Showing posts with label Tosca. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Tosca. Show all posts

03 January 2024

What I Woke For

 People in Miami are as unaccustomed to snow as Harpo Marx was to public speaking.

Likewise, most New Yorkers aren’t used to earthquakes.  In a way, ground-shakes are even stranger for us: When white flakes fluttered down to the sands and palm trees of the Sunshine State, folks knew what they were looking at.  On the other hand, most people here in the Big Apple thought the rumbles came from a truck or subway train. Or, like me, they slept through it—even though the epicenter was just a few blocks from my apartment.

I am sure that countless Californians have slept through much stronger shocks. Still, it’s hard not to wonder whether an earthquake—in a city that experiences them about as often as the Jets or the Knicks win championships—on the second morning of the new year is a harbinger of what awaits us.

What finally woke me up? The helicopters that circled over the neighborhood.  Marlee ducked behind the couch. I knew I wouldn’t get back to sleep. So I got dressed, hopped on Tosca—my Mercian fixie—and pedaled into this:





I hope that’s more of a foretelling of the year to come.

After pedaling out to Flushing Meadow-Corona Park, I stopped at Lots ‘O’ Bagels for two whole wheat bagels. In my apartment, I enjoyed them with some English Blue Stilton cheese. Some might say that no true New Yorker would eat a bagel that way but I like the way EBC’s creamy texture complements both the cheese’s pungency and the bagel’s chewiness. I can, however, still claim to be a true New Yorker because I’m not accustomed to earthquakes but got through one, however minor it was. And I started my day with a bike ride. 

22 December 2023

A Short Ride On The Longest Night—And The Day After

Last night, I took my Winter Solstice ride.  Although I didn’t plan anything about it—except for one thing, which I’ll mention—I more or less knew I wouldn’t ride a lot of miles or climb. So I rode Tosca, my Mercian fixed gear bike.

The one planned part of my ride took me to a house about a kilometer from my apartment:






The residents of that house, on 23rd Street near the RFK Bridge, turn their porch into a kind of miniature Christmas village every year. The electric trains actually run on their tracks; the Ferris wheel turns and some of the figures walk, dance and even sing.







A few minutes later, I came upon another display that, while not as dynamic, filled the street with its lights and colors. 





I continued to ride. I’m not sure of which motivated me more: those lights and colors, the crisp cold air or the complete absence of traffic. 

About the latter: It was a proverbial “calm before the storm.” Not surprisingly, the holiday rush began this morning: A seemingly endless stream of cars crawled and honked down my street and, it seemed, everywhere: When I took a ride out to the Malcolm X Promenade today, it seemed like everyone in the world was entering or exiting LaGuardia Airport, the Grand Central Parkway or any street leading to them.




As I rode today, I couldn’t help but to think about last night’s ride—and a man who sold fruits and vegetables from a stand in Jackson Heights. I stopped and bought a bunch of red Swiss chard, a string of tomatoes and a small bag of cherries because they looked good—and out of respect to that man who, like me, was outside on the longest night of the year.





06 December 2023

The End—Or Just Change?

 


The past few days have been hectic.  It’s “crunch time” at work and I’ve had to attend to a few things that might lead to a change in my life. Whether that will be good or bad, or just change, I don’t know.

I did manage to squeeze in a late-afternoon ride to and from Fort Totten the other day.  I rode Tosca, my Mercian fixed gear, as I often do on short rides. On my way home, I stopped to enjoy the end-of-day light from the Malcolm X Promenade, which rims mFlushing Bay from LaGuardia Airport.




As much as I enjoyed the spectacle, upon looking at a photo I took, I can’t help but to wonder whether it portends what will come from the change, should it come to pass.



29 July 2023

Idyll By The Airport

 Ah, the joys of an early morning ride.



You can almost hear the overture from Sprach Zarathustra in the background 





or, perhaps one of those early Infiniti TV ads.

Believe it or not, I chanced upon this scene along the Malcolm X Promenade—about half a kilometer from LaGuardia Airport,

From there, I pedaled out to Fort Totten and back—40 kilometers on Tosca, my Mercian fixed-gear.  I’d say it’s a respectable “beat the heat” early morning ride.


