Folks & their spokes

Heaps of bikie things happening at the moment. I spotted this pink wonder outside Avid Reader in West End (only Brisbane's best bookstore). Here's a round-up of two-wheeled happenings in your neighbourhood and further afield...

Sydney kids – the WOOP! Rolling Festival is this weekend. Join like-minded bike lovers on Sunday May 15 and take to the Bourke Street Cycleway – riding from Waterloo to Woolloomooloo.

In Brisbane there's a Cargo Bike Picnic at the West End markets on Saturday May 28. Great for progressive families who've mastered the art of toting around small children/pets in those rad Dutch cargo bikes - or if you've always wanted to try one, bring along your helmet so you can have a test ride.

Ralph Lauren have a magazine apparently? In which they have an article naming their top eight most stylish bikes. Here's a delicious excerpt:

In the silent skirmish for style supremacy waged every time two dapper gents pass each other, a trump card is needed. Long ago it was a polished carriage with tufted seats. Today it's a bicycle—preferably a rare, custom-made, and extremely elegant bicycle.

Speaking of fashion kids, a match made in cycle chic heaven is Kate Spade’s collaboration with New York bike shop Adeline Adeline. Be warned, this video is basically pornography for the whimsical and twee (and me).

While we’re busting out the scarves and gloves, our pals across the Atlantic are stripping off the layers! New York Cycle Chic says hello to Spring! Scott from The Sartorialist spotted a dapper cyclist on West Broadway. And trust Garance to find the impossible: a cute helmet!

Gala Darling is on the bike band wagon and I can't wait to find out what steed she has selected to roll in her signature style. Her summer to-do list is highly covetable. Again, may be a little torturous for those of us in the southern hemisphere unpacking our jumpers and long johns...

One last observation. Spokey dokes ain't no joke. Baby Blue has been sporting multi-coloured spokey dokes since way back when, but this is an accessory you shouldn't give your bike without some giving them some serious thought. Do you need to make stealthy bicycle getaways? Are you irritated by repetitive noises? Do you have to walk your bike around other people regularly? Spokey dokes are not for you. Given all the rain in Brisbane lately I've taken to parking the blue girl next to my desk at work. An unexpected positive side-effect: seeing Baby Blue leaning up against the window cheers me up countless times a day. An unexpected negative side-effect: I'm driving my colleagues crazy. They can hear me coming from miles away by the twonkling spokey dokes! If I leave the office early, everybody notices! So, you've been warned. With great spokes, comes great responsibility.

Suckers!

The Seersucker Social from Brandon Bloch on Vimeo.

The Seersucker Social returns to Washington DC on June 4. It's a fund-raising event from the whimsically named DC outfit Dandies & Quaintrelles. I watched video from last year's event online with radiant envy last year - have you ever seen anything more gorgeous? Summer, spectacular estates, prissy vintage outfits, delicious picnics and cocktails, and, of course, bikes. This year I won't be watching from afar...

PS Between this video and my newfound Heathers obsession, not to mention my daily ride past the McIlwraith club in Auchenflower, I reckon croquet is ripe for a comeback.

Things I Love Thursday: April 14

Can you believe how far into 2011 we are? This year is flying by. I hope you're finding time amidst the rush to enjoy life's little pleasures. Things like:

Rainy mornings + porridge, cinnamon & golden syrup

Rainy nights + a good book + tea + Green & Black's Maya Gold dark chocolate. This stuff is my crack.

Subsituting ridiculous, made-up facts when you don't know the real answers at trivia (after all, you never know when you might be awarded extra points for humour).

This incredible list of flapper slang, which is frankly the duck's quack, the cat's particulars and the monkey's eyebrows simultaneously. Ie, it is fantastic.

