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Nigel PT1: The Saddle

4/21/2020

4 Comments

 
I have traveled to Amsterdam in coordination with V, an old Dutch friend, who is visiting family with her husband and son. Knowing my bike fetish (I think we can safely call it that by now), she has introduced me to Nigel, a longtime friend of hers (an ex in fact), someone she thinks I’ll like. Nigel is a trim Brit, a little taller than me, and is by now an old family friend.

As a courtesy to V, Nigel has offered to take me for a ride around the outskirts of Amsterdam. He says he will have a bike for me. I ride over on my rental, to find Nigel and a handsome woman’s bike waiting for me outside his traditional Dutch apartment house.

The size of the bike is right, but it has footbrakes which I’m no longer used to. With no parking lot to try it out, I’m a little skittish to take it out on city streets right off, and opt to use my rental bike for the ride. It’s a one-speed with smallish tires, but it works well enough. The problem is the saddle. I rode to Haarlem with that saddle and it was such a sadistic experience, I went into a sulk and took the train back. After that, I tried to replace it. I went to the rental place but they only carried what I already had. I rode to a racing bike shop a ways away (getting lost several times), but they were closed. I even tried a place I found on Amazon, but they wouldn’t deliver to my hotel.

Knowing Nigel has a day-trip planned, I’m concerned; there’s no way I can ride more than 20 minutes on this thing, and I already spent those 20 minutes just getting here. I can tell by looking at it, that the saddle on his women’s bike won’t work, but Nigel says he has others upstairs.
​
The house stairs are steep, the turn-arounds narrow. How, I wonder, does he even get bikes up and down? But before I can ponder that further, we are in the apartment and my eyes grow wide. There are bikes – and the makings of bikes - as far as the eye can see.


 On the walls
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 In drawers in the bookcase
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 In the soffit over the kitchen
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Off the balcony
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And off-off the balcony
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Not only that, but there is jazz – and someone who really gets jazz. How do I know? Well, the record collection is a give away, but there's also this:
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And this...
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I am spellbound. Does V realize what she’s doing by introducing me to this guy? Should I tell her?

Nigel has lived in Amsterdam for 30 years (I’m glad to learn that for the first two years, he consistently got lost). He has retained his British accent (a plus in my estimation) in addition to which, any man who loves jazz and lives with this number of bikes and bike parts is clearly impossible. I should just propose now and get it over with.


But onto the subject at hand: saddles. Saddles are personal and not so easily found. Especially if you’re a woman. Because we invariably have to buy them from men, who have no idea what we’re looking for. “You’ll love this!” they exclaim. “Perfect for the sit-bones!” I always have to patiently explain to them that there is more to life than sit bones. “Dude, it’s the 21st Century,” I say, “Don’t you know where the Lady Parts are yet?”

They never get it. Disappointingly, Nigel doesn’t seem to either. In a prior conversation about this, V and I roll our eyes listening to him go on about sit bones and saddle comfort (Note to self: ask V if that confusion is one of the reasons they are no longer an item). So when I tell him my problem, I don’t have high expectations as to what he’s going to suggest.

Sure enough Nigel shows me various saddles he thinks I might like, but I can tell without even trying them, they’re a no-go. They don’t have that special dip in the middle that makes all the difference. Finally he looks at me inquisitively, then looks off into the distance thinking. “Well, I do have one other one,” he says, “But it’s very weird looking. I only keep it to show other bike techs because…well you’ll see. It’s quite strange.” He goes into the next room then returns with --

“That’s my saddle!” I exclaim. The Selle TRK smp. In fact, I have it on all 3 of my bikes:
(yes my stable has grown)

What are the odds that he would have something so wonderful and rare? Something that's made just for me? About the same as my meeting Nigel in the first place, I guess.

