So, when your cherished family member dies, there is now not only a hole in your life, there is one less leg upon which to balance one’s self.
Our family is down to me and Charlie, and the only way you can stay relatively stable on two points is to turn ’em into wheels and roll on. Only motion will confer balance.
My friends have sent cool links, I’d like to share them but I don’ t know how to work WordPress anymore…and I’d love feedback, like: can you see advertisements? I will have to pay 40 bucks to spare you these onerous interruptions..
Will see about restarting blog somwhere else where it is both free, and ad-free.
So, when your cherished family member dies, there is now not only a hole in your life, there is one less leg upon which to balance one’s self.
Beloved mother in love breathed her last three days after her 88th birthday.
As often is true, Kay has put it to words, about her own Carol.
it were a day
says a day
can be out-waited.
So we wait.
we’ve ever known:
it should be
she should be
On a ferry from Marin
Jacquie Phelan is the Cino Heroica 2013 official Guest Rider.
Over the decades, there have been bicycle riders that helped define the sport and perhaps drew us to it. Some riders can remember what happened when Greg Lemond won the Tour. A decade later, Lance Armstrong made bicycling cool and motivated many to get serious about the sport. John Howard was the guy I read about in pulp cycling mags in the early 70′s, and motivated me to do something my peers shook their heads at.
Too hot to ride a bike, but with only this remaining day in June, I had to get out to “Salamander Bowl” (a four foot deep hole in the rocks out in Elliot Preserve) in time to see the leopard lilies blooming.
There used to be a magnificent lily blooming on a tuffet one level below the bowl, like a Dr Seuss plant, frothy with fine hairy grass at the base (for years I thought that was what lilium pardalinum leaves look like, but no. Their leaves march up a scrawny stem, like those of so many showy flowering plants).
Yesterday I rode to “Ales & Trails”, got good and lost behind Dominican College (a dead end street called Cascade beckoned,
and then rejected my half-hour uphill slog, with banjo, Breezer “thrashmo” commuter bike with panniers. It was about 95 degrees out. At least I saw something: an REI tent erected across a steep chasm with a horizontal ladder that seemed to have been broken off partway across… I could tell that the Denizen still used this sketchy bridge, and decided to turn around, even if it meant separate trips for my bike and the banjo, owing to the slippery footing and the cleated road shoes I was sportin’ (see previous fashion blog).
Found my way back to a proper fire road, and ran into 1999 Wombat Cristi McCabe, small world. She’s just as sweet & youthful as she was back then when the club was in its Hosmeric Heyday.
Then, up at the Nike Site I took another wrong turn, Bay View Trail, and wound up wayyyyyy out in yachtsville, at the Loch Lomond subdivision Miles from Miwok Meadows, where A & T was being held.
Ah, but the bay air was so cool and pleasant, it was a pleasure to tack another three miles onto my itinerary.
At the event I offered to staff one of the booths, plopped down with a beer and proceeded to blather with the legendary (I’ll just call him that, and let him fulfill the destiny at his own pace) Tom Ward. He’s California’s top IMBA policymaker, and I regaled him with how, almost to the day, 25 years ago, Don Douglass, Sherwood Gibson , Jim Hasenauer and me gathered in Bishop to inaugurate IMBA.
THen I saw Joan Murakami, a very enthusiastic part of all things bicycle (though she’s also got a new passion, ice-hockey, which in time she’ll master just like she did mountain bikes, and martial arts..)
Kai Hennig and Maureen Farrel, the Mombats, who a decade ago or more created the East Bay’s Youth Bike Adventures, were on hand to win an award.
It was a grand event from which I wobbled uncertainly, in the shimmering heat, and under the burden of that un-played S.S. Stewart banjo that gets more miles than my “good” Bacon/Reiter instrument.
My alert rider/readers have clued me into a couple of interesting developments.
One is that a young woman named Juliana Buhring has circumnavigated the globe at high speed (supposedly faster than her countryman Mark Beaumont, whom I met back in Edenbruh 2007 or 2008). The press has been disappointingly mute, unlike the blogosphere.
The other is the tale of a Vermont mountain bike recreation park hosting a race where the pro women will win more than the top men. Nic Coury’s video can be seen here–it features Olympian Georgia Gould and Lea Davison (who is another gifted Middlebury kid) expressing the very same valid reasons why women deserve an equal purse that I used when futilely arguing with Thomas Frischknecht (Swiss racing star, slightly faded by now, who holds antiquated ideas about women and sport) and other unevolved men. It seems to me there were even some women who agreed that we don’t deserve equal prize money because we don’t show up in equal numbers.
As if we were to blame for the myriad barriers that hold women back from the start lines of mountain bike and road racing!
Sheesh. But anyway, slowly slowly it’s become obvious that in a global market downturn that even the money of women, people of color, and people of furrow (= old fogeys) has serious income potential for the Boy’s Club. IFFFFFFFF they figure out the right language.
