Here's a list of some of the wonderful women, men, and local businesses who have contributed to the Bicycle Coalition of Maine behalf of my trip thus far:
Jeff Saffer
Albert Remington
Jane Self
John Balicki
Maggie Warren
Nancy Grant
Larry Rubinstein
Mark McAfee
Jane Lopez and Chris Wright
Chris and Georgia Prickitt
Emily and Brien Davis
Thomas and Margaret Hamilton
Katie Diamond
Joe Frechette
Adam Piper
Matt Swanson
Kris Austin
Paul the Pony
Andrew Davis
Adam Whitehead
Eileen Burke
John Bronson
Brian Simpson
Sam Frankel
(many others!)
Rose Bike (Orono)
Longfellow Books (Portland)
Cadillac Mountain Sports (Portland)
Something Fishy (Portland)
Cool Jewels (Portland)
Nomia (Portland)
Thanks, ya'll!
Tuesday, April 25, 2006
Saturday, April 22, 2006
Bike Grease is Sexy
"Hey, you have flyers. Let's trade." A tall, young man walking with a fixed gear bicycle handed my friend Katie and me a couple of mini-flyers for a local musician's performance. We handed him a poster for a weekly bike repair night.
The sky looked like a postcard. Katie and I were taking a break, soaking up some sun next to the industrious lobsterman statue in the Old Port. Familiar faces passed by, waved, stopped to chat. The city responded to the beginning of the warm-weather season with delight.
Katie and I set out to look for local business support on behalf of my bike trip. Strolling through the downtown district and down Exchange Street, we were met with incredibly positive responses. Longfellow Books handed me a gift certificate to contribute to the Bicycle Coalition of Maine's silent auction in May. Something Fishy and Cool Jewels offered merchandise for the same event. One employee asked, "Can I come too?"
In between stores and talking to friends on the street, Katie was busy posting flyers for the Women's and Trans' bike repair and maintenance night that I host on Tuesday nights at the People's Free Space. She held a stack of flyers in one hand and held—not a staple gun—but what I would more accurately describe as a staple sledge-hammer in the other. kaCHUNK. Hmmm...I don't think capitalizing the phonetic call of the tool can really do it justice.
But regardless of what sound the staple sledge-hammer made, the message is most important: Come learn how to fix your own bike. I began leading this night two weeks ago, after the opening of the Rusty Chain, a bike room constructed within the People's Free Space. The tools and parts were donated by the Bike Cycle and individual supporters. Volunteers hang out in the space and help people fix their bikes. The service is entirely free and open to the public. Although we lack space for bike storage at the moment, there are visions of a future create-a-commuter program, where individuals can learn how to build their own bikes (at low or no cost), and can then practice sustainable transportation lifestyles in the city of Portland.
In the meantime, we'll just hang out and play with bike tools. After all, they say that bike grease is pretty sexy.
The sky looked like a postcard. Katie and I were taking a break, soaking up some sun next to the industrious lobsterman statue in the Old Port. Familiar faces passed by, waved, stopped to chat. The city responded to the beginning of the warm-weather season with delight.
Katie and I set out to look for local business support on behalf of my bike trip. Strolling through the downtown district and down Exchange Street, we were met with incredibly positive responses. Longfellow Books handed me a gift certificate to contribute to the Bicycle Coalition of Maine's silent auction in May. Something Fishy and Cool Jewels offered merchandise for the same event. One employee asked, "Can I come too?"
In between stores and talking to friends on the street, Katie was busy posting flyers for the Women's and Trans' bike repair and maintenance night that I host on Tuesday nights at the People's Free Space. She held a stack of flyers in one hand and held—not a staple gun—but what I would more accurately describe as a staple sledge-hammer in the other. kaCHUNK. Hmmm...I don't think capitalizing the phonetic call of the tool can really do it justice.
But regardless of what sound the staple sledge-hammer made, the message is most important: Come learn how to fix your own bike. I began leading this night two weeks ago, after the opening of the Rusty Chain, a bike room constructed within the People's Free Space. The tools and parts were donated by the Bike Cycle and individual supporters. Volunteers hang out in the space and help people fix their bikes. The service is entirely free and open to the public. Although we lack space for bike storage at the moment, there are visions of a future create-a-commuter program, where individuals can learn how to build their own bikes (at low or no cost), and can then practice sustainable transportation lifestyles in the city of Portland.
In the meantime, we'll just hang out and play with bike tools. After all, they say that bike grease is pretty sexy.
Sunday, April 09, 2006
A Casual Bike Screening
Chirp. Chirp. Chirp. The vaguely bizarre, frog-like electronic noises emanating from my backpack let me know that I had an incoming phone call.
