Moderate Rider
Now Playing: Michael Jackson--"It's The Falling In Love" (what'd you expect?)
A revolution in my affairs occurred earlier this week when Sara and I finally managed to wrench the rusted lock off her old bike whose frame doesn't suit her--as a result she never uses it--and it passed off the fence and into my possession. I haven't ridden a bike in sixteen years, and the sensible thing to do, no doubt, would be to take things slowly at first, getting reacclimatized to the rhythms and physical demands of cycling. A very silly thing to do, of course, would be to ride upwards of twenty miles the very next day.
I fully intended to follow the first course, really, I did. After doing my gardening at the deli, I had little intention beyond maybe making it to Argo Park and along the bike trail to Bandemer. One thing led to another, though, especially along the new Border-to-Border Trail the county developed along the Huron River to link northwest Ann Arbor to southwest Ypsilanti. First Riverside, then Fuller, then... I just couldn't stop myself. The trail starts at Bandemer, but I started at Argo and wound the trailway through the aforementioned, then Gallup before the trail nudged a "pass," so to speak, connecting Ann Arbor and Ypsilanti, surmounted by riding a fairly steep grade across the Huron to connect with Dixboro Road and thence the campuses of Washtenaw Community College, St. Joseph Mercy Hospital, and Eastern Michigan University before hitting Depot Town and Ypsilanti proper. I only made it to Depot Town, unsure of both my own capabilities and the specific route onward down the Huron. I lost the route past Rynearson Stadium (and it didn't help all that much that there was a fair bit of construction along Hewitt), backtracking along Washtenaw and Whittier until regaining the campus (not the route, whch I only rediscovered on my return trip thanks to an unexpected directional instinct). Despite the brief temptation to load my bike on the #4 bus and cruise happily back home on public transport, I went ahead and took the trail back, discovering the short cut that paralleled Whittier--and with no hills, to boot--on my return journey. By my reckoning, I did about twenty-two or twenty-three miles and crossed the Huron River eighteen times.
It was ninety degrees Fahrenheit, with frequent sun and a heat index of a hundred, and I'm certainly not eighteen anymore. I started to feel a little under-the-weather that evening, and woke up with a bit of a sore throat and feling a trifle feverish. All's well now, though I've learned a definite lesson about my limits (and another one, like I needed it, as to the unpredictably whorish Michigan weather--I got caught out in a furious gale the next day where the wind chill occasionally dropped to fifty, from what I could tell*). Still, it was totally worth it. Making one's way along familiar paths via bike as opposed to foot is a vastly different experience (and with my feet, a much healthier one--I was a little worried about that, but it turned out to be quite a blessing, as they feel great) and completely changes the landscape in many ways. This was quite noticeable around the Michigan campus, especially the Diag, but most of all in the actual parks, mainly Gallup and Riverside. The foliage and the water just zoom by, and there's a much better chance of spotting wildlife as the bike is much faster and quieter than walking (the chipmunks are all safe, in case you were wondering, although I really hope I didn't run over that butterfly). People seem to nod and smile more, perhaps because the "awkwardness window" is drastically curtailed (maybe one has less time to worry about how their smile and nod will be received--they're very uptight about that in Ann Arbor). It was interesting to ride through areas I was pretty sure I'd never seen before, such as the St. Joseph Mercy campus (where the "B2B" people have really done good work, with scenic overlooks over the Huron bluffs and gentle trails through heavily canopied woods where you could barely remember that there was any sun at all) and the grimly vital (vitally grim?) student ghettos of EMU. There were a couple of scary moments when I worried that my lock had rusted shut again. Margot had lent me some rust-remover and its application proved the magic touch that finally freed the bike in the first place, but I forgot to bring it with me. I was most worried at Beezy's in downtown Ypsi (where I probably caught that sore throat, as the air inside, where I bought my Faygo, felt like they had it down to sixty), but I think I've got the hang of it now. I had little trouble from traffic, although I kept mostly to the sidewalk until I know a little better what I'm doing. My only other major experience of biking was in Louisiana in the mid-eighties to early nineties (my bike was stolen in college and I never got around to getting another), mainly around the older suburbs of Baton Rouge and the LSU campus, and I can't really make any comparisons--I don't think the traffic patterns were any different. I understand that Washtenaw County is a much more bike-friendly location, although I'm still sticking to the sidewalks. I used to get annoyed at overly aggressive bikers who insisted on using the sidewalk, but maybe they had the same reasons I did (it probably helps that I'm not aggressive at all, at least not on this issue)--maybe I was just jealous.** All in all, it was a marvelous day, even with the possible sunstroke, and I can't get over how much this changes for me. It'll probably halve my bus usage, and I already made it to work (for gardening duty) before my foolhardy odyssey, and little problem there. The idea that I can get any number of places quickly, easily, and enjoyably in a healthy way without long-term podiatric inconvenience or using up fossil fuels is really quite intoxicating. The "voyages" I've planned (Delhi, Dexter, Saline) will probably have to wait until I'm a little wiser and fiter, but that they're possible at all gives me goosebumps (which, owing to the sunburn, made my lower thighs look like the Martian landscape on occasion).
