Barter Allain

Authors can mash nearly any random handful into a coherent epistle. Proves nothing, resembles any spoken conversation that meanders among many momentary interests, and says more about personal choices than subject matter. Audiences prefer big lettered memes that encapsulate what one should know about some narrow topic. Well, reality vigorously disagrees, makes dummies who won't investigate points from many topics suffer. As always, just as bad can be opposite extreme, becoming paralyzed by overthinking everything one might encounter on one’s spirit crusade. Sometimes you’ve got to try it all on your own ride, though guidance often shoves grief aside.

Allain (means figuratively harmonious rockstar or holy knight) di Gros (means The Fat) was said to be first of the Fisher Kings, mortally maimed nobles for whom asking right question may have prevented misfortune for all involved. Grail quests were among earliest of published stories that tried to apply biblical morality to medieval mortality, pretty much only amusement then available apart from backbreaking labor, continual battles, daily hunger, and intermittent plagues, when a pen, once used as an instrument of peace, was said to have been mightier than a sword. Then an arms escalation began, computers now in pen’s corner, and long range missiles in sword’s. Information Age commenced, and words became the war with bloody carnage and collateral damage. Today threats of death for treason are being bandied about as if lives in service to society were impolitically expendable. Such outrageous attitudes extend to entire world, not just Pendragon or Perceval, and you personally. Crass broadcasts provoked terror attacks in Gilliam’s award winning, prescient, 1991 filmic retelling; over last two decades many nations including USA have borne a chain reaction of senseless mass killings. A congressional bill, executive edict, or news exposé may be all that stands in annihilation’s way.

A century ago in his novel A Nest of Spies (Brentano, New York,1917) Marcel Allain portrays Colonel Vinson telling how, out on a recuperative bike ride, he met another rider, who overpaid to buy his local map, suckered him into a compromising situation, and turned out to be criminal mastermind Fantomas trying to steal military secrets for Germany. Eternally hunted and ever elusive, Fantomas is probably the first pulp superstar from a popular franchise coauthored with Pierre Souvestre. Later comic book and radio play creations Phantom and The Shadow, and thereby masked vigilante Batman, were thus derived from this sinister representation for what one doesn’t know and therefore fears, though literature provides a safe unveil and vicarious thrill. Downtrodden only wish they could be so ruthless, but usually submit to compromises, deals, and trade-offs. Tyrants barter billions of bodies for bricks of bullion, immortal souls for intemperate power, unwanted surpluses for yearned scarcities.

Credit this candid colorful closeup that plops you into criterium action to New Orleans commercial photographer Jonathan Allain. Wonder if he is at all related to Alexander Peter Allain, among 20th century’s most influential one hundred, associated with Loyola University, cofounder of Freedom to Read Foundation, and tireless advocate of first amendment freedom of speech at a time when pinko peril had library staffs and town officials burning books. Lately, POTUS seems to be making hit lists of prominent Americans who disagree with him; couldn’t be bothered with vast majority who also despises, since they can easily be silenced. Leaders to whom you grant power supposed to answer to you and be incorruptible, though slightest chance to capitalize pushes sociopaths into depravity.

Rhett Allain’s article in Wired (2008), Teach Your Child to Ride a Bike, concludes, “Good luck and good riding. Oh, and wear a helmet. Oh, and don't do drugs.“ Finishing touch is his link in homage to fixie guru Sheldon Brown’s Teaching Kids to Ride. Irreverent wrench master Brown died before his time of a heart attack at age 63 only 10 months earlier. Refreshing to see a blogger credit source. Such old school courtesy seems remarkably absent a decade later. Browbeating, finger pointing, invention theft, name calling, and screaming lunacy form information’s legacy. But was America greater when impersonal privacy surrounded, pederasts played out fantasies, and scandals never surfaced?

