Beauty Among The Ruins

OK, boys and girls, I'm going to give you one more kind-of-sad (or, at least, melancholy) posting.  Then I'll try to stick to happy topics, as this is the holiday season.

Anyway, six weeks after Hurricane Sandy, it seems that I see more and more of its aftermath everywhere I turn--especially when I get on a bike.  Here is what used to be nicknamed "Barretto Beach":

This postage stamp-sized piece of Barretto Point Park has sunbathers and picknickers on it when the weather is warm, and people fishing from it at other times.  It's usually full of sand and is clear of rocks and other debris, if not litter.  And, before the storm, this plot was about twice the size it is now.

It is closed off.  So is the pier at the other end of the park, and the barge that houses a swimming pool.  As much devastation as I saw, I was surprised, frankly, not to see more.  

Here is another part of the park that was eroded:

I guess the '60's Schwinn Collegiate didn't want me to look at it for too long.  You never know what kind of effect such things can have on a young sensibility like mine, you know.

At least Randall's Island, through which I ride to get to Barretto, didn't seem quite as badly damaged--or, at least, more of it has been fixed up.  Here is a shot of one of the island's native plant gardens:

I found the color change on this tree particularly interesting:

Usually, I assume that trees with needles rather than leaves are evergreens.  Apparently, this is some sort of deciduous tree with needles.  Whatever it is, I love the effect of its color change.

Well...I guess this wasn't such a depressing post after all!

Early-Winter Blues

Coney Island Boardwalk in early winer.  From Kinetic Carnival

Since Hurricane Sandy, I've ridden to a boardwalk that has been completely washed away and another that has been ripped apart in some sections and collapsed in others.  While others have hopes, however unrealistic, that their beloved seaside promenades (or some reasonable replica thereof) will be ready for next summer, I mourn the loss of them right now.  I know I won't be able to ride them this winter; I am not entirely sure they'll be ready for next fall or winter.

Although I occasionally ride on a boardwalk when the weather is warm and the sun is high, I much prefer them when the sun is lower in the horizon (or when it's overcast) and a chill, or even pure-and-simple cold, blows in off the ocean.  Sometimes I take such rides with others; more often, I do them in solitude.  In fact, sometimes solitude is the very reason I take such rides:  During such rides, thoughts seem to come as clear as the winter sky and  feelings as intense, and even sharp, as the crisp salty air.

So, while others fear what they might lose to Sandy next year; I am mourning the rides I can't do now and won't be able to do during the coming weeks and months.  On the other hand, I count my blessings:  Other people have lost far more to the storm.  Some are my students, and I have met others.  At least I still have some things to offer them, even if they refuse.  And I still have hope for those winter boardwalk rides, if not this season.

Vera Helps Sandy's Victims

OK, so I didn't load Vera like this:

From Uphaa

But I did carry a good bit more than I usually take on my daily commutes.  I took a cell phone photo and accidentally deleted it!

I carried an old Compaq computer, which I strapped to my new Civia Mission rack.  On top of that, I strapped a yoga-type bag filled with half a dozen cans of tuna, two boxes of pasta, a box of raisins and some gloves, scarves, skull and watch caps and head bands.

And I attached one of my Carradice Barley bags to my saddle.  I didn't strap the bottom to the seat post. Rather, I let the bag rest horizontally on top of the stuff I'd lashed to the rack.

And, on the front, I carried a small parcel, which I'd intended to mail on the way but didn't until after my last class had ended.

So why did I carry so much?  At the college where I work, there's been a collection for victims of Superstorm Sandy.  In such emergencies, non-perishable foods are always in demand.  And, when the weather turns colder, people need warm clothes and accessories.

Finally, someone had put out a call for older laptop computers for students who'd been affected by the storm.  The tech support people at the college are going to update them with contemporary operating systems.  

I know, I could have taken the train or bus.  But I wanted to ride my bike, well, just because I could.  It's nice to know that Vera can handle it so well.

A Brief Post-Storm Ride

I'm still not feeling that great today.  But I did have the day off from classes, so I rested.  When I got tired of that, I took a late bike ride.

