Another Beautiful Day, Another (Good) Bike Lane

 Yesterday’s weather was much like Thursday’s, just a couple of degrees cooler. So, of course, I hopped on one of my bikes—La-Vande, my King of Mercia—and pedaled into the wind.

Once again, I followed the Bruckner bike lane. I had to wiggle around a couple of trucks and construction cranes that, apparently, were being used to do some maintenance on the Bruckner Expressway.  I didn’t begrudge the workers:  I was such a great mood from riding on such a beautiful day, and I didn’t want it to be spoiled by a highway falling on me!

Anyway, I rode to—where else?—Greenwich, Connecticut. Along the way, I made another, longer, detour. This one was intentional, though:  I followed another bike lane I hadn’t previously ridden.  Starting at Old Post Road in Rye, it’s a single ribbon of asphalt (well-paved!) that parallels, and is separated from, the Playland Parkway to the Rye Playland, an old-school amusement park that somehow fends off threats from much larger and flashier amusement parks. 

The lane reminded me of some that I’ve ridden in Europe: It followed a significant roadway and,‘while peaceful and even somewhat scenic, is actually useful in getting from one place to another.

The detour added a couple of miles to my ride.  Of course I didn’t mind: I had no deadline and the weather seemed to get even better.

Today is supposed to be as nice, but a few degrees warmer. After I finish my coffee, yogurt and croissant, I’ll be on my way—to where, I haven’t decided.

No Destination, But A Memory

Yesterday was a no-particular-destination ride. The morning sky was so clear and bright I could have believed that the previous night’s “Blue Super Moon” was helping the sun. The temperature—around 19c (66F) felt more like an early Fall than late Summer. The north wind rustled leaves and spilled cool waves against my skin.

Though I had particular place I intended to ride, I knew I wanted to pedal into that wind so that, depending on my route, it would blow at my back on my way back.

So my ramble took me up and down the hills, and past estates—some inhabited, others turned into museums, libraries and other monuments and institutions. That meant going first through the Bronx—and up the new Bruckner bike lane I rode on Sunday.

As I entered the lane from 138th Street, I had a flashback that caused me to stop at one of the pillars holding the highway above me.

The scene I recollected may have happened at that post. If not, it took place at one nearby. Whichever it was, realizing that the memory was from about thirty years ago made me feel, for a moment, old.  But I’m still in midlife. Really!

I was riding with some of my old mountain biking buddies. We all lived in Brooklyn and rode trails in nearby parks or took trains or rides with whoever could drive to places further from the city.

That day, if I recall correctly, we were pedaling home from Van Cortlandt Park. We prided ourselves on not having to stop for a traffic light—until that moment. 

As we waited, I saw a boy who looked about 12 or 13 years old facing the post, his hands cupped in front of his crotch. I didn’t judge him: After all, countless men and boys (and I, once upon a time) took care of their needs in a similar way when they (we) couldn’t find a toilet.

Except that he wasn’t taking care of that kind of business. I couldn’t help but to notice something longer and darker than the “jewels” a boy of that age would’ve had. And it was darker, and made of something that wasn’t human flesh.

He took one hand off it, reached into his pocket and brought his hand to his crotch.

The light changed. As we pedaled down the next block, I turned to my riding buddies. “Did you see what I saw?”

I didn’t need to ask. They nodded. “Yeah, he was loadin’ his gun,” Ray—“Crazy Ray” to us—deadpanned.

As I continued yesterday’s ride, I couldn’t help but to think about that boy.  Did he live to see a day like yesterday?  If he’s still around, he’d be even older than I was then.  Did he make it to midlife?

One More Ride To Normal

We've all heard that, as a result of the COVID-19 epidemic, some things "won't be the same."  We have some ideas about some of the things that might change--schools, workplaces and such--but we also know that there will be changes that few, if any, of us can predict.

That, I believe, motivates us to want--and celebrate--a return to things that are familiar.

What I have just described can also describe recovering from a major illness, accident or other trauma.  At least, that's how I feel about the aftermath of my crash.

