A Solitary, But Not Lonely, Ride

 Yesterday seemed tropical, at least in comparison to the weather we had for Christmas weekend.  The temperature reached 45F (8C) in the middle of my ride and the sun shimmered behind a scrim of cirrus clouds.  Best of all, a very light wind blew at my back for the part of the return leg of my ride--on La-Vande, my Mercian King of Mercia.

Given that it was so mild for this time of year--and in comparison to recent conditions--I was surprised to see this:

I would've expected to see other cyclists, dog-walkers or simply walkers along the Rockaway boardwalk.  I mean, most people spent the past few days indoors and people who live by the beach year-round seem to be a bit hardier than most.  But I had that boardwalk to myself.  Then, I did a solo crossing of the Atlantic Beach Bridge. That's right:  Not a single vehicle or pedestrian--or seagull!--was present when I crossed it.  

What made having the boardwalk and bridge to myself even more surprising was that it was on a weekday--a Thursday.  Then again, it's a weekday of the "week when nothing happens"---between Christmas and New Year's Day.  I know that schools are closed so, perhaps, parents have stayed home with their kids--or have gone away.

The Long Beach boardwalk was hardly less solitary:  Only a couple of other cyclists, and a few strollers, graced it.  Finally, at Point Lookout, a couple who chanced greeted me with a shy, furtive, "Hello," as if they were as surprised to see me as I was to see them.  

I opened a packet of Kar's Trail Mix (the holiday version, with the green and red cocoa candies), and emptied about a quarter of it into my mouth.  It was like rocket fuel for the ride back--as if  I needed it!  

The ride back was a little less solitary, but not lonely.  I must admit, I enjoyed having the boardwalk, and much of the roadway, to myself on a weekday. 

A Ride Into Winter

I saw winter coming in this weekend.

I think I rode into it the other day.

That is not a complaint.  In fact, I enjoyed my ride to Point Lookout because there wasn't much traffic, even on the main thoroughfares.  And the boardwalks along the Rockaways and Long Beach were all but deserted.  Ironically, there were more surfers than dog-walkers or strolling couples.

Temperatures dropped steadily from Thursday onward.  On Saturday, the light and air changed, within an hour--about the time it took me to get to Rockaway Beach, riding into the wind, with a potty stop--from nippy late-fall to steely cold.  By the time I got to Point Lookout, the sky turned into a veil against the sun's warmth and radiance.

As much as I like the sun, I enjoy cycling to the shore under a sea of clouds.  Sunny days bring people out; chilly, overcast days when the ocean pours itself in brings me to myself and to those with whom I am close, whether or not they are present.

Also, I feel a kinship with the folks who are out walking, cycling or surfing--or just out--on a day like the one that took me on a ride from the end of wall to the beginning of winter. 

A Spring Afternoon Reverie

Yesterday marked the last time until mid-August that the sun set before 20h ( 8pm).  Still, I had plenty of time to get in a Point Lookout ride--120 kilometers (75 miles):  I took a couple of detours in Long Beach and near Forest Park-- and get home before dark. even though I didn't start until about 14h (2 pm). During my last mile, along 31st Avenue in Astoria, I was literally pedaling into the sunset. Oh, an I had the wind at my back, as I did on my way back.  That, and the colorful sky, felt like a reward for pedaling into a brisk wind all the way out.  

In short, it was a perfect Spring afternoon ride.  Also, an interesting one, even though I've taken it many times before.  You see, when I started, hardly a cloud veiled the bright blue sky.  The temperature, around 20C (68F) seemed to be on the rise, though the wind, of course, made it feel cooler.  I rode through this seeming diorama of an idyllic spring afternoon until I crossed the Addobo Bridge from Howard Beach to Beach Channel.

Beach Channel, or BC, as its residents and fans like to call it, includes part of the Gateway National Recreation Area. It occupies an isthmus washed by Jamaica Bay.  And I mean washed--Superstorm Sandy really dumped its fury there.  Most of the damaged areas have been repaired or rebuilt, and the residential parts look something like a cross between Sea Bright, a Jersey shore locale where I did a lot of riding during my high school years, and a New England fishing village.  In other words, it's easy to forget you're still in New York City--and many residents rarely seem to, rarely, if ever, going to Manhattan or even Brooklyn or other parts of Queens. 