Somewhat taken aback, he affixes his “Collector’s Item” to my bike on the street.
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As we take off, I feel like Cinderella stepping into the glass slipper: It’s a perfect fit.  I may have to pedal like a dervish to keep up, but the ride is gonna be great.
​
Later, delighted, I tell V the outcome of this fairy tale. But she is more interested in talking about Nigel’s apartment. “What do you think of his bedroom?” she asks. On the one hand, this is a leading question. On the other, I never found one.
“Bedroom?” I reply “Was there a bedroom?”
​
I’m smiling.
4 Comments

Pandemic

4/14/2020

3 Comments

 
Long ago and far away, when the world seemed a more habitable place than it does now, I planned another trip to Amsterdam. During the darkest days of winter, thoughts of the Netherlands and my adventures there in August cheered me. I was curious what it would be like to ride there slightly off season, and booked my trip for the middle of March. Secretly of course, I was thinking that if I liked it, I might ride there a lot more than off season. A trip in early Spring would give me some idea of what it’s like.

Five days before my departure, I find myself at a fundraiser for a New York City Council member who has been a brilliant advocate for cyclists. Already, faint rumors have been wafting to us from Europe about the approach of the Corona Virus, and many of us are beginning to wear latex gloves, elbow bump instead of shaking hands – and laugh about how often we touch our faces. As I arrive, I see the place is packed.
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Should I go in? There very well may be someone in there who has tested positive (we are still under the impression that there are tests for us). I think of the silent years of the AIDS epidemic, when it was at its most dangerous; a mysterious and deadly illness still unidentified, ravaging the gay community. I hesitate. But then I see all my favorite people inside. “Oh well,” I think, “If I go, we’ll all go down together.” A month into this virus, I find this thought shocking. But it turns out, I’m not the only one in denial.

My trip is scheduled for March 14-26. Since these are the smartest people I know, I ask lots of them if it’s wise to take this trip. To a person the answer is, “Go! You’ll get in ‘just under the wire;’ you’ll have a great time! Who knows when you’ll be able to go again? Definitely go!”

Taking their counsel under advisement, I double check it the next morning, running it by two Italian friends over the internet. Their response is alarming. They talk of weeks of quarantine, police enforcement to prevent violation, stats of death that are unimaginable - and climbing. My friends do not know each other, but speak with the same voice: “Don’t go!” they plead. They tell me that even if I were to remain healthy (not a guarantee with a disease as contagious as this), if just one person on my flight, one person in my hotel tests positive (testing happens in Europe), I’ll be in quarantine for my entire trip, stuck in a hotel in Amsterdam but unable to ride. And I’ll be paying for it until I can get home - which may be awhile: flights from Europe will be canceled. How do they know this?

But that, it turns out, is the good news.

“This pandemic is coming to you,” they say. “Don’t be like us! Your government should close schools now, close bars and restaurants now, close businesses now. They’re going to have to do it in 5 days anyway and they will have lost that time.” I have never heard them so emphatic.

Here, nothing is closed. If you didn’t know, you wouldn’t know - that all of our lives are about to change irrevocably. But listening to them, I am quietly convinced; I let go my denial and cancel my trip. Two days later, all flights from Europe are canceled. Everything they told me is true.

Within the month, I will have lost two of my friends to COVID 19, and another twelve will be fighting for their lives. This pandemic is ripping through the soul of New York City, headed for the nation, and it doesn’t care about making a living, the economy, old or young people, or trips to Amsterdam. By the time I write this I -and virtually everyone else I know - will have been in quarantine for a month except for rare anxiety-provoking trips out for food or pharmaceuticals. Some of us have left New York; all of us work from home. FaceTime, Skype and Zoom are our new (if problematic) friends. This is our world now. We sometimes think of going somewhere else – but this is a world-wide pandemic: there is no place else.

Which makes me all the more nostalgic for Amsterdam and the simple world we all inhabited such a short time ago. It feels like years now.


And then I realize - I never finished recording that trip. I still have the footage. I still have the photos. And I did some great riding there. But there was something else.

There was someone else.
​
His name was Nigel.
3 Comments
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    Melodie Bryant is a resident of NYC and avid cycler of a folding Brompton bike named Lucille and a Scott road bike, Lola.

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