Amazing purple and orange sunsets over the Brisbane river. The cityscape gleaming in almost unnaturally golden light, cranes poking up here and there like bendy straws in an elaborate cocktail.
Yoga. Oh my, it is so good. Stretching out all those random sets of muscles, cracking up at all the animal-named poses (cobras, cats and cows, locusts, eagles and the dreaded downward dogs), tantalising aromas wafting from the Indian restaurant down the street, almost falling asleep in the meditation at the end of the session, even the ommmm-chanting is kind of cool with everyone making the same sound in a darkened room. Especially since our instructor is the first yogi I have encountered who actually has a sense of humour. I had to laugh, though, at Garance's all-too-familiar take on yoga - the inching boredom of the class, the awkwardness of the poses, the all-consuming smugness once it's over and raving to the uninitiated about how balancing it all is...

Writing about the impending zombie apocalypse, YouTubing the Bush Tucker Man and researching data visualisations... For my job!

Having a job.

Continually confusing Deerhoof and Deerhunter... Listening to and loving them both, anyway. Deerhoof Vs Evil is fantastic, by the way.

Contemplating taking to Baby Blue's forks with a sharpie, inspired by this amazing bike refurbishment by illustrator Pete Fong. If only I could draw beards that well...

This afternoon I left work on my bike, the sunset fading to lilac and the new My Morning Jacket song in my ears, and out of nowhere had this overwhelming rush of euphoria. Be it slap-up broke pasta dinners with my sister, swapping music with old school friends, Sunday afternoons playing trucks with a one-year-old, road-trip-planning emails from Pakistan or hours on skype with the cutest boy in all of Brooklyn... I feel profoundly motherfucking lucky at how many first-rate people are in my life. I hope you do too. xx

30 days of biking

If you've been thinking about getting back in the (bike) saddle but lacking motivation, try this for size. 30 Days of Biking is a pretty self-explanatory initiative now in its second year. There are no rules. You just have to ride every day during April, whether it's a quick trip to the corner store or a few kilometres' commute to work, and then share your experience online. Twitter, Facebook, blogging, Flickr, whatever floats your boat. It's a great way to get people riding - and talking about how awesome it is.

Thirty days of biking - no matter the weather, no matter the distance - won't be a picnic, but it's a great way to start a good habit. Tone up those gams, lose some weight, meet some fun people, feel the sunshine on your face, ring a little bell, trail some streamers, see your city from a new perspective, and best of all it won't cost you a cent. What's not to love about the biking life?

Now, I know it can be intimidating riding on the road so ease in by planning your trips to take maximum advantage of bike lanes and paths. Ride The City is a great resource and they've just recently launched their Brisbane map. Trick out your treadlie with lights, strap on a helmet, make sure you feel safe and comfortable. Be confident and careful, follow the road rules. You don't have to wear lycra. You don't have to go fast. Get out there in your favourite floral frock and both cars and other cyclists actually tend to be more patient and friendly (call it the Mary Poppins Effect).

Personally I'm already riding around six days a week, including my commute to and from work every day, so I'm quietly confident I can smash this sucker. It's also a good opportunity to blog about some basic, important bike stuff - how to stay safe, how to look after your wheels, routes and shortcuts, what to wear, combating helmet hair...

Won't you join me? Register here, get your tyres pumped up ready for your first ride on Friday April 1, and do keep me posted on how you go through the month.

Bicycle rights!

This kinda says it all about militant fixie hipsters... From Portlandia. Don't look the show up on YouTube if you're predisposed to wasting endless amounts of time laughing at hipsters. But just so you know, the funniest clips are "Did You Read...", "Dream of the 90s" and the adult hide-and-seek league.

Off the wall

So things got a little quiet here for a while, sorry chaps. I was off playing tour guide/tourist for a special envoy from New York. Looking forward to sharing some of our adventures with you now that normal blogging service has resumed, and this seems as good a start as any.

First port of call was the money-shot of Sydney Harbour, from the Glenmore's rooftop - after all, nothing completes a view like a beer and a $10 steak. Somehow, I managed to get us lost. But for me getting lost tends to precede some of my best discoveries, and so it was on this day. Getting our bearings beside the growl of the Cahill Expressway, we were suddenly looking down onto a much calmer scene. A giant hot air balloon, adrift in the King George V recreation centre.