Having traveled every road of tiny Ile de Bréhat, Côtes-d’Armor, France for more than 25 years on her bicycle, postal worker Line Allain retired this year. From summers sorting mail since age 17, Line was promoted in 1993 to year-round mail carrier. Toting parcels up to 30 kg in panniers, she furrowed paths and knows them all. One half of island is separated from other at high tide, which must have accounted for some delivery difficulties. Because she rode on average 30 km per week, Islanders say, ”Line Allain has had to cycle around the world several times.” Define several; more likely once. Labann has done it [~40k km] at least 6, not without scores of shady incidents, while fulfilling full time uninterrupted sedentary jobs. Any knight of the round wheel tables every tale of insecurity for noble scrutiny. More surprising is how those who go by bike get by and slip through a lot easier and safer than motorists ever do.

“Listen to the wind blow, watch the sun rise. Running in the shadows, damn your love, damn your lies... And if, you don't love me now you will never love me again. I can still hear you saying you would never break The Chain... Break the silence... Chain keep us together.” Stevie Nicks, Fleetwood Mac, Rumours (1977), Guardians of the Galaxy 2 soundtrack (2017). Universal appeal of haunting darkness and tense cadence from insecure egomaniacs sounds like a morning bike commute. Artists ought to feel blessed anyone hears them at all given evil competing to dominate universe and snare everyone's soul, and vast internet data pool buried under bedrock that exact a temporal toll when you just want to roll.

Beekeeper Demesne

Never promised to continue indefinitely this Bike&Chain Initiative. Kept feeling there were things that need to be said from a centrist, cyclist’s standpoint, mostly as an antidote and counterbalance to conservative and liberal ignorance and colloquy for every random ride observance. Never more imperative than now not to fail, repeatedly served as a messenger from stranger than ever angles to no avail. Did manage to differ entry titles, reuse no word twice, no small feat since all rhymed within limited possibilities, a literary extravagance over paltry poetic abilities. With much left to be done, should Labann, like fictional sleuth Sherlock Holmes, retire to a country estate and take up his hobby of keeping honeybees? Disciples, including Anthony Desnick and Mark Martin, now stand up fearlessly at prestigious Ted Talks and testify to same stuff posted and published decades ago. Or, as Robertus van der Wege’s bike sculptures inspired by dyslexia reminded attendees, must maintain focus on bicycling culture, which, of course, includes polemics on behalf of those neither protected nor represented with any degree of assurance. Any break makes resuming a bit too burdensome. Those who quit as a rule regret it. But codes of honor and self imposed decrees dig a bottomless pit of inescapable duties, and to enemies expose vulnerabilities you would rather not admit.

Neil Thompson (1970 - ), Durham, England, “Ride a Red Bike”, Folk Art acrylic on board

Just how do you define an enemy? For last half century, arguably since founded in 1854, GOP has never rested as the party for schemers and those they dupe, those gullible enough to believe what's known to be contemptible malarkey by educated majority, supported in this century by radio ear benders emulating old time revival preachers and one television infotainment network with no advertisers or journalists, just personalities who criticize news gathered by veteran professionals, deconstruct details to falsify evidence, distort stories into partial opinions to deflate scandals of patrons, and recoup dominance based on a Stalinist dictatorial model. Begs question who pays to leave unleveraged such ruthless media; imagining massive operating costs, where's the profit in it?

Duping citizenry and electorate allows raiding trillions from treasury, redirecting tax spending, and walling off largest number of billionaires in history. This ideology built a fortresses for depriving rest of society, reversing hard earned entitlements, and stifling middle class expansion, diametrically opposed to party’s original intent as an antislavery movement. Stakes are now too high to stop. Meanwhile, chief drone King Con bullies his way past every constitutional directive by conjuring an executive order, sanctioned propaganda, and terror tactics, thereby creating the greatest threat to personal freedoms and quality of life since rise of Nazis a century ago following WWI. When you can't unabashedly be on your bike during Bicycle Month every May, bile builds into a verbal volcano. Still nobody invites a vituperative dispute.

