a previous post, I mentioned that it took New York City seven and a half years to build a toilet stall in the Brooklyn park where I spent many hours of my childhood.  Although it incorporates "green" technology found in other state-of-the-art facilities (Does that strike you as a funny phrase to use in reference to a toilet stall?), it isn't innovative or unusual, at least in a technical sense.  And it cost more, per square foot, than it would take to buy the most expensive apartment in Trump Tower!

Nearly two milennia ago, the Emperor Hadrian built this monument, if I'm not mistaken, in two years. Moreover, this dome is something that nobody would know how to construct, even today.  For one thing, no one is entirely sure about the materials used: It's said to be concrete, but to my understanding, concrete was not widely, if at all, used at that time.  Also, it's unsupported and half again as wide in diameter as the dome on the US Capitol building.

One of the reasons why the Pantheon still stands today is that since 609 it has been known as, officially, the Church of St. Mary and The Martyrs.  Although most people still call it the Pantheon (after the Greek word for "all of the gods"; pandemonium, a word coined by John Milton in Paradise Lost, means "all demons"), it is a Roman Catholic house of worship--which is probably what saved it from being destroyed during the Middle Ages, as many other "pagan" structures were.  

(Interestingly, one might argue that the reason the Hagia Sophia stands today is that it became a mosque.  Had it remained a Christian church, it might not have survived the Moorish invasion.)


Hmm....How lost was I today?

Paint, Polish and Patina

Today included a trip to Dollar Tree so I could stock up for the apocalypse.  No, as bad as some things are, we're not in it. At least, not in this part of the world and not yet.

Anyway, as I left--with toilet paper and hand sanitizer, among other things--I spotted this:

Its owner had left the store just before me.  She didn't speak English well and I don't know what, if any, other languages we might have had in common.  But at least she understood that I was looking at her bike and not trying to scam her--out of it or anything else.

After a bit of fumbling, I managed to ask whether the bike came with that finish.  An artist friend did it, she said.  And that friend is going to "fix" it for her soon.

As I write this, I'm thinking of that debate of whether a work of art should be hermetically sealed, as many museum pieces are, or left to public contact.  I rather liked that paint finish as it is, but I can understand why she'd want her friend to restore it.  I mean, I like bikes with patina and ones with shine. 

A Very Expensive Rest Stop

How much home can you buy for $2 million?

You might wonder why I'm raising such a question here. It's not that I'm getting rich from writing this blog:  In fact, I haven't made a cent from it.  Then again, I've never made any attempt to monetize this site.  

The question entered my mind because of something I saw during my ride yesterday.

In some parts of this nation, two million dollars can buy you a veritable palace, or at least a mansion.  I have to admit, of the ones I saw in this article, I am partial to the ones in Poulsbo, Washington and Block Island, Rhode Island.  Perhaps those high wispy clouds tinged by the sunset make the one in Washington State seem even more beautiful than it is.  And I just might like the one in Rhode Island because I'm generally partial to New England.

So...what does $2 million get you in New York?

Yes, a toilet. 

This public restroom facility (I think that's the official name for structures like it.) is in Gravesend Park, Brooklyn.  While growing up, I spent a fair amount of time in that park, wedged between the 18th Avenue shopping area and a Department of Sanitation garage.

Can't beat the location, right?  Maybe that's why it cost $5000 per square foot:  more than it would take to buy the most expensive apartment in Trump Tower!

And, no, there are no gold-plated fixtures or marble ceilings.  It's just a basic public restroom with steel stalls and fixtures.  At least it was clean, which is all I ask when I stop to take care of my needs during a ride.

In case you were wondering:  It took seven and a half years to complete.  I bet it didn't take nearly as long to build this:

or the train line that ascends from, or descends to, the tunnel to the left of the photo. And I'll bet it will all last longer!

No Destination, But A Memory

Yesterday was a no-particular-destination ride. The morning sky was so clear and bright I could have believed that the previous night’s “Blue Super Moon” was helping the sun. The temperature—around 19c (66F) felt more like an early Fall than late Summer. The north wind rustled leaves and spilled cool waves against my skin.

Though I had particular place I intended to ride, I knew I wanted to pedal into that wind so that, depending on my route, it would blow at my back on my way back.

So my ramble took me up and down the hills, and past estates—some inhabited, others turned into museums, libraries and other monuments and institutions. That meant going first through the Bronx—and up the new Bruckner bike lane I rode on Sunday.

As I entered the lane from 138th Street, I had a flashback that caused me to stop at one of the pillars holding the highway above me.

The scene I recollected may have happened at that post. If not, it took place at one nearby. Whichever it was, realizing that the memory was from about thirty years ago made me feel, for a moment, old.  But I’m still in midlife. Really!

I was riding with some of my old mountain biking buddies. We all lived in Brooklyn and rode trails in nearby parks or took trains or rides with whoever could drive to places further from the city.

That day, if I recall correctly, we were pedaling home from Van Cortlandt Park. We prided ourselves on not having to stop for a traffic light—until that moment. 

As we waited, I saw a boy who looked about 12 or 13 years old facing the post, his hands cupped in front of his crotch. I didn’t judge him: After all, countless men and boys (and I, once upon a time) took care of their needs in a similar way when they (we) couldn’t find a toilet.

Except that he wasn’t taking care of that kind of business. I couldn’t help but to notice something longer and darker than the “jewels” a boy of that age would’ve had. And it was darker, and made of something that wasn’t human flesh.