How did I not know about this? I asked myself as we peered down upon the mural's whimsical details; an elephant, a camel, a kite aflutter, some bikes. It's been there since 1983, the work of artist Peter Day. In a cute (and timely) twist, Day returned 27 years later to paint another mural there. "The Great Southern Wall" depicts the early history of The Rocks, and was only unveiled in December. With this latest contribution, and an army of volunteer helpers, the KGV now boasts that it's the world's largest community mural.

Personally though, that dreamy hot air balloon hovering behind the basketball hoops remains my favourite part. When she opened the completed mural late last year, Sydney mayor Clover Moore paid tribute to all the little hands that help finish a work like this. "The first stage in the mid-1980s took a staff of 10 artists and about 500 volunteers – most of them children – nine months to complete."

It's ironic that murals can be so easy to ignore. The 80s were the heyday of this most democratic and public of artforms, when artists and communities came together to splash social comment on bare walls in bold colours. Today the paint has faded, and the messages behind them seem quaint and idealistic. We prefer our street art unofficial and unsanctioned, stencilled secretively and cynically. It's only in places where the authorities work to restore and conserve murals that they stay bright and topical. Like in San Francisco, where Diego Rivera kicked off the whole mural craze in the first place, and whole streets of the Mission still bloom in full colour.

Elsewhere, old brushstrokes fade as small voices debate how best to preserve them. Most grey-beige days we'll walk past them blindly. But every now and then someone will get lost, and see the same old streets in new light, and feel the promise all those paint-stained kids must have felt back before I was even born.

Big love, little love

You know what else rolled around again blindingly fast? Valentine's Day. I want to rail against it, but that just seems kinda lazy. (Which isn't to say I haven't whinged about Valentine's Day for most of my life).

I'm still really proud of the post I wrote for Valentine's Day last year. And I still think that the best antidote to the consumerist bullshit of this hackneyed Hallmark holiday is to think about the people and things, both grand and simple, that you love. Even if it's not a reciprocal relationship - like the way I feel right now about my bike Baby Blue parked here bathed in sunshine in my new room, like a work of art - just the act of loving can be energising, inspiring, and grounding all at once.

I feel so loved right now. Considering my current state could be generously termed "bohemian" - or more dramatically, "destitute" - it's purely through the kindness of my amazing family and friends that I'm now sitting at the biggest desk I've ever had, job-searching in between long swims and bike rides and yoga with my sister, and day-dreaming about getting back to New York.

And then that city's a whole other love affair in itself. It's frustrating that that big love feels so far away, and for so trivial a reason as money. But just knowing that it's there waiting, and how good it will feel to be back there, will be enough to make the days fly by. That, and all the little everyday love moments: laughs with old friends, tumbleturns, cooking in other peoples' kitchens, baby giggles, backyard cricket, swapping well-loved books, frangipani on the summer air, the crackle of vinyl, cat stretches, and coasting down hills on a baby blue bike with spokey dokes. Each day its own little love letter.

Hope you found lots to love this Valentine's Day - and every day.

Coasting in the Bike Lane

Thursday night just gone marked the launch of the Sydney Bicycle Film Festival's art night and the Ride: Life In The Bike Lane exhibition. By all accounts it was a great night at District 01 Gallery, and we have the lovely Andrew Quilty to thank for these pics. Quilts himself had a bike on show but was so modest he didn't even send me a shot of his own work!






This one was designed by Ben Brown and is called "Ghost Bike". Meanwhile, a group called The Skeleton Key put together this amazing video about the launch night- looks like we missed a corker.

BFF - RIDE - LIFE IN THE BIKE LANE from Skeleton Key on Vimeo.

In my dreams we're still screaming

So this is the video Spike Jonze directed for Arcade Fire's title track from The Suburbs. Apparenly it was shot in the suburbs of Austin TX, and Win and Regine cameo as cops. Pretty powerful stuff...

Beatles on bikes

Going Dutch

As part of my Best Birthday Ever (TM) celebrations, I had a lovely time on the Tour & Taste ride which started at Rolling Orange bike store in Brooklyn's Cobble Hill. Best of all, I was lucky enough that Christine from Rolling Orange let me borrow one of her gorgeous Dutch-style bikes to ride for the day, the arrestingly magenta De Fietsfabriek OMA.

