About a Year

Looking through the pictures I took of a recent ride along the cherry-blossoming Charles River, I realised that it has been just about a year since I began Lovely Bicycle. I say "about a year", because I am not entirely sure when exactly I started writing vs. publishing the entries. But apparently it was right around this time, as in my first documented bike-ride the blossoms were in bloom as well.



It is customary to conduct some sort of self-assessment when a project like this reaches its 1-year anniversary. But when I think about why I started this website, I feel suddenly inarticulate and a little confused - because honestly I do not have a good reason. I am not an activist and do not seek to promote "a cycling lifestyle". Life has worked out for me in such a way, that personally I have not driven a car since 2007, and I love to ride my bicycle(s) for both transportation and recreation. However, if you happen to own a dozen SUVs and enjoy driving them, that is fine with me. If you collect bicycles solely for the purpose of photographing them in your garden and never actually ride them, that is fine as well. And if you are a die-hard Foresterite vehicular cyclist who hates bike infrastructure and loves 6-lane roads with 40mph+ speed limits, that's wonderful too. You are all welcome, if you feel that you can relate to some aspect of this website.



Neither is the motive of this weblog a diary-style documentation of my life. Those who know me in person are aware that my posts here create an amusingly incomplete and warped presentation of my actual life and personality. And finally, neither was it ever my intent (not that I am in any danger of this) to gain commercial success or recognition for this website.



When I first started Lovely Bicycle, the intent was to review the options that were out there for bicycles that were both practical and aesthetically pleasing for people with lifestyles and tastes similar to mine. This was driven by my own frantic search for a "lovely bicycle" in Spring of . However, the weblog developed far beyond this premise and I am still no closer to explaining what motivates me to continue it - when frankly my life is quite hectic as it is and does not need extra projects.



I will be honest: This discrepancy of the blog getting larger and more time consuming (I now get over a dozen emails per week and it is becoming impossible to answer most of them) with my not having a good explanation for why I am doing this, has caused me some concern and I have considered discontinuing Lovely Bicycle on several occasions. An alternative option could be to start accepting selected sponsorships, and using any earnings from these to at least cut down on some of the consulting projects I do in order to stay financially afloat - thereby freeing up time to continue working on the blog. But I do not have a clear idea of how this could be done while still maintaining the home-made feel of this wesite.



In short, it remains to be determined in what direction Lovely Bicycle will meander next, if at all. But in the meantime, I can't seem to help continuing to take pictures of beautiful bicycles and writing all of this nonsense about them!



While taking the pictures shown in this post, I was approached by a couple who asked me whether their daughter could pose next to my bicycle for their home-made video of the girl reciting "Make Way for Ducklings" by Robert McCloskey. We moved the bicycle closer to the river, and the mother directed the daughter while the father videotaped. They did several takes of the recital and the child was adorable.



Of course I didn't have the heart to tell them that the "ducklings" in the river were in fact geese. Where better for me to share a story of such an encounter, than on Lovely Bicycle?...

Leaning to Tie

Stormy and Travey are discussing this strange thing that humans want them to do of being tied to a post

At the Gold Souk in Dubai: Nope, I did not buy any Gold nor a Kaftan dress

I am sure that if my mother was with me, she would have bought gold. Helaas, I am not much of a precious metal and stone person. I appreciate them but I do not have the real craving to possess them (I do not mind to receive them as gifts though, haha). I guess for most of the material things in this world I do not see much of their importance, although lately, maybe because I am in the maturing age phase (40’s), I have been haunted to part away from my antique (as what my mother calls them) fashion accessories, and invest (I mean really, is jewellery worth investing?) in real jewels and gold.



Well, I do have some genuine jewels which I mostly wear for work but for the daily life and when I am travelling, I prefer to wear my antique fashion accessories and sometimes my silver ones because they are not too glaring for a bling-bling. I feel safer with them. I am not a mugging statistic waiting to happen out there, nor a Christmas tree out of season.







My chauffeur dropped me at the main street, a block away from the entrance to the Gold Souk, also known as the ‘Dubai City of Gold’. I did not have high expectations because I have already seen many pictures of this bazaar on the net.



My goal for today’s visit is to really just wander around, have a look myself and take a few souvenir pictures.



