Trump Said He Will Never Ride a Bicycle: Get Him On One Now!

WHAT DOES A TRUMP PRESIDENCY MEAN TO CYCLING?

Cyclists everywhere may be a little freaked out by the election results.  After all, Donald Trump has been quoted as saying, "I swear I will never ride a bicycle."
https://twitter.com/mviser/status/634897358694797312  (Apparently he did hold one up at least once, unless this image is shopped.)
This is something we have to change or he will never understand the pure joy that is riding.

To this community: I will buy a drink for the first man, woman or child to get Trump up and riding around.

I wonder if he can ride a bike.  Maybe he was never taught, which may explain everything.

He has sworn to do, or not do, a lot of other things he later abandoned (wedding vows, going after political rivals like a Banana Republic dictator, etc.).

He criticized John Kerry for riding a bicycle, though Trump himself sponsored the largest bike ride in America, Tour de Trump, from 89-90.  http://www.businessinsider.com/donald-trump-criticizes-john-kerry-for-cycling-2015-6 

Cyclists finishing the Tour de Trump were greeted by protestors holding signs directed at Trump himself, some of which said "Eat the Rich."

Trump's criticism focused on Kerry's bike "racing" - though Kerry was not racing, but was riding - which Trump suggested was undignified for a man of Kerry's 72 years of age.  (Not to be confused with the indignity of chasing much younger women who could not possibly be genuinely attracted to you, but may instead have their eyes fixed on your wallet, or talking like the crudest adolescent boy in the world at least five decades after anyone can beg to be excused, or revealing that you think women the spoils of wealth.  Which does not exactly show the best of a 70 year old man.)

I think Kerry was doing what he should do at his age.

Photo from tec-market.info

It's hard to anticipate how a new administration in Washington will affect the development of bike lanes since my colleagues in transportation policy tell me "it's about to be four long years of roads."

Maybe.  Maybe not.  The Chicago Reader is already analyzing what the future holds for bike lanes: http://www.chicagoreader.com/chicago/trump-transportation-infrastructure-future/Content?oid=24430854

If you are a true conservative, don't you care about costs?
Like public healthcare costs and costs to businesses?  (The same businesses who have experienced increased healthcare costs as the obesity epidemic and American sedentariness say an escalation in Type-2 diabetes that was unprecedented in any nation.)

Rumor afoot is that Trump ate fast food the entire time he was traveling on the campaign and never exercised.  Hmmm.  Time to get on a bike.  Right now, actually.  Today.  Age be damned.

Trump may not have considered the practicality of cycling infrastructure in cities, or it impact of the environment.  After all, Trump's statements denying climate change suggest that he may not understand the global movement away from fossil fuel driven modes and to sustainable transport will not be on his immediate agenda.  Polar icecaps are melting.  That is not a myth or propaganda.  Those photos from space are not shopped.  Even Republican Hank Paulson has staked his business on getting companies to see the real risk to the financial sector that his posed by climate change.

Deducing Trump's priorities from this behavior we might conclude that he will not care about bike paths, bike lanes or cycling safety.  So let's make him care.

To you my fellow cyclists:  Pick yourselves up.  Brush yourselves off.

Donate to any bike advocacy group you can.  (Even a small amount.) Volunteer.  Model good cycling behavior. (Don't threatened the fat guy in the black SUV who cut you off.  Just shake your head and ride on.)  Show off your awesome lean form as you ride.  Talk up cycling at the water cooler.

Start a"Get Trump Riding" petition.  Lobby Congress.
Never give up.  NEVER GIVE UP.  #nevergiveup.
Waba.org  (For Washington locals.)
bikeleague.org (Nationwide)
And here is a list in . . . Wikipedia?
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_United_States_bicycle_advocacy_organizations

Ride on.

Contact me via Google+ if you get him up and on a bicycle.  (Golf carts, quad and tricycles do not count.  Photos must be capable of authentication through metadata.)

So if I see you, or even Donald Trump, in the bike lanes, let's be smug, though we will certainly be smugger, and he will be thinner and healthier.

Elisa P.

