Enjoying The Moment Of The Ride

The past weekend was, by almost anybody's definition, a perfect summer weekend for bike riding: clear skies, low-to-moderate humidity and high temperatures of 27-29C (81 to 85F).   So, of course, I took advantage of it.

How could it have been any better?  Well, on both days I managed to ride into the wind most of the way out and with the wind most of the way home. People were out and about, but the places where people congregate weren't terribly crowded.

On Saturday, I pedaled up to Greenwich, Connecticut and took a "pit stop" in the Common, in the center of town, where a family and their dog greeted me. I didn't take any photos, in part because there was nothing really new about the ride, but more interestingly, because I felt so much as if I were riding in, and enjoying the moment--some might call it a "zen" ride--that I didn't want to do anything else but pedal and take in what my senses, opened from pedaling and simply being immersed in the moment, offered me.

Yesterday was much the same, except that I took another familiar ride, to Point Lookout.  There were a few small differences from my normal trek, as Beech Street in Long Beach was closed off for some sort of fair or festival.  After I zigged and zagged for a few blocks, I found a one-way residential street--Walnut--where I saw no traffic all the way to the west entrance of Nickerson Beach--a couple of miles of riding bliss, by my reckoning.

At Point Lookout, I saw a "creature."  At least, that's what it looked like from the corner of my eye.

Could the young woman sitting on the edge of the surface have been unaware of that "monster" creeping toward her? Or was she in denial?   

Or, perhaps, she was just enjoying the moment, too.

 

Solitude And A Holiday

 The other day I rode to Point Lookout.  I began my ride under bright, sunny skies. As I pedaled through the Rockaways, however, clouds gathered, layer upon layer, shade over shade, blues and grays refracting the light of the sea and sky but posing no real threat of rain.

But, although it was Saturday, the scene along the Rockaway and Long Beach boardwalks bore more resemblance to mid-week—and early April rather than mid-June.  

The high temperature—around 19C or 66F—was indeed more like early Spring than early Summer.  What kept people from taking seaside strolls was, I believe, the wind, which at times gusted to 60KPH (about 38MPH). Some of the folks I saw were clad in fleece parkas!

I’ll admit that I like the relative solitude of rides like the one I took the other day:  I feel my being expanding across the expanse of sea and sky.

After I finish my cup of coffee, I will ride.  This afternoon will be a bit warmer, with less wind.  And it’s the official commemoration of Juneteenth. Government offices and many businesses are closed, so people have the day off.  I wonder whether I’ll see more people—and traffic—than I saw the other day.

Happily Riding In A Moment Fugue

I have just had about as nice a cycling weekend as one can have without going to a country like the Netherlands or France where they actually see bikes as forms of transportation and recreational vehicles for people of all ages.

It rained during much of the past week. The good news is that I had a chance to catch up--or at least make progress--on a couple of bike- and writing-related projects. I'll say more about those later. As skies clared late Friday afternoon, while my religious faith did not return, it was enough to get me thinking that the cycling gods--some of whom I've written about in earlier posts-- were smiling on us.

We are in that "sweet spot" between spring and summer:  The air warm enough to cycle shorts and a light top, the water just warm enough for a swim or at least a dip (depending, of course, on your temperature sensitivity) and skies so clear--yes, even here in New York--that no matter how or where you ride, more roads, more fields, more water, stretch ahead of you--and the flowers that have budded and bloomed for the past few weeks pulse with color.

So I did a back-to-back of two old favorites:  Connecticut (the longer and hillier ride) on Saturday and Point Lookout yesterday.  While I am thinking, perhaps, of even longer rides in the coming weeks, I was content with what some might call the "Zen" way of riding:  I enjoyed the individual moments and what some might call The Moment of the rides writ large.

About the longer rides I'm considering:  I might ride from my apartment to some place from which I can't return on the same day.  I'd also like to go further away, to take one of the trips that were postponed by the pandemic.  While I had been planning to go to places I'd never been before, and I hope to take those trips, whether this year or some other times, I feel even more of an urge to see people I haven't seen in a while and other people I've "met" through this blog and other online means but have never seen in person.

But the past weekend's cycling is as fine as any I've experienced in a while.  More like it would make me happy.

The Unofficial Beginning

 Here in the US, the Memorial Day weekend is often seen as the “unofficial beginning of summer.” The weather, and my rides, certainly lived up to that billing.