And the weather, along with that in the Rockaways, often differs dramatically from that on the other side of the Addobo Bridge.  At this time of year, you can feel the temperature drop a few degrees as you cross the bridge, and even further when you cross the Veterans' Memorial Bridge into the Rockaways.  Now, the water temperature is about 10C (50F) in both the bay and Atlantic Ocean.  The wind blowing off those bodies of water--which I rode into on my way out and blew me back home--can also change the skies:

As much as I love a sunny day, I also love the light that seemed to fill with the sea.  As thick as those clouds are, they posed absolutely no threat of rain.  If you've spent a lot of time in a coastal area, you've probably a similar veil of clouds rippling across the face of the sun and sky, especially early and in the middle of Spring.

All of it, while riding, opens my senses.  That alone makes such a ride a treat, almost a guilty pleasure! 

Spring Back?

 The Spring Equinox came yesterday.  It certainly felt that way when I set out on Zebbie, my 1984 King of Mercia, for Point Lookout.  I chose to ride her, in part, because she has full fenders and yesterday’s rain turned some residual road salt and sand into nasty muck.

Anyway, my ride started under clear skies with a temperature of about 15C (60F) with a breeze blowing toward me.  If not perfect, conditions were nice and certainly felt like the first day of Spring. 

But I think I entered some sort of time machine as I pedaled down the Broad Channel bike lane and across the Veterans’ Memorial Bridge to the Rockaways. Clouds gathered and blanketed the sky, though they brought no threat of rain.  The breeze stiffened into a real, full-on March wind.  And the temperature dropped, or so it seemed, to a level that would have been right a few weeks ago.

The boardwalks of the Rockaways, Atlantic Beach and Long Beach hosted more cyclists and strollers, including families, than I’ve seen in a while.  They, no doubt, wanted to take in the light and air, but were bundled in parkas and scarves.

The reason for the seeming reversal of the seasons is the ocean: At this time of year, the water temperature is still only about 4 or 5C (38-40F). And the wind blew from those waters to the boardwalks, streets and land.

On the ride back, I felt the air grow warmer, gradually, as I pedaled away from the ocean..This morning, though, it seems that a touch of winter has returned—if only for a little while,

Sheltered In Memory

On Sunday, Bill, Cindy and I took the ferry from the Brooklyn Army Terminal, about a mile from Bill's apartment, to Rockaway Beach.   Perhaps I "read" the choppiness of the water into everything I experienced on the ride, from the wind skittering over sand and marsh grasses to the clouds scattered through the sky.

Don't get me wrong:  I enjoyed the ride.  It wasn't long, but the company and the vistas were pleasant, and sometimes interesting.

Saying that someone lives in "a house by the water" probably conjures, for most people, an image of its inhabitants gazing over expanses of sea and sky from an open-air balcony or glass-enclosed solarium.  But, really, it can mean much else, such as this

or this

The first photo probably is a better reflections of most people (at least those who've never lived in such places) have of living "in a beach house" or "by the ocean".   There is one difference, of course:  more color.  If anything, it might look more like South Beach, Miami than the South Shore of Long Island.

The other photo is probably closer to the reality of most waterside residents.  If you think you've seen it before, you probably have:  A couple of weeks ago, we rode by it when the tide was out and mud and other detritus oozed (where murky water would lap around when the tide is in) between those islands of marsh grass and houses.

We are still trying to figure out what the geared wheel is.  My theory is that there was a boat dock there at some point--perhaps as recently as in the days just before Sandy--and that wheel was part of some mechanism that towed boats in.  Now that I think of it, I recall seeing boats in the area before Sandy.

