Different Rides, Different Folks

 There are some things non-cyclists just don’t believe, or understand.

About the former:  my neighbor and new riding partner, Lillian, has a friend named Beverly who can’t ride. Her husband—whom I knew slightly before I met Beverly—is a gruff blue-collar Queens guy who reminds me a bit of Frank Barone of “Everybody Loves Raymond.” He’s seen me on a bicycle, and knows I ride, but simply does not believe it’s possible to pedal to Connecticut.  Mind you, he doesn’t believe that I, personally, can traverse distances: He simply doesn’t think it can be done.

Well, I rode to Connecticut on Saturday,—after trekking to Point Lookout on Friday and spending Thursday pedaling to Freeport and up to the North Shore.  Moreover, I did each ride on  different bike: 

 Dee-Lilah, my prize Mercian Vincitore Special to Connecticut

Negrosa, my vintage Mercian Olympic, to Freeport and the North Shore, and

a bike I’ll mention later to Point Lookout.

Oh, and I took a spin to Bayside on Tosca, my Mercian fixed gear, yesterday morning.

All of that brings me to the second point of this post.  I did four rides on four different bikes.  Most non-cyclists can’t understand having more than one bike.  

Daring Elsa

Yesterday wasn't quite as hot as Wednesday was, but the humidity was even more oppressive.  That's one reason why I took another morning ride which, I hoped, would bring me home before the early afternoon heat.

That part of my "mission," if you will was accomplished, even though I continued in one direction when another would have taken me home for, oh, a couple of hours.  

The weather forecast was dire:  Tropical Storm Elsa was bearing up the East Coast of the United States.  Sometimes I "play chicken" with the rain:  I ride as if I'm daring the rain to start falling on me before I finish my trip.  Yesterday, the stakes were higher:  The rain would cascade from those heavy gray clouds moving across Staten Island and New Jersey on their way to Brooklyn and Queens.  

Those clouds might have moved even faster than the traffic across the Verrazano Narrows:  They don't have to pay the toll on the bridge!

Seriously, though, I reverted to a youthful delusion:  That I could actually hold bad weather at bay becasue, well, I was pedaling.  Even when the sky and the waters of New York Bay all but matched the steel and glass hues of the Manhattan skyline, I was not ready to turn around.  After all, the brownstones and blue-collar brick row houses of Sunset Park hadn't been consumed by the the gray colussus.

On 31st Drive, one block from my Astoria apartment, rain began to fall.  It cascaded into a torrent just as I wheeled Tosca, my Mercian fixed gear, into the door. 

Purple Reign?

Today I took Tosca, my Mercian fixed-gear bike, for a spin.

By some strange coincidence, she took me by this garden:

And I was wearing a purple top.  Is she more of a fashionista than I realized? Or am I more of a fashionista than I was willing to admit?

All About Dee-Lilah

I'm waiting for the snow and ice to clear so I can take Dee-Lilah, my new Mercian Vincitore Special, out for another ride.  I'd also like the chance to take newly-painted Tosca, my Mercian fixed-gear out for a spin.

Meantime, though, I'll tell you a bit about Dee-Lilah.

She's made of Reynolds 853 tubing.  The geometry is just slightly different from that of Arielle, my Mercian Audax.  Both frames have 55.5 cm seat tubes and 53.5 cm top tubes.  But while Arielle has a very traditional sport-touring design of parallel 73 degree angles at the head and seat tubes, Dee-Lilah has a slightly steeper seat angle, at 74 degrees, and a slightly shallower head tube angle of 72.  This allows for the response I like in the rear combined with a bit more comfort in front. Also, it will make for better handling when I start using a bag on the front rack. 

If Arielle felt like a magic carpet, Dee-Lilah feels like a cloud with jet propulsion. I know, I've only ridden Dee-Lilah twice for a total of just under 100 miles.  But I definitely feel differences, however subtle, between her and my other Mercians.  And they are subtle differences I wanted when I ordered the frame.