Which brings me to this year’s winner of the Golden Testicle Award.
Delta Cycle’s ad, featuring a couple of bikes mounted on a pole like that in a fire station. There are some crumpled dollar bills strewn round on the wooden floor. And the ad copy reads: “This Pole Is Not For Dancing”.
Comments of course are very, very welcome. Comments imply engagement or investment in these women, and on that topic. Here’s the text of a letter I wrote to the magazine (Bicycle Retailer& Industry News, a trade magazine read by shop owners and bike manufacturers. It has only lately become slightly less testosterone-poisoned, thanks to a welcome influx of bright women reporters.
BRAIN does such important work revealing strategies for marketing, spotting trends, and sharing stories about this little fief of ours. As always, Charlie and I gobble up every word of your important, wonderful magazine, and analyze it to death, ‘solving’ the problems of the IBDs over lunch, in our treehouse at 3 a.m, most any old time.
As old farts with a combined 80 years experience(is it fair to add two people’s mileage to impress?) we feel we have something to offer in the way of perspective, having personally invented mountain biking on aluminum (charlie) and leisure mountain biking while female (me).
What I really appreciated was ads and stories about the importance of attracting and retaining women in cycling. I loved the “family friendly” ad about Striders, with its useful statistic about the 80% of buying decisions made by women. Megan Tompkin’s story was spot-on. It re-iterates what Lynette wrote about LAST summer, the fact that 15% fewer bikes are being sold, the trend is downward, and that inclusion of minorities, older riders and women could reverse the decline.
And then we were puzzled by an ambivalent editorial which wondered why Discussions About Women’s Participation still haven’t gotten anywhere.
I am very familiar with ‘awareness.’ Solutions are another thing entirely, and involve rigorous study followed by action.
I routinely ask at local shops if they have an idea about the percentage of women who buy bikes, and it has always been “about a third” .
I haven’t heard “a half” yet (this is from the mechanic’s , not the owner’s perspective.)
When the problem in the sports (not only bicycle, but our industry has a particularly bad case of testosterone poisoning) world is as deep as entrenched male dominance (I regret that these words seem inflammatory at worst, and cliche at best) , then there need to be more women’s panels. And more women CEOs.
“What can we do to appeal more to women,” the industry wonders. Awareness would help.
The outside back cover ad, Delta Cycle’s “This Pole Wasn’t Made For Dancing” with its unfortunate allusion to a stripper bar, perfectly embodies the confusion of messages the industry puts out.
I understand you probably can’t just turn down ad money flatly. But aren’t there standards for magazines that involve respect for women, non-degrading, non-sexist content and advertising? I will happily donate my time to consult about creating an industry standard to defeat sexist advertising using education, awareness, and if neccessary, really cute prizes for those who want to maintain the boy’s club atmosphere
Hre;s a letter I wrote about 2O years ago, and a bit of background so you know to what lengths I went to to right these wrongs.
For years as an industry insider disguised as a racing fool disguised as a journalist, I collected data on the state of Women In Cycling. I saw how the women who rose to the top of their companies, didn’t get a whole lot of saddle time anymore. They were dedicated, athletic people who got into the industry for their love of the pastime, then wound up so busy they rarely rode.
I determined that I could afford a little time to create a camp especially for them last year, and invited forty women ranging from Suntour’s General Manager Sandy Coulter to Vogue magazine’s eminent author, Laura Fraser. Twenty three women came: top racers, bike politicians, writers, commuters. They came so we could change things. It was a historical weekend, favored by good weather, sumptuous rides, gnarly food and great company.
We tackled little problems, like how to get more saddle time, and then tackled the big ones like doubling the number of active cyclists. We sat in a story circle, tossed problem after problem in the air (with a tape recorder waving) and fired answers at them.
After agreeing to form an organization, whose working title is “Women Of Power In The Industry”, we know what our mission is:
Identify the barriers women face in the cycling subculture. Basically the industry still behaves as though women are a “specialty” market. A limited view, when the numbers tell that women buy over half the bikes. Common observation tells me that many of the buyers then don’t use them again. Like joining a gym, and staying away. It’s partly the gym’s fault for not fostering participation, and definitely our industry’s fault for not fostering more female participation. Women need prodding mixed with encouragement. I’ll be more specific: shame is not a tool of encouragement. WOMBATS is such a huge success because, given a network, twelve hundred women provide their own activities, and bring in more neophytes in the process.
Help the industry over some of its own stereotyping barriers. Need I enumerate?
–Create guidelines to help bike shop owners sensitize employees to the perspective of a woman customer who is not yet an enthusiast.
–Stay in touch with a letter sharing our views about how to best serve the women’s market.
— Initiate a task force to study ways to encourage girls and women to use their bicycles more.
–Heighten media awareness of women athletes, innovators, and plain ol’ cyclists…in non-cycling journals!