First, as an aside, I’ll tell you how the holiday came to be the “unofficial beginning of summer.  One interesting fact about Memorial Day is that the date on which it’s observed has nothing to do with any battle, the birth of any historic figure or any other historical or mythical event.  When the holiday was first designated, it was called Decoration Day (when I was a child, some people still referred to it that way) because people—some of them newly-freed slaves—decorated the graves of Union soldiers who died fighting the Civil War.  In those days, there wasn’t a flowers.com or even very many florists.  So, people had to pick flowers from their gardens or the woods.  And, as the holiday was commemorated only in the northern US, late May was chosen because that’s when flowers are in full bloom in this part of the world.

Anyway, about my rides: They are both trips I've taken many times before. On Saturday, I pedaled up to Greenwich, Connecticut via the Pelham Bay Park trail and back roads and streets in Mamaroneck, Rye and Greenwich.  The weather was all but perfect:  warm, but not too, with a breeze that seemed to ripple the wisps of clouds in the blue, sunny sky. Yesterday, I rode to Point Lookout on a warmer day, though the temperature dropped a good bit after I crossed the Veterans' Memorial Bridge (how appropriate!) to the Rockaways.

I felt great after both rides. That, to me, is another sign that summer is, if not here, at least close:  I am in better shape.  But, apart from the roads and views, the rides offered one interesting contrast.  My ride to Connecticut reminded me of the ones I took in the early days of the pandemic:  I saw hardly a car or SUV, let alone a truck, along the way.  I glanced out to the main roads and didn't see much more traffic, and when I passed over the highways (the Cross Bronx Expressway, Hutchinson River Parkway and New York State Thruway), I saw even less traffic than I normally see on a Sunday morning or afternoon.  On the other hand, not surprisingly, I saw a lot of vehicular traffic on the roads leading to the beaches and foot traffic along the boardwalks and pedestrian paths.

Today is, in more ways than one, the day after--the  beginning of summer, for one thing.

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! 

What Did Dee-Lilah See When She Woke?

 Yesterday I roused Dee-Lilah, my custom Mercian Vincitore Special, from her long winter’s nap. 

For a few weeks, the season hasn’t been able to make up its mind: The weather has gone from February to May and back, and from clear skies to downpours faster than you can say “spin.”  As a result, streets and roads have been sprinkled or coated with the remnants of change-of-season storms:  sand, road salt, fallen branches and other kinds of debris. That’s why I let my “queen” extend her rest.

She experienced some of the changes I’ve described during our ride to Point Lookout.  When we began, the sky was as blue as, well, the sea, depending on where you are.  And the air was warm enough that a few minutes into our ride, I thought I might’ve over-dressed.

About half an hour later, though, I felt the temperature about 10 degrees (Celsius) as I pedaled into a seaborne wind on the Cross-Bay Bridge.  That is typical at this time of year because, even if the air is 10 or 20 degrees Celsius (50 or 68 F), the ocean is still only about 5C (40F).

Those differences, playing off or fighting (depending on your point of view) each other made for this view from the bridge.

The water in the foreground is Jamaica Bay.  The gray haze behind the buildings on Rockaway Beach could have been fog—or the ocean.  Just as the day could have been late winter or early spring.

Beach Walkers, Sheep Dogs, Marc Anthony And The Prince

Mornings fill with one commitment or another.  So, for me, it's a good thing the days are getting longer: On an afternoon ride, I can look forward to more hours of daylight. I don't avoid riding in the dark altogether, but I really prefer to ride in daylight, especially in heavily-trafficked or unfamiliar areas.

On Friday, I started another 120 km Point Lookout ride after midday--at 1:45 pm, to be exact.  That meant my last hour or so of riding was in darkness.  But I was treated to some light and vivid or stark, depending on your point of view, colors by the sea.

The public beach and playground area of Point Lookout are closed to repair erosion and prevent more of the same.  But I ventured on to a nearby side-street where, surprisingly, the gate was open to an area normally restricted to residents.  A couple of people--one a man walking an English Sheepdog, another an elderly woman--passed me on their way out.  Both greeted me warmly and didn't seem to care (or know) that I don't live in the area.  

I think people who are out walking the beach on a chilly, windy day have respect for anyone else who's doing the same.