Anyway, here is how Dee-Lilah is kitted out:

Wheels:  

• Phil Wood hubs, 36 hole rear, 32 hole front
• Mavic Open Pro Rims, Velox rim tape
• DT Competition Spokes, 14/15 ga.
• Continental Grand Prix 4 Season tires, 700X28

Drivetrain:  

•   Sugino Alpina Cranks, 110 BCD, 170mm length
•  Specialties TA Syrius chaninrings, 48/36
•  Phil Wood square-axle bottom bracket, 108 mm
•  SRAM PC-991 chain
•  Shimano Ultegra 9 speed cassette, 12-25
•  Shimano Dura-Ace rear derailleur, w/sealed pulleys
•  Shimano Dura-Ace front derailleur
•  Shimano Dura-Ace downtube shift levers
•  MKS Urban Platform pedals w/MKS "basket" toe clips and Velo Orange Grand Cru straps

Steering:

• Nitto Mod. 177 "Noodle" handlebars, 42 cm 
• Nitto NP (Pearl) stem, 11 cm
• Chris King 2Nut headset

Braking:

• Shimano R650 brakes w/Mathauser-Kool Stop salmon pads
• Cane Creek SCR-5 levers

Seating:

• Brooks Team Professional, Maroon (cordovan/oxblood)
• Nitto 65 ("Crystal Fellow") seat post, 27.2

Other items:

• Sugino chromed seat binder bolt
• Newbaum's Eggplant purple cloth handlebar tape
• Rustines handlebar plugs (like Velox)
• Nitto M18 front rack
• Andrew King "Iris" stainless steel water bottle cages
• Crane bell on Velo Orange spacer

Dee-Lilah is designed so that, if I like, I can add fenders and/or a rear rack if I decide to, say, take her on a tour. But I had her built mainly with day trips in mind, and my first such ride with her has been a joy. 

In all, I have tried to combine my color preferences and my love of traditional bike aesthetics with what is practical for me.  So far, it all seems to have balanced out nicely!

Speaking of aesthetics:  Dee-Lilah's main color is Lilac (hence her name) Polychromatic (#17 on the Mercian colour chart) set off with a head tube and seat panel in Deep Plum Pearl (#56).

                           

Seasonal Indecision

Yesterday was one of those days that couldn't seem to decide whether it was very late summer or not-quite-early fall.  

My ride started in a cool mist on Tosca, my Mercian fixed gear.  It was actually pleasant:  I felt every pore and orifice of my body opening in a very pleasant way.

I headed for the Rockaways.  The cool mist clung to silent streets, still homes and closed stores--and to me--as I spun through the western Queens neighborhoods near my apartment.  

But, after I crossed under the "el" (elevated tracks, or viaduct for those of you who don't live in New York), the warm mist turned into a mild steam bath on my way across Jamaica Bay to Beach Channel.  Then, as I crossed the Veteran's Memorial Bridge into the Rockaways--and from the waves and clouds of Jamaica Bay to the tides and sky of the Atlantic--I experienced something I normally experience in early spring:  the temperature seemed to drop 20 degrees (F).  That is normal in April, when the air temperature on the mainland might be in the 70s (F), but the ocean is only in the 40s.  Yesterday, however, the air and water temperature were probably not very far apart:  somewhere near 70F, though it felt cooler along the Rockaway Boardwalk.

It's one of those odd coastal days that I truly enjoy:  The sky is overcast, though still only slightly less blue than the sea on the horizon, and that cool mist swirling about me.  I rode under that sky, by that sea and in that mist all the way to Point Lookout.  

Then the clouds broke and the sun peeked through--at least as I looked eastward from the Point.  Behind me, conditions were the same as the ones through which I'd ridden from the Rockaways.

And that is what I rode in all the way home.  I didn't mind:  Such conditions are actually welcome, at least for me, during the last few kilometers of a 125 kilo fixed gear ride!

What Is The Tide Bringing In Now?

The new semester begins today.

So what did I do yesterday?  I went for a ride, of course!

An agreeably cool morning turned into an agreeably warm afternoon, both full of sunshine.  And I had the wind at my back on my way home.

The tide was out at Point Lookout.  I was tempted to ride onto the sandbar.  I think Tosca, my Mercian fixie, would have been game.  But I didn't want to chance the tide coming back in.

I had a good time.  I'm sure everybody did!

Today I'm teaching some basic freshman English classes.  Tomorrow, though, I get to teach something that even a few weeks ago--let alone when I was living as a guy named Nick--I never imagined I would teach.

