Another Misty Morning Starts Off, And Turns, Sunny

Got out nice and early today.  How early?  Well, it was so early that…

I didn’t know what the weather was, or would be during the first hour of my ride.

Usually, weather reports on the radio tell you what the current temperature and conditions are at some central stations.  And they tell you what will be at that station, and in a generalized area around it, for the rest of the day, and possibly for the next three days. 

 

When I left my place, it was a bit cooler and breezier than I expected.  I didn’t mind that, but I had to remind myself that even in the four or five kilometers between the Central Park weather station and my apartment, conditions can change.  

What that means, of course, is that the weather could be even more different as you go further away—especially if the terrain is different, there is greater or lesser density of buildings, or some other factor affects the speed and direction of the wind.

Although it was about 15C (60F) when I left my apartment—vs 17C (65F) at Central Park—it was as sunny here as the weather report said. However, when I pedaled over the Veterans Memorial Bridge, 27km (about 15 miles) from my place, this is what Rockaway Beach looked like from the Jamaica Bay side:

 The weather report didn’t mention the low-lying fog.  I wasn’t upset to see it; instead, I was looking forward to riding through it as droplets of the cool sea mist clung to my skin.  Best of all, that fog had spread itself all through the Rockaways, as far as I could see in either direction—left to Atlantic Beach, Long Beach and Point Lookout, right to Fort Tilden, Breezy Point and Brooklyn.

I turned right only because I rode to Point Lookout yesterday.   The ride did not disappoint:

Light like that makes me wish I were a painter!  As a cyclist, I let and fill and lift me.  At least, that’s how I feel when I allow it to direct my ride.  Arielle was game:

Out Of The Net

No, I haven't abandoned this blog.  Nor will I.

Last week, I spent literally every waking moment I wasn't in class reading students' essays and exams and, finally, submitting grades and other paperwork last Thursday night.  Then there were all sorts of things related to the holidays, most of which were pleasant.  They included co-hosting a Christmas Eve reception in which I invented a "virgin" punch that proved wildly popular.  At least, I think I invented it:  I mixed equal parts of Ocean Spray Cranapple, Welch's white grape juice and Canada Dry ginger ale.

(Advertising or payments from those companies will not be refused!;-))

And I spent Christmas Day with Deborah and Suzanne, the couple who sent me the image of Alfred Letourner I included in an earlier post.

And, I managed to do something I haven't done in about fifteen years:  I spent a whole week away from my--and every other--computer!  I didn't check e-mails, post anything or look at eBay.  As much as L love writing this blog, I must say that my respite from the net was probably good for me.

Finally, today I managed to sneak in a ride on Tosca to the Rockaways.  There I was welcomed by a procession:

Being the public figures they are, they knew a photo op when they saw one. Especially these winsome creatures:

Happy holidays to them, and you!

A Ride Into The Memory Of A Storm

Life is slowly returning to normal, some eight months after Superstorm Sandy.

I saw evidence of this on my ride to Point Lookout yesterday.

A stretch of the Rockaways Boardwalk has been reconstructed, and another part has reopened.  What's interesting is that you can see both of them together:

Concrete and composites are being used to reconstruct the sections that were destroyed.  Of course, that fact begs the question of whether such a structure may still be properly called a boardwalk.

Then there were parts that were merely fixed.  You can tell these parts by the new guardrails:

It's hard to tell just how powerful the storm was when the sea looks so calm.  However, when I got to Point Lookout, the tide was in:

The water tumbled against those rocks just a few moments after I took that photo.  Although skies were clear and gave nary a hint of even a shower, it's hard not to remember the storm.

Early-Winter Blues

Coney Island Boardwalk in early winer.  From Kinetic Carnival

Since Hurricane Sandy, I've ridden to a boardwalk that has been completely washed away and another that has been ripped apart in some sections and collapsed in others.  While others have hopes, however unrealistic, that their beloved seaside promenades (or some reasonable replica thereof) will be ready for next summer, I mourn the loss of them right now.  I know I won't be able to ride them this winter; I am not entirely sure they'll be ready for next fall or winter.

Although I occasionally ride on a boardwalk when the weather is warm and the sun is high, I much prefer them when the sun is lower in the horizon (or when it's overcast) and a chill, or even pure-and-simple cold, blows in off the ocean.  Sometimes I take such rides with others; more often, I do them in solitude.  In fact, sometimes solitude is the very reason I take such rides:  During such rides, thoughts seem to come as clear as the winter sky and  feelings as intense, and even sharp, as the crisp salty air.

