Commuting: A Detour Into A Season

 

Interesting, what detours on a morning bicycle commute (yes, I'm doing that again: more about that later) will bring into view.

First, in an industrial area of Long Island City just south of Silvercup Studios, I had to detour for this:

 

OK, I'd seen it before.  But if you're pedaling down 22nd Street and pass under the overpasses for the Queensborough (59th Street) Bridge and the #7 train of the MTA, turn right and then left,  you'll run into something that disrupted the street grid: 

Some time in the past, I started a search I just may resume.  Specifically, I was (and am) curious as to whether that rock outcropping was left in place because it was too hard to break or blast  (there are a few similar outcroppings in Upper Manhattan for that reason)--or, perhaps too expensive.  Or, for all I know, someone or some group of people didn't want it destroyed.  Could it have been sacred to people who no longer live in the neighborhood?

The other morning brought a crisp, cool breeze and a blaze of color some living beings--I include myself, sometimes--hold as a store, a memory, against the season that inevitably follows.

Whenever I see a leaf or a flower, I see a hand.  Sometimes it is trying to capture water, light--or to hold whatever time it may have left.  I couldn't help but to wonder whether those leaves I saw not far from the rock were trying to hold onto their beauty in that moment--or whether they were bleeding away, however slowly, those last flickerings of the light they still hold.

I know that since I've returned to the classroom, my experiences, and those of my students, are different--whether in obvious or not-so-obvious ways--from what they, and I, experienced before the pandemic.  I wonder whether it has anything to do with bicycle commutes like the one I did the other morning. 

I Should Feel Guilty About This, But...

I know I should be worried about climate change. After all, so much of the world's economy, agricultural and otherwise, as well as much in our cultures, depends on the weather patterns we've had during the past few milennia.  If we in Western countries think we're having a "refugee crisis" now, to paraphrase Al Jolson, "We ain't seen nothin' yet."  We're just another drought or monsoon away from a veritable tidal wave of people with nothing. And, to quote the immortal Bob Dylan, "When you ain't got nothing, you've got nothing to lose".

But it's hard not to enjoy some things about climate change.  As an example, this fall has been warmer than normal in this part of the world. It seems that, for the past couple of decades or so, just about every season has been significantly warmer or colder or wetter or drier than normal.  This fall, so far, has been warmer and, I think, drier.  If I didn't see the wreaths and lights and decorations people have hung in their windows and doors and from lampposts during the past week or so, I would have a hard time telling that we're less than three weeks from Christmas.

Maybe it has to do with the way the leaves, which cover everything but the trees they fell from, flicker in the sun. Or with the fact that even the coldest night we've had so far didn't even give a hint of impending winter storms.  

It was another nice day to ride.  And I did. How could I not?  I tried to worry more about climate change.  Really, I did.

Coming Home To Another Fall Ride

Last week, during my trip to Montreal, I wrote about (among other things) the autumn light and air.  Well, today had a particularly autumnal feel--at least in part because the weather was colder than it's been in six months or so. When I was talking to my mother a little while ago, I joked that I brought the cold, and the season, back with me because I knew I wouldn't have any trouble getting them through US Customs!

Anyway, on a day so typical of this season, thoughts turn to foliage and red barns and such.  Well, the leaves are starting to turn brightly in local parks and fallen leaves stream along the curbs.  But there aren't a whole lot of red barns in this city.  However, in some neighborhoods--including my own--there are houses that provide a rather nice backdrop for the blaze of colors.

But I also figured that if I went a little north of the city, the colors would be even brighter and there would be an even better stage for them.  And Arielle, my Mercian Audax, was just begging to be ridden.  And I wanted to ride her.   The bike I rented in Montreal was actually pretty nice, but it still makes me appreciate Arielle--and my other Mercians--even more than I had before.

So, after pumping her tires and filling a water bottle, we were off to--you guessed it--Connecticut.

It was just past noon when I started riding, and I knew that it's starting to get dark around 6pm now.  Still, I figured, it would give me enough time to ride there, take in some autumn light and air in the Nutmeg State, and get home before dark.  Although I have lights, there are a couple of parts of the route I prefer not to ride in the dark.