On Saturday, I got on, La-Viande, my King of Mercia, with no particular destination in mind.  I found myself wandering along the North Shore from the Malcolm X Promenade (Flushing Bay Marina) to Fort Totten, where I took a turn down to Cunningham Park and Nassau County, where I pedaled down to Hewlett (part of the Five Towns and up through the town of Hempstead, which contains more contrasts in wealth and poverty, and residential grandeur and squalor, than any place in the area besides New York City itself.

As I saw the blue sky tinge with orange, I started toward home--or so I thought.  Instead, I found myself wandering through suburban developments that gave way to the SUNY-Old Westbury campus and long lanes lined with mansions and horse farms.  I saw a sign announcing that I'd entered Brookville--which, it turns out, is home to Marc Anthony and Prince Felix of Luxembourg.

I didn't take any photos on my Saturday ride because my battery had less power than I thought and I wanted to save it for an emergency that, thankfully, didn't happen.  But I had forgotten, until that ride, how such a rural setting could be found only 50 kilometers from my apartment!

And I ended my day with that ride--and the day before with a ride to an "exclusive" beach.  

A Guide Against The Wind

Yesterday afternoon I had some time.  There were things that had to be done, but as long as they got done when they needed to be done, it wouldn't matter when I started working on them.  I guess that's a definition of having, if not free, then flexible time.

Since you're reading this blog, you know what I did.  Of course.  This time, though, an hour or two in early-to-mid-afternoon stretched into, well, very late afternoon. That may have had to do with having the wind at my back and mild (at least in comparison to the past week or so) temperatures as I pedaled down through Queens to Rockaway Beach.  

Of course, when I'm riding with the wind, I know that I'll have to pedal against it to get home.  But I was feeling so good that I just wanted to keep on going.  Which I did---to Point Lookout.  

I hadn't planned to go swimming.  Still, it was a bit of a surprise to see the beach closed, even if it was for work to ensure that the beach is still there in the future.  

So I hung out for a bit by the bocce court.  In contrast to the boardwalks of the Rockaways, Atlantic Beach and Long Beach, where I saw more people than I expected, I had the court and playground all to myself.

By the court, there are stones commemorating family messages and with messages of hope.  I couldn't help but to notice the juxtaposition of these stones:

The one on the left reads, "Mangia bene, Ridi spesso, Ama molto"--Eat well, laugh often, love much. Will those things lead to, or result from, the top-notch lawn care in the slate on the right.  

Even though I was pedaling along a route I've ridden many times before, I felt as if I were being guided to, or through, something--the wind that had grown stiffer, perhaps--along the Rockaway Boardwalk.

As I photographed sun rays coruscating through clouds, I chanted some lines from the Sardinian writer Salvatore Quasimodo:  

M'illumno 

d'immenso.

Maybe that should be engraved in one of those stones by the bocce court on Point Lookout.

What I Need After The Past Two Years

Here is what I would have posted yesterday, had I not invoked the Howard Cosell rule for someone who deserves it as much as anyone:  Desmond Tutu.

On the day his illustrious life ended--Boxing Day--I rode out to Point Lookout.  I woke, and started my ride, late:  It was close to noon before I mounted the saddle of Zebbie, my red vintage Mercian Vincitore that looks like a Christmas decoration. (I don't say that to throw shade on her; I love the way she looks and rides.)  One consequence is starting late, and stopping for a late lunch at Point Lookout, is that it was dark by the time I got to Forest Park, about 8 kilometers from my apartment.  That also meant, however, that I saw something that made me feel a little less bad about not traveling this year, or last.

Because the Rockaway Boardwalk rims the South Shore of Queens, you can see something you don't normally associate with the East Coast of the US:  a sunset on the ocean.  From the Rockaway Peninsula, the Atlantic Ocean stretches toward New Jersey.

The next time I feel as if I have no influence on anybody, I'll remember yesterday's ride. As I stopped to take photos, people strolling along the boardwalk stopped and turned their heads.   One couple with a small child actually thanked me:  "Otherwise, we never would have looked:  It's perfect!," the man exclaimed.

It was about as close to a perfect sunset as I've seen in this part of the world, and I've seen some stunners--in Santorini (of course!), the Pre Rup temple (Cambodia) , Sirince (in Turkey), .Le Bassin d'Arcachon (near Bordeaux), Lands End Lookout (San Francisco) and from the window of an Amtrak Coast Starlight train.  