PS:  In other news:

Community meeting in Pittsburg on bike lanes Dec. 14.  Live there?  Go.  http://www.bikepgh.org/2016/11/22/dec-14-public-meeting-expanding-connecting-downtown-bike-lanes-trails/

Hearing on expanding bike lanes in Chicago suburbs, Cook County this coming Tuesday, November 29.  Live there?  Go.   http://www.chicagotribune.com/suburbs/lake-county-news-sun/news/ct-lns-skokie-valley-bike-extension-st-1122-20161123-story.html

And Perhaps We Were Too Dear

As we rode our bikes in our diverse cities, with our jobs, our clean desk jobs.  Jobs where we didn't need to bathe and scrub to get them off of us at night because we had choices, options, education.

With our access to information, and broadband, and noises and smells that forced us to face those not like us, and see them.

Seeing those maligned immigrants daily, up close, holding onto the poles of the subway when the seats were full, mowing lawns, our lawns, washing dishes, washing cars, washing our homes and our children, passing us helmet-less on bikes we discarded, riding from need, riding quietly, riding home in darkness, dirty and tired from the day.

With our intellectual curiosity, and our interests in other cultures, without fear and hatred we could not imagine thinking otherwise, or understand those that did.

With our world travels, with our degrees, our four dollar coffees, and our farmer's markets.

With our algorithms linking us to other like-thinkers where we could make team huddles, mental high-fives, and like, like, like, and like each other's thoughts, as if we were looking into a mirror showing our own brains.  That metal echo chamber.

With our love of international aid projects that encourage extractions abroad without irony, while our coal mines closed at home.

With our knowledge of how government really works and the vacant, gaping blindness to where it was not serving.

With our love of volunteering, of public health, of things bespoke.

As civics classes died without shuddering first.

As cable networks took over, as people stopped reading and stared at the screen, alone, at night, when the gremlin thoughts emerge.

As the free network news, that thing you could watch when the bills could not be paid, moved under the entertainment wing of networks and away from truth.  As medicine ads sustained the news that the old and sick who watched, the watchers who depend on the very public assistance that paid for the very medicines being advertised.  And those watching felt the money in the government was being spent badly and elsewhere.

As maps of heroin addiction and despair appeared like ink blots atop shuttered factory towns, we forgot or merely read about it.

As people hunted for a bad guy, for a place, a face, a single target for blame for a loss of manufacturing jobs that technology and progress would insure never returned, no matter the promises, no matter the diplomacy, the threats.

As we all bought piles and heaps of cheap things made elsewhere without fleeting thought to the consequences, to the harm to the damage, real and psychological.

As we walked over decaying leaves while the sunlight shined in our eyes, wearing our custom Red Wing Shoes and our turned-up jeans, thinking we are nice, we do not judge.

As we voted for candidates that raised millions of dollars from those placing a bet, those gambling that the fate of the greatest nation in the world could really ever be put in the hands of a single person, a person who would think themselves capable to running the greatest power.

As we sat dismayed to find that elsewhere, the pain is so deep, the anger so diffuse.
And we saw, at last, faces contorted with anger and fear.

Elsewhere minds so willing to buy that lottery ticket, that statistically improbable chance that may change the loss of face, the loss of place, the loss of identity.

We stood uncertain of everything we knew about us, uncertain that were as kind, as sure-footed, as special, as great.

And a few wondered if that shock was what the Romans felt right before it ended, right as they realized what was happening outside the city.

And Perhaps We Were Too Dear

As we rode our bikes in our diverse cities, with our jobs, our clean desk jobs.  Jobs where we didn't need to bath and scrub to get them off of us at night.
With our access to information and broadband and noises and smells that forced us to face those not like us and see them.

Those maligned immigrants, holding onto the poles of the subway when the seats were full, mowing lawns, washing dishes, washing cars, washing our homes and our children, passing us helmet-less on bikes we discarded, riding from need, riding quietly, riding home in darkness, dirty and tired from the day.

With our intellectual curiosity, and our interests in other cultures, without fear and hatred.

With our world travels, with our degrees, our four dollar coffees, and our farmer's markets.

