Rich Mintz  

My Public Bikes D3 was delivered Thursday, but because I was on the road, I wasn’t able to assemble it until yesterday. Over the past 24 hours, I’ve taken it out four or five times, and the verdict is in: I love it! It’s like Riding On A Cloud, and what a handsome cloud it is: I got two compliments from passersby in the first five minutes of riding.

There are a couple of things I don’t like, so let’s get them out of the way: (1) The Shimano Nexus 3-speed hub makes a ticking sound in second and third gears, which is apparently normal behavior. It isn’t exactly annoying, but I wasn’t expecting it, so it takes a little getting used to. (2) The compact Kryptonite lock sold by Public is too small to lock the bike up the way I’d like to: it isn’t wide enough to clear a frame bar, a tire and wheel, and a fender. This isn’t a huge problem for me, since I have another bike with no fenders and was able to swap locks, but for a normal person it would be annoying to have been sold a lock that’s not suitable for use on the bike.

OK, that’s it. Everything else is grand: beautiful powder blue, smooth ride, good gearing. I was a bit concerned about downgrading to three speeds, but after a day or so of adjustment it’s perfectly fine. (I do wish I had a higher gear, but when I’m in that sort of mood, I have two other bikes…) Components are sturdy, assembly is solid. It’s a winner!

My existing accessories fit (both my cheap lightweight pannier bag, and my 10-year-old metal-framed pannier basket that I pulled out of the closet). And the assembly process itself was much easier than I expected; I was on the bike and riding about 15 minutes after I opened the box. In fact, the bike arrived somewhat more put-together than the already simple instructions suggested it would be.

One more comment: next to my Gary Fisher, it’s huge! I think this is evidence that I’ve been riding a bike that’s a little too small for me, and the fact that it’s right-sized probably has something to do with my perception of smoother, easier riding.

I’ve sort of had my eye on the Amateur Gourmet’s blog off and on for the last couple of years, and the experience was a bit uneven at the beginning. But I have to say, Adam Roberts (the name on the Gourmet’s birth certificate) has really started to find his voice over the past few months.

When I first started following the blog, I must confess there was a bit too much “omigod, I’m just a kid, I really don’t know what I’m doing but let’s see if I can figure this out without setting the kitchen on fire” for my taste. Some of that is a matter of age (I’m 15 or 20 years older than Adam, give or take, and before you grouse, I know I was just as precious and tentative 15 or 20 years ago.)  And once in a while it still grates.  But you know what? It’s not the young’s fault that they were born after I was. And it’s become clear that Adam’s a real workhorse, and he’s invested the time and planning and hard work needed to build a successful professional life doing something that interests him. That’s worth admiring, and I admire it, and it has lifted my impression of the product.

Besides, Adam’s written voice has matured as his knowledge of cooking and food has expanded, and he’s built a network of professional contacts who seem to genuinely like him, which makes it more than namedropping when they show up in the blog, in person or by reference.  I’ve even tried one or two of Adam’s recipes, which have come out great. So now I’m a regular reader.

Recently I’ve particularly been enjoying Adam’s “Someone’s In the Kitchen With…” video podcast series, in which he sits down in front of a webcam with some food personality or other (usually someone big enough that they’re recognizable, at least by role or credentials, but still human enough that they are capable of sitting down with Adam for a friendly chat without coming off like a blowhard) and leads them through a conversation about their work in food and their professional history. The latest, with chef/critic/memoirist Lauren Shockey, was typical: watchable for the full 30 minutes, only annoying once or twice, and substantive enough that I went right out and bought Shockey’s new book (and am going to make her frangipane tart). Given how reluctant I am to buy a new book in hardcover, even now with Amazon Prime, that’s indication of quality.

“To boost cycling, make women happy.” That’s the headline on this Tribune story, which argues that if women’s underrepresentation among US cyclists is addressed via safety measures and education, the increase in women cyclists will help drive a cultural shift overall. And women’s reluctance to bike is tied to factors that can be addressed directly, according to this study (PDF) by researcher Dr. Jan Garrard in Melbourne.

One of the characteristics of bike-heavy cities like Copenhagen or Amsterdam or, increasingly, London is that you see a much higher proportion of what you might term “ordinary people” on bicycles. The stereotype in the US is that urban cyclists are either professionals (bike messengers), or politically motivated extremists, or adventure-seeking young men. But in a city like Copenhagen or London, you see women alongside men (or leading them), families with children, people in business suits, the elderly. To an extent this becomes self-fulfilling: if you see others like yourself on bicycles, it makes it conceivable to hop on one yourself.