27 December 2022

Fixed Gear eBike: An Oxymoronic Contradiction?

An a capella heavy metal band?

When I first heard about it, a dozen years ago, I thought it was a joke.  Then I heard Van Canto and the combination seemed no more incongruous than, say, Saint Andre cheese on a bagel from Lots O' Bagels. (That's what I ate the other day, on Christmas morning.) And, hey, those guys were doing something I did when I was part of a punk band you've never heard of, and never will:  making a lot of noise with musical instruments and screaming.  

So why am I mentioning an a capella heavy metal band?  Well, knowing about them made what I am about to describe seem less implausible than it might otherwise have seen.  

In case you're new to this blog, or if your cycling is experience is limited, I'll explain a couple of things.  

First, this:  a fixed-gear bike. One of my Mercians--Tosca--is of this type. A single cog screws directly onto the rear hub.  When you ride this type of bike, if the wheels turn, so do your pedals--or vice versa.  In other words, you can't coast, which turns your ride into more of a workout. That is why I often take Tosca on short rides.  It's also the reason why all bikes raced on velodromes--enclosed tracks--have fixed gears: They are more efficient, and therefore capable of greater speeds.

I have to admit that when I ride Tosca, with my legs in continuous motion, it's difficult for me to imagine riding an electric bike, a.k.a., eBike,  which not only allows coasting, but also "assists" the rider.  In other words, a fixed-gear bike seems to be the antithesis of an eBike. 





Indeed it is, in spite of claims to the contrary.  "Fixed gear eBike" is, if you ask me, "click-bait."  If you actually click onto the websites where claims for such a bike are made, you'll find that the "fixed gear" is actually a single-speed freewheel or other drivetrain without a derailleur.

If they're not being deceptive, they simply don't understand the difference between "single speed" and "fixed gear."  It's not difficult for me to imagine an eBike with a single speed freewheel.  For one thing, the two systems would work well together.  For another, folks who'd want an electric, or any other kind of, assist, are also likely to coast for significant parts of their rides.  If they could pedal nonstop, even if only for a few minutes, why would they want an assist--unless, of course, it kept them pedaling?

So...while I can't say with certainty that a fixed-gear eBike is impossible, implausible or even impractical, I don't know how it's possible, necessary or desirable?

23 December 2022

A Ride Ahead Of A Storm

 The "once in a generation" weather events are happening, well, more than once in a generation.  




Such an event was predicted for last night and today.  The weather, according to forecasters, would take twists and turns that would cause a script to be rejected as too unbelievable. The day started with temperatures just above freezing.  Then the rain came:  a few drops falling as I returned to my apartment turned into downpours accompanied by high winds.  The temperature rose to springlike levels, but are expected to fall enough to give us the coldest Christmas Eve and Christmas in, well, a generation.



Now, I don't mind riding in rain or wind, or in changing temperatures.  But the predicted combination is not my idea of a backdrop for a good ride.  I think the only one in my orbit who likes this weather is Marlee because it keeps me home with her!




Anyway, I spent about two and a half hours on Tosca, my Mercian fixed-gear.  Most of our ride rimmed the East River shorelines of Queens and Brooklyn.  As familiar as it all was, I enjoyed it and, more important, noticed something that I missed because I took a turn I wouldn't normally take.




Along the Greenpoint waterfront is the WNYC Transmitter Park, from which our local public radio stations (on AM and FM) sends out the programs that are often the soundtrack when I'm home.  I guess I shouldn't have been surprised to see a mural dedicated to Black Americans who've been killed by police officers.  I think I pay a bit more attention to such things than most White Americans.  Still, I was astounded and, later, ashamed that I didn't recognize many of the names.  What was more disturbing was the knowledge that, as the creators of the murals acknowledge, the "list" is far from complete.





About twenty meters to the right of the BLM mural (or to the mural's left) is another that couldn't be more different.  




Perhaps that is the point:  The woman in the mural looks as White as the paint in her face.   She is as languid as the Sandra Bland, Eric Garner and others in the BLM mural were tense and fearful when they were confronted by constables.  

