I think they have something there. They ARE the fattest people in Europe, and it should not be a deterrent to riding if your ass is kind of wide…
scottish solution to saddle soreness!
•October 29, 2009 • 1 CommentA hundred years ago in Russia…
•October 29, 2009 • Leave a Comment
solovetsky tower
- Church of St.Nicholas the wonder worker
Berries for the visiting photographer
….was captured in color photographs…not the hand tinted postcard stuff –real magic thru chemistry. The inventor’s name was Sergei Prokudin-Gorkii, and he got carte blanche from the Tsar to roam the empire (in a customized rail car with photo lab built in!), aiming to take his triple-slide show to schools.
The revolution wiped away everything he had, save the 2000 plates he left the country with.
To gaze upon these pictures a second and third time, it dawns on the viewer that there aren’t any automobiles. Plenty of foot-paths, short-cuts-to-the-church-on-a-hill, and dirt roads (but not many). I suppose the serfs were all at work, out of camera range. Still, it looks edenic. Eden, minus the bicycle. But I know that Nabokov rode a bike…hmmm.
The Library of Congress bought the glass plates from his heirs in 1944, and only in 2000 did digital chromatography make complete restoration possible, yielding the museum show, The Empire that was Russia.
—–(Ugly transition)
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Today’s subject: NO CALORIE LEFT BEHIND.
Community Colleges, bicycles, and the mind’s joy
•October 26, 2009 • 1 Comment(Letter to a reformer)
Esteemed Lloyd (Thacker, founder of the Education Conservancy)
I just found an interview with you when I dug up past (‘condensed & edited”) interviews by Deborah Solomon.
Sunday’s NYT magazine had her interview with Thorbjorn Jagland (Norway Nobel chairman), mostly about why they picked Obama for the Nobel peace prize. One of her questions rankled me:
DS: Here in the US, socialism is one of those words…where people worry you’re going to take away their cars and make them ride a bicycle.”
TJ: “Look at the welfare state (we) built. We have better cars than most of the Americans.”
DS “What do you drive?”
TJ “A Volvo”
Me to self: DAMN, why didn’t he tell her that he ALSO RIDES A BICYCLE —he must—everyone over there does!
I’m at home sick w/cold so my ‘dudgeon’ is high but my energy for getting real work done is not there.
But I can type!
Thanks to a guidance counselor, I went to a school I’d never heard of, before rankings were common, and all one had to use was word-of-mouth and a fat green college guide. When I was at that school during the early 70s, nearly no students had a car. Now they almost all do. Some even have two.
So…reading YOUR interview w/Ms. Solomon over 2 yrs ago got me thinking more..
I was wishing you had mentioned ‘community colleges’ when asked about where one can get a good education these days.
Why am a writing you?
I was in DC to hear Kay Ryan , poet-in-chief of US describe how she wants to celebrate community colleges –she started college at Antelope Vally Community College, in the desert near Lancaster California.
I’ll quote Ms. Ryan in the Library of Congress Gazette: “Right near your home, year in and year out, a community college is quietly- –and with very little financial encouragement-saving lives and minds. I can’t think of a more efficient, hopeful, or egalitarian machine, with the possible exception of the bicycle.”
Kay is a devoted two-wheeler in her home County.
I’m passing this on to you because…er, I hope you will remember to include community colleges and self-propelled bicycles in the next interview you give.
Yrs, JP
Wombat goes to Washington
•October 23, 2009 • 2 Comments
Under the sassafras with Mary Costello
Alison & bike on Metro
In the poet's corner, attic of Library of Congress
No sooner had I stepped out of the tunnel at the Shady Grove metro station, than I was greeted by the warm autum breeze and a flower-seller missing four teeth.
“Is this the ‘kiss -and-run’area?” I asked sheepishy.
“Yep.”
She could tell I wasn’t a flower buyer. I had a tiny backpack and that hobo hat on. Behind me I heard a voice speak.
“Aren’t you Jacquie Phelan?”
Nearby stood a woman pushing her bike out of the trains station.
She (Alison Horton, a transplanted Californian) said she’d heard of me and WOMBATS, liked what I was doing etc.
“I’m in town to hear the muscle poet (aka the Poet Laureate of The United States, PLOTUS) Kay Ryan read at the Library of Congress tomorrow night. YOU should come..it’s free and I promise you, Kay will rock your world…”
Damn if Alison didn’t take me up on it, coming to Coolidge Auditorium the next day without really knowing what she was getting into.
Amid a home team of Fairfaxians, Alison and I got great seats down low, and I caught up with Poe, Sam, Laura and David.
“Tthis is going rather well” said Kay as a tsunami of applause engulfed her.
She read, and even re-read an hour’s worth of wisdom-nuggets…Deer Park, the Gordian knot one, some new ones….since her little pile of books had been left on the plane, she was going without notes. I pray some kind person will send the precious trove back to her.