Dubai City of Gold



Earlier on during the ride, my chauffeur warned me that it’s Ramadan, and that means many shops will be open late or will not be opening. And indeed, when I was there, some of the shops were just opening up while others remained closed.



I wanted to go loose and snap pictures of all the gleaming opulence on display – of which some of the gold jewellery designs were too antiquated and cultural to comprehend, but a number of the shop’s windows have a signage that says ‘no picture taking please’. What a bummer. I hate to become the unwanted tourist, so I behaved and looked for the right window display and timing.



The touts were also not as assertive as I would have expected them to be, so that’s a breath of fresh air there. They were mostly in the waiting mode, although a few would smile and subtly try to approach you.















Can you see the sweat on my face?











Arabic Kaftan Dresses and Shoes



Along the Gold Souk’s covered walk are narrow lanes leading to a huddle of retail fashion shops selling Arabic-style long kaftan dresses (they call them here in the Gulf region, Khaleeji) and psychedelic colourful shoes. I found some of the dresses very elegant and pretty, and the shoes as well were oh so cute! But if I buy them, where will I wear them?







I fancy the torquoise and white kaftan dresses =)











It was also so hot and humid, I was dripping sweat like a pig. So I sat down on the bench to fan and gather myself. I sat there fanning and people watching sans the drink. It’s Ramadan, so no one is allowed to eat or drink anyway during daytime.



Next in my agenda is the Spice Souk. It is supposedly nearby but I may need to ask someone for further directions. I am sure someone here speaks English?

To Know a Mountain

The mountain is impossible to ignore. I see it from my window first thing in the morning and last thing before the light fades - nearly at midnight on a summer's night. I see it when I ride to and from town, and when I ride in loops around the countryside. No matter where I go and what I do, the mountain is always there, an enormous living, breathing thing, looming over the landscape.





At 1,263 feet, Binevenagh (pronounced "be-NEvna") is actually quite small. But it cuts a dashing figure on the Limavady landscape. It stands alone, outlined crisply against the ever-changing sky. Seen from the seashore, it resembles a crumpled old hat (or the snake that ate the elephant drawing from the Little Prince). From other vantage points, a jagged edge protrudes. Steep on all sides, it is topped with a large lumpy plateau, covered with forests and meadows.





Gazing at the mountain everywhere I went, all I could think of was climbing it. I hesitated at first. It felt so special I did not want to rush it. But finally one morning I woke up and knew it was time. The atmosphere was festive.





The road up Binevenagh starts directly from the house. But a friend suggested I take a detour - swinging around the coast, then turning onto another road to give myself a bit of a warmup before the climb. "Even with that frying pan of yours, you'll need it!" He was referring to the 11-36t cassette my bike was decorated with.





The ascent is relatively short and steep: 1,045 feet of climbing over 3.5miles. It is continuous climbing, much of it at a 10%+ grade, the road steepening, letting up, then steepening again. Right off the bat, the pitch was tough. I went at a good rhythm, but after a mile stopped to take a breather at a crossroads. Most of the mountain continued to tower ahead; I had hardly chipped away at it.





But when I turned around, the evidence of the mile I'd already done was in plain sight: A sharp dip, and the hills of Donegal spread out behind a shimmering sliver of water. Still narrow from this vantage point, the Lough Foyle is a saltwater inlet that separates the western part of Northern Ireland from the northwestern tip of the Republic. The border between the two nations is rather picturesque here. Climbing Binevenagh, the view becomes more breathtaking with each push of the pedals. And the sheep become more frequent.





How to describe this climb... The pitch was doable in my low gears. But the continuous steep grade made it tiring. I switched between my 3-4 lowest cogs and stood up occasionally (something I've finally learned to do), and tried not to get overwhelmed. I ignored my legs and focused on the scenery, aiming my eye at the top.As I kept going, the sheep were like loyal spectators. They looked at me with sympathy, understanding, encouragement. I was not miserable on the climb; it was a peaceful and oddly calming experience.






For some time, the sheep were my only company. Until, out of nowhere, a man in blue pulled up next to me. Even as I spotted him in my peripheral vision, I knew he was a Cyclist. Slender and agile, he moved so fluidly, it looked like liquid pouring uphill. Riding next to me, he matched my pace effortlessly as we talked. He lived nearby and loved to train on this mountain. He was an endurance cyclist, and rode in the Race Across America last year. Before we parted ways at the top, he introduced himself: Joe Barr.