It was the first time I'd actually ridden one of these heavyweight bikes, designed to keep the rider sitting upright and also equipped to carry heavy loads on front and back racks. The front rack and basket are attached to the body frame rather than the handlebars and front wheel, so it took a little while to get used to not seeing the basket move when I steered around a corner. But in that mjestic saddle I suddenly understood how all those European riders stay so chic while cycling. The OMA was a dream to ride - posh and ponderous in the best way, prompting posture my mother would be proud of, so weighty and steady I felt really safe on the road. The Rolls Royce of bicycles.

I spent much of the tour seriously considering committing a grand theft velo... Only when we'd ridden all the way back to Brooklyn could I bring myself to ask Christine how much she cost. At $1500 the OMA is an investment, but I daresay you would not regret it. Unless you had to carry her up and down stairs... Personally though, if I were in a position to make a purchase from Rolling Orange, I really love the pared-back classic style of the "Old Dutch" step-through from Batavus.

The Rolling Orange call to arms, emblazoned on the store's wall, is reminiscent of the Cycle Chic manifesto:

the slow revolution
welcome to a different way.
a different way to bike.
a different way to move.
a different way to live.
ask yourself a simple question.
if you love life, why rush it?
fast has no time for charm.
no time for chance.
no time for wonder.
there are no details in fast.
slow is seeing, feeling, loving the life you move through.
fast is a schedule. slow is freedom.
fast fades. slow lasts.
fast rushes life. slow enjoys it.
it's simple, really.
if you love life, you deserve a different way.
a better way.
a slower way.

It's a beautiful store, sun-lit and laid out so that the gorgeous bikes appear almost like artworks in a gallery. Bikes hang from the walls, are suspended from the ceiling; even the accessories are cheeky and chic, from baskets and colourful panniers to these Yakkay helmet hats:

The bikes may be beautiful, but their design is functional and intelligent as well. The Dutch influence, where bikes are a part of everyday life, is particularly clear in the storage options - racks, baskets and trays for carrying groceries or even children or pets. Rolling Orange is well worth a visit if you're in the neighbourhood (269 Baltic St, Brooklyn). Join the Facebook group to keep up with the many wonderful events they're involved in too - coming up on November 20 the Dutch Days bike tour will incorporate New York's early Dutch history into a laidback Saturday ride...

Tour & taste

The Tour & Taste bikeride started in Cobble Hill at Rolling Orange. The gods of New York smiled on us with a gorgeous sunny Saturday, and we pedalled Brooklyn's well-appointed bike-paths and over the Brooklyn Bridge. We were a motley group - stylish Dutch bikers alongside beat-up mountain bikes and hybrids, young and old; one couple had even come from San Francisco.

Once the Brooklyn Bridge spat us out in Manhattan, we wove west through Chinatown to take the Westside Greenway bikepath up the western edge of the island. If you're looking for a scenic bike-trail in New York this is a great place to start - dedicated cycle path, lots of space and great views out to the Hudson and beyond. Then we were eastward bound once more, headed for the Union Square Farmers Market.

These markets are apparently some of the best in the world, and lots of New York's top chefs source their produce here. And it's not just fruit and veg - there are meats, poultry, game, honey, flowers, cheeses, pastries, breads, wines, seafood... anything delicious you can think of, and then a bunch of things you wouldn't believe exist. Cotton candy spun from maple syrup. Wild ginseng from upstate New York so rare they keep it in a locked box and sell it for $500 a pound.

We got a special tour from Vandaag chef Phillip Kirschen-Clark, who guided us through his favourite producers and the seasonal ingredients he would later be serving up for our three-course lunch. This is a bloke who clearly loves his job, and loves the challenge of interpreting produce into unconventional meals. He hammed up his banter with the various stall-holders, begging one to find him some reindeer meat. "The closest I can get is elk, but I want reindeer!" he enthused, perhaps already planning a macabre Christmas menu.