What makes this happen? I think it’s a combination of perceived safety, perceived convenience, and perceived style. I say “perceived” in all three cases because, objectively, in any big American city with traffic congestion (which reduces average speeds) and a grid pattern (which provides lots of alternate routes), cycling is relatively safe and relatively convenient; the difference is at the margins. And, of course, cycling is stylish at any time and in any place, if you’re in the right frame of mind.

Regarding safety, bicycle facilities like paths and lanes and priority signals do matter, but what matters even more is a sense that the culture as a whole (i.e., drivers and pedestrians) is educated to expect bicycles to be part of the traffic mix, and that bicyclists on the whole are educated and trained to be predictable on the road. For all the complaints about NYPD you hear in connection with New York City’s trumped-up bicycle “culture war,” official New York City, including police and cabdrivers, overwhelmingly expects cyclists to be part of the flow of traffic and acts to keep us safe. The two types of vehicles I never worry about being hit by (absent something inadvertent, which of course can always occur) are NYC medallion yellow cabs and NYPD cruisers: they know we’re here, watch out for us, and give us room on the road.

And, of course, the sense that the city as a whole is orderly and well-kept is absolutely critical. Fortunately New York hasn’t been safer in my lifetime; even property crime is near historic lows.

Regarding convenience, one of the biggest inhibitors is the “what do I do with my bike when I get there?” problem. One response to this is bike sharing, which (as you saw) is working well in the DC central core, but it’s not the only option.

The NYC bike parking law has been helpful, not just in the workplace accommodations it’s led to, but also in the fact that the posted bike parking rates at every garage in the city are a reminder to people who don’t cycle that we’re part of the community, too. (In this, Edison Park Fast, operator of the lot where I park my car, are in the forefront; they cheerfuly promote their dollar-a-day bicycle parking, installed bright new racks throughout their system, and will even hold my bike in the rack while I take my car out.

But even more important is the street furniture — especially the locking loops installed on sidewalks throughout the city. Places to lock up aren’t optional; they’re a fundamental part of the infrastructure that cyclists depend on, and they’re more important for new or casual cyclists than they are for dedicated riders. (A serious cyclist can always find somewhere to lock up; and a really serious cyclist, defined as “someone more serious than you,” is just riding a piece of junk anyway which he or she will brazenly leave out on the sidewalk while popping into the deli.)

I’ve heard people complain that bike messengers and food delivery people are taking up all “our” locking slots, but hello, those people are all actual NYC cyclists just like you — that’s an argument for more slots, not for some sort of action against the people who are legitimately using them.

People like me might even bike to the train station (like you can do in Amsterdam, or in DC), or to the airport, if it was clear what to do with our bikes when we got there. (There’s a covered rack for about a dozen bikes near 33rd and 8th; that doesn’t cut it. Edison lots are a few blocks away; if they had covered bike parking, I bet they’d sell it.)

Finally, the matter of style.  Londoners (and, increasingly, Brooklyners) cycle in all sorts of weather, and (in good weather) in all sorts of outfits.  In January, on a side street just above Oxford Circus, I saw a woman in a fur stole on a very elegant bicycle whose large basket was filled with cut flowers.

It’s wonderful to see the free market responding to the hunger for style in bicycles and bicycle accessories, as it always does eventually. Public Bikes and Republic Bikes are two obvious examples, but really all the companies making comfortable, well-built city bikes and color-coordinated accessories are in the same business. Even cheap, crappy bikes are looking good these days. As I ride around the city, one of the things that makes bicycling so much fun is seeing the choices everyone has made in terms of bikes, clothing, and accessories. People express their individuality. Hooray for that!

Photo credit: the inimitable Amsterdamize.com.

I got my Gary Fisher bike back today from the bike shop, after a tuneup, with new brake pads and a new rear wheel. It rides really well, but after 13 miles on the zippy Dahon folding bike, wow, does it feel heavy! Yes, it controls well, but riding it now, in comparison to the Dahon, it feels like I imagine driving a pedicab would feel — mechanical and deliberate.

There was a time in 2001 when I owned both a seafoam-green Honda Civic hatchback and a slightly older bright red VW Jetta, on opposite coasts, both manual transmissions, and drove them both regularly. (Don’t ask.) The Honda had zing! and bounce! and yahoo! — while the Jetta, as much fun as it was to drive, felt like a very efficient machine. (Or perhaps I should just say “The Honda drove like a Japanese car, and the Jetta drove like a German car.”) That’s more or less the difference I’m describing here.

