Bicicleta roubada XIX


"Infelizmente, a minha bicicleta foi roubada do Bike Park do Rock in Rio hoje à noite. Infelizmente, enganaram as minhas colegas voluntárias. Felizmente, ninguém se magoou e amanhã irei apresentar queixa na polícia. Mas não queria deixar de partilhar convosco esta fotografia. Se a virem por algum lado avisem-me... PS: O sinal mais distintivo neste momento é que a forquilha/garfo está danificado e a precisar de substituição... E os punhos estão todos esfolados".

Bicicleta roubada XVIII



"Depois da bicicleta da XXXX ter sido roubada há umas semanas, agora foi a vez da minha. É uma PS50 Boomerang, exactamente o mesmo modelo que a da XXXX e foi roubada ontem à tarde na Rua dos Remolares, (em frente ao Irish Pub, junto ao Cais do Sodré - uma rua bastante movimentada), tendo sido rebentados os 2 cadeados que a prendiam. Tal como foi dito na publicação da Ana, esta é uma bicicleta pouco comum nas ruas de Lisboa (uma dobrável de roda 24), por isso envio a foto original que tirei do site do el corte inglés e outras duas fotos que tirei quando estava a tentar ajudar a Ana a encontrar os números de série há umas semanas. A minha bicicleta não tem assim nada que a caracterize porque até estava minimamente bem conservada, ainda que não tenha campainha e tenha um raspão no guarda-lama frontal. 
Portanto, só para o caso de virem uma bicicleta destas a passear por Lisboa, estejam atentos por favor! Obrigada!"



Bicicleta roubada XVII

""ROUBO DE BICICLETA” 
Por: Fernando Baptista de Oliveira
Caros amigos e companheiros, hoje dia 20 de Junho, cerca das 09:00 horas da manhã, foi-me roubada a minha bicicleta.
Estava amarrada a um sinal de trânsito, na Av. Afonso III, junto ao Posto Médico.
Já participei à PSP.
Em anexo uma foto para uma melhor identificação.
A bicicleta é MASIL, de cor azul, com guiador de passeio, guarda-lamas e suporte traseiro.
Se por acaso a virem (????????????) agradeço, participem às autoridades e a mim, ou Núcleo Cicloturismo de Alvalade.
Muito obrigado"


The slow death of purposeless walking


"A number of recent books have lauded the connection between walking - just for its own sake - and thinking. But are people losing their love of the purposeless walk?
Walking is a luxury in the West. Very few people, particularly in cities, are obliged to do much of it at all. Cars, bicycles, buses, trams, and trains all beckon.
Instead, walking for any distance is usually a planned leisure activity. Or a health aid. Something to help people lose weight. Or keep their fitness. But there's something else people get from choosing to walk. A place to think.
Wordsworth was a walker. His work is inextricably bound up with tramping in the Lake District. Drinking in the stark beauty. Getting lost in his thoughts.
Charles Dickens was a walker. He could easily rack up 20 miles, often at night. You can almost smell London's atmosphere in his prose. Virginia Woolf walked for inspiration. Shewalked out from her home at Rodmell in the South Downs. She wandered through London's parks.
Henry David Thoreau, who was both author and naturalist, walked and walked and walked. But even he couldn't match the feat of someone like Constantin Brancusi, the sculptor who walked much of the way between his home village in Romania and Paris. Or indeed Patrick Leigh Fermor, whose walk from the Hook of Holland to Istanbul at the age of 18 inspired several volumes of travel writing. George Orwell, Thomas De Quincey, Nassim Nicholas Taleb, Friedrich Nietzsche, Bruce Chatwin, WG Sebald and Vladimir Nabokov are just some of the others who have written about it.
From recent decades, the environmentalist and writer John Francis has been one of the truly epic walkers. Francis was inspired by witnessing an oil tanker accident in San Francisco Bay to eschew motor vehicles for 22 years. Instead he walked. And thought. He was aided by a parallel pledge not to speak which lasted 17 years.
Walking and texting in London
But you don't have to be an author to see the value of walking. A particular kind of walking. Not the distance between porch and corner shop. But a more aimless pursuit.
In the UK, May is National Walking Month. And a new book, A Philosophy of Walking by Prof Frederic Gros, is currently the object of much discussion. Only last week, a study from Stanford Universityshowed that even walking on a treadmill improved creative thinking.

