Change Thinking

The Street Store is an example of Tactical Urbanism. A beautiful example of how urban spaces can be transformed to accommodate interventions that give rise to a shift in strategic thinking about urban issues.

In my next post I'll address Tactical Urbanism more fully by publishing the keynote address I delivered on this topic this week. Suffice to say the creation of guerrilla gardens and pop-up parks with free wi-fi are a more sanitized and 'creative class' outworking of the concept. Cape Town and the cities of the Global South are clawing forward through a legacy of stifling policy that demands a more robust and even disheveled urban outcry. The Street Store is the beginning of something new.

When I asked one of the organizers of today's Street Store what he thought of the idea of Tactical Urbanism, he had never heard of it, yet resonated with its claims. As an urban designer with a passion for public engagement, I see the Street Store as strongly supported public comment submitted via discarded fashion.

Citizens who have are being invited into an admittedly still awkward place of relationship with citizens who have not. This place is the street. The best place for these renewed discussions to take place. As a coat covers an new owner, so the street lays bare an opportunity for a new friendship.

The next step is to translate these interactions and occurrences into usable and transformed local government policy. Hopefully a collaboration is possible where research into the outworking of the multiple iterations of this concept can inform thinking on inner city poverty and need. A fascinating space where I love to maneuver and for me must be informed largely by empathetic experience.

So here are are a few observations from my morning at The Street Store in Greenpoint today.

I asked one of the assistants what clothing items seemed to be the most popular. "First to go are always the jerseys," she said "and then belts". Belts, because most of the clothes donated are too large to fit the malnourished frames of those who receive them. To imagine myself to be clothed in a way that underscores my hunger. I cried.

One of the recipients of a new pair of athletic shoes was ecstatic. In a gutteral Afrikaans he told me the story of The Strollers. It's the name he uses to refer to himself and the groups of the city's homeless who are moved numerous times every night by police and security guards. As soon as they rest somewhere, the cops chase them away again. As a result, they walk the city for kilometers on end every night. I'm sure Nike didn't have that in mind when they designed his newly acquired shoes.

After frankly too much emotion, I decided to take a stroll up to a nearby coffee shop. Cognisant of what a financial splurge an artisan roasted coffee and bagel would be considering the poverty and need I had just witnessed, I did it anyway.
There is always a way to justify habit.
While my coffee was being prepared, I grovelled in my back pocket for a R50 note I thought was there. Despite checking and rechecking, it became clear to the manager serving me that I had no money. He looked at me compassionately amidst the clinkity laughter and conversations of the privileged and handed me my refreshments with a wink.
"It's OK" he said.

I was overwhelmed for the second time. I had witnessed such unexpected favor. I too had stood in a queue and received, yet  I can only think that somehow it had something to do with how I was dressed.

Rule #83

Being self sufficient is a critical part of cycling etiquitte. On the Tour of Arae, its lore.

The very ethos of the race is a intimate understanding of bicycle and rider. That which is required to ensure optimal performance of both must either be administered before the day begins or carried to be used as needed. Under the most extreme and glorious conditions, both bike and rider must be attended to, and for 700km of Karoo rumble, much was expected.

As a self proclaimed newbie to cycling, here are some helpful and amusing insights I gained into preparing for, and surviving this unique multistage race:

Things that Fall Apart

Derailleurs fall apart. Clusters fall apart. Handbars fall apart. These must all be somehow reassembled on the road with what is available and given proper attention back at camp if you make it.
Should you be in the unfortunate position of having a mechanical that involves your derailleur, experience has shown the best solution is to rip it off and convert your bike to a single speed machine [hipsters clap quietly with crocheted woolen gloves]. Remove chain links to ensure correct tension and be on your way.
     Carry a 'chaintoolthingy'. They are very helpful.
     Carry Vaseline, lipice or massage oil. Its terribly awkward to ask passers-by for lubrication.
     Its entirely possible to have 5 punctures on one day #quickrelease
     Always have zipties and duct tape. 

If you have a crash or mechanical issue, be encouraged. It is possible to still win a stage on a buckled frame.

Gone with the Wind

On a multistage race, weather can become somewhat inclement as was experienced on the tour. Rain, sleet, hours of howling headwinds and snow were all the rage this season.
Pack carefully.
Here are some creative suggestions and essentials that proved their worth from last week's race to deal with the worst weather imaginable.

