Aiglatson

My dad used to have a lapel pin with the single word, Aiglatson, printed on it in such a way that the word seemed to be spiraling out of sight. The button always raised eyebrows, and elicited questions. "What does Aiglatson mean?" Of course, Aiglatson is nostalgia spelled backwards. The subtle, underlying message of the button is that we often twist and distort the past in the course of looking back on it.

I thought of Dad's old button when I read an article in the May issue of Funny Times, written by Co-publisher/editor Raymond Lesser. Entitled "Kite String Theory", the article waxed nostalgic about the good old days in which the author grew up. He noted, however, that everyone tends to wax nostalgic about their past, including a 12-year-old in his son's school class who wrote a poem about the lost simplicity of VHS videotapes.

Engaging in an episode of nostalgic remembrance once in a while is not altogether harmful, invoking as it does a pleasant feeling of warmth, not unlike eating nachos or tossing down a shot of peppermint schnapps. (Then again, wetting your pants also feels warm for a while, or so I've been told.) 

Much like dancing, playing cards or video games, and gardening, repeatedly entertaining nostalgic longing can become habit forming, leading to loss of productivity and general feelings of malaise.

Most dangerous are the times when we forget that nostalgia is a distortion. It is all too easy to become cynical and negative about the present, as well as the efforts of those trying to make the most of it, by constantly contrasting the here and now with the "Once upon a time...". 

I am especially concerned about institutions, including the Church, that have withdrawn from the hard, important work of visioning the future we wish to create. True visioning cannot take place when the most compelling image of the future a distorted, nostalgic longing for a comfortable past. As my mother was fond of saying, "Things just aren't like they used to be, and what's more, they never were."

One of our two (reportedly) national political parties has been characterized as The Party of 'No'. I think it's more accurate to say that the Republican Party is often The Party of No-stalgia, stating the desire to return this country to its former values, which imply Christian, male, white, English speaking, and heterosexual. The good old days are sought, like the 50's (1850's or 1950's...your choice). Of course, this begs the question, and distorts it, as to what extent the country ever truly embodied such values, and whether that extent was a good thing for anyone not Christian, male, white, English speaking or heterosexual.

In The Life of Reason, George Santayana wrote: "Those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it." I wonder what Santayana would have said about those who cannot remember the past objectively, yet employ their distorted, nostalgic recollections to justify present decisions and actions?

A Green Future, or a Black, Stretchy One?

Sally and I attended the Spokane City Council Meeting yesterday evening to express our support for the passage of Spokane's Master Bike Plan. Our Council representative had encouraged us to attend after Sally forwarded him my last two posts about bike parking and connectivity. Once at the Council Chambers, we were encouraged to sign up to speak in favor of the plan. Unaccustomed as I am to public speaking, which is true for Sally, by the way, we signed up.

In her remarks Sally emphasized that she rides her bike for shopping as well as commuting, and that she makes decisions about where she shops in part by whether they have bike racks. I made the point that, unlike most of the other speakers, I was not an officer of any bicycle advocacy group. In the course of my statement I noted that I did not wear spandex, nor were my shoes permanently attached to my pedals. I stated my concern for bike facilities and plans that would allow everyone to be able to ride safely, including children, and amateurs like me.

Gauging by the response after the meeting, our remarks were well received. Members of the council and subsequent speakers made reference to our comments, which made us feel like the evening was well-spent.

After the meeting, however, a woman bedecked in black spandex pants, patterned jersey and reflective yellow vest approached me. Though she thanked me for my remarks, she vehemently stated that I really should get some spandex and proper clipless pedals and shoes. By the way, clipless pedals and shoes clip together, leaving me wondering why they are termed "clipless". The woman's disposition was reminiscent of brokers on the floor of a stock exchange or the two ladies who came to my door last week toting copies of The Watchtower. Yes, she was an enthusiast.

In response to the woman's stinging indictment I mumbled my usual excuses for being ill-equipped and underdressed while I ride. But I knew. In the depths of my being I knew that I stood convicted as a pretender, a would-be Ponce De Leon seeking to use my bike as a Fountain of Youth on two wheels, relishing the sensation of the wind blowing through my helmet and what's left of my hair.

After disentangling ourselves from my Inquisitor, Sally and I had a few moments to recover and debrief. Sally made an insightful comment about her support for bicycling as an alternative means of transportation for everyone, and not merely for enthusiasts. It was this broader notion that seemed important to us, and that also appeared to be in danger of being swept away in a sea of spandex and special interest advocacy. I wondered aloud, "In Amsterdam, did we see anyone among the throng of bicycle commuters wearing spandex?" The answer was no, though we saw cyclists there in business suits, dresses and high heels! We then tried to imagine people changing into "driving clothes" before getting into their Toyota or Land Rover. I guess some people do....