Did I mention it was a stunning day? God I love this city. The restaurant itself is on 2nd Ave in the Lower East Side. We parked out flotilla of bikes on the footpath outside and luxuriated in the sundrenched interior, designed with clean modern lines by architect Eric Mailaender.

Vandaag is Dutch for "today". The cuisine is an odd marriage of Dutch and Danish influences, both countries which share a similar climate to New York and therefore seasonal produce is in sync. They even had a bike as part of the decor! Loaded up with squash that would later become part of a weirdly delicious hot cider cocktail.

The restauranteur talked us through the menu as we nibbled on a range of breads, dips and sausage. We made our selections from the set menu - a kale salad studded with green strawberries, squash served both pickled and battered; gravlax, duck confit or dandelion smorrebrod for mains.

One of my favourite parts were these pickle pots, which included pickled pears and radishes as well as the standard gherkins. So delicious.

I got so caught up in the food and conversation I forgot to take photos of the starters and mains! But I did capture the amazing dessert; a wafer-thin waffle sandwich filled with a concoction of salted molasses and chickory. There are no words.

It was one of those languid, drawn-out lunches you relish for half the afternoon, but the food was light enough that the bike-ride back to Brooklyn wasn't impossible. I cannot deny, however, that a well-earned post-prandial disco nap was taken once the bikes were returned to Rolling Orange.

Seriously. Best birthday ever.

Melbourne sucks

No, not like that! Melbourne is awesome, obviously . As evidenced by the epic Melbourne Bike Fest kicking off with the Once Bitten vampire picnic on Wednesday evening. There will be a free barbeque and films on show from 6pm at the Alexandra Gardens skate park, so saddle up your BMX and get gussied up in your best vampy threads and to join the fun. It's a family event though, so perhaps don't emulate the above Halloween costume...

Handlebar moustache

Stumbled across this great T-shirt design in Brooklyn Industries a week or so ago. Drawn by Bartow, the "Handlebar Moustache" illo was actually a competition winner. Personally it warms the cockles of my heart to see two of my favourite things - bikes and facial hair - united on hipster chests. And there's likely to be double (or quadruple?) the fun when said T-shirt wearers are also rocking wheels and a 'tache.

Don't look now (ok, do) but Brooklyn Industries have a whole heap of bike-themed tees, bags etc. After last week's episode of 30 Rock though, I can't help but wonder whether the Halliburton-backed indie outfitters where Liz Lemon found the perfect (albeit exploitative) pair of jeans, Brooklyn Without Limits, bears any more than a passing resemblence to Brooklyn Industries. For mine the best line was when Lemon reeled off BWL's cool locations in "Gaytown, White Harlem, and the Van Beardswick section of Brooklyn."

Life in the bike lane

The Bicycle Film Festival comes to Sydney November 17-21. Check out the program here, kicking off with an opening night party at the Beresford next Wednesday. For the cinematically inclined, films will screen at the Newtown Dendy on Friday-Saturday November 19-20. There’s also a street fair just off of Bourke Street on the Saturday afternoon, and it all winds up beach-side with a ride to Bondi and a wrap party at the Beach Road.

Ugh, it’s like everything I’m missing from Sydney bundled up into a tasty couple of days. And I mean it – you need to soak this one up for me, I’m so sad I won’t be there. Not least for RIDE: Life in the Bike Lane, which is the official exhibition of the festival. The organisers rounded up a talented bunch of artists and designers and let them loose on some life-sized wooden bicycles. The 17 creative types - including the likes of Andrew Quilty and Beci Orpin - will each customise a bike in their own style, and if you head over to the website they have some fun interviews with the artists including memories of their first bikes! Lots of BMX memories but I think this response from photographer James Alcock is my favourite:

Do you have any childhood memories of riding? Now that you’re older, do you still ride?