One of Kay’s great causes is the role community colleges play in the “freeing” of people…how it’s not just big four year institutions that inspire our citizens but unsung and undervalued institutions in every community. She likened them to the nitrogen-fixing bacteria that nourishes the soil that the legumes grown in…’the students return to their community…they stick around’.
Then a reception after that–quite lavish, the government-issue spread of white wine, sparking water, good cheese, crostini and vegetables. . Poets, artists, very animated mix of people….Grace Cavalieri (one of the Poetry Project’s producers) enthused about my ‘rebellious’ hairdo. That makes three compliments in one day. As a dispenser of sartorial compliments myself, it is gratifying to think someone voted ‘yes’ for my Medusa ‘do.
Trooped over to Mr. Henry’s a celebrated hamburger joint, whose waiter, Marvin Ross was a major dear. Forty years in service to the thirsty, starved, and the impatient. A writer (Marianne something) wrote a hilarious account of trying to work there…
Toasts were raised, plates were licked clean, and everyone disappeared before the metro closed.
Woke up the next day at noon, in Bethesday Maryland. I owe my unseen hostess a big thanks.
I love this town where people love your hair, know your name, and spontaneously come to a poetry reading .
Great City.
Wombat Mary Costello (71 summers and counting) took me up in the Gambrill forest to sample the incredible combo plate of Frederick trails.
We spent a couple hours, shared left d’oeuvre pizza in the middle of the trail, and got a shot or two while I adjusted to the new time zone. Wished Kay were able to just borrow a bike and be chauffeured as easily (I will find out if she would LIKE that), since one of the major bonuses of living in this area is Proximity To Public Trails.
Mud Libs a la 42below
•October 15, 2009 • 1 CommentWIMPING OUT IS NOT A CRIME.
An abbreviated Breakfast Crew (Bryan Reckamp, Adrianna Too-Longlastname and I) bailed on the Morro Bay-Gaviota leg, and after two hour’s worth of riding, at Grover Beach plus a hefty second breakfast) we purchased tickets from a wall in the un-manned train station.
No, wait, there was a man.
A helpful volunteer in his seventies, who answered our various questions about how to work the machine and if bikes on trains were OK.
Thirty minutes and thirty dollars (apiece) later, the problem of our fatigue was ‘solved’. The train would cut a day’s riding off. The bikes were stashed, and we gleefully grabbed some seats in the uncrowded dining car. The Rosie Ruiz club car.
Bryan suggested playing hangman. I beat him so badly that I suggested we three play a more democratic game: Mud Libs a la Jacqu-pine. You know the one, fill in the blanks and make-a-story. The raunchier, the better.
Here’s what I drafted, and you can play it yourself. It gives a bit of the flavor of our doomed/delightful summer adventure.
“Another 42 below Day”
Dear Diary, What a day! It’s the ___(number)th day of the ____(# between 40 and 50) bike ride, and ____(friend’s name) and I decided to ____(verb) _______(friend’s name) into playing _______(kid’s game) before breakfast. Then the ______(adj) chore of getting ready began:
First, we made sure to have lots of ______(type of food) for the _____(adj) ___(number greater than 40 less than 50) mile trip ahead. By now we all know that the mileage is _______(adjective) and it’s really _____(number above 70) miles we’ll be riding.
For laughs, we flipped a ____(type of coin) to see who would have to load the truck , ____(verb+ing) stuff on their ______(part of body).
Everything worked out great, except the _____(type of conveyance) was ___(number) hours late, and Foster had told us to get to camp by ____(day of the week). Our trip was ___(adj), full of ________(adj) hills and______(adj) descents featuring ___(animal) grates and barbed wire ___(pl. noun). When ____(person named previously) fell off the trail, the other two would ____(type of dance) on his _____(body part).
By ___(time of day) o’clock we’d had enough ____(adj) ______(pl.noun) and were ready to ___(verb) down for the night.
Too bad someone stole our ____(crucial thing to pack) while we were picnicking on____(food) ___(beverage) and ____(type of frolic)ing on the beach earlier in the day.
This meant we had to sleep in our _______(type of clothing) all night with our ____(body part) exposed to the ________(atmospheric phenomenon).
“42 Above”
•October 14, 2009 • 1 Comment
Training ride, Nebraska. photo by Reckamp
I should not be surprised that three or four of the cities that our group of 21 riders passed through were equatorially opposed to the 42 below inscribed on our jerseys and in our trip manifests.
Yes, Erie, Cleveland Detroit and Chicago are on the 42nd parallel… aove the equator. This brings me to the conclusion that perhaps there was some subtle reason in our Charlie-Brownian motion up and down the national highway system, zig-zagging from south to north to south again…collecting miles and visiting as many city centers as possible.
I’ve been trying fruitlessly to reach the 42 below team–ad agency, Bacardi, owner of the brand…no luck (yet)…to find out how the project panned out.