Across the West, people are still choosing to walk. Nearly every journey in the UK involves a little walking, and nearly a quarter of all journeys are made entirely on foot, according to one survey. But the same study found that a mere 17% of trips were "just to walk". And that included dog-walking.
It is that "just to walk" category that is so beloved of creative thinkers.
"There is something about the pace of walking and the pace of thinking that goes together. Walking requires a certain amount of attention but it leaves great parts of the time open to thinking. I do believe once you get the blood flowing through the brain it does start working more creatively," says Geoff Nicholson, author of The Lost Art of Walking.
"Your senses are sharpened. As a writer, I also use it as a form of problem solving. I'm far more likely to find a solution by going for a walk than sitting at my desk and 'thinking'."
Nicholson lives in Los Angeles, a city that is notoriously car-focused. There are other cities around the world that can be positively baffling to the evening stroller. Take Kuala Lumpur, the Malaysian capital. Anyone planning to walk even between two close points should prepare to be patient. Pavements mysteriously end. Busy roads need to be traversed without the aid of crossings. The act of choosing to walk can provoke bafflement from the residents.

"A lot of places, if you walk you feel you are doing something self-consciously. Walking becomes a radical act," says Merlin Coverley, author of The Art of Wandering: The Writer as Walker.
But even in car-focused cities there are fruits for those who choose to ramble. "I do most of my walking in the city - in LA where things are spread out," says Nicholson. "There is a lot to look at. It's urban exploration. I'm always looking at strange alleyways and little corners."
Nicholson, a novelist, calls this "observational" walking. But his other category of walking is left completely blank. It is waiting to be filled with random inspiration.
Walking in LA
Not everybody is prepared to wait. There are many people who regard walking from place to place as "dead time" that they resent losing, in a busy schedule where work and commuting takes them away from home, family and other pleasures. It is viewed as "an empty space that needs to be filled up", says Rebecca Solnit, author of Wanderlust: A History of Walking.
Many now walk and text at the same time. There's been an increase in injuries to pedestrians in the US attributed to this. One study suggested texting even changed the manner in which people walked.
It's not just texting. This is the era of the "smartphone map zombie" - people who only take occasional glances away from an electronic routefinder to avoid stepping in anything or being hit by a car.
"You see people who don't get from point A to point B without looking at their phones," says Solnit. "People used to get to know the lay of the land."
People should go out and walk free of distractions, says Nicholson. "I do think there is something about walking mindfully. To actually be there and be in the moment and concentrate on what you are doing."

And this means no music, no podcasts, noaudiobooks. It might also mean going outalone.
CS Lewis thought that even talking could spoil the walk. "The only friend to walk with is one who so exactly shares your taste for each mood of the countryside that a glance, a halt, or at most a nudge, is enough to assure us that the pleasure is shared."
The way people in the West have started to look down on walking is detectable in the language. "When people say something is pedestrian they mean flat, limited in scope," says Solnit.
Boil down the books on walking and you're left with some key tips:
  • Walk further and with no fixed route
  • Stop texting and mapping
  • Don't soundtrack your walks
  • Go alone
  • Find walkable places
  • Walk mindfully
Then you may get the rewards. "Being out on your own, being free and anonymous, you discover the people around you," says Solnit.



Famous walkers 1

Walden Woods
"As a single footstep will not make a path on the earth, so a single thought will not make a pathway in the mind. To make a deep physical path, we walk again and again. To make a deep mental path, we must think over and over the kind of thoughts we wish to dominate our lives."


Famous walkers 2

man walking on cobblestones
"Some years ago, a temporary inability to sleep, referable to a distressing impression, caused me to walk about the streets all night, for a series of several nights. The disorder might have taken a long time to conquer, if it had been faintly experimented on in bed; but, it was soon defeated by the brisk treatment of getting up directly after lying down, and going out, and coming home tired at sunrise."


Famous walkers 3

woman walking in park at night
"... When the desire comes upon us to go street rambling... getting up we say: "Really I must buy a pencil," as if under cover of this excuse we could indulge safely in the greatest pleasure of town life in winter -rambling the streets of London."


