Enjoying The View When You Can't See

Jose Saramago's Blindness, first published nearly a quarter-century ago, might be seen as a kind of "pandemic" novel in a similar way to Colin Whitehead's Zone One and Albert Camus' La Peste (The Plague).  In the Portuguese writer's work, an epidemic of blindness affects nearly everyone in an unnamed city.  Perhaps not surprisingly, the social order breaks down, along with the infrastructure and conditions in the asylum where the first of the afflicted end up.  

I was thinking of it this morning, during a ride in which I did a couple of errands before going to work, because the way Saramago describes the sudden loss of sight is almost the opposite of the way most people picture blindness.  Like most people, I have imagined the complete loss of sight in the way I imagine death:  everything going black.  But in Saramago's novel, for those stricken, everything suddenly goes white.

Now, I hope not to go blind, whether that means everything in the world going black, white or some other color or form I can't conceive.  But, if I had to not see, for a moment, probably the best (or least-bad) way I can think of is this:

That was my view, if you will, from the Williamsburg Bridge.  Now, if I were a tourist, I'm not sure of whether I'd feel that it added to the allure of the city or be disappointed that I didn't get that view of the skyline so many envision before coming here.  

For those of us who've live in this city, a foggy morning might look more like this:

That is a view down 22nd Street in Long Island City, about half a mile from my apartment. 

Of course, I made sure to use my "blinkies," front and rear.  That might be a reason why I had no problem with the traffic--and enjoyed the views of what I couldn't see.  

Moonset

I have pedaled into the sunrise, and into the sunset, to work.

Likewise, I have ridden into the sunrise, and into the sunset, to go home.

Less often, I have cycled into a moonrise, to or from my job.

This morning, for the first time (that I can recall, anyway), I spun my wheels into the path of a moonset.

A full moon setting, no less--on my to the college.

(Photos taken today, along East 139th Street, Bronx, NY)

Any Bike You Want, As Long As It's...

About thirty years ago, I was a writer-in-residence at a number of New York City schools, and St. Mary's Hospital for Children, through the Teachers and Writers program.  Most of the time, I cycled to the schools or hospital.  Most of the time, I had to lock my bike on city streets.  That meant, for me, riding my "beater," whatever it happened to be at the time.

The bikes I used for the purpose weren't bad:  Bike-Boom era 10-speeds that I turned into 5- or single-speeds. (A couple were stolen; one crashed.)  But they weren't as nimble and fun to ride as my racing, or even touring, bike.  Sometimes, after my workshops with the kids and teachers, I'd go out for a spin on my "beater" because there wasn't enough remaining daylight for, or it was simply easier than, riding  to my apartment and switching bikes.

If I found myself in a really good rhythm, or pedaling into a headwind, I'd wish that my "beater" could transform into my racing, or even my touring, bike.  

Have you ever wished, in the middle of a ride, that the bike you're riding could become another bike?  Perhaps you were yearning for a bike you didn't have. Or, you own multiple bikes, took one out and, because the day's ride was not what you'd anticipated, wished that you'd mounted one of your other steeds.  

(I think now of a time I pedaled my mountain bike into a stiff headwind I didn't anticipate on a course that was flatter and clearer of debris, mud and slush than I expected it to be after a snowstorm.)

Well, you now you can have a "chameleon" bike





as long as you are happy on a lowrider or extra-tall bike!

The strange-change machine, an entry in the Make It Move contest on Instructables, started as a full-suspension mountain bike.  The rear spring was removed to make room for the gas cylinder that pivots the rear triangle.  Also, the front fork was replaced with a (much) longer one.  

Gotta love that paint job! 

Home, Into The Sunset--For Now

Daylight Savings Time ended last Sunday.  That meant setting clocks back an hour.  A result is that, for at least a couple of weeks, I'll pedal through the sunrise during my commute to work, and cycle through the sunset on my way home.

A Morning After

First of all, I want to thank all of you who sent your condolences and other thoughts over my mother's passing.

While pedaling to school this morning, I couldn't help but to think of her.  She was an early riser and often ambled by the canal behind her house.

The Bronx Kill, which ebbs and swells under the Randall's Island Connector, is not nearly as bucolic as the waterway in her backyard.  I guess it was the calm, and the softness of the early morning light, that made me think of her, again.

Or perhaps it was another early riser: 

Another Path For The Island

My daily commute takes me through Randall's Island.  It's a bit like riding through a large park, as much of the island consists of athletic fields and gardens.  

One thing about it is frustrating, though.  There are pedestrian/bike paths on the island, but they are not connected.   That means, for example, that when you descend from the RFK Bridge ramp, you could find yourself hurtling straight into the path of a bus or Parks Department maintenance truck because the path at the end of the ramp runs for a couple hundred meters before ending abruptly on the island's street.  And it's easy to miss the turn to get onto the path that leads to the Randall's Island Connector, the bike/pedestrian bridge that links the island to the Bronx.

Also, cycling is not allowed on the fields or, understandably, in the gardens.  So it's difficult, if not impossible, to go from, say, the 103rd Street pedestrian bridge to the Connector.

Well, it looks like at least one step is being taken to make the island more navigable for cyclists and pedestrians.  The Randall's Park Alliance has announced that it's received a grant for a new pathway to connect Sunken Garden Fields with the waterfront pathway by the 103rd Street Bridge.

While this will be a boon mainly to people living in (or cycling from) Manhattan, it is at least one link in what could become a system of paths that will allow more traffic-free access to more of the island.  

