Showing posts with label pleasant Sunday ride. Show all posts
Showing posts with label pleasant Sunday ride. Show all posts

30 July 2018

To The Reservoir

You come back from a trip like none you took before.  You wish you were still on it.  So what do you do?

Well, heading back to Cambodia and Laos right now isn't very feasible, at least not at this moment.  I am determined, however, to return.

So what to do in the meantime?  Well, I can take other shorter, less exotic journeys.  That's an especially good strategy when you go to someplace that, though near, you've never visited before.




That's what I did yesterday, with Bill and his girlfriend Cindy.  We went to Croton Gorge Park, about 75 kilometers from my apartment.  




Now, you don't go to a place like that for cultural experiences,  or exotic architecture or natural scenery.  You go for the same reason city folk like us were there on a nearly-perfect summer day:  It's a pleasant way to spend a weekend day.



From the main parking lot, you can ride a dirt-and-gravel trail up the hill to the aqueduct.  A lot of people think you "need" a mountain bike, but I had no trouble with it while pedaling Arielle, my Mercian Audax, shod with 700 X 28C Continental Gatorskin tires.  Bill didn't have any problem, either, on his Trek road bike.  Cindy rode a Fuji Sagres with Pasela 700 X 28 tires; she slowed down in a couple of spots only because of her inexperience in riding in such conditions.



At the aqueduct, there is a beautiful road--which, at times, turns into a wide hard-packed trail--that more or less follows the shoreline of the "lake".  Part of the road has "lake" in its name; indeed, many people refer to the reservoir as a lake because it's easy to forget that it's a manmade body of water.

The "falls" under the aqueduct were designed to stream the water, by gravity, to Manhattan.  Built between 1837 and 1842, it's believed to be the first municipal water system of its type in the United States.  At that time, most New Yorkers got their water from wells and springs, almost all of which have been filled in.  (Chances are, if a New York street name has "Brook", "River" or some other body of water in its name, it probably was just that.)  By the time the Croton system was being built, most of those water sources were already tainted, and people made the water palatable--if not safe--by adding spirits to it. (An early emphasis of the temperance movement was the provision of fresh water to the poor.) Not surprisingly, New York had rates of cholera and other water-borne diseases on par with those of places like Bombay (Mumbai).



Anyway, a short ride along New York State Road 129 took us to something called the North Country Trail, of which we rode part.  We weren't surprised to see many other cyclists, as well as hikers, along the way.  

We've made plans to go back.  I'd really like to ride the area in the fall.  


(Bill took the photos of me and Cindy; I took the others.)

22 May 2017

Like A Football

Yesterday, while riding, I started to feel like a football.  I am not complaining; I am merely relating a sensation.



It seems that everywhere I turned, I was riding between "goalposts".  A stretch of the Rockaway Boardwalk has been closed for the past few months:  It was one of the last sections in which the boards hadn't been replaced by the concrete mixture from which the rest of the new "boardwalk" has been rebuilt.  

The section in question, which begins at Beach 39th Street and goes eastward, looked as if it were finished.  But, perhaps, the folks in charge couldn't decide whether or not it was, and whether or not to re-open that section.  So the fence that had closed it off was open part of the way:  It seemed as if someone had cut the chicken-wire mesh in the middle, rolled it up on each side for about half of its width, and propped it with poles of some kind. 

Then, just after I exited the boardwalk near the bridge to Atlantic Beach, I rode between a series of poles that looked like they'd been set up for a tent or awning of some sort.  Perhaps I'd missed a street fair or bazaar.  Or, maybe some kind of construction had just finished or would soon start.

Mind you, those poles didn't impede my ride along a quiet side-street in the town.  Nor did the flagpoles I rode between to steer my way off a congested street in Long Beach.  Actually, those poles bookended the entrance to a private road where I probably wasn't allowed to ride!

I didn't take any photos of my "goals", as I didn't think anything of them until I got to Long Beach and saw this:




Hmm...Was that guy in the middle boat playing "football"?

At least the ride was pleasant:  Sunny and a bit chilly for this time of year.  I rode into a pretty stiff wind from my place down to Rockaway Beach, and for a stretch from Long Beach to Point Lookout.  I was riding Tosca, my fixed-gear Mercian, and wishing that I'd put my 18 tooth cog on the rear instead of the 17 I was riding (with a 47 tooth chainring).   Of course, on my way back, I had no such wish. Well, for a moment or two, I wished I was riding my 16 tooth!  At least Tosca felt nimble, as she always does, in all of those conditions.

And I didn't feel like a football.