My wish for 2022

I have struggled for days to find suitable words to express a New Years message during these difficult times. Then at this late hour I remembered the words to a song I write a few years ago:

I always try to help my fellow man

Hurt no one by thought word or deed.

Do to others as I would have them do to me

Is my philosophy and creed,

But there’s someone I find hard to forgive

Though Heaven knows he should be my friend

If I could only show this man some kindness

Forgive forget and try to make amends.

I resolve to show this man compassion

Lift him from his self-made Hell,

Help him if he should fall or stumble

I resolve,...to be kinder to myself.

If I could only show myself forgiveness

Show tolerance for mistakes I make.

Tell myself I’m only human,

Give myself an even break.

But I’ve always been my own worst critic

So many times, I curse the fool I see

If I could show the patience, I show others

Open up my mind and set me free.

I resolve to show myself compassion

To lift myself from this self-made Hell.

Forgive myself if I should fall or stumble

I resolve.... to be kinder too myself.

My wish for 2022 is that we can all show compassion, not only for ourselves but for each other. I give thanks that I live in a Free society, but realize I am only as free as others allow me to be. Conversely, I will allow others their own opinions, and to let them make their own free choices.

If I perceive there are consequences to the choices of others, then I will deal with it. The alternative is to spread hatred towards my fellow countryman, while still having to deal with the consequences of the pandemic. My wish is for “Peace, Love and Understanding” to come back into fashion.

May the Joy be spread to my fellow countryman, rather than the joy it must bring to my enemies to see us fight amongst each other, and in extreme cases, even kill each other.

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Christmas 1941

Christmas 1941, 80 years ago this year, is a historic date in time as America had just entered WWII after the attack on Pearl Harbor on December 7th. that year. Britain and the rest of Europe had been at war with Germany since September 1939.

I still have this Christmas Greetings message sent to me by my father in 1941.  I was 5 years old, just a few weeks before my sixth birthday, I clearly remember it arriving in the mail. It depicts a cartoon Santa, on a camel. With a “V” for Victory on the camel’s side. Mailed from somewhere in the Sahara Desert, North Africa. It is amazing this scrap of paper has survived all these years, still in its original envelope, addressed to "Master D. Moulton," as was customary.

It was September 1939, within a week or two of the declaration of war that my father had left. He went straight to North Africa where he remained fighting with the British 8th Army, and finally defeating Rommel's German army. A campaign that lasted almost five years. He came home briefly, early in 1944, before leaving again for France during the Normandy Invasion.

I was only 3 ½ years old when my father left in 1939 so I remember little of him before that date. This Christmas Greeting measuring 5 x 4 inches, appears to be a photo copy of a much larger sheet. The hand written message is so tiny, a magnifying glass is required the read it. The message said:

“From your loving father, to my ever loved son David. Merry Christmas, and may God keep you safe until I return home.”

His concern must have been genuine in those early dark days of WWII. Germany had overrun the whole continent of Europe, and was poised on the coast of France just 25 miles away across the English Channel. The threat of Britain also being invaded was very real.

My father, Edward (Ned.) Moulton. Somewhere in North Africa 1941I was nine years old when the war ended. Sadly the promise of a loving relationship that this Christmas message conveyed, did not materialize.

My father must have gone through six years of absolute hell. He never spoke of it.

When he was in a good mood, he was extremely generous. He gave out cash in lieu of affection.

He bought me a lightweight racing bike that must have cost him a month’s wages. If it hadn’t been for him I never would have got into racing.

This of course led eventually to framebuilding. My father defined who I am today more than any other, and for that I am grateful.    

May I wish you and your loved ones a Joyous Christmas, or whatever it is you celebrate this time of year. 

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Motor Pace Bicycle Racing

I am often asked the question:

“Why does bike designed for Motor Pace Racing have the fork turneded backwards. Is it to increase trail?”

The Stayer bike as it is called, has a smaller front wheel, a steeper head angle, and reverse fork; all designed to get the rider closer to the motorcycle that is pacing him. There is a roller mounted behind the pace machine, set at a regulation distance. It is up to the rider to get as close to that roller as he can for maximum drafting effect.

If you look at the drawing on the left, you can visualize that a smaller wheel means less trail, a steeper head angle also means less trail, but the reverse fork increases trail to compensate. A stayer bike may have a little more trail than the average track bike, but not an excessive amount.

Another reason to have the fork reversed is that occasionally the rider will bump the roller on the back of the motorcycle. If he does the roller will spin and the fork will flex easier in the direction it is raked or bent, thus absorbing these slight bumps.

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The importance of knowing that I don’t know everything

I read somewhere that people do not grow old, they become old when they stop growing. I think back to when I turned fifty, I hated it. I hated the way I looked, I hated my life, and really, I hated myself. I was older then than I am now.

Here I am, 35 years later, and my attitude has done a complete 180. Instead of hating my life and having to make a living, I am retired and so I do not have to “Make” anything. I simply live life, enjoy life, and in the process because my needs are less, my needs are met, I manage to comfortably get by.

I am so busy all the time, I wonder how I ever found the time to make a living anyway. I have a purpose in life, and that is essential. A reason to live, to exist, a reason to get out of bed every morning.

I work hard at keeping myself healthy, I cannot afford to get sick. I eat a simple plant-based diet, and that alone saves me money, Meat is expensive, and with the money I save by not buying it, I can afford to buy the best in organic fruits and vegetables.