I was riding against of the wind most of the way back--which meant, of course, that I was riding with it most of the way back.  The funny thing was that I didn't feel I was pedaling particularly hard on the way up, in spite of the wind that, at times, gusted to 35 KPH.  And I didn't think I was pedaling particularly fast on the way back.  Yet I made it back before sunset.

Really, I can't ask for more of a Sunday afternoon ride in the middle of October.  

When I got home, I felt invigorated, as I do after a good ride, but not tired.  I often feel that way after long rides on my Mercians, but especially Arielle.  Tomorrow, or some other time in the near future, I'll write about a possible reason.

Cycling In Autumn--Or Fall?

So...Is today the first day of "fall"?  Or is it the first day of "autumn"?

Whichever word you choose, it's the season that began this morning in this part of the world (i.e., the Northern Hemisphere). Most people use "Fall" most of the time.  I do, too, at least when I'm speaking.  Using "autumn" in most everyday speech sounds affected or like a translation from another language.  At least, that's how most English-speakers hear it, I think.

But each of those words has its purpose and flavor.  "Fall" is both visual and visceral:  You can picture leaves dropping from branches and feel the descent from the fulsomeness of summer.  "Autumn", on the other hand, has more of a melancholy feel to it:  You can hear the echo of sadness being born, of an ache that is just beginning to pulse.  "Fall" is what happens in parables and allegories; "autumn" is what reverberates through poems from poets as diverse as John Keats, Stephane Mallarme, Robert Frost, Emily Dickinson and Edgar Allan Poe.

From Wheelsuckers (UK)

Today I discovered a very good reason why cyclists should say "autumn" instead of "fall". It's not that we need polysyllables to make ourselves look smart.  Rather, if you Google "cycling autumn", you will see images of people riding bikes along paths and roads ablaze with trees that have turned from green into the colors of the setting sun, as well as links to websites with information about rides in places like Vermont, where people are riding (or will soon ride) along those paths and roads.  You will also find advice on what to wear and eat, and reasons why cycling in autumn is so "awesome".  (The assonance of "autumn" and "awesome" alone is reason to ride this season!)

From Cycling across America

On the other hand, if you Google "cycling fall", you'll find some of those same images and websites. But you'll also see pictures of riders tumbling off their bikes and "worst bike crashes" videos.  You'll also find articles on how to prevent falls and the things that can happen to you if you do happen to take a spill while on two wheels.

Now you tell me:  Are you cycling in autumn, or fall?

 

The Harvest Begins

The other day felt autumnal.  It wasn't just the cool, crisp air or the fact that I was in Connecticut.  I couldn't pinpoint exactly why I felt the fall had begun, or was well on its way, but I think I now know why.

Today the temperature reached 31C (88F), but the day still seemed autumnal.  Granted, we didn't have the sauna-like humidity we had during an earlier heat wave. But there was something else.  At first I thought it was just a feeling, but I realize now it was as visual as it was visceral.

Before going to work, I managed to ride by the Concrete Plant Park along the Bronx River.  I could swear I saw the first tinges of yellow and orange in a few trees:

And, because there is less daylight every day than there was earlier in the summer, the sun isn't as intense, and the ground and buildings don't have as much time to absorb the heat. So, while the air temperature climbed over 30C, the heat didn't feel as oppressive as it did a few weeks ago.

There's one more signal of Fall, for me.  My rides, whether to Connecticut or the college, seem easier now.  That is one of the things I've always loved about cycling in September and October, at least in years when I've done a decent amount of riding:  I can climb hills in a gear or two higher than I did in, say, April or even June.  Also, on my ride the other day, I was pedaling into a 20-25 KPH wind most of the way to Connecticut and barely noticed it.

Since I have never farmed (and probably never will), the kind of cycling I've experienced this week is probably the closest I will come to a harvest:  I am enjoying the fruits of all of the pedaling I've done over the past few months.

Autumn Morning Mist In New York

So far, this has been quite a mild Fall, at least here in New York.  While the weather has been great for riding, there's one thing I'm not crazy about:  The days are getting shorter.

Here is a view from the RFK-Triborough Bridge, looking toward Manhattan, just before seven this morning:

I enjoy the mist, especially the way it's pulled across the pillars and posts of steel and and slabs of concrete, as some are trying to get a few more moments of sleep.