Stating what’s obvious in an ignored forum does little to counteract harm of these organized criminals and their 24/7/365 hour/week/day/decades long brainwashing barrage that pits brother against brother, spouse against spouse, town against whatever imaginary peril might exist in the unknown. By playing on fears and raising doubts they demoralize workforce and destabilize economy both domestically and globally, probably intentionally for unreported riches, though how they get away with it may never be divulged. Suspect it flatters a few fruits in $5000 suits for whom recruits sacrifice selves in deadly pursuits among bloody Beiruts fanning roots of conflict from which culprits in cahoots continually profit. Traces directly back to that arms making, automotive spawning, Big Oil, war machine bicyclists so distrust. And, right on cue, King Con deploys troops to Iran for what he’ll describe as a holy war according to plan.

Capitalism pretty well pushes everyone else into an intractable pandering or prostituting hell no matter what their marketable skill level. Drug dealing, human trafficking, and mercenary soldiering hold scarce prospects for dullards devoid of degrees to pocket dollars. Legal pot reduces vigilance against Republicans in office who formerly had to smuggle it stateside to suppress masses from exercising rights and voting conscience. These days even a doctorate destines you for a dreary but less desperate role amidst vocational drudgery. Having no real choice convinces even self employed surgeons to give up lucrative practices made lousy by legal liability of diagnosing from a prodigious patient library. Scientists love data, which mainly gets used as spam to pitch senseless purchases, but truth will always be indifferent to its worshippers.

Can vividly recall sweltering days of skateboarding insanely down steep sidewalks and side streets, surfing landscape where a fall could hurt far more than a splash into waves with no closed circuit cameras around to catch or rescue. Surfed seaside as well, camping on beach, dancing on edge of drowning, and daring shark attacks, wholly done in lieu of finding some dollar-an-hour chore to do. Only data to trust was what one witnessed. Misnomer of free time aside, bicycling pastimes chronically beat business missions, which leave you dispirited, extinguish spark, and suck soul dry. Work ought to offer chances to fail and grow through interesting challenges. Yet recruiters stress you position self as an objectified passionless commodity, rightly so, because nobody has the least interest in your personal needs, only productive turnaround of theirs at temerarious speeds.

Spring brings birds and sees bees. Satisfying sex after spontaneous hunts seems normal for species but suffer badly from workplace embargoes. What, not supposed to show any interest? Directors even deem offensive ogling a shapely ass, yet you may freely drool over saltpeter snacks and sugary carbs they dangle daily. For steadily earning a survival paycheck you forfeit your instinctual virility and natural savagery. While bicycling boosts testosterone and bumps libido, will always be a car on a crawl by far linked with child kidnapping, predatory sex, rampant theft, statutory rape, teen pregnancy, and virtually guaranteed getaways. Admiring, looking and lusting don't defy decorum, monogamy, or no-touch modesty, but do induce disciplinary action and spousal jealousy. Some couples cherish bouts of screaming insecurity, since they thereby fortify bonds and renew vows. Though questionable in the here now, over a lifetime not much of your angst matters. Although these days come-ons await as status quo, fate will forever find more ways to deflate your ego.

“I never made promises lightly, and there have been some that I've broken. But I swear in the days still left we'll walk in Fields of Gold." Sting, Rooted in Peace, A&M Records, 1993

Baguette Allein

Rookie mistake, went out half asleep to ride without spreading crotch padding inside bib tights. Unless you lift each leg laterally, as if a dog marking territory, fabric bunches up and causes friction burns. Although not as badly as wearing bluejeans, can get painful, just as does improperly setting tongue of cleats, which should be stretched flat across top of foot. One can brake, dismount and rejigger, but in rush to arrive per brutal rules often just abide along with other bike hassles.

Must you move? Motility is life itself. Even lying in bed, you’re still spinning on earth at nearly 1500 feet per second, 4 times around a baseball diamond, or 5 football fields. Yet many would describe themselves as going nowhere, since they live hand to mouth in a capitalist scrap-scape and watch helplessly as net worth goes south amidst social injustice they can’t escape.

