Critical Mass Miami

The intersection of many of my favorite things occurs during the last Friday of the month’s Critical Mass. There may be no raindrops on roses or whiskers on kittens, but there are a few thousand people, a couple of hours of exercise, fleeting neighborhood visitations, and a number of baddass bikes to accompany the newly restored clunker some may have taken to Andres at the Miami Recycle Bicycle Shop or the good folks at the Magic City Bicycle Collective. 

photo from Jordan Melnick/beachedmiami.com

Every month. the word filters out to more folks looking to get in touch with their inner -- I don’t know -- hipster? The assembly begins shortly after 6:30 at the Metrorail’s Government Center. By the time the ride begins at 7:15, the entire block is festively thronged by colorful participants -- as Q-Tip might say, a vivrant thing. 

To channel another musical theme, in Miami, the Creator has a master plan and it includes bikes. While Miami isn’t Amsterdam, it’s safe to say that there are a fair number of aspiring originators, devisers, inventors, and masterminds adorning wheels with aplomb. Some of these skills extend to rolling sound systems; lots of people like to ride near one of the folks blasting reggae. Another rocks the 80’s. There is a Chinese Jamaican guy with his toddler on the bike seat pumping out straight, parental sticker hip-hop. As I said, it’s a colorful crowd.

The routes change monthly, but there are recurring motifs. From Government Center, everyone goes west, under 95, then over the Miami River. For those of you who like amusement parks and NASCAR crashes, this is the most thrilling part of the route. If you survive this, chances are, the only impending worry newcomers may have is some diaper rash. 

Then, one just pedals through the neighborhoods most have only encountered on the exploitative local newscasts at 11 -- East Little Havana, Overtown, Allapattah, Model City, Little Haiti, and Beverly Terrace. There, the masses outside the public housing, hair salons and fritangas come out to greet you. “Welcome to the hood,” one grandmother shouted last month. Of course, Calle Ocho, Miracle Mile, Brickell, and Biscayne also appear. Here, everyone in high heels seems to be using the iphone to record a video. Corkers politely block the intersections and make apologetic conversation. They are firm and respectful. Occasionally, a driver gets bold -- for a loud, angry moment at least. After a swarm of outraged bicyclists surround him, there is usually peace in numbers. 

From beginning to end, month after month, what one experiences on the ride is the art of the street. Critical Mass gauges the pulse of a city through a mass determined to enjoy the street, to share the street, to breathe the street, and to feel the neighborhoods that explain the streets. For thousands of people who dream of an urban-connected Miami, this is their favorite two hours of the month.

Riding High

From here in Berlin, yesterday I joined the Magic City Bicycle Collective  after having read the Miami Herald and beachedmiami.com articles. Of course, I had to chuckle a bit over the headline in which the beloved Herald pointed out how the group intends to "demystify" the bicycle. I don't know exactly what the mystery is -- two wheels and a bit of terror at age 6 seems to tell it all -- but if my city says it must be demystified, I'm all in. Plus, big respect to blogging Jordan Melnick who has been on his bike along with a hardcore number of us since the beginnings of Critical Mass well over a year ago now. He knows, as I know, that the real mystery in Miami is how messed up it got before the alarms went off. And we have to undignify ourselves by arguing with people who sit in daily traffic on the Palmetto; they tell us what's up. My only beef with bikers is the use of the word sharrows -- wtf?

I've talked often with Andres Barreda from Miami Recycle Bicycle Shop, another founding father (lest we forget to credit Rydel, Dario, EMERGE and the Miami Bike Scene among others please don't be offended if we left you out) moving the Miami movement and caring about it enough to do something more than I am. He returned from Spain, where riding needs not be demystified, and we admiringly talk about the culture in Amsterdam, in Paris, in Copenhagen, and in Berlin, where I road into a mammoth park last Sunday on a path by the autobahn and disappeared into woods with rope courses, lakes, swimming holes, farming plots, and hundreds of people using all of it. In Berlin, everybody seems to be riding, if not walking, and everybody everywhere is using public transportation -- DEEPLY SUPPORTED AND FUNDED BY REASONABLY GOOD GOVERNMENT. Please -- don't get me started.

It's going to take a lot more than the MCBC to change Miami's bicycle scene, but praise the chain and pass the tool kit: thanks for entering the fight. I am among the Critical Mass devoted to continuing to work for a better quality of life.

Summertime

It’s summertime, and the livin’ is easy. Mosquitoes are bitin’, and the grasses are high. Your daddy’s rich (in some cases), and your kids are good looking (or so we like to tell our friends). So hush little suburban baby. Don’t you cry.  One of these mornings, you’re going to wake up on holiday, then you’ll spread your wings, pump up your tires, and take to the streets. Until that morning, you can prepare for the sultry weather by dreaming of another ride through the green thicket that wraps its vines around us every summer, as you drip happily with sweat and pleasure.

Years ago when I first moved here, I complained to new friend and current Ransom Everglades Athletic Director Claude Grubair about summer’s oppressive humidity as he picked me up on a warm June evening with his windows rolled down. “Summer’s the best time of the year,” said Claude simply. After thinking about it – no kidding – I had been transformed and converted. Last week, I bumped into Claude while I was on my bike and he was running, and I reminded him of the story. I have loved the summers here ever since.

The earlier the better, but as long as one avoids the lightning, riding in summer is all good. You don’t need a plan, for residential streets in Pinecrest, Palmetto Bay, South Miami, Cutler Bay, and Coral Gables overflow with things to look at. Yes some of it may not be what you might choose to see in front of homes if indeed you had the power of choice – a big pair of badly carved lions, gilded gates, stars and stripes on poles – but there is a feast for the vigilant eye. 

You can make a little checklist if you like. Pink flamingos in the flower beds – check. Ceramic dolphin above the garage door – check. Lighthouse mailbox – tick it off. Shells embedded on a wall – got ‘em. There is no end to the kitsch. For all who recoil at this, shall I call it art, just look at the giant, graceful Poinciana trees.

Architectural quirks lie just around every bend, decades of design shaped by the times and the shapes of our lives. We all know that homes keep getting bigger and bigger, c’est la construction. These days, you can still see the 50’s bungalow which George Jetson may have loved next to the new McMansion which the 1% love. This love of course, trickles down to contractors, real estate agents, tax collectors, and gardeners – I’ll leave it at that. If you are on a bike, the former is cool like Americana and the latter grand like Downton Abbey.

Depending on your route, a brain freezing smoothie is just a few revolutions away. Aside from all the knowledge dropped by the big guy at Smoothie King, the faded, grandfathered-in glory provided by the chatty staff at the Wayside Market, and the proximity to Whole Foods and Fresh Markets along the way, South Miami’s Sun Juice has been my favorite for years, keeping my hypochondria at bay with the Cold Curer.

More and more of us in South Florida have taken to the streets on our bikes, riding with friends and family, rolling back the years. It’s summertime, and the livin’ – as long as the hurricanes mind their manners – is easy.