But, of course, if you're trying to get a few more moments of sleep, you won't.  So it is morning for you, even if the light hasn't caught up, and won't for a few more months.l
 

A Day Off-- And Another Beautiful Day to Ride

In at least one way, Columbus Day is a terrible holiday.  Depending on how you look at it, on this day the United States celebrates a guy who got lost or the beginning of Native American genocide.

Italy has given the world Petrarch, Dante, Bocaccio, Michelangelo, Leonardo da Vinci, Galileo, Puccini, Verdi and Gino  Bartali.  But we celebrate "Columbus Day" as a festival of Italian pride.  Mamma mia!

One nice thing about it, though, is that most people have the day off from work or school, so there isn't much traffic on the roads.  If the weather is nice, as it was today, people will be out and about--but not as many as, say, on Memorial Day, the Fourth of July or Labor Day.

There was no denying that it was a great day to ride. I took Tosca on a ramble through the Brooklyn waterfronts, the Hasidic neighborhoods and Coney Island. 

At Sheepshead Bay, I saw the Three Musketeers:

 

A Fall Classic (For Me, Anyway)

One of the great things about doing a ride you've done dozens, even hundreds of times, before is noticing how it looks and feels different from other times when you've done it.

So it was on my Point Lookout ride today.  We had classic Fall weather:  a mix of sun and clouds and a high temperature of about 20 C.   

But we pedaled into wind that varied from 10 to 15kph from Rockaway Beach to the Point.   That meant, of course, that the ride home was more like flight. 

Arielle, my Mercian Audax, made the ride even better, as she always does.  She also  seems to be taking on the light a little differently--or is it my imagination?

Perhaps it has to do with her consciousness of line.

No, it has to be the light itself--or at least the changing Fall colors.

Autumn Dream Ride

For me, one of the worst things about having worked in education for so long is that I've done much less autumn riding than I'd like.  If I had my way, I'd take an extended cycling vacation around this time of year.  For one thing, I love the weather and foliage.  For another, it's much less expensive to go to most places at this time of year than it is in summer.  

If I could take off for a week or two, I probably would do this guy's ride:

He's in Cotswalds, England.  I mean, for someone who rides Mercian bikes with Brooks saddles, what could be a better fall ride?  About the only other places where I'd like to spend October as much as I would in that part of England are the Vosges, Vermont and, perhaps, Maine or Quebec.

Sigh... 

(Both photos are from cyclinginfouk.co.com.

An After-Work Ride On A Late Fall Day

It seems that fall, as we normally think of it, has come late to this area this year.  Perhaps it has to do with Hurricane Sandy and the subsequent nor'easter, as well as the mild October weather that preceded them.

When I say "fall has come later", I'm thinking about the kind of light and the feel of the air.  Also, I'm thinking about the trees (the ones that are still standing, anyway), which seem to have shed their leaves later and have not taken on the sere, wizened facades so many of them have by this time of year.

Maybe the lateness of the season is one reason why Tosca was so enjoying this part of an after-work ride:

Admit it:  You're not above taking a roll in the leaves.  Tosca is a fine traveling companion; she's entitled.

As she so frolicked, I noticed that the house directly in front of us is for sale:

For decades, members of the Steinway family lived here, in the Astoria Mansion.  At one time, part of their piano workshop was housed on the grounds.  When that business grew (i.e., when Steinway pianos came to be regarded among the world's best), they had to build a bigger factory a few blocks away.

Michael Hiberian died about a year and a half ago after living all of his 82 years in the house.  He'd put the house up for sale a few months before breathing his last in it; now his son is trying to unload it.  At the time the house was put on the market, it had a potential buyer at $5 million.  But that deal fell through, and the current owner is looking for $3 million.

I've never been inside, but from what I'm told, it's even more impressive there than from where I stood.  The problem is that it's in, ironically, what might be the least desirable location in Astoria.  When the house was built, it was surrounded by meadows that rolled into the bay.  The house, on  the highest hill in the area, had some expansive views, to say the least.  But now the house has an even better view of the Con Ed powerplant along the shore--and the bridge to Rikers Island.  Also, in the area around the mansion are warehouses and a cement plant.

Anyway, from there, I continued to ride along the water, past LaGuardia Airport and the World's Fair Marina, to a waterfront area I hadn't seen before--at College Point.