I've always had pushies since the time I could walk. It's one of the few constants in my life and my dad was always good at repairing them. My grandfather actually had a pushie shop. I remember really clearly my dad letting me go at the top of a hill in Coogee near my house. I was just off my training wheels but didnt quite have a grasp on the back peddle brake thing.
I flew straight across a busy street at the bottom of the hill just missing cars both ways and ended up going over the handlebars when I hit the oncoming gutter. There was plenty of skin off and my nuts were blue and purple for a week! My brother raced BMX at a national level all through the 80s. I am on my pushie every day and I love riding in summer (sans shirt/backpack) super blazed with Roots Manuva (or Skiphop) bumpin throuh my earbuds.

Don't dilly dally! RSVP for the exhibition opening on Thursday November 18 here on Facebook.

Things I Love Thursday: November 4

These are the dying days of my 25th year so one thing I'm loving at the moment is birthday plans coming together! There’s been a distinct lack of bike action on this blog of late and I’m deeply sorry about that. But it’s my birthday on Saturday and what better way to celebrate than with a bike-riding foodie tour of Brooklyn and Manhattan! Cannot wait to get back in the saddle. Friends, food and lots of photos will just be the icing on the cake.

Other stuff that's floating my boat:

My new roommate’s quirky taste in vintage and antique furnishings and decoration – there are so many little curiosities in this apartment. I snuck a peek into her room and she has three pipe-cases mounted on the wall.

Making pea soup with giant slabs of bacon from Model T... Photo booths... Turtle burgers... Delicious tapas (Brussels sprouts and chorizo? Dates wrapped in bacon?? Yes please!) and wine at Boqueria with a bunch of Aussies... Trying to explain the Australian compulsion to shorten all names – Daz, Muzz, etc – to an American friend...

Williamsburg street art... Talking animation, music and ghost stories over beers with the boys at Daddy’s... Three dollar Hendricks martinis and tiny gourmet grilled cheese sangers at the Connectors NYC networking meet-up... Bored to Death... Finally some Waldorf-Bassian sexytime... Little kids in super cute Halloween costumes... Prospect Park... Leather gloves... Markedly different streetlife in my new neighbourhood, forcing me to think for the first time about the origins of the words “ghetto blaster”... Brooklyn Bowl!!


Daz yodelling while performing a Slim Dusty cover at Living Room... Morning coffee and the biscuit (read: scone) with egg, sausage and cheese from Goods... HALLOWEEN!!
Getting up before 9am (shocking, I know)... This taupe nail polish that looks like pearly mushroom soup... Cat stretches... Getting my subway sea legs... Rocking out to ELO... Sam Rockwell’s amazing acting in Moon... Thrift store heaven at Beacon’s Closet and Atlantis Attic... Random smile exchanges with strangers... The “other” Halloween parade – unfortunate souls doing the next morning walk-of-shame home in their costumes (thanks, How I Met Your Mother)... and, finally, Jon Stewart’s speech at the Rally To Restore Sanity &/or Fear:

My first bike

My first bike was a daggy, dusty pink little number, with painted white flowers and a white quilted seat. Can't quite remember if she was a birthday or Christmas present, but in that celebratory spirit her wheels were loaded with twonkling spokey-dokes. At least, they were until they got me paid out in the playground and I made Dad take them off, cheeks burning with shame. It's weird to think of how embarrassed I was of the pink bike, because now of course I'd love a bike like that!

My sister and I were thick-as-thieves with a family of boys around the same age, and the pink bike acquired some sorely-needed street cred when they began approvingly referring to her as "the Harley" because of her laidback handlebars. Mostly she served for the commute to and from school - sometimes accompanied by Mum on her massive blue Malvern Star, Elle strapped in behind her in a baby seat. Sometimes I'd go alone, pausing in summer months to steal jewel-dark mulberries from the huge tree overhanging the Henry Street footpath.

I have vague memories of first learning to ride on quiet summer evenings in the streets below the water tower near my house... training wheels that barely touched the ground, serving a purpose more psychological than practical, and my Dad's hand guiding the back of the seat, cursing my anxious timidity no doubt! Later, when I upgraded to my prized aqua and purple mountain bike (absolute fave colours circa nine-years-old), the pink bike was duly inherited by Elle.

