The big week has finally arrived

The Freewheelin' bikes ready to be ridden downtown

In case you haven't heard, we have a little convention firing up here in Denver this week. I'll be running around for the next several days, working on the Freewheelin' bike share program. So, it's not like I'm a prolific blogger, but I probably won't be too excited about sitting at the computer once I do find myself at home. Again, so sorry to disappoint my loyal reader, but I'll be back online soon.

Polkas and the Greatest Generation

I went to a polka concert in the park when I visited Muskegon. I went with my 90-year-old grandmother and her 85-year-old sister. Needless to say, I was on the low end of the age curve, yet I found it to be really enjoyable.

Shortly after we arrived, my great aunt and my grandmother surveyed the crowd for people they knew. My grandmother said, "Well, I don't know anyone here. They're all dead." It's not a stretch to say that Grandma is a very matter-of-fact person. And, in reality, once you get up to your upper 80's and into your 90's, you can expect to be one of the last ones standing.

Anyway, I've never been much of a polka fan, as I really haven't had much exposure to it. If we had stayed in Michigan, no doubt I would have seen more polkas in my time. But, I like most any music that's live, so I sat back and prepared to enjoy the concert. And enjoy it I did. Perhaps it's genetically programmed that all people of Polish descent will enjoy a good polka. I have no explanation.

I looked around and noticed the crowd enjoying the music and I realized that I was watching the Greatest Generation at work. Couples got up from their seats and started dancing. Granted, they were moving more slowly than they likely did 30 years ago--and those who didn't get up were clapping and swaying in their chairs. There was one couple in particular who were having a great time, and it was fun to watch them. They would finish a dance, then sit down, and then next song would start and they would start tapping their toes and get up and start dancing again. It was a treat to watch them. My grandmother would comment on who had been married for 60 years, who had had a recent hip replacement and who had been diagnosed with "Alltimer's" (her terminology). Still, they came out, danced, enjoyed the music and each other's company. I'm saddened that we're losing these folks at an accelerated rate. I have an odd habit of reading the obituaries every day, and every single day there is a WWII vet obituary in the Denver Post. It saddens me that their stories are being lost when they die. This is a generation that can teach us a lot as we move into a time of economic uncertainty and potential energy scarcity. And, this is the last of the generation who touched WWII and the Holocaust and who realize the possibilities that it DID happen and it could happen again.

Another thought crossed my mind as I watched the crowd polka, and that is just how genteel and "civilized" it all seemed (not the chicken dance, just to clarify). Now, I know I'm probably being simplistic and am exhibiting my curmudgeon-ness (I need to find a female-specific equivalent for the word curmudgeon--and it does not include the words "biddy," "bat," "crone" or "old crow"), but comparing a polka to the gyrating, humping crap that is exhibited on dance floors of the present day is a complete assault on the senses, not to mention offensive. There's just something about leaving a little to the imagination, and I think that's what appeals to me about the traditional dance styles.

I asked my great aunt about where the young kids go to polka--assuming there are young folks out there doing it. She said maybe in Chicago, where there's a large population of Polish immigrants. I think that's a shame, and I hope she's underestimating. Still, I'd hate to see dance traditions such as this die along with the generation of folks who dated, married and raised families with this dance as a part of their social fabric.

Long live the polka!

In my little town

I visited Muskegon, Michigan on my trip. I was born in Muskegon, as were most of my relatives. Many of them still live there or nearby. We moved about 10 miles away to Grand Haven when I was about 2 and then out of state when I was 5, so I have little memory of the place. We'd visit in the summers, of course, which was always great fun because I got to see my cousins who were close in age to me. All I cared about was going to the beach. And riding my uncle's bike! He'd bring over his Peugeot for me to ride around, which started my Peugeot bike obsession--but I digress.


I was shocked upon my first visit to Muskegon as an adult. I knew that it had problems. Muskegon used to be a bustling factory town but has suffered the effects of deindustrialization for the last 40+ years. I couldn't believe the empty factories and boarded up houses. The downtown had been enclosed and turned into a mall in the 1970's--and like many of the older-style malls, it had declined sharply by the 1990's. It was eventually torn down and Muskegon was left with no downtown. A new mall was built on the edge of town, further narrowing the chances that new infrastructure in downtown would be successful.


Not to say that Muskegon doesn't have assets, because it does. It sits right on Lake Michigan and has an absolutely beautiful beach. There's other stuff, too, but I can't get the Simon and Garfunkel song, "My Little Town" out of my head long enough to list them.