Women's studies.  Can you believe it?  I didn't ask for it:  I was asked.  

Is there some other kind of tide coming in?

A Ride Back

I will tell you more about my Great Italian Adventure, and post more photos of it, soon.  I promise!  

In this post, however, I want to talk about something that happened to me today.

The sky was mostly clear, the day warmer and humidity a bit higher than it's been since I got home, even if neither the heat nor moisture was oppressive.  So, of course, I went for a ride:  my first long(ish) trek since coming back.  At least, that's what I'd planned.

A familiar route down to the Rockaways and along the South Shore of Queens and Long Island took me to a familiar destination:  Point Lookout.  Since it's a flat ride and the wind blew lightly, I took out Tosca, my Mercian fixed gear.  

Even if the ride couldn't thrill me as much as pedaling up and down the Roman hills, it sure was nice to ride one of my own bikes again.  Of course, a fixie is going to be more responsive than an internal-geared hub, and a Mercian is going to feel more lively than a heavy utilitarian rental bike.  Still, the difference in "feel" was even greater than I anticipated.  

The ride was pleasant and completely uneventful; I felt good and nothing complicated that.  After I crossed the Veterans Memorial Bridge from Rockaway Beach back to the Queens "mainland", I stopped at a deli for something cold to drink.  While sipping on some combination of slush with cherry Jolly Rancher flavoring (I wanted a bit of a sugar rush), a man and woman pedaled in.  

He pointed to me.  "Where do I know you from?"

Turns out, we rode--occasionally the two of us, but usually with a group of other riders--in Prospect and Central Parks, and on some longer rides, back in the day.  He also worked in a couple of bike shops I frequented in those days.  We recalled those shops, some of the guys (yes, they were men) who rode with us, a few of whom also worked in those shops at one time or another.

He introduced the woman who accompanied him.  They married seven years ago, he said.  That wasn't the only surprise of our encounter.

For another, he was smiling.  I never, ever saw that in all of the time we rode "back in the day".  In fact, a few of us half-jokingly called him "El Exigente", whom he resembled in his facial hair and other physical features--including the seemingly-permanent scowl.   We all respected him as a rider; his forays into racing were certainly more successful than mine! 

In those days, we didn't actually talk much.  Some time ago--possibly in those days--I read a book by an anthropologist or some other researcher that said, among other things, that women form relationships by talking but men bond by doing things together.  Perhaps one could see that in our rides.  It also could be a reason why I always had the sense that he disapproved of me somewhat:   Someone once described me as an "extroverted introvert", meaning that even though I am more comfortable within myself than without, I am not averse to talking.  

Or, perhaps, I just insecure that I wasn't, and probably never would be, as strong or fast a rider as he was--or is.  

He certainly didn't care about that today, as I rode with him and his wife.  Their route home paralleled mine part of the way, but they invited me to follow them to their home, in Brooklyn, if I wanted to.  "Well, there's nowhere I have to be", I said.  Really, the only reason I had to get back to my place tonight was to feed my cats.

So my ride was a bit longer than I'd planned:  I reckon about 140 kilometers instead of 120. But I felt more nimble, more supple, as we wove through the building rush-hour traffic in the streets of East New York, Brownsville, Bedford-Stuyvesant and their Flatbush neighborhood.

We all shook hands as we parted.  If he was surprised to see my red nail polish, he didn't show it.  She didn't register any surprise, as she didn't know me when I was Nick.

He knew me then.  But he took to my new and current name with no trouble.  We all promised to stay in touch and get together for another ride.

My ride home involved climbing a couple of long but gradual hills to Crown Heights and the east side of Prospect Park, past the Brooklyn Public Library toward the Navy Yard.  From there, I rode through Williamsburg and Greenpoint, easily passing riders who could have been my children and grandchildren, as if I were one of them.

Back when I was riding with him, I was.

Into The Hole--On A Sugar Rush And Killer Bread!