My journey came towards the end of what's proving to be a wonderful month in an extremely positive year for me. As it's barely halfway done, knock on wood, but I'm still trying to focus on the good things. Our friend Dan came back to the area for a visit a couple of weeks ago (man, it feels like forever--that's how cool this month's been) and he, Sara and I drove out to Detroit with our friends Jon and Alain to visit Eastern Market, the historic downtown market that's been slaking the city's thirst for food beyond potato chips and Twinkies (Detroit apparently qualifies as a "food desert," a major metropolitan area with no decent grocery store in a certain radius of its population center, I believe) for over a century. I'd never been, and it was an interesting experience visiting the stalls and the shops, stocking up on produce (for me, blackberries, asparagus, tomatoes, and a few other things I can't remember right now, all of which I used up in a day or so) and having a fun lunch at an Ethiopian place on the corner (no doro wat, from what I could see, but the lamb stew was spectacular). Afterwards, we made a tour of eastern Detroit, visiting Belle Isle to watch an air-race (barely a week after I listened to Duran Duran's "My Own Way" at work and asked my co-worker, "who the fuck goes to air-races???") and Canadians driving across the river, and then Grosse Pointe, going past the notorious Manoogian Mansion along the way. At a Panera in Grosse Pointe (a Detroit satellite of fabled wealth and hoity-toityness commemorated in that slightly lame--like all John Cusack movies--John Cusack movie Grosse Pointe Blank--as well as Darren Star's unjustly cancelled WB sitcom that bore the town's name) , where all the houses are built like (and are probably intended to be) suburban bastides, I got a loaf of Asiago bread, which I scarfed on the way back along with half of the delicious olives I'd gotten at a Greek bodega near Eastern Market. The resulting coma was spent at home, which was just as well, as I was able to save up energy for Plastic Passion. Our friend Josh developed a sweet series of new wave dance nights named after the Cure classic before he went to Iraq, and has been itching since his return to get it going again. The Heidelberg's Club Above finally came around, and that night would be the inaugural for the new Plastic Passion. It was fucking mint. My coma forgotten, I danced like Dean Martin's marionette. The Eastern Market party, Alain excepted, were all there, joined by Nikki, Amy, her sister and brother-in-law (I think), and Sara's friend Ross from Natural Area Preservation (complete with "skinny tie" whose authentic 80s vintage added considerably to the evening's ambience). Be there the Fourth of July, people! I've already gone far in extolling the month's personal excellence, so suffice it to say, we had a great time.
As for the "now playing" song--I've said this a few times now--I prefer to remember the man's musical achievements rather than the confusing and often contradictory accusations swirling around his twisted later years. Forget Thriller; Off The Wall is one of the all-time great pop albums and what I'll always think of when I remember Michael Jackson ("The Love You Save" is probably my favorite on by the brothers). Those interested in an admirably impartial and nuanced analysis of the circus that followed his 80s hits should check out Jake Austen's terrific pop culture history TV A Go-Go (2005), which not only provides a bracing, thought-provoking examination of the symbiotic connections between the development of American TV and American pop music, but also manages a near-perfect synthesis of academic rigor and stylistic fluency, which few should be surprised to find is very rare; maybe as a result, it's pretty hard to describe. In any case, he has an entire chapter devoted to the Jacksons, and it's very engrossing reading indeed.
On a final positive note, this blog post is another reason why this guy is one of my heroes.
*Part of the reason was that I was riding out the storm beneath Nickels Arcade at State, where some gutterpunkette wearing comparatively next to nothing was having her way with a hula hoop. A number of rather alarming glances passed between us and I wondered for a split second if she was about to ask for money or worse. A good time to go, I thought. Of course, I then took refuge in the cavernous veranda behind the Hatcher Graduate Library, where that scruffy harmonica-player regarded me as if I had violated his lair--which in any case had been transformed into a wind-tunnel by the storm.
**Or maybe not; the only time in the past three days I've come close to being run over was by another biker at William and Thompson.