By Todd Neff and Sinisa Milatovic (MALD '00, the both of them)

Professor Alfred P. Rubin has been a fixture at the Fletcher School for the better part of two decades. His expertise and his dedication to teaching have been important in building his reputation as one of the school's finest instructors. However, more than anything else, Professor Rubin's success must be attributed to a single entity: his bicycle. For without his bicycle's years of faithful service, the good professor would never have made it to school in the first place.

But who is this bicycle beneath Al Rubin--and how does it spend its days at Fletcher? On a recent Tuesday (when Professor Rubin happened to be teaching a lengthy seminar), we decided to find out.

Al Rubin's bike begins its day under the Mugar stairwell. "It's a bit grim at times," it tells us, "down here like some sort of troll. But with this flimsy lock, I'd be stolen immediately if left to fend for myself on the bike rack." Al Rubin's bike has apparently not looked in the mirror recently.
		After a post-commute rest, Al Rubin's bike heads for the tennis courts. "I won the Tufts All Inanimate Object Open in 1998," says Al Rubin's bike, "But I lost in the semis this year to the Trios Café microwave oven. It may heat unevenly, but it has a great serve and volley game."
Al Rubin's bike, on its way to visit one of its oldest friends on campus, decides to stop off and check in with the President of Tufts University, Dr. John DiBiaggio. The influence of its primary passenger is apparent: "I want to remind Dr. DiBiaggio that Plato himself tried the idea of appointing 'guardians.' It did not work in 4th century B.C. Syracuse and it will not work now. Who guards the guardians, after all?"
		Al Rubin's bike and Jumbo, the Tufts University mascot, have had many exciting adventures together. One can often see them riding about Somerville in search of a broad expanse of dense greenery for Jumbo to devastate. But what about Jumbo's considerable mass? "He ain't heavy," explains Al Rubin's bike, "He's my giant painted metallic pachyderm-friend."
After a brief spin about campus, Al Rubin's bike checks its mail. "What's this? An entire book in response to my article entitled Law of the Bike Path? I haven't had a comment on that in 20 years!" Al Rubin's bike hides its disappointment remarkably well when told that the book is a misfiled copy of Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone intended for Cindy Restrepo's son.
		Like its owner, Al Rubin's bike thrives in room C206. During an impromptu lecture, it tells its enraptured students, "People talk about introducing a mandatory international helmet law. But what is The Law? Is it Introventricular law? Communicable law? Retrosplicative law? Moreover, who is going to pay for all these helmets? Whose kids are going to die? And if you cut down all the trees, what will you do if the wind begins to blow?" It finishes its diatribe with a flourish of haiku.
Following its inspiring lecture, Al Rubin's bike heads to the seventh floor of Cabot for a bit of fresh air and a panoramic view of greater Boston.
		Struck by a sudden suspicion that Sir Hersch had it wrong after all, Al Rubin's bike spends some time in the Ginn Library's Alden Reading Room to catch up with an easy-reading favorite, The Law of the Sea. "To disprove Lauterpacht--that footnote-fudging rascal--one must keep checking the primary sources."

Read the related story: Rubin and his Bicycle Profiled

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