All right, I'll confess:  I'm a sucker for sunsets--and bike rides.  Either one is a form of "redemption," if you will, for a day that could have been lost from having beginning  too late.  And they make a difficult year, a difficult time, more bearable--especially in a moment when I don't have to feel, or think about, anything but my legs pumping away, the wind flickering my hair and colors flowing by my eyes--and, in spite of--or is it because of?--the cold and wind, a glow filling me:  what Salvador Quasimodo meant when he wrote,

 M'illumno 

d'immenso.

He probably never met Audre Lorde, but I think she would appreciate that, and he would understand what she meant when she wrote, "Caring for myself is not self-indulgence.  It is self-preservation, and that is an act of political warfare."

Now, I don't claim to be the world-changer that she or Desmond Tutu were.  But on more than one occasion, I've been chided over my passions for cycling and cats.  I derive no end of pleasure from them, to be sure, but they also have kept me sane, more or less, as I navigated this world "undercover" and "out."

After Henri

 Although Henri dumped rain on us for almost three days straight, things weren’t as as predicted.  For one thing, we barely felt any wind, which is one reason why relatively few people lost their electricity. For another, although a lot of rain fell, few spots flooded, probably because the rain was relatively steady—and everyone seemed well-prepared. 

The rain stopped early enough  that I rode for about an hour before sunset. Now I’ve pedaled to Point Lookout, where there’s barely any trace of Henri’s passing.

Pacing Or Trailing Henri

On Thursday I took my “ride ahead of Fred.”  While he wreaked havoc in other places, he behaved more like, well, a Fred by the time he wheezed by us.

But news of a bigger storm—Henri— followed.  We just missed a direct hit, but points east on Long Island and New England weren’t so lucky.  Still, it’s been raining almost nonstop since late Saturday.  At least I managed to take a ride into the heady of Brooklyn that morning, and to Point Lookout on Friday.

If the rain lightens, I might take a short ride on one of my fendered bikes. If I do, will I be pacing or trailing Henri? 

Pacing or trailing Henri—does that sound like something a domestique  might’ve done in a Tour de France?

No Rain, Wind Or Tides

 I’m not cycling to Connecticut today.  Instead, I’m on another familiar ride: to Point Lookout.

Another thing is familiar: the weather.  While it’s a couple of degrees warmer than it was yesterday, today feels more like early June than early August.  I don’t mind that, or even the veil of blue-gray clouds that conceal the sun but pose no threat of rain. Those clouds even rein in the wind and tides, or so it seems.

I will not complain:  It’s been a while since riding has felt as good as it has during the past few days!

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.  

Echoes Of Fire

 I have just ridden to Point Lookout, again.  Here, and in other coastal locales, one can ride under overcast skies, or into a misty horizon with no threat of rain.

But today’s haze is something else: smoke from the massive fires that have burned in much of western North America.  

The haze has been the backdrop of my ride, from my apartment 

to the Jamaica Bay Refuge

Rockaway Beach

and here, drawing a curtain just beyond Point Lookout.

More Signs

 When I’m on my bike, I can’t help but to notice signs.  As I mentioned in earlier posts, sometimes their meaning isn’t clear, or what their creators might have intended.

A case in point is what I saw the other day on Point Lookout.

I mean, it’s nice that the village now has a bocce court.  But what do they think the players are doing after games?

The day before, I pedaled to Connecticut, which involves crossing the RFK Memorial-Triborough Bridge.  Like most other crossings in this area, it has a sign for those who are thinking about going to the other side—and I’m not talking about Randall’s Island.

As someone who’s lost people to suicide, it’s not something in which I normally find humor.  I must admit, however, that I chuckled when I saw this.

“Don’t waste the trip.  Take Don Jr. with you.” I would prefer, though, that Darwin would find a way to deal with the son of El Cheeto Grande—and the big cheese himself.

Wednesday's Ride, On Sunday

Yesterday I took another ride to Point Lookout.  It was, in some ways, what last Wednesday's ride would have been had I taken it on Sunday.  

I don't mean to echo Macbeth's "Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow."  The coastal jaunt was entirely pleasant:  Clear skies and calm seas formed a peaceful tableau, and the air was warm--that is, until I crossed the Veterans' Memorial Bridge, from a 28C air temperature to breezes from 9C water. So, while the temperature almost certainly dropped as I came to the ocean, it felt even chillier with the breeze--and my apparel (shorts and short sleeves).  

What was different were the throngs of people lining the Rockaway and Long Beach boardwalks.  I shouldn't have been surprised by that: Even with the chilly breeze, it was the warmest Sunday we've had this year, so far. 

