Another Beautiful Day, Another (Good) Bike Lane

 Yesterday’s weather was much like Thursday’s, just a couple of degrees cooler. So, of course, I hopped on one of my bikes—La-Vande, my King of Mercia—and pedaled into the wind.

Once again, I followed the Bruckner bike lane. I had to wiggle around a couple of trucks and construction cranes that, apparently, were being used to do some maintenance on the Bruckner Expressway.  I didn’t begrudge the workers:  I was such a great mood from riding on such a beautiful day, and I didn’t want it to be spoiled by a highway falling on me!

Anyway, I rode to—where else?—Greenwich, Connecticut. Along the way, I made another, longer, detour. This one was intentional, though:  I followed another bike lane I hadn’t previously ridden.  Starting at Old Post Road in Rye, it’s a single ribbon of asphalt (well-paved!) that parallels, and is separated from, the Playland Parkway to the Rye Playland, an old-school amusement park that somehow fends off threats from much larger and flashier amusement parks. 

The lane reminded me of some that I’ve ridden in Europe: It followed a significant roadway and,‘while peaceful and even somewhat scenic, is actually useful in getting from one place to another.

The detour added a couple of miles to my ride.  Of course I didn’t mind: I had no deadline and the weather seemed to get even better.

Today is supposed to be as nice, but a few degrees warmer. After I finish my coffee, yogurt and croissant, I’ll be on my way—to where, I haven’t decided.

No Destination, But A Memory

Yesterday was a no-particular-destination ride. The morning sky was so clear and bright I could have believed that the previous night’s “Blue Super Moon” was helping the sun. The temperature—around 19c (66F) felt more like an early Fall than late Summer. The north wind rustled leaves and spilled cool waves against my skin.

Though I had particular place I intended to ride, I knew I wanted to pedal into that wind so that, depending on my route, it would blow at my back on my way back.

So my ramble took me up and down the hills, and past estates—some inhabited, others turned into museums, libraries and other monuments and institutions. That meant going first through the Bronx—and up the new Bruckner bike lane I rode on Sunday.

As I entered the lane from 138th Street, I had a flashback that caused me to stop at one of the pillars holding the highway above me.

The scene I recollected may have happened at that post. If not, it took place at one nearby. Whichever it was, realizing that the memory was from about thirty years ago made me feel, for a moment, old.  But I’m still in midlife. Really!

I was riding with some of my old mountain biking buddies. We all lived in Brooklyn and rode trails in nearby parks or took trains or rides with whoever could drive to places further from the city.

That day, if I recall correctly, we were pedaling home from Van Cortlandt Park. We prided ourselves on not having to stop for a traffic light—until that moment. 

As we waited, I saw a boy who looked about 12 or 13 years old facing the post, his hands cupped in front of his crotch. I didn’t judge him: After all, countless men and boys (and I, once upon a time) took care of their needs in a similar way when they (we) couldn’t find a toilet.

Except that he wasn’t taking care of that kind of business. I couldn’t help but to notice something longer and darker than the “jewels” a boy of that age would’ve had. And it was darker, and made of something that wasn’t human flesh.

He took one hand off it, reached into his pocket and brought his hand to his crotch.

The light changed. As we pedaled down the next block, I turned to my riding buddies. “Did you see what I saw?”

I didn’t need to ask. They nodded. “Yeah, he was loadin’ his gun,” Ray—“Crazy Ray” to us—deadpanned.

As I continued yesterday’s ride, I couldn’t help but to think about that boy.  Did he live to see a day like yesterday?  If he’s still around, he’d be even older than I was then.  Did he make it to midlife?