My grandmother lives in a nice, well-established neighborhood in Muskegon--about 8 blocks or so from a factory. In fact, the neighborhood she lives in was specifically built to house those factory workers. The sidewalks used to be discolored from the factory emissions, but things appear to have cleaned up a bit since then. Still, there's a constant faint humming that emanates from the factory. I took a walk one evening and noticed the din became increasingly louder as I neared the facility, with occasional loud clanking. There was yellow-ish smoke coming out of the smokestack, which contrasted with the dark rain clouds that evening. That's another thing I remember about Muskegon--it has a particular scent that I can only describe as "industrial." It's kind of an acrid, factory smell. There's also a paper mill in Muskegon, and that has a definite scent--but I'm not sure of the status of the paper mill at this point, as I had heard at one point that it was closing.


Anyway, I got back to Grandma's and asked her if she noticed the noise from the factory and she said only sometimes at night when the windows are open. I asked her what they do at the factory and she said she thought it was something with the auto industry. Then she said, "They're doing good. It's jobs." That statement made me realize that I have a completely different perspective than many others on jobs, industry and the environment. My grandmother spent her career in a factory (that is no longer in operation), as did many of my family members. To them, it was a secure job and a pension. Muskegon was bustling and people had money in their pockets. The city has clearly suffered in recent years--those who can leave have done so, leaving behind those who don't have as many options. There are some high-dollar properties on the lake and some nice recreational opportunities, but I'm not sure how those folks in the higher income brackets are making a living.


So there I was thinking about how awful it would be to live next to this factory, when the people who actually live there could well be grateful to have a job in that factory to make the house payment and put food on the table. I just don't know what's going to happen to Muskegon--and hundreds if not thousands of other communities across the country in the same situation. How does a city recover from such crushing losses? It reminds me of the movie "Roger and Me" (if you haven't seen it, do so), where some guy in the movie says that the unemployed residents of Flint, MI, should just pick themselves up and get a job and that there are plenty of industries to supplant the lost GM factory jobs, such as in the lint roller factory. Or skinning rabbits and selling their meat for dinner. Muskegon is just like Flint or Detroit, just on a smaller scale.


Of course, if I had the answers, I'd put them into use. It's just something I spend a lot of time thinking about and wish I could help.

Vacay

Well, I'm home and none too happy about it. Vacation doesn't seem to "invigorate" or "energize" me to "hit the ground running" when I get home. Sorry about all of the quotations, but I'm merely pointing out the cliches to let my loyal reader know that I mock business cliches at every opportunity.


Vacation merely points out the obvious to me--and that is that I should be exempted from working. I should be paid an extremely high salary/allowance/incentive/bonus to express my opinion (via venues such as this blog, perhaps), surf the internet and ride my bike to my heart's content.


Really, vacation mostly serves to exacerbate my existential crisis regarding the desire to do right by my own ethical standard, make a decent living and not have to bow to "the man." Quotes again. I suppose this is an entirely possible venture, but it would require foresight and effort on my part, and this is likely why it hasn't happened yet. And, no, vacation does not inspire me to begin working on it.


Perhaps I should have saved this blog post until I had successfully and cheerfully re-assimilated into post-vacation life. Oh, well, my loyal reader would expect nothing less than crabbiness from me.

Have a look at my Flickr site if you're curious as to what I've been up to...

Toodles

Sunrise over Suttons Bay, MI--picture taken last summer.

Well, I'm heading Up North tomorrow morning...I refuse to drag a laptop with me, given that I'll be lugging around at least 15 lbs. of bike crap with me--lock, toolkit, pedal wrench, helmet, clothes, shoes, butt cream...

So, you'll have to wait until I get back to get the lowdown on my trip to Michigan. I promise lots of pictures upon my return. I'm looking forward to "bike camp for adults" in Traverse City (as termed by my friend Ken). While there won't be an official Fixed Gear Symposium this year, plenty of us still plan to show up and Dennis is cooking up some fun things for us to do.

I know my loyal reader will be saddened by the lack of posts for the next week, but hopefully the spectacular content upon my return will make up for the deficit. Have a great week.

Travel angst

Am I the only one who gets a smidge stressed out at the thought of travel? I'm leaving town on Sunday for what looks to be a spectacular week of riding, great food/drink and visiting friends and family, but I can't help but to focus on the stress of preparation. I don't even have to worry about leaving the dogs behind, because Lori is staying home with them. Really, most of my stress is focused on the unpleasantness of air travel. Now, I know that it's a rare person who enjoys air travel--it's just a means to an end. It's unfortunate that it has to be such a pain in the a$$. Let's just hope that I'm not on one of those planes that sits on the runway for 4 hours--they won't let you off the plane, there's no air conditioning, they run out of snacks and the toilets back up. My claustrophobia could get the best of me and then they'd have to call the TSA to take away the screaming woman in coach class. Would that be a felony charge? I'd hate to have that on my record.

These are but a few of the disturbing thoughts that I entertain on a daily basis. I'll be fine as soon as I'm on the bus on the way to the airport. It's just the events leading up to it that make it almost not worth traveling. Thanks, Mom, for the genetic predisposition to travel anxiety.