Finally getting on my bike last week, if only for a short ride, was a sign that at least something in my life was on its way to normalcy.  Riding again the other day--and making a dessert I've wanted to make for a long time--was another.

Yesterday I took another step--or ride, if you will--toward life as I knew it.

For the first time in more than a month, I pedaled to Point Lookout.  At 120 kilometers, give or take, it's the longest ride I've done since my accident.  

The good news is that in my neck and shoulders, where pain has persisted, feel better than they did yesterday or at any time in the past month.  I still feel some twinges and stiffness, but simply holding my head up doesn't tire me.  

I felt pretty good in general.  The only "bad news," if you can call it that, is that I felt more tired than I usually feel at the end of such a ride. Part of my fatigue was a result of not having done such a ride in more than a month.  Another part of my tiredness came from having pedaled into a fairly brisk wind from the southeast, under a bright sun, all the way to Point Lookout.  Of course, I had the wind at my back on my way home, but there was still nothing between me and solar rays but my sunscreen.

What I've said about the sun and wind isn't a complaint:  I could hardly have had a more beautiful day on which to complete one more step on my return to what is normal in my life.  I wonder what will change.

Gardens Of Memory

Rain fell in the wee hours of yesterday morning. But the day dawned bright and clear, if windy.  So, of course, I went for a ride--to Connecticut.

When I got to Greenwich, I parked myself on a bench in the Common, where I munched from a packet of Kar's Sweet 'N' Salty Trail Mix (I see how that stuff can be addictive!) and washed it down with a small can of some espresso-and-cream cold drink.  

That combination of caffeine and sugar can make you feel as if you're ready to burst forth--like the flowers I've been seeing during the past few days.  The weather is warm for a day or two, and the flowers just seem to appear, in gardens, on trees (oh, the cherry blossoms) and in public monuments. 

It's sadly ironic to see flowers growing around a memorial to military members who died in combat.  Those soldiers, sailors, airmen and others--almost all of them young-- are gone, long gone.  Who remembers them, or the cause--whatever it was--for which they fought?  And who will remember, in future generations, the ones who die fighting for basically the same reasons and impulses as the ones who survive only as names on stone?

But the flowers return, whether on their own or because someone planted them.  It does not matter whether the monument they adorn commemorates people who gave their lives in a just or unjust, constructive or futile, reasonable or fallacious cause:  Those flowers will return, and grow, just the same.

Receding Waves And Raising Imagination

Another beautiful early summer day means...a ride, of course.  This one took me to Point Lookout.  I pedaled against the wind most of the way out and with it most of the way back.  

When I got back, I talked to my mother and told her I "looked like a tomato."  She asked whether I'd used sunscreen; which, of course, I had.  In fact, both of my stops were for the purpose of applying "beach grease".

What was most striking about the ride, though, was that the tide at the Point had receded further than I'd ever seen before.  I can't recall the sandbars stretching as far and wide as the ones that were exposed yesterday.

Speaking of exposure:  I could just barely see that couple on the sandbar.  It didn't look like they were wearing a whole lot, though it looked like they were doing quite a bit.  One of the things they were doing, of course, was leaving something to the imagnation!

What else might we lose if and when sea levels rise?

The Ride I Missed, And The One I Did

I should know better than to make plans to go on a big organized ride.

I kinda sorta promised someone else I would go on the Tour de Bronx.  We hadn't made plans to meet up, but I told this person I was going on the ride.  

A few years ago, I did TdB and enjoyed it.  Other riders remarked about some of the places the Tour visited:  the Maritime Academy, the waterfall, parks full of cliffs, the Riverdale streets that look more like they belong in Princeton than in the Bronx--or the Bronx that many people envision, anyway.  And the hills.  More than one rider expressed surprise that there were so many--and that there was so much of interest to see in the borough.

Today, though, I woke up later than I planned.  And a semi-emergency came up.  As a result, I got on the road about three hours later than I'd planned.  Worst of all, I rode to the starting point of previous Tours de Bronx, near Yankee Stadium--forgetting that this year's starting point was near the Botanical Gardens, about five kilometers away.