The Gary Fisher is a very safe, sturdy bike, large enough to be easily seen, with a high riding position and gearing for every eventuality and lots of luggage room, able to clatter through potholes of any size and keep on going — if I’m going to ride 30 miles in a day, that’s the bike I want. But if I’m riding to work up Sixth Avenue in morning traffic, dodging taxis, and trucks in the bike lane, and people walking against the light with their headphones on, I like the responsiveness of the smaller bike. It goes without saying: helmet either way. (As I said to someone in DC last week: “I ride in New York City. We don’t ride without helmets.” Obviously a lie; I should have said “we don’t ride without helmets unless we’re REALLY STUPID,” but that’s a topic for another post.)

Because it looks like the Dahon’s becoming my daily commuter, I just shuffled the reflector to the back of the rack to make room for a quick-release mount for my Blinky taillight, which I can now pop from one bike to the other; and I moved my good Cateye headlight over to that bike, too. Looking forward to tomorrow’s ride.

Today I did 13 miles on my new Dahon Speed P8 folding bike, in 3 stretches, more than 6 miles of it in moderate to heavy rain with no rain protection at all other than the epidermis God gave me and a polo shirt and shorts. Not only did I survive, the thing handled very well in the rain; it’s more nimble than my hybrid and the small wheels left me feeling more in control.

I had a rear rack put on today, too, and because of the small diameter of the wheels, the cargo sits lower down than on a “normal” bike. This means that in the rain, your body absorbs most of the dampness, which is great for your cargo but not so great for you. On the other hand, more road splatter hits your bag, so you come out about even.

I think I’m going to be happy commuting on this thing. In fact, I’m feeling a little sad right about now (it being 10:30 at night) to think that in the morning, I have an appointment in Queens and will be leaving home on the A Train and going to work from there on the LIRR, with no bike involved in the trip at all…

I’ve been meaning to make a trip to Tortilleria Nixtamal in Corona, Queens ever since I came back from San Diego full of delicious tortillas. But now I may not have to — Taqueria Nixtamalito has opened in the kiosk beside the Municipal Building (up against the Brooklyn Bridge ramp). They serve tacos and such, and also sell Nixtamal tortillas in bulk.

I had myself a pork taco and it was delicious — just the basics (meat, chopped onion, a bit of cilantro). A very different experience from the lushly braised, heavily flavored pork tacos at Toloache, but just as good and just as close to my house!

So on my way home with my new bike, I happened on an underwear bike ride up Third Avenue. Photos below. I can’t figure out whose event this was (Googling isn’t helping), but it was certainly preplanned, since they had an NYPD escort…

Michael and I went down to the City Clerk’s office today, the first day of marriage equality in New York, to see what we could see. And boy, could we see plenty! Hundreds of couples in a block-long line to get in the building; hundreds of people outside on the sidewalks around the Lefkowitz Building. Except for a handful of protesters (I only saw about a dozen in an hour and a half, mostly preachers, mostly with glitter and confetti in their hair), a really festive atmosphere. And that extended to the city officials (who worked overtime issuing marriage licenses, performing marriages, and handling crowd logistics) and the police — I saw more than one NYPD officer calling out cheerful “Congratulations!” to newly married couples.

It was fun being part of something so big, and terrific that the city took it so seriously (Sunday hours, crowd control infrastructure, policing to keep everyone safe). The best part was the crowd of onlookers across Worth Street from the Lefkowitz Building exit, who cheered each newly married couple coming out of the doors.

Photos below:

So I’m still waiting for my new bike, which is due Friday. But in the meantime I went out today to take a look at Dahon folding bikes, because when I stopped in at 6th Avenue Bicycles to get new pedals put on my old bike last week (after twelve years, the factory originals were cracking), I watched someone playing with one and I was curious.

I rode past Gotham on West Broadway and they only had one folding bike (although their stock of Globe cruisers is gorgeous), so I rode on up to 6th and 15th to see what 6th Avenue Bicycles had in stock.

They’d just sold a really nice-looking Mu Uno but there were several more on the floor, including an Espresso (which is, basically, a full-size bike that happens to fold) and a bright red Speed P8. A super-helpful salesman named Ben helped walk me through a comparison of the models. Presto, he folded the Espresso, which did come together into a package pretty fast, but didn’t fold up small enough to really interest me.

