Five hours before the vernal equinox, I was pedaling the Randall's Island Connector on my way to work. As the season was almost-but-not-quite Spring (at least officially), it was almost-but-not-quite morning.
If those clouds look more wintry than spring-like, well,that's because they are. According to the weather forecast, the a nor'easter is going to be sprung on us tonight--and leave a few inches, perhaps even a foot, of snow in its wake.
I'm so glad I took Dee-Lilah out the other day. She's not seeing any action until the snow and slush clear: I'm not going to muck up that nice, new paint job!
Today the autumnal equinox arrives at 4:02 pm EDT.
I'll be on my bike by then. In fact, I might have even finished my ride.
I haven't decided where I'm riding. Then again, apart from the usual changes (Is that phrase an oxymoron?)--you know, the shorter days and the changing colors of the leaves--we never really know what a new season will bring, do we?
For that matter, you or I can take a ride we've taken dozens or even hundreds of times before. We know the way; we know the terrain and the road conditions. But we don't always know what lies ahead on any given day, on any given ride.
Out for a ride. On to a new season.
During my ride home, I stopped at the Long Island City piers just in time for this:
And, in one sign that Spring is finally springing on us, I saw a willow just beginning to open itself to the sun that's finally warming it:
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.
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