Another thing that shouldn't have surprised me, I suppose, is that few people wore masks.  I know the CDC said that it's OK to go unmasked if you're outdoors and keeping the 3meter/6 foot social distance from strangers--which, of course, it's all but impossible not to do on a bicycle.  

Those recommendations are for people who have been vaccinated.  I got my second dose on the 13th, so according to the guidelines, I'm fully vaccinated.  I had to wonder, though, how many of the people I saw were vaccinated.

Still, though, it was a fine ride.  I did the Point Lookout ride for the opportunity to "let loose" on the long flat stretches--and to try something out that I'll write about later.

Another Fine Afternoon RIde

If I took a fine Spring ride the other day, yesterday's spin to Point Lookout would be my first summer ride of the year, sort of.

On Tuesday I began just after noon and got home from Connecticut in time for dinner.  The day began cloudy and chilly but sunlight--and warmth--broke through.  Yesterday, I began a bit before noon and rode through an afternoon when clear skies and bright sun brought the temperature up to 83F (28C), at least in the central parts of the city.

Most of my rides to Point Lookout, including the one I took yesterday, include crossing the Veterans Memorial Bridge. It spans Jamaica Bay and leads to the Rockaway Beach, a string of land barely a kilometer wide that separates the bay from the Atlantic Ocean. 

At this time of year, "mainland" Queens and Manhattan might bask in summery air, if for a day.  But the waters are just emerging from winter:  The ocean temperature at Rockaway Beach was 9C, or 48F, yesterday. The water temperature of Jamaica Bay probably wasn't much higher. That meant the air temperature dropped by about 15 degrees F, or seemed to, when I crossed the bridge and another couple of degrees when I reached the boardwalk.

Not that I minded.  The sun shone so brightly and other cyclists and strollers seemed to be in a good mood.  Also, the wind blew out of the northwest:  in my face for most of the way out, and at my back for most of the way back.

Today bouts of showers are punctuating a cloudy but still warm day.  I might try to sneak in a quick ride between spritzes.  But I'm happy that, for two days in a row, I managed to get in what would normally be, at this time of year, day rides in the space of an afternoon.

A Flock Without Masks

Yesterday I took another ride to Point Lookout.  By mid-afternoon, the temperature had reached 15C (60F), in contrast to the freezing-level temperatures compounded by wind I experienced last Thursday. Also, the day was bright and sunny, so I wasn't surprised that half the world, it seemed, was out and about.

When birds congregate like that, I wonder what they're up to.  Are they just "hanging out?" Or is there some other purpose?  Maybe they'd just been enjoying lunch together:  After all, that beach seems to be one of their prime feeding spots.  And to think that they eat stuff for which humans pay real money in restaurants!

Whatever their motives, I can't say I blame them, even if they weren't cooped up, the way people have been.

Speaking of humans:  I noticed an interesting contrast in their behaviors.   I rode down the Rockaway Boardwalk, as I usually do on my way to (and sometimes back) from Point Lookout.  I also pedaled along Long Beach's boardwalk, which I sometimes do.  On the Rockaway Boardwalk, which was nearly empty last week, I'd say that I saw at least a couple hundred people on the seven kilometers or so from the Veterans' Memorial Bridge to the Beach 9th Street.  Most of them were wearing masks and even those who seemed to be family or friends were keeping the prescribed social distance (6 feet).  On the other hand, on the three-kilometer stretch in Long Beach, I saw about as many people, but only two other people--both of them cyclists--wore masks.  And I saw some furrowed brows and stares aimed in my direction.

The one explanation I can think of for the difference is demography:  The Rockaway crowd is more diverse and, it seems, more accustomed to cyclists. I don't think I saw a single nonwhite person (not even an Asian!) in Long Beach, which I suppose makes sense given that it's not as diverse as Rockaway Beach, Arverne or Far Rockaway, the Queens communities through which I pedaled on the boardwalk.  Given that disparity, another is not surprising:  the Long Beach crowd is definitely more middle- to upper middle-class and, I am sure, included at least a few of the New York City and Nassau County detectives who live there.

Perhaps I shouldn't be critical of Long Beach's seeming homogeneity--after all, the birds in the photo all look alike.  Then again, the birds weren't wearing masks, not out of ignorance or as a political statement (in this case, they're the same thing), but because, well, that's just not something birds do!