Physicists who liked walking

  • Werner Heisenberg liked to walk
  • The full significance of Heisenberg's uncertainty principle only struck British physicist Paul Diracwhen the latter was out for a long walk
  • Otto Frisch and Lise Meitner realised the key principle behind atomic weapons on a walk in the snow. Technically, Frisch was not walking but on skis at the time

The flaneur

  • Oxford English Dictionary defines as: "A lounger or saunterer, an idle 'man about town'"
  • Term originated in 19th Century France
  • Poet Charles Baudelaire regarded as archetype".

Fonte e imagens: http://www.bbc.com/news/magazine-27186709

The Best Plants To Detox The Air In Your Home

"Forget the old lady who lived in a shoe. I’m the young lady who lives in a green womb. As I sit and type this, I’m relaxing in my hammock, staring out at the broad leaves of my fig, backlit by a fading northern light and at least six dozen philodendrons and Pothos cascading down from my highest shelves. 

I’ve seemed to manage to bring nature indoors, in some artificial way. Tama Matsuoka, a pro forager and recent guest on my Conversations series, would say they are all “prisoners of war” — trapped in their tiny pots. History would reveal to us that this is perhaps what nature intended. The Egyptians brought plants indoors as early as 3rd Century BC. Paleoethnobotanists have also found evidence that plants were grown indoors over 2000 years ago. And the Hanging Gardens of Babylon — whether real or fictional — reveal that potted plants were indeed desirable as part of a building's architecture. 

If anything, we’ve made ourselves prisoners, sitting between four walls anywhere from 15 to 20 hours per day. Think about it: The average city dweller spends up to 90 percent of her time indoors. It’s no wonder why some of us formerly rural folk have decided to bring some green indoors. 

There are many benefits to having plants in our home and office environments. Anecdotally, it both elevates my mood and calms me. Perhaps plant care may feel like a quotidian chore to some people, but the act of watering and trimming plants, if done at the end of a day, is very meditative. Additionally, evapotranspiration from leaves normally raises the humidity in a room by 5-10%, which is particularly good for when air is dry. 

Depending on species, plants can act as effective botanical air-purification systems. The higher the transpiration rates, the higher the convection currents, which ultimately has a pulling effect on airborne toxins. During the 1980s, NASA found that some species of plants can eliminate up to 87% of toxins in the air, including formaldehyde, benzene, toluene, trichloroethylene, carbon monoxide, and even dust. These volatile organic contaminants (VOCs) are off-gassed in homes from paint, varnishes, cleaning solutions, insulations, wood, furniture, carpeting and other products. NASA concluded that 15 to 18 mature air-filtering plants in a house with an area of about 160 square meters could maintain the level of emissions in accordance with our environmental standards. 

Since that time, multiple studies with varying methods have been conducted. From what I’ve seen from the literature, the following thirty species have been shown to be effective biological air filters:
  • Bamboo Palm (Chamadorea elegans or C. erumpens)
  • Boston Fern (Nephrolepis exaltata)
  • Dwarf date palm (Phoenix roebelini)
  • English ivy (Hedera helix)
  • Florist’s mum (Chrysanthemum morifolium)
  • Gerbera daisy (Gerbera jamesonii)
  • Kimberly queen fern (Nephrolepis obliterrata)
  • Rubber plant (Ficus elastic)
  • Areca palm (Dypsis lutescens)
  • Corn plant (Dracaena fragrans)
  • Janet Craig (Dracaena deremensisI)
  • Peace lily (Spathiphyllum varieties
  • Schefflera (Brassaia actinophylla)
  • Weeping fig (Ficus benjamina)
  • Dendrobium orchid (Dendrobium sp.)
  • Dumbcane (Dieffenbachia sp.)
  • Long leaf fig (Ficus binnendijkii)
  • King of Hearts (Homalomena wallisii)
  • Lady Palm (Rhapis excelsa)
  • Lily turk (Liriope muscari)
  • Spider Plant (Clopophytium comosum)
  • Philodendron (Philodendron sp.)
  • Dragon tree (Dracena marginata)
  • Chinese evergreen (Aglaonema modestum)
  • Flamingo lily (Anthurium andreanum)
  • Areca palm (Dypsis lutescens)
  • Azalea (Azalea sp.)
  • Pothos (Epipremnum aureum)
  • Snake plant (Sansevieria trifasciata)
  • Cast iron plant (Aspidistra sp.)
Click here to view how to build a vertical garden with many of the plants above."