He took one hand off it, reached into his pocket and brought his hand to his crotch.

The light changed. As we pedaled down the next block, I turned to my riding buddies. “Did you see what I saw?”

I didn’t need to ask. They nodded. “Yeah, he was loadin’ his gun,” Ray—“Crazy Ray” to us—deadpanned.

As I continued yesterday’s ride, I couldn’t help but to think about that boy.  Did he live to see a day like yesterday?  If he’s still around, he’d be even older than I was then.  Did he make it to midlife?

She Deserves A Smoother Road

Tomorrow will mark 20 years since the deadliest terror attack on US soil.  During the commemorations, there will be much talk of "heroes."  And that awful day produced many, some of whom didn't survive the day. 

I will say more about them tomorrow. (Don't worry:  The post will relate to bicycling as well as that terrible event.)  Today, though, I want talk about another hero who had yet to be born on that day. 

Jyoti Kumari, self-portrait

 

Jyoti Kumari bought a purple bicycle for the equivalent of $20.  Unlike other 15-year-olds, however, she didn't pedal it to school or work.  Instead, she used it to bring her father home.

To say that was no small feat was an understatement.  Mohan Paswan was a big man, carrying a big bag.  A migrant worker had been injured on a job near New Delhi, about 1200 kilometers (700 miles) from his family's home. Compounding the difficulty of that situation was the lockdowns, then some of the world's strictest, that had been imposed on India.  So, even if he could've worked, there was no work for him.  He was stranded, broke, just as India and the world were plunging into the abyss of the COVID-19 pandemic. 

Home, for him and Ms. Kumari, was a village near the Nepalese border.  Their journey would take them along a route where people younger and healthier than Mohan died in the brutal heat, or were run down by trucks or trains.  And there would be few places where he and Jyoti could find food or water.

Still, Kumari managed to bring her father home.  She pedaled all the way back, with her father riding in back.  Along the way, some locals jeered or castigated her for pedaling while her father sat.  But others offered help, including the use of their cell phones so she could let her mother know she and her father were on their way.

After they arrived, she garnered a lot of media attention, from the likes of people and outlets far bigger and more famous than yours truly.  The Prime Minister gave her the National Children's Award, which included a medal and about $1300.  There were offers and promises of jobs, scholarships and other kinds of help.  And Onkar Singh, the chairman of the Cycling Federation of India, invited her to a tryout for the national team, which could mean a trip to the 2024 Olympics in Paris.

Singh's offer still stands. Kumari, however, is more anxious to finish her studies (understandable, especially given that she comes from a lower-caste family).  To do that, she would need to catch up on academic work she missed while helping to care for her father.  She has been taking some lessons from a local teacher, but her village's school remains closed.  

And some of the offers and promises of help were not fulfilled.  So, while her family were able to build a bigger house with water and toilet connections and sustain themselves for a while, some of the money was used to pay off debts.  Now "the funds are drying up," explains Mukesh Kumari Paswan, Kumari's brother-in-law.  He was an X-ray technician but, like everyone else in his family, is out of work. "We don't know what to do now," he says.

As if the family weren't facing enough difficulties, her mother isn't well and minor physical activity leaves her out of breath.  Worst of all, in May--one year after Kumari brought her father home--he died of cardiac arrest.  

Whether or not Jyoti Kumari takes up Onkar Singh on his offer, one can only hope that the road ahead is less difficult for her and her family isn't as difficult as it's been.  Any teenage girl who can pedal her father home through the conditions she endured certainly deserves better!

Acceptable Behavior During A Pandemic

As of today, the two countries with the most COVID-19 cases are...the United States and the United Kingdom.

Does that mean speaking English is a risk factor?*

Seriously, as some countries relax their restrictions and others impose new ones (or re-impose ones they'd just struck down), people debate about what constitutes acceptable public behavior during the pandemic.

Thankfully, cycling not been prohibited here in New York or, to my knowledge, any place else in the United States besides Puerto Rico.  Really, as long as we keep our "social distance" (two meters or 6 feet) and don't spit or fling our sweat, we really don't pose any more a risk than, say, someone walking a dog or pushing a shopping cart full of toilet paper.  

On the other hand, what's allowed in public parks or beaches--if they're open--varies widely.  One of the big debates in places like Florida seems to be whether sunbathing should be allowed. When restrictions were imposed here in the Big Apple, they included a prohibition against basking in solar refulgence.  At the time, they seemed academic because, well, March weather in the Rockaways is, shall we say, a bit different from conditions that prevail in Ormond Beach.  

Actually, our winter was quite mild right up to the end, with scarcely any snow.  Some of us have joked that just we can't tell one day from another, thanks to lockdowns, we also can't distinguish one season from the next.  

So how do you know whether or not to sunbathe, if it's allowed?

This woman seems not to care.  The funny thing is that while some people weren't keeping their social distance from each other, I am the only one who broke that protocol with this sunbather.

To be fair, she's reposing in an intersection near Court Square in Long Island City.  Not many people walk by and because it's near entrance ramps for the 59th Street Bridge and the Brooklyn-Queens Expressway, cars don't stop or slow down.  I think only I, in the course of yesterday's ride, stopped to see her.

She wasn't worried:  She knew I wouldn't admonish her for sunbathing--or social distance.  Perhaps she knows that cyclists aren't judgmental, except toward other cyclists who aren't wearing or riding what they "should".

At the end of my ride, I met with someone who prefers the warmth of a human body to that of the sun.

*--I ask this question in jest, of course!