With our algorithms linking us to other like thinkers where we could make team huddles, mental high-fives, and like, like, like, and like each other's thoughts as if we were looking into a mirror showing our own.

With our love of international aid projects that encourage extractions abroad without irony, while our coal mines closed at home.

With our knowledge of how government really works and the vacant, gaping blindness to where it was not serving.

With our love of volunteering, of public health, of things bespoke.  

As civics classes died without shuddering first.

As cable networks took over, as people stopped reading and stared at the screen, alone, at night, when the gremlin thoughts emerge.  

As the free, the network news, moved under the entertainment wing of networks.  As medicine ads sustained the old and sick who watch television network news and receive the very public assistance that paid for the very medicines being advertised.

As maps of heroin addiction and despair appear like ink blots atop shuttered factory towns.

As people hunted for a bad guy, for a place, a face, a single target for blame for a loss of manufacturing jobs that technology and progress would insure never returned.

As we all bought piles and heaps of cheap things made elsewhere without only fleeting thought to consequences to harm to damage, real and psychological.

As we walked over decaying leaves while the sunlight shined in our eyes, wearing our custom Red Wing Shoes and our turned up jeans.

As we voted for candidates that raised millions of dollars from those placing a bet, those gambling that the fate of the greatest nation in the world could really ever be put in the hands of single person, a person who would think themselves capable to running the greatest power.

As we sat dismayed to find that elsewhere, the pain is so deep, the anger so diffuse, and we saw, at last, faces contorted with anger and fear.

Elsewhere minds so willing to buy that lottery ticket, that statistically improbable chance that may change the loss of face, the loos of place.

We stood uncertain of everything we knew about us, uncertain that were as kind, as sure-footed, as special, as great.

And a few wondered if that was what the Romans thought right before it ended, right as they realized what was happening outside the city.

And Perhaps We Were Too Dear

As we rode our bikes in our diverse cities, with our jobs, our clean desk jobs.  Jobs where we didn't need to bath and scrub to get them off of us at night.  With our access to information and broadband and noises and smells that forced us to face those not like us and see them.  Those maligned immigrants, holding onto the poles of the subway when the seats were full, mowing lawns, washing dishes, washing cars, washing our homes and our children, passing us helmet-less on bikes we discarded, riding from need to affordable transit and not from desire to achieve.  With our intellectual curiosity, and our interests in other cultures, without fear and hatred.  With our world travels, with our degrees, our four dollar coffees, and our farmer's markets.

With our algorithms linking us to other like thinkers.

With our love of international aid projects that encourage extractions abroad without irony, while our coal mines closed at home.  With our knowledge of how government really works and the vacant, gaping blindness to where it was not felt.  With our love of volunteering, of public health, of things bespoke.  

As civics classes died, as cable networks took over, as people stopped reading and stared at the screen, alone, at night, when the gremlin thoughts emerge.   As the free, the network news, moved under the entertainment wing of networks.  As medicine ads sustained the old and sick who watch television network news and receive the very public assistance that paid for the very medicines being advertised.  As maps of heroin addiction and despair appear like ink blots atop shuttered factory towns.  As people hunted for a bad guy, for a place, a face, a single target for blame for a loss of manufacturing jobs that technology and progress would insure never returned.  And the same of us bought piles and heaps of cheap things made elsewhere without any thought to consequences to harm to damage, real and psychological.

As we walked over decaying leaves while the sunlight shined in our eyes, wearing our custom Red Wing Shoes and our turned up jeans.  As we voted for candidates that raised millions of dollars from those placing a bet, gambling that we could put the faith of the greatest nation in the world in the hands of single person who would think themselves capable to running the greatest power.

As we sat dismayed to find that elsewhere, the pain is so deep, the minds so willing to buy that lottery ticket that may change the loss of face and esteem, even when all logic says that dollar would be best sent elsewhere.

We stood uncertain of everything we knew about us, uncertain that were as kind, as sure-footed, as special, as great.  And a few wondered if that was what the Romans thought right before it ended, right as they realized what was happening outside the city.