Now you know why I never pre-register--or, most important, pay the registration fee in advance--for such rides!

So, instead, I took my own ride into the upper reaches of the Bronx and Westchester County.  How could I not?  The wind, which blew steadily at about 30 KPH and gusted to 60, was somewhat softened, for me anyway, by the clear skies, sunshine and foliage:

I took Vera, for no particular reason.  Actually, I think I knew, deep down, that this day's colors would become her:

Everything seemed to be dressed in such colors today, even the park benches:

Those were found in Fordham Park, next to the namesake university.  The foliage graced a park in Scarsdale, though such colors were everywhere.  

Interestingly, the most traffic-free part of my ride came after I crossed the Randall's Island Connector to the southern tip of the Bronx. There, the factories were idle and warehouses closed, so there were no trucks plying Walnut and Oak Avenues, or the numbered streets in the 130s and 140s.  There wasn't even much traffic entering or exiting the Bruckner Expressway.  

On the other hand, I encountered surprising numbers of cars and SUVs along some of the tree- and mansion-lined streets of Scarsdale, Tuckahoe and the western section of New Rochelle.  I guess a lot of people decided today was a perfect day for a Sunday ride.  Thankfully, I didn't encounter any hostile drivers.

Perhaps this man talked to them:

Until a year or so ago, the sign for this street--in the South Bronx--didn't have a tilde (squiggle) over the "n" or an accent on the "e".  So, people who don't speak Spanish referred to the street as "Louie 9".  It reminds me of the Montreal Metro station and Boulevard named Pie (with an accent grave on the "e") IX, for the longest-reigning Pope in the history of the Roman Catholic Church. Anglophones in the city often call it, with amusement, "Pie Nine".  

For the record, Louis Nine served 13 years in the New York State Assembly and is remembered for his battles--sometimes victorious, sometimes not--to obtain housing for low-and middle-income families and families with handicapped children, as well as employment opportunities for young people and members of minority groups.  

I saw Louie 9 near the beginning and end of my ride--and the fall colors in between.  Maybe next year I'll do the Tour de Bronx again.

Note:  Once again, I apologize for the quality of these images. I took them with my cell phone, and could not prevent the glare you see in some of them.  

A Beautiful Ride, Indeed!

Perhaps I am more fortunate than most people.  After all, on two consecutive days, I took rides that--as familiar as they were--nourished my mind and spirit, if in completely different ways, as they exercised my body.

And I rode to work with the sun blazing over Hell Gate as a cool breeze floated over me.  "You look happy!" one of my students observed.

Happy, indeed.  After riding to work, I got to talk about poetry.  Between classes, I checked my e-mail.  Someone sent me this:

A beautiful ride, indeed!

Now It's Arielle's Turn!

Today Arielle, my Mercian Audax, decided she wanted to "go camouflage".  After all, if Tosca (my Mercian fixie) could do  it, why shouldn't she?

I couldn't argue with her logic.  So, this afternoon, I took her out on a ride that somehow or another (ha, ha!) ended up in Connecticut.  Why not?  The day was utterly gorgeous, and the high temperature reached 25 C (77F), much lower than what we experienced on Sunday, as was the humidity.

Anyway, before the "camo" shot, I made her pose for something a bit more revealing.  She seemed not to mind:

then a front shot

and one from the rear

Finally, she got her wish.  Now, I took the photos with my cell phone, so they aren't the best.  But the sun was so bright that the light purple flowers seemed to be reflections of the sun:

All in all, I had another great day and great day.  Good thing:  Rain is forecast for tomorrow.   Maybe it's time to ride one of my fendered friends.

Looking Out At My Great Luck

Every traffic report I heard said, in essence, that traffic would not be heavy today, as most people who planned on traveling this weekend had left yesterday, or even earlier.