Oh, and she is lounging on what appears to be a Spring day. I was looking at her, and the BLM mural, on the second day of Winter, as a "once in a generation" storm was approaching.




15 November 2022

From Indian Summer To Climate Change


 When I was less enlightened, I called it “Indian Summer.”  That’s how most people in America referred to a series of unseasonably warm days in the Fall. I don’t know what to call it now. “Another sign of climate change,” as accurate as it may be, isn’t quite as catchy as “Indian Summer.”

Whatever one calls it, we had a dose of it on Friday, Saturday and Sunday morning.  The temperature reached 26C (79F).  But we also caught the tail end of Hurricane Nicole. She strafed us with wind and dumped a lot of rain.  One downpour woke up Marlee, who woke me to a view of…a cascade of rain.  It was so thick I couldn’t see beyond my window!

But, a couple of hours after eating my bagel with Saint Andre cheese, the rain stopped.  I took Tosca, my Mercian fixed gear bike for a spin with no particular destination in mind.




After wandering along the North Shore of Queens and Nassau County, I stopped in Fort Totten.  Although I brought my lights, I didn’t want to ride in the dark.  So I knew I’d be headed home when I saw this:



The days definitely are getting shorter.  The season is changing.  So is the climate.


22 July 2022

Taste In Destinations

Yesterday morning I kept with my riding plan for this heat wave, which is expected to continue at least until Sunday.  Once again, I set out after quick breakfast--coffee and two English muffins pan-toasted with olive oil, fresh-ground black pepper and rosemary--early.  

(I like butter as much as anyone does.  But I feel that olive oil is more elegant.  Maybe it has to do with my Italian heritage.)

My trip took me to Fort Totten and back, via the Malcolm X Promenade and some zigging and zagging through northeastern Queens residential streets.  All told, I did about 40 km (25 miles) round-trip before 10 am.  And, yes, I did get my fresh Greek yogurt from Kesso's:  Their hours coincided with mine.




At Fort Totten, I could see how hot an humid the day would be--and, in spite of the clear skies at that moment, I could tell, from the haze on Long Island Sound,  that the storm forecast for the afternoon would indeed drop lots of water very quickly and hard:  the thunder almost seemed to be an echo of the rain pounding against the sidewalks.




I felt confident, though, that I would get to my place before the storm.  Maybe it had something to do with riding Tosca, my Mercian fixed gear: I couldn't coast; I had no choice but to pedal.  It felt really good.




 

Somehow I think she knew that house was officer's quarters when Fort Totten was still an active military base. (A small section, fenced off, is still used for Army Reserve exercises, and the Fire Department trains in another part.)  My bikes have such good taste in their destinations!




24 June 2022

On A Cloud, Even If I'm Not Riding Through It

The other day, rain fell in starts and stops, stopping late in the day.  I took Tosca, my Mercian fixed-gear, for a spin through neighborhood streets and a couple of times around Roosevelt Island.

Some parts of the island, especially the area around the lighthouse and "Girl Puzzle," feel rather bucolic, in and of themselves and in contrast to the skyline and bridge views less than a mile across the water.  






Those views also highlight certain weather conditions.  Low clouds seem even closer to the streets when they enshroud the spires and upper floors of skyscrapers.






I've pedaled up and downmountains similarly cocooned, through  clouds thick enough that I couldn't see more than a few feet in front of me.  It may have been the most Zen-like riding I've ever done:  When all of the normal cues, including color and sound, are gone, I could only ride, in that space, in that moment.  For a time, I couldn't even see my bike under me: I felt only my rear on the saddle, my hands gripping the handlebars so my arms could prop me up and my feet spinning the pedals.  I didn't even know which gear I was riding. 






Of course, no ride on Roosevelt Island, or anyplace in the city, will take me into the clouds.  But I can feel, if for a moment, that I am on a cloud!




21 June 2022

The Ride: A Constant In The City

Yesterday I answered my own question by taking a ride.  As I often do, I zigzagged through some neighborhoods in Queens and Brooklyn before ending up in Coney Island. As the day was warm and sunny, and the wind of the past few days had all but died down, people were out: cycling, walking with themselves, canes, strollers, dogs and their friends, lovers, spouses and children.  And although yesterday was officially a holiday, there was, on some streets, nearly as much traffic as on a normal weekday.  People who didn't have to go to work simply wanted to get out, and I couldn't blame them.

