Enjoying A Ride Isn’t Such A Mist-ery

 My brother and I are experiencing different kinds of heat waves.

He, in California, is dealing with temperatures over 100F (37.8C). Our high temperatures in New York have been a few degrees cooler. My brother, however, said that as much as he doesn’t like the heat, “I don’t miss East Coast humidity.”

He has a point. Even though we in New York rarely have to cope with 100F, almost every year includes a few days when the mercury rises above 90F (32.2C). But that heat is almost always accompanied by relative humidity of at least 7O percent.

The good news, for me anyway, is that I have been waking up early enough to get a decent number of kilometers/miles—and, more importantly, quality time—on my bikes.  Those jaunts have taken me to and along bodies of water, where I have witnessed something associated more with chilly London.

Seeing mist ride along the Verrazzano Narrows Bridge, by itself, made yesterday’s ride (which brought me down to Coney Island) worthwhile. 

Likewise, I felt rewarded in seeing “fog” at the end of the Rockaway boardwalk this morning.

Some of the best things in life are shrouded in mist-ery.

A Conflict In The Mist

 Yesterday’s high temperature (68F or 20C) in NYC broke a record for that date, which was set some time before I was in midlife.

I pedaled to Point Lookout and experienced something I normally encounter a few weeks later. As I crossed the Veterans Memorial Bridge over Jamaica Bay, I felt the temperature drop precipitously. At least, that’s how it seemed. At this time of year, the water temperature of the Bay and ocean is only 4 to 5C (38 to 40F). So the wind was invigorating or brisk, depending on your point of view.

A mist shimmered over the ocean waves at the Rockaways and Point Lookout.  Lovely as it was, I know it was the smoke, if you will, of a conflict between the warm air and cold water, magnified by bright sunlight.

Two Shades of Blue, Two Seasons

 For two days, we experienced three months’ worth of weather at the same time:  February cold, March wind and April rain. 

Yesterday, two of those elements let up.  So, clad in a windbreaker over a base layer, I rode under clear skies in one shade of blue to water in another.

This month, however lived up to its reputation as I pedaled into a brisk wind on my way back from Point Lookout.  And, at the Point, there was another reminder that whatever the calendar tells us about the season, winter does not give up its grip on the ocean so readily.

At this time of year, the water is at its coldest—about 4 to 5C (38 to 40F).  Its hue seemed to reflect its chill, especially against the azure sky and sand and trees in shades of brown.

This is also an interesting time of year because, while I saw more people strolling and cycling the Rockaway and Long Beach boardwalks than I would have seen a month or two ago, they are not the same folks I’ll see in another month or two. Some of the people I saw today love the Sunday sun at any time of year; they were taking it in, perhaps, after going to church or before a weekend brunch or afternoon dinner with extended family. Others are the same hardy or lonely souls one sees a couple of weeks after the holiday season ends and the coldest, darkest part winter descends.

So, while the gatherings of people along the boardwalks and the azure skies signal the passing of a season, the waters in a darker shade of blue, the wind and the woman sauntering along the dunes showed me that winter isn’t dead, not yet.

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. 

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,

A Moment Of Fame And Fortune

In my youth (Yes, I once had that!), a couple of my poems were published in a small magazine.  It was a big deal to me, and I thought it would lead to fame, if not fortune.  Still, I was surprised when a stranger on the street recognized me as “the poet.”  I blushed.  “I’m not the only one,” I demurred.  

“But you’re going to be The One.  You’re going to be famous—and rich.”

He even said something about becoming a millionaire.  “Well, not many people become millionaires from poetry. Or even thousandaires.”  At that point in my life, I wasn’t even a hundredaire.

These days, I am just as surprised as I was then when a total stranger recognizes me.  If anything, I reassure myself that the statute of limitations has run out for anything I did—and I am a different person, literally, from the one I was—in my wayward, footloose days. 

Such concern, however, we’re unwarranted yesterday, as I was spinning along the Rockaway Boardwalk, when a young man pedaled up to me. “I read your blog!”

Turns out, Luca was on the return leg of a ride to Point Lookout.  So was I.  He had a bit further to go, though:  to Jersey City, where he manages Jersey Cycles.  He’s an “alumnus,” if you will, of a few area bike shops I’ve frequented.

Some of those shops have been taken over by Danny’s, a regional chain.  We talked a bit about the business: It’s tougher than most people realize.  And it’s changed in all sorts of ways. It occurred to me later that it might account for his, and my, tastes in bikes—and blogs.  In particular, he mentioned “The Retrogrouch.”

You might say that my encounter with Luca was a momentary brush with fame.  Ironically, he revealed a way I might’ve attained fortune.  One of the shops in which he worked was part of the Metro chain, which became part of Danny’s.  The entrepreneur who started those shops, Luca said, “was all about real estate.  He didn’t care about bikes.”  Hmm...Had I understood that when I had opportunities to open up a bike or book store, I might have retired by now.

Still, I’m glad I didn’t.  Although I wouldn’t mind having more money, I’m not sure about having a fortune.  As for fame—moments of it are fine, at least if the recognition comes from someone as cool as Luca.

When The Tide Was Out

The other day I took a ride to Point Lookout. Despite the warmth and humidity, I didn’t see many people along the Rockway beach and boardwalk, or on the Nassau County south shore.  I felt as if I had the seaside to myself.  Well, almost....

...and until I got to Point Lookout.

The tide was out.   But I behaved myself.  I’m not proud of myself:  What else could I do?

I enjoyed the ride nonetheless.

It's Not Dark--Yet!

Where was I at 5:58 PM (EDT) on Wednesday the 20th, Spring Equinox 2019?