–Design women-friendly activities. For example, make instructions for women to teach cycle technique and safety to little girls, something I’ve a bit of experience with. Or get racers or female bike cops to talk to elementary schools. Or do a one-hour talk about “shopping for a bike that actually fits”.
Celebrate the hero in all cyclists. We don’t particularly resonate with the “cooler than thou” approach, but we definitely want to hear more about women making a difference, and our own history.
The Girl’s Selfish Team
By Jacquie Phelan
Once upon a time, back when girls weren’t supposed to get dirty or yell like boys, a very loud little girl got delivered by the stork to two rather surprised young people named Jack and Doreen. Jack was so anxious to have a boy in the house that, even before the stork plopped down the bundle, he declared, “We’re naming him Jack, after me. Little Jack is going to make me very proud. I’ll be sure of it because I won’t allow him to make any mistakes.” Jack was perhaps a little bit of a control freak.
Doreen said, “No mistakes, eh? We’ll see about that”. Then the cloth bundle wriggled a little and they undid the knotted fabric at the top and discovered a girl inside, yelling like there was no tomorrow.
“Well, well, well!” the slack-jawed recipients of this new baby bundle said. “Well.” The loud little bundle’s name would be “Jacquie” because that’s the next best thing to Jack.
When another bundle arrived a year later, the parents made sure to peek inside before making any assumptions.
“It’s another girl”
“We’ll call her Jill” Jack said. “A nursery rhyme playmate.”
And for all their subsequent lives, the sisters endured being “Jacquie and Jill”, who were supposed to be together up and down life’s big hills. Nothing could be further from the truth: they split up as soon as it was humanly possible, starting with a big curtain running across the middle of their shared bedroom, and ending up with an invisible wall covered with electric shock wire extending around Jill’s family life, so dreadful was her life with Jack and Doreen.
Jacquie’s life on the other hand, although no picnic, was always an open book because that big loud voice was hard to miss. Loud girls definitely get people’s attention. Sometimes she had listeners. Sometimes she didn’t. For years, she struggled in a kingdom where boys and men were loud and proud, and the girls and women were quiet and polite, and got a big kick out of helping everyone else. Jacquie got a reputation for being… “selfish”.
She decided to roam the kingdom, and got a small crowed of other misfit girls and women to agree with her that being loud and proud might be selfish, but for now, selfish was going to have to do. There had been enough eons of quiet and meek to prove that those characteristics didn’t improve the situation of all the little pink packets of joy delivered throughout the kingdom. So this band of merry, loud people who didn’t mind a little mud and a lot of volume and didn’t mind taking up serious space trekked about the realm, calling themselves the “Girls Selfish Team”. They taught the old ladies how to fish. They showed the moms how to ride bikes so they could be out with their kids and pound on the hoods of all the cars in which the busy women talking on their cell phone drove THEIR bundles of joy to and from their many daily appointments, classes and play dates.
The Selfish Team was spreading a rumor about the kingdom: on a bike you can steal time, and keep the profit (which is fun) even if you were just going to the store–or to work– on a bike. The kingdom was a bit crowded– overly large cars, trucks really–were filling up the roads with angry drivers, and the air with toxic fumes which tended to make the girls and women develop nasty tumors in their breasts.
This condition, called “Cancer” when someone else had it became known as “My Turn” to these furious, fleet women. The GST were gliding through the Gordian Traffic Knot using their almost perfect invisibility (which sometimes proved lethal when they weren’t extremely careful) stealing minutes and hours because nothing held them up in their movements. They were appallingly efficient.
The one small drawback to all this freedom of movement was the smoldering envy of the trapped people …Jacquie realized that something might backfire here, especially if the Selfish Team gloated too openly about their perceived superiority.
“We need to think about what we’re doing” she told a selfish friend.
“There have been too many ‘lesson-crashes’ lately”. Those are tragic encounters between pissed off motorists in search of a miscreant biker, in order to teach the two-wheelers who’s boss in the kingdom. The results? Grievous body damage, sometimes death, to the rider, and usually fender damage to the car).
“We gotta get ourselves a lobbyist”.
It didn’t take more than a couple of want-ads in the Kingdom Tattler and the Selfish Team had their very own lobbyist in the Realm’s Hall of Power. Thanks to the loud women’s team, the bike people were given special privileges like Permission to Roll Through Empty Intersections Without Punishment, and Being Taken Seriously By A Cop When Doored. In fact, the lobbyist was a Policewoman who had flipped over a few too many doors , and once even sideswiped by a person arguing on their car phone who claimed not to have even seen the Cop. The driver’s defense, which failed in court, was that all bike people are invisible. According to the law of the land, drivers, although they couldn’t see the bikes, should navigate AS IF THERE MIGHT BE a bicycle out of their limited range of view.
It wasn’t a hundred years, maybe it was 75 or so, before the laws of the land finally protected the humans from the machines, and even the bodies of the humans were able to slowly recover from their scary 200 year exposure to the Residues of Progress, and it was all thanks to the Girl’s Selfish Team.