    Buff: Protects your face from bugs, dust, sun, hail and
    pictures taken of your 'effort face'
    Washing gloves: Yeah. In cases of extreme cold and
    circumstance hands can also be warmed
    during a visit to the bushes to relieve oneself. Yeah, that too.
    Layers layers layers. Including wrapping of plastic bags and
    anything waterproof as a top covering.
    Hypothermia is sneaky. Ride together. Look for early
    warming signs
    If you do happen upon a padstal (roadside shop) and take
    refuge there, run a warm footbath, make yourself at home
    with a horde of other plastic bag wrapped cyclists cracking
    jokes and playing sombre Scottish highlands tunes on
    an iphone. Its fun.
    Don't go into barns. 

The Great Gatsby

Eating and staying hydrated over long distances in isolated areas can be tricky. Within hours we had passed out of the winelands cappacino belt with no promise of padstal or farmstead ahead. Here are some useful and creative food and packing ideas for tour riding that I experienced during the week:

Eat a lot. Eat more. On your bike and off your bike.
Snacks, energybars and fruit can be taped to your frame to be ripped off and eaten as required.
Make your own trailmix and decant into packets for the ride.
Gherkins are quite delicious when complimented by a swig of bourbon
Winegums, biltong, raisins and bananas featured on most mobile menus.
Eating while riding one handed on sandy dirt roads is not always wise.

Les Miserables

Possibly the best application of the rule of self sufficiency is about attitude.
The most fun, most adventure and most joy is to be found with those who, in addition to bicycle and legs have prepared their minds. Prepared to win. Prepared to wait. Prepared to listen. Prepared for more of the same dished out after a day that brought many to tears.
And so, my final observation is to always pack a book and stash it in your sleeping bag. Position yourself to be inspired as more will always be required when you wake to do it all again.

My struggle is harsh and I come back
with eyes tired
at times from having seen
the unchanging earth,
but when your laughter enters
it rises to the sky seeking me
and it opens for me all
the doors of life.

[Pablo Neruda]

Trail Mix

When I eventually found cell reception mid way through Day 3 of the Tour of Arae, I called my husband.
"How is it going?" he asked enthusiastically
"Its just like Iraq." I answered.

We lived in Baghdad at the height of the US occupation - it was the best parallel I could muster. I had just been swept up by the support van after just 300km of riding and knew that my race was over. Severe ITBS had set in and despite walking up and freewheeling down the undulating Karoo landscape for over 15km, I knew I needed to stop. Its a terrible feeling. Not the excruciating pain, so much as the acceptance of continued motionless. Not cycling.

Iraq was amazing, grueling, life changing and terribly hard. When we had to leave prematurely, I also felt like there was so much more good we could have still done. So many more miles to be traveled. More dust. I fell in love with the culture, the landscape, the buried heritage and the relentless blustering heartbeat of the desert. Everyday was peppered by that wonderful question,"why would you do such a crazy thing?!"

It's just like Iraq, my love.

While sitting on the road, trying desperately to rip the left pedal off of my crank to convert my vintage road bike into a machine which would allow my injured leg to hang comfortably lame while I eeked my way to the finish, pedaling with one leg, I asked myself what I wanted to achieve.
Really achieve.

I wanted to know cycling. I wanted to know the bike, the landscape and the heart required to truly love them both. That's when I stopped. Already way over my limit for pain meds, I cried with Stan on the roadside. The Overberg pass pretended not to notice as I unclipped my helmet.

Now to watch, carry, encourage and pray for everyone along the way hoping to find what they were looking for. The Tour of Arae continued for me from the front seat of the Green Mamba support van. And perhaps with some rest I could complete the last day. Perhaps.

I started Day 4 the following morning with the group and tried a 10km loop out of Merweville in a bout of sheer denial, but returned to the van grateful for the fresh air and the wise decision I had made the day before. Race Director Roelf and I continued on in the van, both making the most of this fantastic journey. Marking routes, taking pics, moving luggage and picking up other weary cyclists. I was determined to work as hard as if I had been on a saddle.
Cyclists make poor passengers. I got stuck in.

What a privilege it was to spend the remainder of the tour seeing the fighting, the fallen and the freezing. This week I'll be going through a series of experiences from this daring and delightful journey that was the 6 day Tour of Arae. From the gritty lessons of bike maintenance to the intrigue of racing to win. I hope this in some way bears witness to the making of these magnificent bicycles and the unmaking of every rider on this epic journey.

...I managed just one more kilometer on my bicycle during the Tour. Through the most grueling snow, sleet and hail, the last four riders entered Matjiesfontien as the sun made its departure on Day 6.
On hearing about their imminent arrival, we quickly grabbed bikes made our way up to the town limit to welcome them in and ride the last processional together. All the riders.
That was by far the hardest kilometer of the journey, but by far the most rewarding.

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kirsten[at]bicyclecapetown.org