After doing the work I needed to do, I took a ride. Since I wanted to head out of the city, even if for a little bit, I cycled north and followed, coincidentally or not, part of my normal commute.
Well, more or less. I pedaled up Walnut Avenue, which parallels Willow Avenue, the street with the bike lane I normally ride up to 138th Street. I chose Walnut because it goes all the way to 141st, where I can make the turn underneath the Bruckner Expressway and pick up Southern Boulevard.
Both Avenues lace the heart of the Port Morris industrial district in the Bronx. Normally, when I ride along Willow--even as early as 6 am--I see trucks and vans pulling in and out of the factories, warehouses and luncheonettes. Walnut also teems with activity--on a normal day, that is.
No day during the past two weeks or so has been "normal." Of course, that's nice for cyclists: The scene I rolled through looked more an early hour of Sunday morning than just after noon on a weekday.
I must say, though, that the few people I saw were friendly: They waved and smiled. More important, I detected a kind of recognition--like what I sense from people I see by the ocean in the middle of winter. Just behind me, on Randall's Island, cherry blossoms were pulsing their pink flowers and purple, blue and white hyacinths colored plots fenced in the fields and perfumed the air.
All of that color, and those scents, felt like beautiful acts of defiance in a world forced into silence. My bike ride felt something like that, though I did it for my own pleasure--and health, mental as well as physical.
Well, more or less. I pedaled up Walnut Avenue, which parallels Willow Avenue, the street with the bike lane I normally ride up to 138th Street. I chose Walnut because it goes all the way to 141st, where I can make the turn underneath the Bruckner Expressway and pick up Southern Boulevard.
Both Avenues lace the heart of the Port Morris industrial district in the Bronx. Normally, when I ride along Willow--even as early as 6 am--I see trucks and vans pulling in and out of the factories, warehouses and luncheonettes. Walnut also teems with activity--on a normal day, that is.
No day during the past two weeks or so has been "normal." Of course, that's nice for cyclists: The scene I rolled through looked more an early hour of Sunday morning than just after noon on a weekday.
I must say, though, that the few people I saw were friendly: They waved and smiled. More important, I detected a kind of recognition--like what I sense from people I see by the ocean in the middle of winter. Just behind me, on Randall's Island, cherry blossoms were pulsing their pink flowers and purple, blue and white hyacinths colored plots fenced in the fields and perfumed the air.
All of that color, and those scents, felt like beautiful acts of defiance in a world forced into silence. My bike ride felt something like that, though I did it for my own pleasure--and health, mental as well as physical.
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