A Lane Along A Great Ride

 Bright sunshine, high clouds, temperatures gthat ranged from late-spring to early-summer from brunch time to early-dinner tine.  Those are the perfect conditions for a Sunday ride, right?

There’s no “but” or “however” in this story.  The cherry on top of this Sunday (pun intended) was that I pedaled into the wind on my way to the Greenwich Common in Connecticut—which meant that the same wind stroked my back (and stoked me!) on my way back.

At the Common, I watched folks in their most carefree moments strolling and sashaying in polo shirts tucked into navy or beige chino shorts, frilly dresses and skirts and college T-shirts over gym shorts whose wearers were trying not to show that they were showing that those shorts didn’t come from discount stores.

Was it all a great show?  Or had the ride and weather elevated my dopamine levels higher than someone who paid a visit to the local cannabis shop half an hour ago? All I knew was that I could’ve held the ride, the weather and the day, if not forever, then long enough to, well, write this post.

Oh, and along the way I found a good, if short, bike lane in the Bronx.

Built on a concrete island on Bruckner Boulevard, under the Bruckner Expressway, it runs for about two kilometers from East 138th Street to Hunts Point Avenue.  I saw some evidence that it might be extended further.  Even if it isn’t, I am sure to use it on future rides, as it will allow me to avoid the chaos of delivery trucks, tow vehicles pulling in and out of auto body shops, motor bikes making deliveries or simply trying to outrun young guys who really want to turn Southern Boulevard into their personal race track.

Finding a useful, safe bike lane during a blissful ride on a perfect day: Could a Sunday spin from Queens to Connecticut and back have been any better?

Winter Vista On A Sunday Afternoon Ride

Yesterday the temperature rose into the balmy (at least for those of you in places like North Dakota) 20's, or around -5C.  So I went for an afternoon ride which, among other things, zigzagged the border between Brooklyn and Queens.

The border between the US and Canada has a Peace Garden.  Probably the closest thing our interborough boundary has is Highland Park, with the Ridgewood Reservoir as its centerpiece.

Somehow it feels even more like a reflection of deep winter than all of the displays or any day-after-snowstorm vista in this city.

I usually see at least a couple of cyclists there. Yesterday I was riding solo, though I saw a fair number of people walking their dogs, or with each other. Some looked happy to be there, but others eyed me, and other strollers, with suspicion, as if we'd intruded on their own private Idaho, if you will.

I can't say I blame them.  I know I've referred to Highland Park as our local Montmartre for its location on the highest point in the area and the views it offers.  Of course, it doesn't have the onion-domed cathedral (my favorite building in Paris) and I reckon that fewer people visit the park in a year than visit one of the most iconic places in the City of Light in a year.

It's kind of ironic that in writing about it on this blog, I'm more likely to tip off someone in Belleville or Berlin than the folks in Bensonhurst or Belle Harbor about a place where I go for a quick ride and the cheapest form of therapy (along with  a cuddle from Marlee) I know about.

  

Cloud Chase To Connecticut

 Yesterday was, for me, a great day to ride:  A predawn thunderstorm dissipated the heat of the previous few days, and masses of clouds moved across the sky, revealing the sun just long enough to brighten up the ride without bearing down on my melanin-deprived skin.

So I took a ride to Greenwich, Connecticut.  Along the way I felt I was playing hide-and-seek with the sun and clouds.  The clouds caught up at the Greenwich Common, where they retreated behind the Veterans’ Monument—and trees like the ones on the Connecticut state quarter—in full bloom.