Did anyone reading this ever try the wonderful kiwi vodka?
Cover Girl
•October 13, 2009 • 2 Comments
"Subscribe to Bicycle Quarterly!" (photo by Halaburt)
Some magazines are pithy–not in the sense of an inebriated Scot with a wee lisp–rather: much meaning is packed into a tidy parcel of glossy magazine pages.
Such is the case with Jan Heine’s black and white 4x/yr paean to the bicycles (and bicyclers) of yore.
Biketoberfest Fairfax 09
•October 11, 2009 • 2 CommentsAny excuse for a party.
The Bay Area probably had a dozen Oktoberfests going on’; Marin’s was a two-wheel inclined bash. I don’t do nearly enough for bicycle advocacy anymore (I’m burnt out, or too sensitive to politics) but for an afternoon, it was a cinch to run around in an Austrian dirndle dress crying,: ” raffle tickets, only a buck…raffle tickets, try your luck… ”
It proved to be a reunion from every decade of my bicycle life, starting with Miss 1990’s, Marla Streb–there with her kids. I got precisely two minutes quality time with the millenial Marla, very different from the racer I knew…she’s living here in Marin now. “Mark’s over across the street” she told me, gesturing with her five month old bundle.
I scooted off, and found him dozing in a van, and reluctantly left him alone.
Biketoberfest is the brainchild of former Wombat Heidi Adler, a mover-and–shaker of Marin County bicycle advocacy. In the last five years the event has grown 300%.
I watched several waves of roadies pull up and join in, even though they hadn’t known there was to be a bike event in town.
Four bands, ranging from rock and roll to authentic German ‘oompah’ played to a crowd of a couple hundred.
My other job was to meet and greet. How amazing that a racing colleague–Laurie Bolard–recognized me from 1981!! If my life were a novel, all these references to my long-ago self would spell End Of Story.
As I circulated through the crowd, I found Imba co-founder Mike Kelly, Cunningcollector Geoff Halaburt, WOmbuddies etc… I encountered a young man who said his name was …(something‚ Cleary) and I repeated “like Beverly?” and he replied “she’s my grandma, but her name was Bunn”.
A lively conversation ensued (I refused to believe, my readers…that this kid was related to my hero Bev. Cleary of Ramona the Pest fame). Well…it’s all true.
THe Small World Effect is still in effect.
Colorado flashback, July 26–Midway thru the Midway
•October 10, 2009 • Leave a Comment
D'enfer skyline!
I decided to catch a fifty mile headstart in the van so I’d be fresh for tonight–a group ride from Henderson Park into City Park, accompanied by about three dozen black jersied camp followers.
Waiting from two to three in this quiet park added a little suspense to that “Showtime!” feeling when you’re expected to Do Your Part.
As we all know, the 42 ride is a rolling advertisement for vodka (a major Faustian bargain), but it’s also entertainment, complex social ritual, and physical challenge.
I was dressed to kill (60’s shift, neon flower pattern, ugly tan tights and birkenstock sandals)–the only cuckoo in a flock of ravens ringing their bells and chatting. Most impressive machine: John Ireland’s long horned low-rider the Denver Cruiser. It was hard to ride (well, it is a recumbent of sorts)..but featured a big ‘gas’ tank with a camelbak plastic pouch full of…42 below vodka. Here I am, sucking madly on the familiar blue surgical tubing…
Downtown Denver beautiful beautiful. Scary architecture–lateral angles stabbing a walkway above busy thoroughfares. Old churches, gold leaf domes, old brick everywhere. And somehow I still manage to steer straight, with that shit eating grin (I love buildings, I love riding, and I love singing about buildings when I’m riding…).
Last 2 nights were at boatin park s(Sterling Res, Jackson Res). Amazing eastern horizon lightning show (silent variety–as good as aurora borealis) plus a sinking red sliver of moon in west.
Jon and Bryan did open hub surgery/lipectomy but the poor balls were matte-finish: ruined. Will have to get that fixt in town.
Others need work. I feel unfairly advantaged with an uncomplaining steed.
Party in Denver: Amy Lewis and Evie–long time wombat sister pals came to Theorie (throbbing downtown bar, the kind with twenty flavored vodkas…) to meet me and chew the fat. The great fat fajitas that is.. and appreciate what a luckout I am to re-experience youthful frivolity crossing the country on someone else’s dime, but my own precious time.
While we caught up (it had been ten years since our Wombats campout at Beaver Lodge in Winter Park), the horrid creature (who needs names?) marched up to us expectantly, looking for an opening so she could introduce her friends, a couple of ill-at-ease young dudes. I desperately wnated to ignore her, but it would have been awful for them, so I was gracious. For them.
Within a couple days, she’d be ‘evicting’ me from my hotel bed, because she needed to have it all to herself.
That’s another story.
Green fur!
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