"I'm locking my bike up right now. I'll be up in a second," said the voice on the other end. The voice belonged to Adam Piper, the brave soul who agreed ride a bicycle with me for 3,500 miles this upcoming summer. A minute later, a tall man in his early twenties walked into my friends' apartment. It was about 6:30 on Saturday evening, and Adam had just ridden his bicycle into Portland from his apartment in Westbrook. "How's it goin', Piper?" I asked, hands and arms covered in white ink. Newspapers lined the floor, and several feet of dark cloth lay sprawled across the living room. I was busily wiping excess ink off of my stencil-cut silkscreen with a clean rag. Images of chainrings, old Schwinn Stingrays, road bikes, and the word "velorution" were sprinkled across the expanse of the cloth. A couple of paintbrushes, a squeegee, and a tub of white ink sat to the side of the cluttered production. The room mates—Katie, Brian, and Eileen—were content and engaged in their own individual projects. Katie sat at her computer, trying to finish her weekend homework. Eileen sat on the couch knitting a sweater. Brian took a nap.
"What's this?" asked Piper, mildly intrigued by the whole production.
"I'm making bike patches," I responded, "I'm going to give them out in exchange for donations."
"Well, I'll certainly buy one," said Piper. "Me too" was the general consensus in the room.
Figuring out new ways to further the cause of better biking conditions in the state of Maine has become one of my new pastimes. Last week, I sent request letters to friends and family. The week before, I designed and carved a linoleum block print of a bicycle and made hand-printed cards. The week before that, I participated in a phone interview for the Portland Press Herald; the story ran later that week. A few days ago, another news station contacted me with a request to run a piece about the trip.
All of this work and attention surrounding my efforts to raise money for the Bicycle Coalition of Maine has been, well, inspiring.
Yes, inspiring. It has been amazing to see how many people are in total support of what I am doing. People I don't even know and didn't even ask have sent donations to the BCM on behalf of my trip. Fellow board members have offered their advice, financial contributions, and extensive bike gear to help me on my trip. I've already been able to raise several hundred dollars for the Bicycle Coalition of Maine—an amount that I would not be able to contribute on my own.
"Hey, guess what," said Piper, leaning forward in his seat.
"What's up?" I asked.
"I bought my new panniers today. I spent about four hours online trying to find the perfect match, and I think I found them."
"Yeah, what are they like?"
Piper's eyes widened with excitement, "They're black, front and rear bags, with a capacity of 3,500 cubic inches. When is your trailer supposed to come in?"
"Sometime next week," I replied with a smile, putting the cap back on the bucket of ink and folding up the newspapers.
"I'm locking my bike up right now. I'll be up in a second," said the voice on the other end. The voice belonged to Adam Piper, the brave soul who agreed ride a bicycle with me for 3,500 miles this upcoming summer. A minute later, a tall man in his early twenties walked into my friends' apartment. It was about 6:30 on Saturday evening, and Adam had just ridden his bicycle into Portland from his apartment in Westbrook. "How's it goin', Piper?" I asked, hands and arms covered in white ink. Newspapers lined the floor, and several feet of dark cloth lay sprawled across the living room. I was busily wiping excess ink off of my stencil-cut silkscreen with a clean rag. Images of chainrings, old Schwinn Stingrays, road bikes, and the word "velorution" were sprinkled across the expanse of the cloth. A couple of paintbrushes, a squeegee, and a tub of white ink sat to the side of the cluttered production. The room mates—Katie, Brian, and Eileen—were content and engaged in their own individual projects. Katie sat at her computer, trying to finish her weekend homework. Eileen sat on the couch knitting a sweater. Brian took a nap.
"What's this?" asked Piper, mildly intrigued by the whole production.
"I'm making bike patches," I responded, "I'm going to give them out in exchange for donations."
"Well, I'll certainly buy one," said Piper. "Me too" was the general consensus in the room.
Figuring out new ways to further the cause of better biking conditions in the state of Maine has become one of my new pastimes. Last week, I sent request letters to friends and family. The week before, I designed and carved a linoleum block print of a bicycle and made hand-printed cards. The week before that, I participated in a phone interview for the Portland Press Herald; the story ran later that week. A few days ago, another news station contacted me with a request to run a piece about the trip.
All of this work and attention surrounding my efforts to raise money for the Bicycle Coalition of Maine has been, well, inspiring.
Yes, inspiring. It has been amazing to see how many people are in total support of what I am doing. People I don't even know and didn't even ask have sent donations to the BCM on behalf of my trip. Fellow board members have offered their advice, financial contributions, and extensive bike gear to help me on my trip. I've already been able to raise several hundred dollars for the Bicycle Coalition of Maine—an amount that I would not be able to contribute on my own.
"Hey, guess what," said Piper, leaning forward in his seat.
"What's up?" I asked.
"I bought my new panniers today. I spent about four hours online trying to find the perfect match, and I think I found them."
"Yeah, what are they like?"
Piper's eyes widened with excitement, "They're black, front and rear bags, with a capacity of 3,500 cubic inches. When is your trailer supposed to come in?"
"Sometime next week," I replied with a smile, putting the cap back on the bucket of ink and folding up the newspapers.
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