Neolithic humans hardly ever sat, only to eat and sleep. They defecated and urinated while squatting, migrated continually, and walked everywhere. Lean and toned, they lived on average only 35 years, ironically, due mostly to hazards encounters gathering, hunting, and squabbling over resources. Ever since, mankind has been determined to make life easier and safer, though extremes of either negate the other. For the first time since WWII, life expectancy has begun to decline due to what sheeple choose to do, not what nature forces them to.

Americans increasingly stay put, work from home, thereby scan same scenery and skip commute altogether. Otherwise, to avoid footsteps they ride by bus or train, take elevators, escalators, even moving walkways, turn away from exerting self at all costs. Because many jobs require that you sit in place to be productive, companies adopt policies that make you stand and stretch once an hour to head off health debt. Manufacturers mitigate excessive hand-offs and motion waste. Motorists stuff mouths at drive-through troughs, and transact business at bank kiosks an arm’s length away. Seated delivery drivers grab up and hand off parcels from portal to portal. Drones and robots will be next, followed by on-site replicators so nothing need be moved except billions of buckets of rubbish onto landfill summits. Logistics limit warfare so set priorities.

Websites let you shop by computer ap and credit card. Increasingly deserted retail malls are only for the electronically deprived or inept, nobody worth mingling with, or whoever wants to inspect quality or readiness before buying, for example, baked freshness. Drive-in theaters weren’t easy enough. Netflix now means you don’t have to get out of your electric wheelchair or leave home to experience vicariously others jumping, risking life and limb, running from dangers you’ll never encounter fixated on an oversized monitor or tethered to a virtual reality headset, unless you shop for food at a crowded supermarket. A bloated weak information slave, you’ll likely live on life support into your 70's or until by design age triggers social security entitlements.

Flight delayed? You get to sit for hours while listening to murmurs of remote conversations, rumble of people movers, and totally unintelligible public service announcements. Perhaps you’ll stand alone in a line, or walk a bit between gates or parking lots. Maybe you expected to be thousands of miles across continent already, but plane assigned hasn’t yet arrived, and departure won’t occur for hours more. Occasionally someone drifts near dropping fragments of convo out of context seemingly formed of emojis, internet acronyms, and text shortcuts. You’re conditioned to ignore placidly or too embarrassed to connect meaningfully with strangers. Society doesn’t allow you to emote, interact, or move away, only ignore and stay as if un chien sur en laisse under some dog trainner's finger snap incapable of challenging masters.

Exercise deficit has become such a broad pandemic states and towns spend up to $1 million per mile installing linear parks, recreational biking and walking paths, which too few use, mostly chain smokers, dog walkers, and teen gangs barred from everywhere else, yet skip striped roadside lanes that cost almost nothing. Deeds done and kickbacks pocketed, nothing more will be spent maintaining and patrolling, since both would cost a trifling percent and represent unwanted labor. Meanwhile majority medicates itself on food carbs and illicit, over-the-counter, or prescribed drugs when not really sick to overcome minor bother or mortal ennui of employing out-of-shape chassis made arthritic for lack of acts considered aerobic.

Pleas to shape up come from insurers who hope to roll back payouts, owners of gyms and health spas who get tired of looking at misshapen examples on streets, and whoever else finds flab repulsive or unprofitable. You have every right to hate yourself and ignore them all. It’s probable too much exercise is just as bad as none, since you can damage bones, joints, muscles, organs and skin with any strenuous regimen. Long distance runners face more heart attacks and strokes than cycling randonneurs, though both should be wary of potentially fatal heatstroke and hyponatremia, a blood sodium level below 120 mEq/L, signaled by disturbed balance, lack of focus, and nausea before seizures lead to coma.