Obedience And Therapy

Yesterday I was such a good, healthy citizen, it was almost disgusting.

On Tuesday, my orthopedic doctor told me I'd healed enough to do anything my conditioning and endurance will allow.  And, in spite of what Governor Greg Abbott and other legislators are doing, anyone who knows more about epidemology, immunology, virology, microbiology or public health than I know is telling us to continue the practice of social distancing.

I managed to follow my doctor's, and other health professionals' orders, yesterday.  Late in the morning, I hopped on Negrosa, my vintage Mercian Olympic, and pedaled to Point Lookout.

Throughout my ride, I couldn't have violated social-distancing regulations if I tried, or wanted to.  I saw only three other cyclists and maybe half a dozen people walking along the seven kilometer stretch of the Rockaway Boardwalk.   I saw little traffic, and very few people crossing at traffic lights, as I spun through the streets of Queens, Atlantic Beach, Long Beach and Point Lookout. 

Even Point Lookout seemed as if it had never been visited by humans:  The tides had receded further than at any other time I can recall, leaving more sand, with barely any footprints, than I'd ever seen there.  The gulls and erns seemed curious at my presence.

As for the clouds that shrouded the sky throughout my ride, I was glad for those, too.  The day was cold and a strong wind blew out of the northwest:  I pedaled with it on my way out and into it on my way back. Perhaps the sun would have brought some cheer, but I'm not sure that's what I needed:  The subdued light, with no threat of rain, and the sea gave me a canvas, a slate, a stage on which to purge sadness of the past year and my hopes for what is to come. 

Call me selfish, but I was enjoying it all:  I felt as if I'd had those streets, the boardwalk, the beaches and even the ocean and sky all to myself.  So, not only did I follow the guidelines of Anthony Fauci, the CDC, the New York City Department of Health and any other real authority about the pandemic; I also did something for my mental health.  So did Marlee, who immediately curled up on me when I got home.

Am I Normal Yet?

Public figures and everyday people talk about the world or their lives "returning to normal" once Mango* Mussolini is out of the White House or "when the pandemic is over."  Of course, the new "normal" is never the same as the old "normal;" it never can be.  When our routines or the machinations of society are disrupted, things change and we, hopefully, learn.

Even with this knowledge, however, I am going to give in to the temptation to say that something in my life might be returning to normal.  Yesterday and the day before, I did something I hadn't done since I was "doored" in October:  On Saturday, I pedaled up to Connecticut; on Sunday, I rode to Point Lookout.

The Saturday trek was my standard route to the Greenwich Common via Glenville Road, about 140 kilometers (85 miles) round-trip.  As I hadn't done the ride in about three months, I actually wondered whether I'd get up the last climb on the ridge, just after I crossed the state line.  But partway up, I realized that I was fighting not only "rust," but also a headwind.  

The last time I saw the Common, leaves were turning red and gold and orange.  On Saturday, bare trees bore witness to the cold and wind through which I'd pedaled.

On my way home, I felt ready to challenge Jeanne Longo, Rebecca Twigg and Missy Giove in their prime.  Pedaling downhill with the wind at your back can make you feel that way!

Yesterday's ride took me to the South Shore of Queens and Nassau County, through the Rockaways and Atlantic Beach to Point Lookout.  Under a clear, bright sky, the water barely rippled.  And, in contrast to Saturday's ride, this one is flat, and I encountered barely a breeze on the 120 km (72 mile) round trip.

In late summer or early fall, when I'd normally have pedaled a lot of miles, the Point Lookout jaunt would be a "recovery" ride if I did it the day after a Connecticut ride.  But it seems odd to call it a "recovery" ride when the past three months have been a time of recovery for me!

One thing I couldn't help but to notice was how little traffic, motorized or otherwise, I encountered on both rides.  I guess the cold kept people in their homes in spite of the bright sunshine.

In case you were wondering:  I rode Dee-Lilah, my Mercian Vincitore Special, to Connecticut and Zebbie, my 1984 Mercian King of Mercia, to Point Lookout.  Being able to do those rides again was enough to make me feel good, but being on bikes that look and ride the way they do made me feel even better.

Things may not be "normal" yet.  But at least one part of my life is getting there, I hope!

*--I feel guilty about equating  a mango, a fruit that brings nothing but pleasure to those who eat it, to someone who's slammed democracy and people's lives with a baseball bat.