It seemed, somehow, that the bike I chose to ride influenced the ride itself.  Because the wind was nearly calm, in contrast to the previous few days, I felt like taking a spin on Tosca, my Mercian fixed-gear bike.  And, while I didn't plan my route beforehand--in fact, I thought no further ahead than the next traffic light throughout my ride--I think I stuck to a flat route in part because I couldn't shift gears.

My ride--about 70 kilometers in total--was very nice, except for one thing:






At Prospect Park, I took a detour (if you can call anything on a ride like the one I took yesterday a detour) onto some streets I know but hadn't seen in a while. Hal Ruzal, the former partner and mecahnic/wheelbuilder par excellence of Bicycle Habitat--and the one who introduced me to Mercians and a few interesting bands--moved out of the house in the photo two and a half years ago.  I've joked that he "got out of Dodge": the pandemic struck just a couple of months after he left.  He's now living in another part of the country that, while affected by COVID (where wasn't?), didn't suffer from lockdowns or other ravages were we experienced here in New York.




When I texted that photo, and a couple of others, to Hal, he seemed more saddened by the generic townhouse-like building constructed across the street from his old house, and by the fact that the house next door is vacant and up for sale.  "I hope the lady who owned it didn't die," he said.

My message was more evidence, to him, that the city of our youth no longer exists.  I would agree, and sometimes I mourn the loss of it, but there is still much I enjoy--like the bike ride I took yesterday.

26 April 2022

After Work, Under A Cherry Blossom Canopy

Yesterday’s commute from work was a bit different from the usual.  For one thing, instead of my “beater,” I took Tosca, my fixed-gear Mercian, as I had little to carry and had left a change of clothes (a skirt, blouse and pair of low-heel pumps) in the office last week.

I left them yesterday.  So I rode home in a pair of bike knickers and a long-sleeved top, on Tosca.  Although the wind was a bit nippy, the spring afternoon called me to ride. My reward:





A canopy of cherry blossoms along the river, late in the afternoon, early in the Spring.  What more can I ask for an after-work ride?

20 April 2022

To Their Own Hues, And Others

Earlier today, I wrote a post about something people might not associate with Spring:  a survivor pedaling among the wreckage of Mariupol.

To me, this season is about the living beings who make it through winter--whether it's a season of cold, snow and darkness or the death and destruction of war (another kind of darkness) as well as the new life that rises, whether from the ashes or a well-tended garden.






Because I've encountered the latter on afternoon rides, I am more fortunate than the cyclist in my earlier post.  It's funny, though, how Dee-Lilah (my custom Mercian Vincitore Special), Vera (my Miss Mercian), La-Vande (my custom King of Mercia) and Tosca (my Mercian fixie) always seem to find reflections of themselves.





Or, at least they, in their differing shades of purple, are drawn like moths to the flame of color.






Even if it isn't their own.

 

13 December 2021

A Turn: A Curtain Lifts

Why do I take the same rides again and again?

Sometimes I just want to ride on "autopilot":  I don't want to think about navigating.  Or, conversely, I might want to lose myself in the rhythm of pedaling and navigating, especially if I'm weaving through traffic.

But, oddly enough, sometimes I'll ride a route I've pedaled dozens or even hundreds of times before because I somehow know that within the familiarity, I'll see something new:  a turn might reveal a new view of something I've seen for years.

That is what happened the other day, late in the afternoon.  I took Tosca, my Mercian fixie, for a spin along the Flushing Bay Promenade, which starts by LaGuardia Airport and passes the World's Fair Marina and Citi Field on its way to Flushing.

On my way back, I saw a Midtown Manhattan sunset through a scrim of winter branches:




A second or two, a few pedal strokes and a left turn later, the curtain lifted, so to speak:





There is always a show, a spectacle, even on the most quotidian ride.  Maybe that's what's kept me on my bike for all of these years!