After the torrential downpours (I could barely see past my window!) on Monday, we've had two days of glorious, sunny weather.  It was warm, but not overly humid, with little wind--except in one part of today's ride:

I saw this same puddle/pond/wetland back in February:

Now, it wasn't my destination.  I just hopped on Tosca, my Mercian fixed-gear, and zigzagged through some side streets between my apartment and Howard Beach.  One of them dead-ended on top of a hill or mound, from which I had a view of the turbid body of water:

It looks to be the same size, shape and depth I saw four months ago.  A group of people--I assumed them to be a family because they were a man, a woman and two young children--were breaking up some concrete and dirt in front of a battered house.  They surprised me with their "hello's"; soon after, a man driving an old BMW eyed me suspiciously.  

But another man, seemed to study me from the trailer colony across the pond, decided (correctly) that I'm not any sort of official and gave me a smile.

The last time I saw this place, I could've sworn a wind blew that I didn't feel before I arrived or after I left.  Today, I had the same sensation.  In fact, I was even more sure of that wind, as it flickered my hair and braced against my bare arms and legs.  The last time I rode down that way, my arms and legs were covered.

Hmm...Could it be that The Hole has its own microclimate?

If what I saw in The Hole was an incongruity or a riddle, something else I saw along the way was a joke:

I looked for the driver of this truck.  I really wanted to ask whether Dave's Killer Organic Bread--which I had never heard of until I saw that truck--was actually being delivered in the same vehicle as Tastykakes.

Perhaps one day I'll try Dave's Killer Bread and, if I survive the experience, tell you about it!  It's organic, so I suppose I'll live through it.  On the other hand, KandyKakes--especially a version they made with chocolate cake and peanut butter--was one of my favorite sugar rushes when I was a little kid.  I liked those butterscotch crimpets, too. 

 Later, when I was riding with a bunch of guys who pedaled hard and treated themselves with, um, non-prescription painkillers, I became an aficionado of Tastykake fruit pies.  I loved their cherry and blueberry pies; I probably would like them today, too, as those are my favorite pies (along with strawberry rhubarb--but, as far as I know, Tastykake has never made that!).  But my favorite--again, for its sugar rush, was their Glazed French Apple.

Of course, Tastykake Glazed French Apple pie is about as French as that bottled bright orange salad dressing sold in big-box stores.  The French aren't shy about sweet flavors, but I don't think they could come up with a sugarbomb like Tastykake Glazed French Apple Pie even if they wanted to.

Although I haven't eaten it in years, I'm still getting a sugar rush from thinking about it.  The apple filling, sugary to begin with, was further sweetened by raisins and I-don't-know-what-else.  And it was topped by a thick strip of that white icing that makes Twinkie fillings seem like grapefruit.

It looks like Tastykake's current French Apple Pie isn't glazed.  Still, I'm sure it would provide quite the sugar rush--maybe almost as intense as a glazed Brown Sugar Cinnamon Pop Tart!

Maybe those Pop Tarts are delivered in the same trucks as Laughing Giraffe Cherry Ginger Granola. (With a name like that, I simply must try it!)

Riding Into Crowds And The Wild Blue Yonder

One thing about air shows:  You don't have to be at the venue in which they're held in order to see them.  You can see them for miles around.

I should have remembered that when I decided to head for Point Lookout yesterday.  When I got there, I wondered why it was so crowded (well, at least in comparison to the way it usually is).  Jones Beach, where the the Bethpage Air Show was held, is only the length of a football (soccer, I mean) field from the rocks at Point Lookout where I usually lunch and/or meditate in the middle of my ride.  So, of course, the spectators at Point Lookout had as good a vantage point as the folks at Jones Beach or Bethpage.

In a way, that turned out just as well.  I took Tosca--my Mercian fixed gear--along a sandy path to a more remote area of the beach.  The tide was out, so there was a lot of beach.  (In places like Jones Inlet, what's good for bathers or beach loungers is not good for boaters:  The fact that the tide was out also meant that sandbars were exposed.) She didn't mind that I pushed her along the sand:  I pedaled into the wind most of the way out there, so I was pushing pretty hard on the pedals.  

Of course, that meant I had the wind at my back for most of my way back. Interestingly, even though there was a crowd at Point Lookout, I didn't see much traffic anywhere along my ride--not even along the strips of bars and restaurants in Long Beach and Rockaway Beach.

They were still watching the air show, I think, when I got home.

Like A Football

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.

The Best Place In The World For Ducks

I didn't see any other cyclists.  But I wasn't the only one who went to Point Lookout today. 