He folded the Speed and I was more impressed; we unfolded it back out and I gave it a lift, impressed at how light it was (it’s around 25 pounds, I think). With those 20-inch wheels, I was concerned that a tall person like me wouldn’t have a good riding experience, but Ben offered me a test ride, and how could I say no?

I took it up 6th Avenue to 20th Street, then across to 5th and back down again. I stopped into the shop and asked if I could take another ride, and they said “sure,” so off I went.  And I have to say that in some aspects it was an easier, more comfortable ride than my much heavier Gary Fisher. Certainly it’s more nimble, easier to maneuver in tight quarters, and it’s geared really well — you don’t feel like you’re riding on tiny little wheels, it feels completely normal. It felt really natural even for a tall person like me, because both the seatpost and the handlebar post come up really high, for a comfortable upright riding position.

In short, it’s a great utliitarian city bike — lightweight and fast, and stable despite the lightness (because of its low center of gravity), with reinforced tires and regular-stock 20″ tubes.  It folds up into a size small enough to drop in a car trunk or carry on a train, and you could drop it into an ordinary piece of hard-sided luggage and take it with you anywhere. The one downside is that because everything on it is quick-release, you can’t really lock it up outside ever, at least in New York City. But all the rest is upside.

And so, dear reader, I bought it, and made it street legal (bell and lights), and rode it home. I’m going to use it as my commuting bike for a while and see how I like it. At least until my other new bike arrives, that is.

For the record, the people in the bike shop didn’t seem to see anything unusual about having three bikes. So there!

Below is the only extant photo of my new red bike (don’t worry, I’ll take more)…

I’ve finally finished Weapons of Choice, which is Book 1 of a trilogy called “The Axis of Time” by Australian author John Birmingham. And to my surprise, not only did I like it, I’m looking forward to the next book. And I’m more than a little embarrassed to be reading this mass-market-paperback stuff; but it’s a really good story, and once you adjust to the prose and lower your expectations on the hard science (of which more below), it’s hard to put down.

The underlying idea is that (as a result of events not worth going into here), in a contemporary near future (not clear, but it seems to be around 2030 or so), the aircraft carrier USS Hillary Clinton and other ships from an international peacekeeping force, and their crews, find themselves suddenly transported through time and dumped into the Pacific theater in 1942, where they encounter both Axis and Allied forces, along with all the emotional and technological dislocations you’d expect in a time-travel adventure.

The book handles the differences in social conditions in the United States between 1942 and 2030 particularly well (racial and cultural changes, changes in the role of women, changes in the attitudes toward war) — it’s a bit hamfisted at places, but this is an adventure novel, so it’s forgiveable. Birmingham also does a good job of showing, by contrast to 1942, the pervasiveness of everyday technology in 2030: on the Hillary Clinton, everybody has a “flexipad” (basically a supercharged military-grade iPad with comms built in — and remember, the iPad didn’t exist in 2004).

The big downside of the book is that Birmingham glosses over the paradoxes of time travel. The assumption seems to be that the “future” of 1942 will play itself out according to the “history” of 2030, except where it doesn’t, and the transported characters (in collaboration with the “contemporaries” they meet on arrival) go about changing history with abandon, without much concern for the consequences. Around the edges of this, characters from the 21st century blithely chat about meeting their own grandparents, write condolence letters to the 1942 great-grandparents of dead soldiers from 2030, and so forth.

And here’s the small downside. Steel yourself for having to treat all the following as characters, right alongside the fictional protagonists: President Roosevelt, Albert Einstein, Adolf Hitler, Robert Millikan, Douglas MacArthur, Prince Harry for chrissakes, etc., etc. The book only works if you can tolerate sentences like this without laughing out loud:

As Albert Einstein struck a match and leaned in to light the Camel at the end of FDR’s long black holder, a distant roar reached them, like a single bass note from a thunderstorm, drawn out for an impossible length of time.

And in general the prose can be a little … well, the word, I guess, is “predictable”:

Squads of tall, blond Nordic warriors jogged to and fro with machinelike precision. The crunch of their hobnailed boots spoke of perfect regimentation. A magnificent black stallion from the barracks stables, the finest in Europe, clopped past, led by an old farrier, a veteran of the führer’s own unit from the Great War.

But, you know, this isn’t Shakespeare. Enjoy it for what it is, and you’ll have a really good time.