So, while others fear what they might lose to Sandy next year; I am mourning the rides I can't do now and won't be able to do during the coming weeks and months.  On the other hand, I count my blessings:  Other people have lost far more to the storm.  Some are my students, and I have met others.  At least I still have some things to offer them, even if they refuse.  And I still have hope for those winter boardwalk rides, if not this season.

Is It Still A Boardwalk?

Yesterday, before meeting Avi and Jesse (the guys who were riding "stacked" bicycles), I'd ridden along the Rockaway Boardwalk.  That is normally part of my trek to and from Point Lookout.  However, part of it was closed because it was being reconstructed.

The past couple of years, and this past winter in particular, have not been kind to the boardwalk.  Many of the wooden slats were rotting away or had grown brittle even before the bad weather, and it seems that we've had more coastal storms during the past two or three years than at any other time I can recall.  

I guess the city's Parks Department saw how much hard wood costs these days and decided to use concrete instead. I'm guessing that it will hold up to the elements better or, at least, won't splinter and rot the way wood does.  

Some cyclists might actually prefer the smoother concrete surface.  But there's still a part of me that likes the clackety-clack of my tires across those boards.

Romantic notions of seaside rambles aside, there is one very good, practical reason not to like the new concrete slabs:

There is a section of the eastern part of the boardwalk, near Far Rockaway, where the work is complete and the concrete boardwalk is open.  There are two gaps, as large as the one in this photo, that run along the length of the walk.  

Of course, it's a good thing that there are only two such gaps, as opposed to the dozens of spaces between the wooden boards.  On the other hand, the gaps between these concrete slabs are much wider than the ones between the wooden boards, and are thus more likely to catch a bicycle wheel.  Plus, falling on concrete is more painful than falling on wood--assuming, of course, that you don't get splinters.

Even though I'm not so crazy about the aesthetics of the concrete walk and worried about the gaps, I'll reserve my judgment until I've ridden the concrete at least a few times.

Still, I must ask:  If it's made of concrete slabs, can we still call it a boardwalk?

A Sort of Reveille

It's really strange.  The other day, when I was out riding through some old stomping grounds and along seaside bikeways battered by winter storms, I saw maybe two other cyclists.  Granted, the weather was chilly and breezy, but it was still more conducive to cycling than what we had through much of the winter.  


Today, if anything, was colder and windier.  Yet, during my commutes, I saw even more cyclists than I saw during our "heat wave" (when temperatures climbed over 70F) about a week and a half ago.  Some were dressed, as I was, in clothes we'd wear to work; others came wrapped in lycra on their racing bikes.  I'm happy to see them all:  They're definitely signs of spring, even if the weather isn't.  


And the bike rack at my second job was full.   It was yet another sign that the bike season is, if not in full swing, at least on its way.  


But one thing tells me it's not quite spring yet, whatever the calendar says:  the hue of the water.  The other day, when I crossed Jamaica Bay and clattered along the Rockaway boardwalk, the water took on an almost metallic, cobalt-like hue:

In some places, along the beaches of the Rockaways, that color was made a bit earthier, as if the dunes were spilling into the tides:

Of course, the water is still much too cold to swim, and will be until some time around Memorial Day. But the tone of the water is enough to tell you that we haven't quite left winter yet.

But sometimes I think that we, as cyclists, have our own clocks, much as other living beings have internal chronometers to tell them when to stay, fly away, change colors or go to sleep.  We are all just starting to wake up.

Cycling Through The Gates of Autumn

I got up late today.  So my ride took me to a sunset:

The sun has just set behind Jamaica Bay, near the place it meets the Atlantic at Breezy Point.  I stumbled over this view on the Queens side of the Gil Hodges-Marine Park Bridge.  That view led to another bridge:

To get to these views, we crossed another bridge:

The day was chilly and windy, and became more of both after we crossed this bridge from Beach Channel to the Rockaways.  But somehow I didn't feel the cold.  Maybe I was channeling the sky:  Clouds spread like a shawl across a graying sea and houses that still have some of the warmth and light the sun within them.

And the way to these views was a bike ride through the gates of autumn:

Some of us have to carry a lot to get there:

Sometimes the journey is long, or seems that way:

And where does it lead?  Hopefully, to some place like this:

And it continues.  There is no escaping it, though some will try:

b

That's a washed-out stretch of the Greenway, where it parallels Belt Parkway along Brooklyn's South Shore.  I asked someone to take a photo of me, but I didn't like it.  So I took this photo of a couple I saw cycling.  

Where else could they have been riding but through a sunset in the gates of autumn.