Anyway, on the way back to Bill's place, we rode through Sunset Park.  Many, many years ago, my grandparents took me to the top of this hill

in the park.  The view doesn't seem to change much.  Or maybe there is more change than I realize, and I just don't see it because I always look out, toward the harbor and Statue, from that hill.  It's as if some law of physics applies only in that spot:  My eyes cannot turn in any other direction. 

But at least that view is different from any other maritime or littoral vista I have encountered.  It has to be, even if someone  builds houses of the blue and green and terra cotta tiles--or gnarled bark-- between me and the expanse of harbor:  the one I saw with my grandparents more than half a century ago, and with Bill and Cindy the other day.

No, The Chinese Aren't Responsible For Climate Change. I Am: I Took A Ride Today!

It was spring-- almost summer, really--until I crossed the bridge.

In past years, I have noticed a seasonal change when I rode across the Cross Bay Veterans' Memorial Bridge.  To be specific, when I'd be riding through Broad Channel--a shoestring of land dangling from the "mainland' of Queens--the temperature is about 20 to 22 degrees Celsius (68 to 72F) and I would feel the sun against my face.  That is, until I reached the Bridge, which spans Jamaica Bay.  While riding up the ramp to the bridge, the wind would whip waves on the water and I would feel the cold through whatever I was wearing.  By the time I got to the Rockaways--another shoestring of land, this one splayed between the Bay and the Atlantic Ocean--the temperature would have fallen to about 10 degrees C (50F) but it would feel much colder.

I usually experience such momentary climate change in early or mid-April, when the ocean water might be about 8 degrees C (45F).  But I had such an experience today.  It was 64F (17C) when I left my apartment just before noon; the temperature would climb another few degrees by the time I reached Broad Channel.  But, as I crossed the bridge, I was glad I'd brought an "extra" layer with me. (Is something "extra" when you end up needing it?)  A thermometer in Rockaway Beach read 50F, but the wind--which I didn't notice until then--blew the cold from the very depths of the ocean.  According to at least one source, the water was 41F (just over 5C) today.  During the next few weeks, that temperature will fall by another couple of degrees to its seasonal low, which it reaches at the beginning of Spring.

I imagine that the water at Point Lookout, my destination today, was a little warmer, if only by a degree or two.  Knowing that, I understand why down is such an effective insulator!

Anyway, I had a great ride:  I saw a few other cyclists and joggers along the boardwalk and on the streets of Long Beach.  As best as I could tell, they weren't wearing down.

An Adventure To The Familiar

Perhaps you've done something like what I am about to describe.

I packed lunch-- salsa I made myself, with some excellent locally-made tortilla chips--into the front bag on Vera, my green Mercian mixte.  With no particular destination or route in mind, I started riding. 

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The first few kilometers--along Sunnyside and Woodside streets, under the #7 train, into Corona and Flushing Meadow Park--were all familiar.  They could have taken me to some of the rides I do regularly:  the Rockaways, the South Shore, the North Shore.  But once I exited the park, I turned onto unfamiliar streets in a familiar (more or less) neighborhood.

I knew more or less the direction in which I was riding. But I didn't know, exactly, what I was riding into.  Mind you, I wasn't worried:  I wasn't beyond the reach of civilization or even in a place where I didn't understand the language.  But the rows of houses, surrounded by their patches of lawn and hedges, aren't the best of navigational aids.

No matter.  I kept on riding.  A turn here, another turn there.  Turn around where the road ends, then turn again.  Cross under a highway.  Spot a sign for a pond hidden by trees.  Do I take the path through the park on the left?  Or...are those old railroad tracks on the right?

Before I knew it, I had diagonally traversed Queens and was somewhere in Nassau County.  Mid-island, as they'd call it: somewhere between the North and South Shores.  More suburban developments, except now the lawns are bigger.  Some even have flower gardens. Then I found myself in a downtown area of one of those towns and noticed a sign for "Tulip Bakery".  OK, I guess that works:  cute cookies and pastries in the window, cute name on the sign.  