Many childhood bikes in St George came from a pine-shaded shed on the outskirts of town, where Paul & Nancy sold bikes to ecstatic kids. I'm sure Paul and Nancy had lives more complex than just selling bikes, but since I only ever saw them when a bike was being picked out for Christmas by myself or my sister, I will forever associate them with the joyous feeling of choosing a bike worth more money than I'd ever owned. If you took me to a car showroom now and let me pick one out, I'm still not sure it would be more exciting.

For so many of us, our first bike was our first taste of freedom. Reaslising there was nothing really stopping you from riding to the park, or your friend's house, was thrilling and even a little scary.

A dear friend told me a story I just love, dating back to when he was just a little tacker with a rebellious streak. We were talking about the inevitable childhood urge to run away from home, and he remembered when he planned his escape: his toys stuffed into plastic bags, dangling from the handlebars of his BMX. Not that he could be reasoned with, but his mum just let him go. Her first clue that he was absconding was when she found him washing his bike with the hose on the driveway - the way he had seen his dad clean the car before a big trip. He didn't go far, maybe around the block... After all, such childhood emotional crises are generally settled by the time the sun starts to dip and your tummy starts to rumble.

So I have a feeling that most of you will have a great first bike story, and I've already asked a couple of friends to share theirs in the hope that we can make this a regular feature. Plus what's cuter than faded old photos of kids with their bikes?! I'd love to hear about your first bike - hit up the comments or email me...

"If Paris is France.. Coney Island is the world"

The full quote, pilfered from a faded mural on Coney Island's beachside boardwalk, is:

"If Paris is France, Coney Island, between June and September, is the world."

So said George Tilyou in 1886. Tilyou was a founding father of Coney Island's amusement district, setting up Steeplechase Park as a family attraction full of mechanical rides and sideshow excitements. This was the area's heyday, the turn of the century through to the 1920s, when the area became known as the "nickel empire" and seethed with Sunday crowds of hard-working immigrants on their one day off. It cost a nickel to get there on the subway, a nickel for a dog from Nathan's, a nickel for the rides.

Before Tilyou brought his vision to life the area was originally a resort for the upper class, then a new race track and boxing arenas brought in a broader crowd, and "associated gambling dens, dance halls, and brothels brought a hint of the illicit". All this history hangs heavy in the air at Coney Island; it's not hard to imagine those long-gone days.

Look familiar? Coney Island has a Luna Park too, used as a garish literary motif in Joseph Heller's Catch-22 follow-up, Closing Time. Turns out Heller grew up in Coney Island and his writing often returned to its landmarks of his childhood.

The telling part of Tilyou's analogy is its timeframe. When I visited the iconic south Brooklyn beach, it was very much an October Monday. The sun still shone and the Wonder Wheel still dissected the skyline, but the atmosphere was overwhelmingly one of melancholy, an abandoned funfair. The decrepit boardwalk creaks with every step, and wayward planks will trip you if you don't watch your feet as you stroll. Looking inland the skyline is composed of gritty brick housing projects behind the abandoned old rides. A string of retirement homes inhale the sea air off the promenade, so you're as likely to pass a wheelchair as a bicycle. Those enjoying Monday's noonday sun were generally of the older persuasion; let down your guard and you'll cop an eyeful of vast expanses of dimpled, undulating white flesh, or, if you're slightly luckier, a leathered mob of weathered regular sunbathers.

I passed many older couples out walking. One woman slowed as she approached me; I steeled for small talk and squinted in the glare, trying to catch her eye beneath a faded visor. But before she reached me she stopped short, spread her feet for steadiness, and leaned over from the hips as if peering through the boardwalk cracks for some lost treasure below. Then she held the bridge of her nose lightly and blew snot onto the ground.

An estimated million people per day visited Coney Island in the 1920s, but the area was ravaged by the Depression and spiralled into decline in the 40s when Luna Park caught fire and was closed. Since then Coney Island has struggled, castigated as an eyesore and constantly threatened with destruction by development proposals. But there have always been those who fought for the area's heritage, and in recent years projects like the Mermaid Parade and the opening of Lola Star's Dreamland Roller Rink in the magnificent old Childs building (now, sadly, shut down again, though you can watch a great video about it here) have rallied a dedicated community hoping for a Coney Island renaissance.