My bikes just love waterfronts and sunsets!  

Real Good Fall Twilight

It seems--at least in this part of the world--that the colors of October are celebrated more than those of any other month.

Reverence for the hues of that month are certainly just.  However, some of what I saw on today's ride left me absolutely stunned.

I saw this on the wooden bridge in the Randall's Island nature preserve:

Oh, but the visual feast didn't end there.  Barretto Point Park was closed, probably because of flood damage and weakened trees that might fall at any given moment.  However,through the fence, I saw this:

and this:

I know that the hues of autumn sunsets are particularly rich.  But lately it seems the skies are outdoing themselves.  I wonder whether it has anything to do with the recent storms.

My ride today was short.  But the name of this park, about three miles from my place, says it all:

This piece of real estate is in Rego Park, a Queens neighborhood that is currently home to thousands of emigres--many of whom are Jewish-- from Uzbekistan, Tajikistan and Russia.  It gets its name from the Real Good Construction company, which developed most of the neighborhood in the early 20th Century.

If you are visiting the neighborhood for the first time and it seems familiar, you've probably read Art Spiegelman's graphic novel Maus.  The scenes with his aged Polish Jewish father are all set in the neighborhood, where Spiegelman grew up.

Anyway, as you can probably tell, today's ride was short but Real Good.

Autumn Morning Commute

Perhaps it has something to do with the fact that I teach.  

One thing I like about my morning commute is that it offers me some time in solitude and reflection.  Perhaps that seems paradoxical, as the ride is focused on getting to a particular place by a particular time for the purpose of working with and for other people.  

But I am fortunate in that, at least for now, I can avoid the morning rush hour.  I leave a bit later than most people and have a couple of routes that take me away from heavily-trafficked thoroughfares.  And at this time of year, the weather is neither too hot not too cold for my liking.  Plus, pedalling seems to open up my senses so that, for a moment, one of the many millions of trees that are changing,or have changed. color and the park benches on either side of it seem like the most beautiful things.

I'm not getting rich, or anything like it.  But, at least, I don't have to contend with the traffic on the LIE or GW, or start my day with all of those angry, depressed and indifferent people you see on the 6:42 from Ronkonkoma!

Japanese Girl Cycling On Autumn Day

There was a time in my life when my walls were covered with posters of Japanese paintings, prints and woodcuts.  To me, Hokusai was (and still is) as great an artist and visionary as Michelangelo, Titian, Rodin, Gaugin and Picasso.

Today's post on Riding Pretty includes this photo of a painting outside of one of the author's favorite Japanese restaurants.  If you'd like, you can tweet her with your guess as to where she took the photo.  I'm not even going to try:  I'd just like to know who did the painting!

The Delta Function In An Autumn Bike Ride

I've been reading a novel called The Delta Function by Spanish writer Rosa Montero.

I'm mentioning it, not because I'm going to critique it (In case you want to know, I like it a lot so far.) or even because it's terribly relevant to cycling.  Rather, I'm bringing it up because of the title.

As I understand, The Delta Function is an attempt to measure phenomena that take place in almost no time (i.e., nanoseconds) but are of nearly infinite intensity.  From what I can see, it would be very useful to astro- or nuclear physicists.  But it's an interesting idea in its own right, I believe.

Anyway, it occurred to me today, as I was riding, that my rides often consist of "Delta Function" moments and events.  It may be because my senses are more open, and I'm generally more alert when I'm on my bike.

As an example, today, in passing a postage stamp-sized park on Rockaway Boulevard, I had, for a fleeting moment, the full sight of colors and sensation of leaves rustling that I experienced during early-autumn rides in  the Delaware Valley,Vermont, the Finger Lakes region, and the Vosges in France.  All it took was a few feet of pathway lined with fallen yellow leaves:

Of course, Rockaway Boulevard is a long way from any of the places I mentioned in my previous paragraph.  And today's ride was really incidental in my running of errands and fulfilling other obligations.  However, that sight, that moment transformed them, if only temporarily.

And, on the way home,  I saw something else that, for no particular reason, gave me a momentary rapture:

I know it was just a bush next to somebody's house.  But it heightened my awareness of the light and color of this season, if only for a moment.