Those reports turned out to be true--even for going to the beach.  I decided to take a chance in riding again to Rockaway Beach, but continuing to Point Lookout because today was just as hot as yesterday.  And, as with yesterday, I was pedaling into the wind on my way to Rockaway Beach, though it wasn't quite as stiff as what I experienced yesterday.  Or, perhaps, it didn't seem as difficult because I was riding Arielle, my Mercian Audax, which has gears.  In contrast, yesterday, I was riding Tosca, my Mercian fixie.

Perhaps it's strange to antrhopomorphosize a bicycle, but sometimes I swear Arielle is just excited to be outside on a beautiful day.  She may not be the lightest machine--she is steel, after all, as are all of my bikes--but she's hardly porky.  To me, she's proof that design--specifically, design by and for cyclists--is more important than exotic materials. Though, I must say, people in much of the world would probably think Reynolds 631 is pretty exotic compared to whatever bikes they have available--if indeed they have bikes available!

But back to Arielle's sprightliness:  Sometimes I think she's like that because she knows the sun brings out her colors!

Anyway, the ride--both to Point Lookout and back--actually was faster than I thought it was.  That, or my watch slowed down, which seems unlikely as it was, at the end of my ride, still in sync with my cell phone and every other time-keeping device I saw.

Even after my decades of riding, there are some things I haven't figured out.  What I experienced today is one of them:  To wit, I have done considerably less cycling during the past month than I would normally do at this time of year.  Yet my time today on a ride I have taken many, many times before was about the same, give or take two to five minutes (over a 105 kilometer ride) as it was at my peak during last year's riding season.  Yet there have been times when I was in better shape (and younger!) and thought I was pedaling like Eddy Mercx or Jeanne Longo, but my ride took a lot longer than I expected.  Not that I care so much about time, except when I'm "sneaking away" or "playing hooky" and have to be somewhere (e.g. work or a date) at a specific time after my ride.

Oh well.  Perhaps I should also mention that I didn't stick around long at Point Lookout. (I don't count the time I stay at my destination in my ride time.)  A lot of people were there, but none in the water, there or anywhere else along the coast.  As I mentioned yesteday, the water is still fairly chilly (at least for most people).  Also, at Point Lookout, most of the people were there to see the air show at Jones Beach, directly across the inlet.  The show wasn't scheduled to start for another couple of hours, but as I understand, the beach would be as packed as if it were the Fourth of July, with weather like we had today.  I couldn't, however, bring myself to stay for it--in part, because I wanted to continue riding, but also because one of the planes scheduled to fly in the show crash-landed in the Hudson River, killing its pilot.  I don't know how I would have felt while watching the stunts after seeing footage of poor Bill Gordon saving everybody but himself after his plane's engine failed.

Today I was luckier indeed.  And I am grateful for that:  I had to do nothing but enjoy my ride. 

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.

I Tried To Be Graceful. Spoiler: He Was Gracious.

The last time I rode to Connecticut, I made a wisecrack about how the Swiss boarding schools might still be teaching good manners after all.  Well, I saw evidence of that today when—you guessed it—I rode to Connecticut.

I was riding—coasting, actually—down the same street that prompted my quip.   Although there wasn’t a street fair, a lot of people were there, shopping in the boutiques—and walking around with the frappucinos they got in Starbuck’s. (I guess the coffee purveyor is the street’s concession to mass market!)  Even though I was controlling myself, I was going at a pretty good clip, as the street slopes downward.

Sign on a shared path in Perth, Australia.  Photo by Jo Beeson.  From ABC News Australia.

A man stepped into the street, his back turned to me.  He was talking to a woman who I assume is his wife.  Both were dressed in a similar sort of high-dollar casual way.  As they talked, they stepped into the street.  The woman, a step or two behind him, tried to pull him back.  I rang my bell and shouted non-obscenities. (I guess I was trying to show that you don’t have to go to a Swiss boarding school to learn good manners!)  I couldn’t steer out of his path, as not more than the thickness of my glove separated me from a line of cars descending to my left. 

I hit my brakes—and him.  Well, not quite hit:  It was more than a graze, but I careened off his rear left side.  He staggered a couple of steps but didn’t fall.  I stopped.

Before I could ask whether he was OK, he intoned, “I’m sorry.  I’m so sorry.”