I got out for another late-day ride.  The funny thing was that even though I was pedaling into the wind, I wanted to keep on going. And so I did, to Point Lookout. 

You can tell you've been through a winter when you look beyond the rocks and everything seems to be in a shade of stone:  the almost slate-like blue-grey water, the gnarled brown trees and granular tan-colored sand on the opposite shore.

Even though the days are getting longer, and we have more light at the end of the day because of Daylight Savings Time, getting to Point Lookout meant riding home into the sunset along the Rockaway Boardwalk.

After I turned away from the boardwalk and up the bridge to the Queens "mainland", I kept telling myself "It's not dark yet" as the sun disappeared from view--and, yes, even after I turned on my lights in Ozone Park.

Maybe it had something to do with having the wind at my back.

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.

Playing Chicken With The Sunset

In earlier posts, I've written about "playing chicken with the rain".   On days when precipitation the clouds look ready to drop buckets, I might for a ride, all the while daring the sky to deal me a deluge.  I feel I've "won" the "game", if you will, when I arrive home (or wherever I'm going) just as the first drops plop against my skin.

Today there was absolutely no risk of rain.  It was one of those perfect fall days, with the kind of sunlight that feels as if it's trickling through leaves even though the sky is blue.  And the wind and the waves echo a softly crackling flame.  At least, they seem as if they should.

The waves...Yes, I took an afternoon ride to the Rockaways.  Although the water is still warm enough (at least for someone like me) to swim, the air was cool enough that nobody tried.  In fact, the only people in the water were a few surfers.

But I was playing chicken.   You see, I started in the middle of the afternoon and lingered on the boardwalk (actually, it's concrete now) at Rockaway Park.  A month or two ago, I could have lingered--or ridden--even longer than I did.  Well, actually, I could have done that today, too.  But I was also thinking about the time of day--or, more precisely, the time at which the day would end.

After lingering, I rode some more along the boardwalk and, after crossing the Veterans Memorial Bridge into Beach Channel and Howard Beach, took a circuitous route through streets of wood-frame houses--some with boats in their driveways--away from the ocean and bay and up the gradual climb to Forest Park, right in the middle of Queens.  From Forest, I rode streets I've ridden dozens, if not hundreds of times before as the sun began its descent just beyond the railroad tracks and the East River.

Yes, I got back to my apartment just as the twilight began to deepen into evening and the street lamps were lighting.  I had lights with me--  I always keep them in my under-seat bag--but I didn't have to use them.

In other words, I played chicken with the sunset.  And "won"!

In Front Of Me

I love when those who read weather forecasts (and call themselves "meteorologists" when they parrot meteorological prognostications) talk about "gusty breezes".  They've been using that phrase a lot lately.  To me, it's still in the same category as "military intelligence", "dietetic candy", "nuclear safety" and "true love".

Anyway, I heard it again in today's weather report.  There was indeed something blowing when I went out for a ride today.  Was it a wind or a breeze?  I don't know.  What I can say about it, though, was that I pedaled against it out to Rockaway Beach.  Then it blew to my left side as I pedaled out to Point Lookout, and to my right on my way back to Rockaway Beach.  Then I rode it home.

Even when I pedaled into it, the wind (or breeze) wasn't onerous.  If anything, the bright sun--which has grown strong as we near the summer solistice--had more of an effect on my melanin-deficient (as an old African-American riding partner once jokingly described me) skin.

Strong sun came with a clear sky.  It was the kind of day in which everything seemed to stretch in front of me as I rode.  For one thing, I rode the entire length of the new Rockaway Boardwalk, which opened for the first time a couple of weeks ago.  Actually, disconnected stretches of it have been open for the past couple of years.  Nearly all of it was destroyed in the wake of Superstorm Sandy; there was basically no boardwalk for most of 2013.

Still, I have a hard time calling it a "boardwalk", though I do like its sort-of-Op Art look.  Its surface is better for cycling, except for one thing:  Sand collects in patches of it.  If you're riding a mountain bike or cruiser, it's not a problem.  But if you're on a skinny-tired (even 700X28!) road bike, they might cause you to skid or stop altogehter.

It was nice to see it stretch in front of me, though--and, more important, ride it all the way to Lawrence and the bridge to Atlantic Beach.

All along the South Shore of Nassau County, the sea and sky seemed to extend everywhere, in every direction, from the windows of bars and restaurants in Long Beach, the bungalows of Lido Beach--and, of course, from Point Lookout.

A good ride was had by all.

The Comfort of a November Sky

A couple of weeks ago, I noticed that I was feeling sad.  One reason is that a few people who have mattered to me died around that time of year--including a family member who was a couple of years younger than I am now and a female friend who committed suicide.  But another cause of my tristesse is the days growing shorter.

Interestingly, I don't notice the lack of light as much when I'm riding my bike.  In fact, the graying November sky becomes rather comforting, like a shawl spread across bare, wizening limbs and rocks:

 
And the November dusk has its own sort of lumination, like a sort of wisdom revealed:

A little bit of that light crossed my path--or so it seemed:

When I stopped, he rubbed against my ankles.  When I dismounted and squatted next to my bike, he rubbed his face against my hand.

He brought me joy tinged with a note of sadness:  A cat so friendly could only have been abandoned by someone.   

In that sense--as well as in his physical appearance--he's like Max.  My friend Mildred, who rescued him, told a similar story:  He, who had never before met her, approached her as she walked down the street.

I didn't have a bag or basket, but I was tempted to find a way to bring my new-found friend home.  I gave myself all of the reasons why I couldn't.  A woman sitting on a nearby bench told me not to worry:  He's been living on that stretch of the Rockaway boardwalk for "about three years" and she and other people feed him.  

I guess he manages to sleep and survive with that sky as his blanket and the sand as his mattress.