Doctors say low impact muscle reps, especially cycling along gentle terrain of converted rail trails, control diabetes, desensitize patients, manage their mood, and reduce cardiovascular risks about as well as medication. Extended sunlight, fresh air, and gross motor activities aid oxygen uptake and deter Vitamin D deficiency. Or you can hide indoors and pop expensive pills. Doctors also claim stress and worry are as bad as high fat diets. Satiated busybodies should have less to say than suffering bastards, but seems today reverse holds sway. Bicyclists find frequent relaxation, life balance, and rancor ignored by officials who could easily remedy. If you ride to bakery by bike, you can probably enjoy that baguette a bit with each meal without guilt. Pity those who can’t take advantage of this simple conveyance upon ribbons of roads that usher all who otherwise slog through gridlock and shouldn’t be indulging in such goodies. Conversely, white lines edge space and provide slippery pavement that hastens cycling scorchers to goals.

Decades of own research and 15,000 hours of direct experience confirm that bicycling is 2000% safer than driving. It’s in the physics. Bicyclists collectively average only 11 mph; at that rate they can collide with almost anything and ride away with no more than a bruise, dent or scrape. Motorists double, even quadruple on roads that flow traffic faster. Steel cages surrounded by glass colliding at 25 mph or more will break bones, cause brain trauma, severely lacerate, or worse. Vehicles occupy entire lane, so crash plenty. Bicyclists instead hang near road edge, smartly don helmets, so sporadically succumb to risks. Have fallen and resumed en route, was nudged but never lost balance, witnessed cyclist accidents but never needed to call for rescue, but you can go too fast on a bike. Peloton racers often exceed 100 mph on mountain descents, yet since 1894 only about one hundred and fifty racers globally have died pursuing such extremes. In contrast every day thirty-two hundred motorists die in crashes. Shouldn’t mess with motoring’s crushing momentum unless stupid or suicidal. NASCAR remains popular among redneck racists, rude misogynists, Trump apologists, and total idiots, who’ve repeatedly proven they have no grey matter worth preserving for sake of species.

You can clearly identify intolerable scenarios and terrible situations, but trying to eliminate or overcome all of them isn't possible. Too many causes to count, or factors to calculate, to arrange things the way you'd like. Thus morality and philosophy came about, as ways to handle distress emotionally at least. Some committee might study to exclusion of more immediate concerns. A consensus requires mutual understanding, but communication relies on shared perspective. Your location on life's arc isn't likely to correspond with anyone else's, even others born on same day, and view from a saddle varies from behind a dashboard enclosed in a rolling car. Labann aged better than own kin, watches obits for contemporaries and coworkers who've fallen by wayside, and wonders who'll be next when not analyzing trends or bargaining details with deities and demons.

At a campus campaign stop Bern Grinders mentioned raising wages to a $15 minimum, a topic with which students can relate, and what comes from living hand to mouth. If you can't afford to fill or fix your car, you might lose your job and wind up on a bread or dole line instead of achieving your potential as a hero. Sounds sensible until you consider that many millions gainfully employed don't own cars, live in cities with busses, subways and taxis subsidized by taxes, or ride bicycles instead. Then again, why allow such cruelty on company's part to lay off loyal staff upon some stupid commuting snafu? Decent ones permit flexibility in arrive and leave hours. Some may gripe, "Nanny state," or groan over "gummint" getting too intimate, usually those who brought on oversight to begin with by causing injuries, losses and troubles. Agencies exist to expound fairness and surround careless, so they're cordoned off for mutual safety, not to hound them about their recklessness. They also draw lines around corpses of victims of crime or mayhem to investigate causes. Between dying and thriving where does anyone draw the line?

“I leave after breakfast, full tummy. Tying up my laces, kiss your pretty face, and I'll be on my way. Putting on my shades, and give you another wave, bye-bye, it's getting late. Do I look too cool? On my bicycle, on my bicycle, yeah, I’m sorry I rule.” Filous, Bicycle, single (twee pop), Ultra Rec., 2019

Joy Regain

Bike Month begins with May Breakfasts and promises of group rides full of new camaraderie and velorution’s cheer, but generally grinds to an inglorious coda with a blank stare, no resolutions near, and tweaks in gear to prepare for shift from sweater weather to sweatier wedge of year.