“I’m sorry.”  I meant it.  It’s the sort of street lots of people cross without looking, and the drivers seem to anticipate it. If I could have steered out of his way, I would have.  It’s useless, really, to scream at pedestrians in such a place.

“I’m really, really sorry.”

“Are you OK?” I finally asked.

I took off my sunglasses.  He looked into my eyes. I waited for him to cross.  He flicked his right hand.  “After you,” he said with a deferential smile.

“Have a good day,” I said.

“Likewise.”

They really do teach good manners in Swiss boarding schools—or Deerfield or Andover or Groton or wherever he went to school. Or maybe he’s just a gentle, polite man.  Whatever the case, I really couldn’t be angry.  And, to tell you the truth, I didn’t want to be: It was a beautiful day and I was having a great ride.

I Thought I'd Caught Her Flip-Flopping

Today was an absolutely glorious day, weather-wise, and I didn't have to worry about spectacles of animal exploitation clogging area roadways.  In fact, given that it was Sunday, there was scarcely a cloud in the sky and little humidity, and the temperature reached 24C (75F), I was surprised to see as little traffic as I did anywhere I rode.

Even the beach areas were pretty quiet.  I rode down to the Rockaways, flipped a quarter and continued to Point Lookout. Some people were walking about on the beach and the boardwalks in the Rockaways and Atlantic Beach.  But they didn't seem to linger, surprisingly enough. The water is still a bit cooler than some people like for swimming.  That might be a reason why there weren't as many people as I expected.  Also, there didn't seem to be many events as there were last weekend or the weekend before, which included Memorial Day.

Of course I didn't mind.  I just rode and took a couple of self-indulgent shots of Tosca, my fixed-gear Mercian:

Actually, I took the photos because in the light of that beach, and the angle from which I was looking when I sat down, I could see the "flip-flop" quality of the finish:  It actually looked purple and green at the same time.  I don't think it came through in these photos.  Oh well.

I had a great ride with Tosca.  That's what matters.

Same Ride, Different Day--By Choice

Have you ever done the same ride two days in a row?

Back in my racing days, I sometimes did.  Ditto for the early part of my post-racing life, when I was still pretty young and training for…what, I didn’t know.  But, most of the time, I managed to find a different route every day for the hour or two or three I’d ride before or after work.

It’s rare, though, that I’ll follow the same itinerary two days in a row when I’m riding simply for pleasure.  Today was one of those unusual occasions:  I rode to Point Lookout again.

The sun shone as brightly as it did yesterday.  However, the wind blew harder and the temperature barely made it to 15C (60F) in my neighborhood, in contrast to yesterday’s 27C (80F).  That meant that though the temperature dropped considerably as I rode over the Cross Bay Bridge to the Rockaways, the contrast wasn’t as extreme as it was yesterday.

In addition to being stiffer, the wind blew almost directly from the south-south-east.  Yesterday, it came more directly from the southeast.  So, while I had headwinds, then sidewinds followed by more headwinds on yesterday’s ride, I pedaled into headwinds all the way from my apartment to Point Lookout.  On the other hand, I had a nearly perfect tailwind all the way home.  

One other difference: I rode Arielle, my Mercian Audax, for the first time this year.  I don’t know whether it was because I was so happy to ride her again, but the ride felt even smoother than I recall from earlier seasons.  Best of all, my ride out was faster than I thought it would be and I felt as if I were flying home.

Plus, if I do say so myself, she’s never been prettier.  Arielle always gets compliments; they seemed more common today.  Interestingly, of all of my bikes, it seems that Arielle and Vera (my green Miss Mercian mixte) get the most compliments for their looks.

Another reason why I was happy to be riding Arielle is that the gears sure came in handy when I was pedaling into that wind.  On my way home, I never shifted to anything larger than my third-smallest rear cog (on a nine-speed cassette) and I stayed in my large chainring throughout the ride.

So…I did 100K rides on consecutive days.  I guess that’s not bad considering how little riding I during the past winter, which seemed to end only when I went to Florida the week before last.