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Rockaway Boardwalk has been closed for the past few months: It was one of the last sections in which the boards hadn't been replaced by the concrete mixture from which the rest of the new "boardwalk" has been rebuilt.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.
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Rockaway Boardwalk has been closed for the past few months: It was one of the last sections in which the boards hadn't been replaced by the concrete mixture from which the rest of the new "boardwalk" has been rebuilt.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.
The Boardwalk is something we have heard of in Britain but have little idea just how large it was before theSandy storm. I imagine riding the boards felt quite different to riding concrete...
ReplyDeletePowers that be love placing poles , permanent or otherwise, in the most inconvenient places and have clearly never ridden a bicycle through a narrow space delineated by them.
Coline--Part of the fun of riding on a real boardwalk (instead of a concrete path where a boardwalk used to be) is hearing the clackety-clack under your wheels.
ReplyDelete