Yesterday, my afternoon ride ended with me riding into the sunset.
I started around 12:30 and made a stop at Addeo’s, one of the best “finds” in my still-new neighborhood. I bought a small loaf of pane de casa—a crusty exterior surrounding a fluffy, almost-creamy interior (Did I just describe an old-school New York Italian?)—to accompany the tomato, hard-boiled egg and piece of Cabot’s Seriously Sharp white Cheddar in my Acorn trunk bag.
La-Vande, my trusty King of Mercia, made those miles out to the Rockaways feel like a magic carpet ride, even though I was pedaling into headwinds and its chain and cogs are about ready for replacement. Interestingly, when I made the left turn off the Veterans Memorial Bridge into Rockaway Beach, I felt I was riding a tailwind all the way to Point Lookout, even though the wind pushed, however slightly, at my right side.
I couldn’t help but to notice that I hadn’t seen much traffic on the streets or very many strollers or dog-walkers on the Rockaway or Long Beach boardwalks. On my way back, I found the reason: Orthodox Jewish men in drag (though they never would refer to it that way) or otherwise becostumed—for Purim.
Their revelry reverberated through my being: I felt such joy simply from riding my bike that no matter which way I turned, I felt a breeze at my back. And i didn’t see the sun setting into tbe ocean: I saw just flickering, but still glowing, light and waves all the way to Coney Island.
So ended my longest ride so far this year: 130 kilometers, or 80 miles.