It's a historic little pocket of the world that steals people's hearts. To pinch another quote from that mural:

"All Coney Islanders have sand in their shoes. Once it gets in, it never gets out.

Coney Island may be down at heel but that's not to say it doesn't posess charm and beauty. The beach is no Coogee or Bondi, but you can still imagine it a crowded patchwork of beach towels and umbrellas on searing summer days; a many-sunburned-limbed creature imbibing beer and hotdogs and ice-cream from the parade of storefronts on the boardwalk. Sideshow games like the massive "SHOOT THE FREAK" sign kinda sum up the atmosphere - a jarring jaunt back to a bygone era, before political correctness and hyper-litigiousness. A time of hand-painted signs and coconut-scented suntan oil and strings of coloured light globes. Here's hoping Coney Island gets a second heyday soon.

Chopper

Swore that no bikes would be purchased on this side of the world until gainful employment has been secured, but my resolve is being sorely tested almost constantly. Not only by the fact that all my new pals have bikes and get to do all this fun stuff that's not quite the same without wheels. But also by the steady stream of amazing bikes in full flight and chained up to every street surface... colourful vintage Schwinns, cute pink Huffys, chic black Dutch style bikes and insouciant fixies. Here in Brooklyn whole flocks of hipsters cruelly flaunt their steeds at speed, while I plod the sidewalks and try to swallow my envy.

This chopper isn't quite my size, but it's nonetheless a little stab to the heart each time I pass it on my new street....

Blondie of Arabia

At the last minute my new friend Allison suggested I join her at the Living Theater for something called Blondie Of Arabia on Friday night. At the mention of theatre/performance art I almost baulked - let's face it, we've all been burnt - but I'm so glad I didn't. It was a one-woman-show written and performed by Monica Hunken, who describes herself as an activist, Amazonian blonde with a superhero fetish. The show tells the story of her quest to bike alone through the Middle East, after she scored a trip to a royal wedding in Qatar working for a high-end catering company.

The theatre was tiny and intimate - read: impossible to escape should things turn weird - and the sassy, political opening monologue made me a little nervous. But when the music struck up and Monica rode a bicycle around the audience in superhero costume, it quickly became clear she wasn't going to take herself too seriously. With impeccable accents and mannerisms she reenacted run-ins with the military and the "po-po", couch-surfing with an eccentric Russian woman and handsy arab guys, and a bit of a romance with a scholarly, devout Egyptian tour-guide. She indignantly remembers him making her don his turtleneck to go swimming so she felt like "a drowned bee-keeper", and unconsciously rubbing salt into the wound he mooned: "You know why I know I could marry you Monica? You're not sexy."

Her observations of the different cultures - from the Disney princess decadence of the royal wedding, to a kohl-eyed desert tour guide deviate she dubbed Johnny Depp - were hilarious and also moving. A tiny example that kinda sums up her approach was when she describes a boat ride in Egypt, hip-hop blasting as she watched a woman in full hijab and wondered what, behind the veil, she thought of "The Thong Song". One of the saddest moments was actually when she had to leave her bike behind when flying out of Turkey!

It was a really great show and Monica even answered questions from the audience afterward. Next she hopes to take the show around Europe and dreams of finishing up with a performance in the Middle East. She's also donating to a fascinating cause called Follow The Women, well worth checking out, who demonstrate for peace by doing bikerides.

The weird thing about the night was that on two seperate occasions people stopped me on the street thinking I was Blondie! I guess one amazonian blonde in red lipstick is interchangeable with the next - but I will definitely take it as a compliment!

We finished the night with a late Indian feast at Spice Cove - $10 price fixe three course meal? Yes please! The urban legend about this stretch of East Village they call Little India is that there's just one kitchen hidden out the back, cooking for all the dozens of different restaurants with moody lighting and cushions and sitar players. Admittedly, all the restaurants are on the same side of the street...