Winter Cycling, or waiting, and waiting....
I think I recall a column about winter cyclists. It seems the tone was one of respect for those who had to get around, probably because of no choice , or no car, or maybe the buses weren’t convenient.
I thought about that column today when I saw the video of the bomber who cycled into NYC’s Times Square, walked around a bit, and threw a bomb and left. I don’t know just what he was trying to accomplish, but he woke some people up, high above, in sleepy beds.
I applaud his method of transportation while I condemn the act of bombing. I don’t really laud him because New York City doesn’t get much snow anymore.
Here, we always had a few hard cores, including me, who kept sturdy bikes around and we rode in all kinds of weather. Now a few must have gotten too old to negotiate that patch of ice or that hill of plowed snow in the bike lane.
Still, every winter, a few of us would be out. Until this winter.
Even I have given it up this year, it’s been two months since I even rode a block. When I get in the van to mail a letter now, I never see any of the old winter cyclists out.
But now I notice a new breed, a few people out on bikes in the snow! Thinner, younger folks, not too much younger, but younger. They’re on multi-speed thin-tire bikes, even, and mountain bikes. There are just a few , but the winter cyclist lives again! But I can’t stand it any more. I bought a new bike (to add to my collection and make the number 13) Saturday and I am going to ride it tomorrow no matter what the weather is.
After all, as Ho Chi Minh wrote:
GOOD DAYS COMING
Everything changes, the wheel
of the law turns without pause.
After the rain, good weather.
In the wink of an eye
The universe throws off
its muddy cloths.
For ten thousand miles
the landscape
Spreads out like
a beautiful brocade.
Gentle sunshine.
Light breezes. Smiling flowers,
Hang in the trees, amongst the
sparkling leaves,
All the birds sing at once.
Men and animals rise up reborn.
What could be more natural?
After sorrow comes happiness.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~[so wrote Uncle Ho]
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