My family, friends and loved ones, are my reason to live. I have grandchildren, and even great grandchildren I have yet to meet. I would like to do that one day. I have many good friends I look forward to seeing again. I measure my wealth not by money in the bank, but by those who will miss me when I am gone.

I also see this as a reason to get through this damnable pandemic, and we will. This pandemic may seem like a long haul, but as a child I remember WWII, and that lasted five years. It didn’t affect me; I was a child and at time I knew nothing else other than there was a war going on. But it passed as all things do, and possibly when this is over, we might learn something from it.

Every day I exercise my body, without my body, where will I live? I also exercise my mind, writing this is making me think, mind calisthenics if you will. That alone makes the effort worthwhile, and if I can bring a little joy into someone else’s life, entertain, inspire thought, that is an added bonus. Helping myself, while communicating with others, isn’t that what those who created this almighty mess that is the Internet and social media, intended?

It saddens me to see our country so divided, and it does not have to be that way. I have friends on both sides of the political spectrum, I love them all equally, for the way they treat me, and the way they make me feel when we are together. If they choose to post their political views on social media, it doesn’t mean I should rush to un-friend them. They are still the same person I love as a friend no matter what their views.

However, people who try to force their views on me, change me, or read into my views some political agenda, I can do without that, and I will try to distance myself from that person. There is an unwritten, unspoken agreement, I will respect your views if it does not affect me in a negative way.

I get the feeling that some people need an affiliation to this or that political/religious/conspiracy belief group in order to feel they belong to something. Maybe it satisfies some primal tribal need, and there is not necessarily harm in it unless they become victims of their own fantasies. 

I remind myself every day that in spite of the vast amount of knowledge I have gathered during my life, there is still far more that I do not know or could ever know. Therefore, I try to keep an open mind, leave room for a new way of thinking.

If I think that I know all there is to know, how can I continue to grow?

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War Without Tears

In the 1970s, just before I left England and moved to the United States, there was a TV reality show called “It’s a knockout.” Towns and cities throughout the UK would put together teams to compete against each other. The games would consist of people dressing up in silly costumes and racing each other over various obstacle courses.

It made for amusing, entertaining viewing with a competitive aspect. I believe the idea started in France, there was a European version called “Jeux sans Frontiers” which translates to “Borderless Games.” In which different countries competed. Singer/songwriter Peter Gabriel wrote a song around the theme, Games Without Frontiers, War Without Tears.”

It occurred to me that the term “War Without Tears” was a concept that could apply to all competitive sports, whether they are in the form of races with a clear individual winner, or team games played on a field or some other marked out area. People compete against each, within a set of agreed rules, and no one gets hurt. At least not intentionally.

Each sport has a governing body that agree on a set rules, and referees or some other officials make sure those rules are enforced during the game. If rules are broken, there are penalties. Just as in real life, the government sets the rules, or laws, and the police and legal system ensure that rules are enforced. If they are broken there are consequences and penalties.

Where the system breaks down, whether in a sport or real life, is when people cheat or break the rules, and the referees turn a blind eye, or show bias towards one side. The governing body then needs to step in and restore order and fairness. Level the playing field, so to speak.

When I got into cycling and cycle racing as a teenager in the early1950s, I joined a cycling club. The club itself had rules, older established members of the club taught me the rules and explained the reasons for them being in place. The rules were there to ensure fairness and everyone’s safety.

There was also something called “Ethics,” or unwritten laws. One did not draft on the back of a group for the entire race, then go to the front and win at the end. This even applied to a club run or training ride. What would be the point? You won the race, but you would be a very unpopular winner.

It was common knowledge at the time that European Professional Cyclists took Amphetamines. Amphetamines were invented in the late 1800s about the time the chain driven bicycle was invented, and with the popularity of Six-Day Races and other extreme endurance events, amphetamines were a natural fit for cycle racing and other professional sports.

However, one has to realize that professional sports are for the entertainment of the spectator, whereas the amateur version of the same sport is solely for the participant. We were only in the sport for our personal satisfaction.  Cheating in an amateur race back in the 1950s would have given zero satisfaction, and one would be ostracized if found out. I never heard of amateur cyclists doping during that era.

Today we live in a “Look at me” society, so there is a win at any cost mentality, even where there is no monetary gain. Ethics have completely gone out of the window not only in the sport of cycling, but in the “Game of life” itself. I am so glad I participated during the “Golden Age of Cycling.” It gave me such joy and satisfaction.

I am too old to ride in cycle races now, but I must of course continue to participate in the game of life. Sadly, it becomes less and less fun each day. I thought we agreed on a set of rules, but no one wants to play that way anymore.

Sometimes during English football (Soccer.) games, where poor decisions were made by a game official. The crowd would start singing, “The Referee is a Bastard.” (To the tune of "For he's a jolly good fellow.")

In recent weeks in the US we have seen riots on the streets in some places. I sometimes get the feeling it is no longer a legitimate form of protest but rather it has become a localized sport, which is why it happens over and over in the same cities. Now we have flash-mobs raiding stores, which is about nothing but personal gain.

The only referee on the streets enforcing the rules is the police, and whether the referee is a bastard or not depends which team you decide to support. In the real game of life, it is no longer “War without Tears,” the war and the tears are all too real.

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