I mean, who wouldn't have wanted to be outside on a day like today?  Skies were clear and the temperature reached 15C (60F).  

Tosca, my Mercian fixed gear, was also happy to be out for the ride, even if she got spattered with mud and wet sand.  Most of the snow from last week's storm was gone, but the sand and road salt weren't.  At least, with only one gear, she's easy to clean--though I think I might ride one of my bikes with fenders tomorrow.  Still, it was great to spin that gear again!

I was stretching my legs, and they were spreading their wings.  A woman with two small boys watched them.  "I've never seen so many ducks here," she marvelled.

"Nor have I."

Then the older kid--about four or five years old, with eyes as bright as the sky--chimed in.  "They're here because it's the best place in the world for ducks.  Isn't that right, Mommy?"

She said nothing.  He turned to me.

"Lady, don't you think they're here because it's the best place in the world for ducks?"

"Why else would they be here?"

"So this really is the best place in the world for ducks."

I nodded.  "Do you know what makes this the best place in the world for ducks?"

He shook his head.  His mother gazed at me.

"Here there are a lot of things they like to eat."

He gazed at me, fascinated.  She looked puzzled.

"Well...Don't you like to go where there are good things to eat?"

"Yes, ma'am.  What do they like to eat?"

"Clams, oysters, you know, the creatures with shells on them. The ducks love those.  And seaweed, too."

Now, for all I know, I may have given him nothing but misinformation.  But I figure he's no worse-informed than anyone is after one of our current President's press conferences.

What did I just say?  Hmm...It's probably a good thing I've never been a parent!

My Personal Track

It was cold ,at least compared to the weather we've had.  It was windy.  

So what did I do today?  I went for a bike ride.

That is not, in itself, so unusual (at least for me).  For one thing, the cold and wind were balanced out by the bright sunshine.

So, perhaps, you can understand why I rode along the bay and the ocean:  to Howard and Rockaway Beaches, then to Breezy Point (which certainly lived up to its name!) and Coney Island, from which I pedaled along the Verrrazano Narrows and under the bridge named for it.

The funny thing about the beach areas, at least around here, is that they are usually a couple of degrees warmer than the areas only a couple of miles inland.  The wind, however, makes it feel colder, which is why I had long stretches of shore, beach and boardwalk almost entirely to myself.

Even on Coney Island, where I often find couples, young and old, strolling in the shadow of the Parachute Jump and and men fishing from the pier, I felt as if the boardwalk was my own personal track.

Speaking of which:  I rode Tosca.  Yes, my Mercian fixed-gear.  Pedaling into the wind on a fixie is good training, to say the least.  But riding with it--especially on such a flat ride--feels almost like cheating! 

A Christmas Day Ride

The other night, I was talking to my brother.  He was in his car, across the street from his in-laws' house.  I heard some of the shouting and laughter (including one particularly loud cackle) from within.  He said that it was a typical holiday scene and that, even after so many years of going to such gatherings, he's unaccustomed to the noise level. "I don't remember it being like that when we were growing up."

"Nor do I."


I was thinking about that exchange yesterday, as I rode.  I knew that the gathering I would attend, with friends.  There would be laughter and music, but I could actually have a conversation with one or two people without having to read their lips.

Before that gathering, my ride was quiet.  Actually, tranquil is a more accurate word:  There were a few cyclists, and a few more people walking, alone or with partners, dogs or children. I think they were all enjoying, or more precisely, losing or immersing themselves, in the calm.

Of course, the ocean itself calms me and, I imagine, most of the people I saw along the Rockaway boardwalk and the South Shore of Nassau County.  Even the bright sunshine soothed my eyes, and much else, in the way the echo of the waves in my ears.

Funny that the weather reports said the wind was calm.  Can a wind be calm?  Or, if it's calm, is it wind?  I felt a slight breeze off the ocean, but I didn't have to pedal into, or with it.  And, because my ride was flat, I felt I could have pedaled all day.

Such conditions are, naturally, ideal for riding a fixed-gear bike, which is why I took Tosca, my Mercian fixie, out for the spin.  I started early, so I had enough time to ride to Point Lookout and back--105 kilometers in all--before joining my friends for the holiday dinner.

They weren't nearly as loud as my brother's in-laws.  And I had a few hours of the best kind of calm before our gathering.