John Wiesner climbed down from the cab of his truck holding the remains of a six-pack of Diet Coke and wearing a motorcycle helmet. John stated that he viewed all roads as unsafe, and that he never drove anywhere without his helmet. He was never without a Diet Coke either, though I can't recall whether he considered that particular libation to be a safety component. My hunch is that he did.

John Wiesner and his helmet came to mind as I thought about "driving clothes".  In the past, automobile driving gloves and coats were employed, following in the tradition of jodhpurs and long boots worn by equestrians. I imagine that my agrarian ancestors were less likely to don such finery than they were to wear their work clothes, whether driving the milk wagon or astride a horse, as they went about their daily lives. Like my workaday predecessors, we moderns have given up the practice of cladding ourselves for travel, instead jumping into our cars for the commute to work, a quick run to the grocery store, or a trip across the country wearing whatever we are wearing. 

I fear that bicycling will not be accepted as a viable transportation alternative for the masses in this country as long as clothing protocols reminiscent of the showy habits of the aristocracy persist. I further wonder if it is possible for Americans to embrace any simple activity or pursuit -- biking, hiking, camping, cooking, gardening, to name a few -- without it becoming justification for a flurry of shopping activity. If we are ever to move toward a simpler, greener future, we'll need to take a route that does not commence with a side trip to REI, Williams-Sonoma, or L.L. Bean. 

A Dollar's Worth of Hope

It was unusual for us to stop. Sally and I were riding our bikes to Huckleberry's, luxuriating in the second straight day of beautiful, spring-like weather. As we rode down 27th Avenue, our attention was drawn to some young girls operating a lemonade stand. We stopped, and almost immediately noticed that this lemonade stand was special. Yes, they were selling organic, gluten-free energy bars and organic lemonade, but it wasn't the products that made their effort so special. "MONEY YOU PAY GOES TO: Lands Council Charity" proclaimed the sign in front of their table. Apparently the girls really wanted to do something for the Lands Council, and had decided that a lemonade stand was what they could do.

These are lean times for non-profit organizations of all types. The economic meltdown has chased away donors. At the same time, other sources of non-profit organizational support, such as grants and income from endowments and investments, have declined precipitously. As daunting as these challenges have been, there is an even greater threat to the future of non-profits. Our society has forgotten the powerful words from FDR's first inaugural in 1933:

 

the only thing we have to fear is fear itself.

We find ourselves constantly in the shadow of fear... fear of financial loss, fear of other religions, fear of illegal aliens, fear of change, nameless fear. In reaction we turn inward, focusing on ourselves and our individual concerns, rather than the significant, long-term issues non-profit organizations work so hard to address. In that same inaugural address, FDR also stated:

Happiness lies not in the mere possession of money; it lies in the joy of achievement, in the thrill of creative effort. The joy and moral stimulation of work no longer must be forgotten in the mad chase of evanescent profits. These dark days will be worth all they cost us if they teach us that our true destiny is not to be ministered unto, but to minister to ourselves and to our fellow men (sic).

In the midst of these dark days, a ray of sunshine broke through. Four rays actually. Four young girls who care about the future of the planet made a decision to raise money, not for a trip to the mall or a ride on Spokane's renowned Looff Carousel, but for a local charity, the Lands Council.

I didn't have to ask how much my lemonade would cost, for the girls volunteered the figure. "You can pay whatever you want." How much is a sign of hope worth? It turns out that it was priceless.

Bike to Work Week - Day Five, Final

Time: 1 hour, 6 minutes, 24 seconds

Distance: 11.79 miles

Rode to Sally's office, and we rode home together on a lovely spring afternoon.

Bike to Work Week - Day Five, Part 2

Where the Bike Lane Ends....

Having complained about the lack of bicycle parking in Spokane, I'd like to also mention the lack of connectivity in the Spokane Master Bike plan. There are some painted bike lanes scattered throughout the community, but for the most part these nice routes don't connect to a thoroughfare you feel safe riding on. An example is Southeast Boulevard, now closed for construction. The bike lane starts near our house and continues until just before the major intersection with 29th Avenue. Just when the street becomes busiest, and most dangerous, the scant protection afforded by the bike lane's white line disappears. This phenomenon is repeated as Southeast Boulevard narrows at the intersection with 25th Avenue, with Perry, and at 5th Avenue where it disappears for good, throwing the bicyclist to the mercy of  major city streets.

Near where Sally and I once lived in northeastern Wisconsin, there was an infamous highway, officially designated County Road Q. Unofficially the road was called the... the..., well, it was named for the predominant, European ethnic group within the city. It wasn't called the French Connection.... Anyway, County Road Q featured a four-lane, 55 mph, limited access overpass spanning the Fox River, which promptly ended in a 3-way stop at a single-lane cross street. The bridge was built as the initial segment of a highway bypass that remained unbuilt for 25 years.