After running out of bakeries and cafes and boutiques, the street provided another stream of houses with lawns.  And its name:  Tulip Lane.  All right.  That bakery wasn't trying to be so cute after all.  Tip toe through the tulips.  Ride along Tulip Lane.  I continued:  It was longer than I expected, through a couple of places with "Franklin" in their names:  Franklin Square.  Franklin Lake.  Franklin something or other.  Then the Rockvilles.    Under another set of railroad tracks, and across still another.  Faces lightening and darkening and lightening again.  Still on Tulip Lane.

After crossing a state route, it stopped being Tulip Lane.  I didn't notice until much later, when I noticed I was riding on Long Beach Road.  I really had no idea of how far I'd ridden; I had just a vague notion that I'd been riding mostly south and east since I got on my bike.  The suburban houses had turned into garages, boat repair shops, a fishery and a tatoo parlor.  They didn't look like anything I ever saw in Long Beach before, on previous rides.

But the bridge at the end of them took me right into the heart of the town.  Over the bay, to the ocean.  I really enjoyed my lunch--and the unfamiliar ride to a completely familiar place.

Rad Dogs And English Bikes

The three H's:  hot, humid, holiday.

This weekend has had all three.  Normally, I wouldn't cycle to a beach area on such a weekend--especially on a Saturday.  However, there was so much of the first two H's that I went because I figured, correctly, that it would be a bit cooler by the water.

Also, Arielle wanted to sunbathe:

I never would have expected that of her.  But it makes sense:  Being a Mercian, she's finished with some good, old-fashioned English stove enamel.  Besides, Brits like to spend time in the sun and by the surf as much as anyone else does!

So, apparently, do dogs:

Yes, people actually walked those dogs into the water.  The tide was so far out at Point Lookout that, it seemed, people could have walked across the bay.

Actually, those canines are patrol dogs and the folks walking them are trainers.  Someone told me they're trained to rescue swimmers on Jones Beach, just across the inlet from Point Lookout, and that those dogs can actually swim from PL to JB.

As swimmers and sunbathers don't normally go to Point Lookout, it wasn't crowded.  However, Atlantic, Long and Rockaway Beaches, all of which lost most or all of their boardwalks during Superstorm Sandy, were full of beachgoers.  Still, except for a stretch of Long Beach, there wasn't as much traffic as I expected.

I'm glad that people are going to those beaches again.  I just don't want too many of them to go when I want to ride my bike to them!

A Long Way Ahead

No, I didn't enlist.  That photo wasn't taken in any sort of official combat zone.  Rather, I snapped it while riding Rockaway Boulevard in Rockaway Beach.

It might be the roughest paved cycling surface I've encountered in an industrialized country.  That's not surprising, given that Rockaway Beach was one of the areas that incurred the most destruction from Superstorm Sandy.

I rode along the Atlantic shore of southern Queens and Nassau County to Long Beach.  There, as in most of the Rockaways, the storm destroyed most of the boardwalk so that the only things remaining are the pilings over which it stretched.  Yesterday, construction crews began to take down the remaining wood, most of which looked something like this:

Some people were taking boards from it--as souvenirs, I guess.  (I wonder whether they'll end up on eBay.)  Others seemed to have other motives in going to the beach.

Was this man enjoying the solitude, feeling resigned to his fate or trying to come to terms with his grief?

Whatever he was feeling, he and the couple may have to follow the same path for the foreseeable future.

Did You Catch That? Do You Wish You Hadn't?

When I was writing for a newspaper, we referred to some days as "slow news days."  That's when we'd publish stories about the spouse of someone who was elected president in some country none of our readers had ever heard of.  Or, for fun, we might put in a story about a duck crossing at the foot of a skyscraper.  You get the idea.

It was common knowledge that Wednesday was usually the slowest news day.

Now, what I write about in this blog isn't always news.  So what do I call a day like this.  "Slow blog day" doesn't sound quite right.

In any event, I'm going to take this post to present something that might make you chuckle or groan, or both, and is utterly inconsequential.  Here goes:  Along my ride to Point Lookout on Saturday, I came across a restaurant in Long Beach that has, possibly, the worst name in the world--in the English-speaking world,anyway:

Fear not:  There are better posts coming!