I watched him disappear down the other side of the mountain, as beautifully as he climbed. Later I learned he was a retired Irish pro-racer.







The top of Binevenagh... The plateau covers a large area, and the highest point is somewhat uneventful. A painted bridge over a stream, a scraggly meadow with Queen Anne's Lace and buttercups, a forest in the background, and lots of sky with very distant views of water. From here on, there are several options for descending. One starts right away and is fairly steep and twisty, consistently throughout. Another is further down the plateau. It is longer and gentler most of the way, until it ends in a sudden, sharply winding vertical drop to the sea at the very end.






To start with I chose the first descent. The steep, narrow, winding road pushed my comfort zone. I was in control around the bends, but had to work on myself to keep calm. I did breathing exercises to keep from shaking and destabilising the bike. Descending on the left side of the road felt intuitive; my brain had already switched over.





This descent was a heavily shaded one, winding its way through a forest.







But after every bend, a view opened up, each more beautiful than the next. If it is possible to feel both cautious and relaxed at the same time, that is how descending this road felt.






Cars passed me up the road occasionally, the drivers waving, friendly - something I am still getting used to here. Toward the bottom, one driver was trying to communicate something urgently, which I did not understand - until I saw a row of pointy brown ears up ahead. Quickly I stopped, dismounted and clambered up the side of the road to let the herd of cows pass.






The final winding stretch dumped me onto the coastal road unceremoniously.Feeling sad it was over, I repeated the loop, then crawled home, spent and drunk on mountain air.






Several days later, I climbed Binevenagh again to try one of the other descents. The road along the plateau offered wide open views of both the Lough Foyle and the North Atlantic.






I rode through a dreamscape of hot-pink sheep grazing upon neon green grass, as the sun came out over the hills of Donegal.






At the far end of the plateau stood "the boat man," as the locals refer to him. He isManannán mac Lir, a god of the sea - a new statue the local council has erected just in the past week. Facing Magilligan Point (entrance to the Lough Foyle on the Northern Ireland side) - the mythical wood-carved figure spreads his arms over land and water of the bordering nations.






Standing there, I remembered being at Magilligan Point, at the ground level, and looking up at the mountain from there. Some form of symmetry had been achieved.






The descent was long, tame and idyllic, rolling through farmlands. But at the end came the stretch I had been warned about: This section winds tightly, down a steep grade.I was advised to either walk or ride the brakes once I saw the crumbling rocks sign.Over the course of two loops, I tried both methods. Riding slowly with good brakes is actually a bit easier than walking the bike.





After some S-bends, another sharp bend follows before a vertical drop onto the main road across from the water.





The spot is Downhill - defined by the magnificent view of the Mussenden Temple - a round structure at the edge of a cliff, which a nobleman had built for his niece... with whom he may or may not have had an affair with. The niece died before the temple was finished, infusing the story with an extra air of tragic poeticism.






I looked back at the road I had come down. I was not as shaken as I thought I'd be by the descent. But with the rush and the beauty of it over, I felt lost - so much emotion can build up along these stretches, and it has nowhere to go. Maybe that is why the cliffs looked especially beautiful in the evening light. And maybe that is why I put all my remaining energy into the 10 miles home along the flat coastal road. Big ring, small cog, setting sun, burning legs, cold air, sprays of water, and Binevenagh towering over it all. Turning the pedals madly as I raced home, I already longed to be up there again.

Happy (Another) Thanksgiving!

We drove down to Fort Lauderdale to spend the day with our kids. We have missed them so much. We were so happy to see Ambir. We were sad that we did not see Aric and Ashleigh today. We had a great time together, with those of us who were there.







There is nothing I am more grateful for on this earth than my family. While I've struggled at times to figure out the kind of Mom I want to be and then doing it, I have never struggled with loving these beautiful, amazing people. They have been one of the biggest inspirations of my life. I love taking pictures of them because I do love them so much.









It's nice that they are old enough to not fight for the most part, so I can enjoy them enjoying each other.





And since I was feeling sad over not seeing my grandkids today, I took a ton of pictures of the grandpups instead. The newest baby is Ambir's puppy Cairo and he's a doll.



Seriously, this is the most adorable face I've seen in awhile:





Happy Thanksgiving to all of you who we did not get to spend today with. We love you all.