I think of County Road Q every time I approach a Spokane street sign proclaiming, "Bike Lane Ends". I wonder if I'm supposed to turn around and go back the way I came, or get off my bike and into a proper vehicle. The current Spokane regional bike map employs 4 or 5 colors to designate preferred biking routes, diverting attention from the fact that even our best bike routes are but partial segments that end whenever the road narrows or a major automobile thoroughfare is reached. The designation of the busy, narrow streets where many bike lanes abruptly end "Shared Routes" would be funnier if it weren't so dangerous. Any bike route that ends at Division Street, Sprague Avenue, the railroad tracks or the interstate is not really a bike route at all. They are instead our versions of County Road Q. 

Bike to Work Week - Day Five

First of all, let me say that I really like living in Spokane. We live here by choice, and have no desire to exchange our fair city for another, especially any in Washington beginning with the letter "S". That being said, there are aspects of life here I wouldn't mind changing. The streets really are bad. The last two winters have been long and white, and the last two springs haven't arrived at all. And then there's bicycling.

I have become a bit of a bike zealot. I came to this form of transportation late in my adult life, and it has rewarded me with improved health, a renewed zest for existence, and the self-righteous smugness of having a MUCH smaller carbon footprint than the Dodge Ram Mega Cab Dually drivers with whom I share Spokane. My greatest frustration is the sense that, despite somber lip service to the contrary, Spokane remains a community inhospitable to bicycling. 

One example of this inhospitality is in regard to bike parking. Whenever major biking events are scheduled in Spokane, an attended bike corral is provided. That's good, for otherwise every tree and street sign in Spokane would be festooned with bicycles. There are countless downtown blocks where there is no bicycle parking to be found. The lack of suitable bike racks sends the strong message that Spokane doesn't really expect anyone to ride here. This is in sharp contrast to truly bike friendly communities like Amsterdam, or even Corvallis, Oregon.     

Corvallis has been recognized as one of the most bicycle friendly communities in the nation, with lovely bike paths, continuous bike lanes, sensors at intersections allowing riders to get a green light without waiting for a car or pedestrian to come along, and numerous bike racks on every block downtown. It is not hard to find a bike rack in Corvallis, though finding an empty space at the end of the block you prefer can sometimes be daunting.

In Spokane we are often relegated to locking our bikes to trees, street signs, or using the rack in front of a bike friendly business like Auntie's Books, even though our business is elsewhere. As much as I like living here, decent bicycle parking would make things better.

Bike to Work Week - Day Four

Time: 45 minutes, 5 seconds

Distance: 8.35 miles

Went a different direction this morning as a change of pace after three trips toward town. Stopped at the bank in Lincoln Heights and then headed south on Freya all the way to Moran United Methodist Church. The brisk wind in the aftermath of last night's rain made the entire ride a challenge.

Spandex

I'm not certain anybody looks good in spandex, and I'm pretty damn sure nobody my age and weight does. Most days I feel I've reached a point in life where I'm not easily intimidated. But it's hard to feel like a real bicyclist in the presence of sleek athletes in skin tight black and yellow uniforms, cleated shoes securely attached to their carbon fiber machines, while I'm peddling about wearing jeans and a second hand jacket. 

Cowering in the presence of these banshees, I'm reminded of how I felt entering the 7th grade. Seemingly everyone in the school bought their clothes from the same shop, a boutique called Rod's. I wore mostly hand-me-downs from my three older brothers, though that fall I was lucky to have a brand new shirt of my own, albeit from JCPenney. The very first day I wore it, one of my "cool" classmates came up behind me, turned the collar of my shirt out to verify that it wasn't from Rod's, and then pulled up the little loop sewn onto the back pleats, tearing my shirt, my one new shirt, in the process. I was terribly angry, and totally humiliated.

Ever since that time I have compensated for my low social stature by swearing off anything that is cool or fashionable. As if you hadn't noticed. Included on my list of taboos are spandex riding togs. My disdain for such finery was affirmed again just yesterday when I ducked into REI on my ride home. There were some very nice short-sleeved biking jerseys just inside the door, picturing Mt. Rainier and other signature features of the State of Washington. The price tag trilled $70. I coughed in exasperation and withdrew.

So each day I don my moral indignation with my jeans before I ride, though I confess that seeing myself in my uncool clothes brings back all the old insecurities that I should have left behind with my acne.

I tell you what, I'm making a resolution. If I can get my weight down another 20 pounds, in addition to the 45 I've lost, I'll buy some spandex. I'll even take pictures of myself in my new duds! 

Not one to have such fun alone, I invite you to participate by entering the "Why I Shouldn't Receive a Photo of Hollis in Spandex" haiku contest. The winner of the contest WON'T receive a photo. All non-winning entrants will receive a tasteful frontal photo. Anyone NOT entering the contest will receive 3 photos: anterior, posterior, and full profile. Take that, you banshees!

Note to my UCC friends: The 3rd of my photos is also known as the Unprofessional Profile. Merely receiving it in your inbox is likely grounds for your mandatory attendance of a supplemental boundary training workshop. It also could lead to a fitness review... for you. The photo will constitute mine.