Cut losses, scorch earth, sever ties, take hits, walk away: All viable options versus relentless distress. Those who want what you've dearly gained may torment you into giving it away through their persistence. It's how religions and states stay entrenched seemingly forever. Unlike thieves who want it right now, they'll tax and tithe you over time into nonexistence.

Acquisitions don’t amplify self. Conquests don't create heroes. Only a witless consumer cares about collectibles. Museums are full of mediocre examples of masters. Sometimes one's original masterwork or perfect example is what's really worth preserving, the rest disposable maquettes, sketches, or studies. Staffs display only top 25% of what's owned alongside temporary exhibits of special items they've been loaned. Otherwise, attendees would be few, events postponed.

Taine described ancient sculptures as battle victims in time ravaged fields of severed heads, limbs and torsos. Modern curators display surviving fragments, so contemporary critics tend to characterize output as focused on busts and heads alone, which, of course, is completely false. Full figured original sculptures were too hard to move, thus steal, so pieces, faces and hands, were often hacked off and shoved into bags for tourists to buy. Nowadays thieves park vehicles in vicinity, part nonferrous objects and plaques from bases, slip away furtively, and smelt into untraceable, valuable scrap. Historical artifacts get destroyed or mysteriously disappear for momentary gratifications, though culture doesn't incontrovertibly feed bullies' bellies.

What do you value? Many would say money, but what an amorphous commodity that shrinks, smells and stretches worse than a woolen jersey. Art today means concerts, ephemera, films, graphics, intangibles not at all collectible, just accursed intersections in time-space continuum. People have closets full of tee shirts, today’s sandwich boards advertising one enjoyable encounter or hip happenstance after another. Many simply do without, as if art appreciation wasn't a life requisite. Depression results, but nobody cares or wants to be saddled with chores of dealing with yours. Feel of steel cranked beneath your heel might improve mood and make deal more vital and zeal more real.

What do you know? Information gatherers guard facts for own use against rivals, regard intellectual property as their primary asset. Market analysts and stock brokers say all sorts of stuff to convince you to act in their best interests, not yours. Then there’s Potsherd Dump’s nonstop disinformation stump and unconscionable reliance on Ailesflux’s harassment thump aimed at spreading doubts and triggering fears that divide nation and dominate electorate. Transparency and truth take a beating every day citizens don't insist upon them. But an economy set back on track 8 years ago will be claimed as a triumph by a megalomaniac who’s done nothing at all but exploit outcome. Polls support this betrayal as long as books show black and prices don't rise at gas pump before next election, although at least half are aware leaders will always stack deck against them, so swallow Prozac lest they crash their Cadillac because of a panic attack.

A reasonable barrier to truth comes from business regulations resulting in policies that block releasing personal data, through many scofflaws bristle at any notion of restriction or want to use bits of your history against you out of greed, malice or spite. Who doesn’t prefer privacy over full disclosure? From facts factions fashion weapons. Whoever you grant power and privilege to ought to be completely transparent and totally trustworthy, yet a billionaire in office redacts every official document lest some tiny detail impacts next dirty deal he transacts. Why stick your nose into his finances?

Funny about phrases, such as, “Mind your own business,” which appeal to majority as commonsense advice agreed mutually. What leaders do affects you personally, amplifies across entire world, is your business, whereas what you do influences nobody but own family, friends or neighbors. Should be that policy protects personal privacy not public service of people in power. But in today’s burgeoning bizarro reality just about everything becomes its diametric opposite. Goals, targets and temptations society dangles as starry spangles peg you to servile roles feeding black holes forbidden to peak in their keyholes.

You’ve got your own life to live, places to go, people to meet once forecast permits. And ya' tailor joy through every diatribe-less dalliance among cyclists you admire in allegiance with those who confer awards upon such an outstanding achiever. Accomplishments and relationships offer all the pleasures life allows, not stockpiles of empty miles and ill-gotten percentiles. Find freedom, forge forward, forget rest, form best, and pedal onward.

"Sittin' down by my window, honey, lookin' out at the rain... Now baby, this can't be in vain. Hope there's someone who can tell me why love is just like a ball and chain." - Janis Joplin