On the Road

The author, with her bicycle
After my 6-year-old son died, I was determined to grieve on my own terms. So I sold all my belongings and set off on my bicycle
"My son, Vasu died of cancer on August 19, 2009. He was 6 years old.
I was aware before he died what his death could do to me. Vasu got sick in the fall of 2004, and two months later my mom was also diagnosed with cancer. She died a month after he went into remission.
V and Snowman
Vasu, with a snowman
After Mom’s death, I only left the house to go to the grocery store, Vasu’s preschool, and the children’s hospital for his check-ups. Chance encounters with people I knew left me breathless with panic and desperate to return home. People explained that “the first year is the worst” and that I would “heal with time,” but that made no sense to me. Grief was a road I was forced onto, a place in-between living and dying. More than two years after Mom died I was still traveling the same road.
Then in a single day everything changed.
I was sitting in the kitchen with my dad. He explained that two years on he still couldn’t live without Mom. He wanted to follow her. He wanted to be dead.
“I know this sounds strange,” I replied, “but I think I already am.”
For the rest of the day I played with Vasu and saw him through the eyes of someone who had died, and realized I no longer wanted to be dead. In that moment I stepped off the road of grief. I started to smile and even laugh. I didn’t have to pretend to be happy — I was happy.
Two months later, the doctors found metastasized tumors throughout Vasu’s body. He survived the nine-month treatment, but would never go into remission again.
I knew that if I could lose years to sorrow after Mom’s death, the death of my only child could steal away my life. As Vasu was dying, nearly everyone confirmed this. “What you are going through is the worst thing a mother could possibly experience,” they said. But I didn’t want to believe them. I wanted something different. I didn’t want to grieve for the rest of my life.
For Vasu’s memorial we invited the community to build a giant sandcastle on his favorite beach. It was a fortress when finished; 20 feet long with a deep moat. Then, because Vasu would have wanted it that way, we asked all of his friends to jump on it.
Afterwards, I said goodbye to everyone I knew, including Vasu’s daddy. We had shared 13 years together, 6 of them raising our child. But we had nothing left to offer each other except tears and pain. I sold everything I owned except an old mountain bike and camping gear, and on October 1 I began cycling the Pacific Coast Bike Route.
I quickly became comfortable with the challenges of the road: the shattered glass, the narrow shoulders, and the bellow of air brakes and blast of air in the wake of tractor-trailers. My body adapted to my new life much faster than my grief did. My legs bulged with new muscle after barely two weeks, and when I removed the 45 pounds of gear draped over the wheels my bicycle became ridiculously light.I cycled every other day on the narrow shoulder of Highway 101. I was a refugee, fleeing the sorrow that pursued me. At the end of every day I sat beside the ocean. It was large enough to hold the grief that overwhelmed me — and the fierce fall winds and blistering sand cleansed my heart for a while.
But whenever I thought about Vasu, no matter what memory I searched for, it was always usurped by his last breaths; his still, cold face. I became so accustomed to the images of his last moments that I no longer hid my tears and sobbing breaths when strangers walked past me on the shore. The wilderness gave me privacy that friends and family would have taken away. The ocean did not expect me to be strong or heroic. It didn’t even need me to survive. I was allowed to be a grieving mother, and could take my time to find the end of the road.
I cycled for two months, and along the way I graduated from refugee to pilgrim.
It’s been more than four years since I ended my ride down the coast. The memories of Vasu’s death began to fade soon after I turned back and headed home. I was free to remember him happy. I also brought back with me a desire to create a new language for grief — one that acknowledges that there is no roadmap through loss, and that everyone’s road is unique.
Elea Acheson began writing about grief a few weeks after her bicycle ride ended. She is looking for a publisher for her completed memoir. She continues her pilgrimage through grief at eleaacheson.com  and facebook.com/EleadariAcheson."

Fonte e imagem: http://modernloss.com/road/

Bicicleta roubada XVI


"Ontem como habitual deixei a minha bicla no parque de bicicletas junto à entrada do metro na P. Espanha. Deixei às 07h30 e às 14h40 como chovia vim para casa e deixei a bicla para mais tarde. Acabou por passar lá a noite e hoje passei de carro às 10h30 e ainda lá estava, pensei passar mais tarde para a trazer às 12h30 voltei com a minha mulher. A bicla já não estava lá."