Along the way, in Ozone Park, I made this interesting find:

I'm trying to find more information about the rather attractive but otherwise unremarkable building:

At least it seems to have weathered Superstorm Sandy and last week's Nor'easter.  The same cannot be said for a house I saw about three miles down the road:

Like many houses in Howard Beach and Lindenwood, it incurred more damage on the inside than out.  The exteriors of most of those houses didn't seem much changed by the wind and rain; it probably would've been difficult to tell that a storm had passed were it not for the bags and piles of debris in front of them.

For once, I wouldn't have complained if someone were blocking the bike lane!  I was grateful, though, that no one was.

At least I didn't have to contend with anything like this:

Even if the tree were still sounding, the scene would have looked foreboding.  Lately, the overcast skies, which I often welcome, seem that way.

Jamaica Bay and the ocean are just beyond those bare trees and reeds.

After Sandy: Too Sick To Ride

The storms have passed.  Most of today was overcast and rather chilly. I don't mind either.  At least the wind and rain are gone, for now.

So, I thought, I'd finally get out for a good long (or longish) ride this weekend.  And I would do something charitable.

Well, it didn't happen today.  I started to feel aches and congestion earlier this week.  On Thursday, one of my classes was observed, and I could just barely get through it. I rested yesterday but still felt tired and congested today.  And my cough has gotten more persistent.

I felt so drained that I didn't even volunteer to help storm victims in the Rockaways, as I'd planned on spending at least some time this weekend.  

Of course, this isn't the first time I haven't felt well enough to ride.  It's also not the first time I had to cancel or postpone plans to be of service to the community.  But it might be the first time both happened.  So, as best as I can recall, this is the first time I have felt both cheated and guilty.  It sounds like a weird combination, I know.  But the last couple of weeks have not been ordinary.  

Well, at least I know that even at my age, there is still plenty of time left for bike rides and service to others.

Deja Vu, All Over Again

As Yogi Berra once said, "It's deja vu all over again."

I could have said the same thing the other evening when I came to the Brooklyn side of the Manhattan and Brooklyn Bridges.  Motorized traffic had all but come to a standstill, and I could feel (and hear) the mounting tensions.  The bicycle and pedestrian lanes were better, if only in comparison. 

I suppose that the near-jamming of two-wheeled and two-soled traffic is a good sign:  At least some people realize that cycling (and walking) can be viable options for them.  Plus, cyclists and pedestrians seem to have more patience than motorists.

In witnessing the throngs of cyclists and pedestrians, I had a flashback:

Some say that the eleven-day New York City Transit Strike of 1980 was the first time since the turn of the century when large numbers of people rode bikes or walked to work.  Speaking anecdotally, I can say that is probably true:  Up to that time, I couldn't recall seeing so many people getting to their jobs or going to shop, or even to the movies or theatre, under their own power.  I was in my final semester at Rutgers and came into the city three times during that strike.  The second time, I brought my bike on the train into the city and the third time, I took the 25-mile ride in.

The strike is also said to have initiated the practice of wearing sneakers on the way to work and changing into heels or other dress shoes upon arriving.  I don't detect any sartorial statements emerging from the disruptions of mass transit caused by Hurricane Sandy.  However, I think--or, at least, hope--that some people who've begun riding or walking to work will continue to do so after full service is restored on the subways and buses.  It seems that many people who pedaled or hoofed it to work during the 1980 strike abandoned those habits once the trains and buses started to roll again.

I hope not to have deja vu about that!

When The Streets Go Dark

Yesterday, I rode a bit.  Today, a little more.  

Today's travels took me to DUMBO, for no particular reason.  

Over the years, I've seen the area turn from an old warehouse and manufacturing district that was abandoned after sundown to a neighborhood where bookstores, cafes, boutiques and pet-accessory shops (It seems that everyone there has a dog!) line cobblestoned streets.

It sounds as charming as it is.  But I learned something about its atmosphere early this evening. Even with the lamps and candles glowing from windows, and the streetlights and the lights on the bridge, much of the ambient illumination actually comes from downtown Manhattan, less than a mile across the East River from the Fulton Landing.

The dark area to the left is downtown Manhattan--specifically, the area around Wall Street and the South Street Seaport.

This evening's ride was the first I've taken in that area for which I think more than one Knog Frog light (or a bigger, more powerful lamp) would have been handy.