What is needed, along with that path, is one that transverses the island and allows cyclists and pedestrians exiting the Queens or Manhattan spurs of the RFK Bridge to access the Connector, and the eastern part of the island, without having to contend with buses and trucks barreling down, or traffic exiting the bridge.

One can hope...

Heading For The Kill

Most days, my commute takes me over the Randall's Island Connector, a car-free bridge that runs underneath the Amtrak trestle--and over the Bronx Kill.

Even though crime is at an all-time low in New York City, the Bronx Kill isn't the only "kill" in the Big Apple--or the Empire State. Before the English came in, the Dutch colonized this area, along with nearby parts of New Jersey and Pennsylvania, in the early 17th Century.  "Kill" comes from the Middle Dutch "kille", which means "riverbed" or "water channel".

So New York had lots of kills even before the Mafia started dumping their bodies in them.

Well, the organization J.Edgar Hoover didn't believe in probably wouldn't have left corpses in something so shallow as the Bronx Kill--even when it's full.  Sometimes the waters cover all those pebbly areas on the shore, and beyond.  One morning, the Kill actually flowed just a couple of feet (or so it seemed) below the bridge.

The Bronx Kill's flow has nothing to do with rain.  Rather, it's affected by the ocean currents, as are the other Kills in New York City.  The Bronx Kill connects the East and Harlem Rivers, both of which are misnamed because they are  tidal estuaries.   Like the Bronx Kill, they have no current of their own:  The direction of their flow is dictated by the tides.

Even with the water so low, I am glad the Connector exists.  My younger self might have ignored the junk revealed by the receding tide and hopped across while hoisting my bike. Or I might have gone looking for the Randall's Island Salamander.

Were They Entering Or Exiting The Gate Of Hell?

If you've been reading this blog for a while, you know that my daily commute takes me over the RFK Memorial Bridge, which gives me a perfect view of the Gate of Hell.

All right, it's Hell Gate, and the Hell Gate Bridge.  But it's fun to tell students that I pass the Gate of Hell on my way to class!

Anyway, this morning I saw the trail of a boat zigging and zagging to--or from?--the bridge:

I can't help but to wonder:  Was a boat skittering away from, or rumbling toward, the Gate of Hell...I mean Hell Gate?

Does This Bike Need An RU Screw?

When you ride your bike to work every day, certain sights become familiar.  Sometimes, though, they're not the ones you anticipate.

If you live in a city, you probably see bikes parked in the same places every day.  Some leave in the morning, on commutes to work or school.  But others remain in the same spot and start to look like street fixtures.

This Royce Union three-speed has been parked on East 139th Street for three years, maybe more.  I say two years because that's when I started riding along a route that includes the block on which the bike is parked.


The bike is from the mid-60s or thereabouts.  I know that because I had a bike just like it--actually, the diamond frame, a.k.a. male, version.  Also, mine was black and white.  It was lovely but, oh, I would have loved the color of this one. (That tells you something about the kind of kid I was!)

Royce-Union started in England early in the 20th Century.  Later, they started to manufacture bikes in the Netherlands and, by the 1960s, Japan.   Later they would make their wares in Taiwan.  I'm guessing that by now, their stuff is coming out of China or possibly Malaysia.  You can more or less trace the geographical history of bicycle manufacture from the company's timeline!

Not surprisingly, those '60's bikes--like the one in the photos and the one I had so many years ago--were imitations of English three-speed .  Whatever market existed for adult wheels in those pre-Bike Boom days was filled mainly by so-called "English Racers" from Raleigh, Dunelt and other British manufacturers and, to a lesser degree, similar bikes from Continental makers and Schwinn.

One detail of this bike I just love is the white saddle bag.  My bike had a bag just like it, in black.  The saddle was also like the one I see parked in the Bronx, but in black.


I also had to chuckle at the "RU" on the bag and saddle.  I attended Rutgers University many years ago.  Of course, many items pertaining to the school are emblazoned "RU", though in a very different style and color.  I couldn't help but to wonder, though, whether the Royce Union had any non-standardized parts.  In a way, I hope it doesn't, because I'd love to hear someone go into a bike shop and ask for an "RU Screw."

(You have to have gone to Rutgers to fully appreciate that one!)

What Kind Of Clouds?

Is it fog?  Or is it smoke?

When it swirls around the arches of a bridge, I think most people would say it's fog.

But when it's at the Gate of Hell--or Hell Gate--it seems more like smoke.

But what about when it drifts over the city

or clouds the view of the prison?

Whatever you call it, I have pedaled through fog and smoke on my way to work.

Commuter's Eclipse

This morning, during my commute, the sun shimmered behind a gray scrim of clouds.  It was a white, almost silvery sphere that shimmered like the moon.

Then, as it drifted across the sky and, in the opposite direction, a curtain of grey clouds crept across its face, it seemed more like the moon.

This "eclipse", like a "real" one, ended not long after it began.  But it left the sky grayer and the sun dimmer, at times almost invisible.

Still, it made for a very easy last leg of my commute:  A slight, cool breeze tickled my back and the sun wasn't beating down on me.

Why Was I Doing My Commute On Sunday?

Sometimes I joke about "going through the Gate of Hell to get to work every day."  The truth is, I ride over Hell Gate and by the Hell Gate Bridge when I cross the RFK Memorial (a.k.a. Triborough) Bridge every morning.

On Sunday I took Bill and Cindy by it.  If that was supposed to scare them into living on the straight and narrow, it wasn't very effective.  Then again, how could I scare, or persuade, anybody or anything into being straight?  


But I digress.  We were riding to Van Cortland Park.  They wanted to take the Greenway along the Hudson River (and the West Side Highway.)  While I like the views and that it's so close to the water, I knew that on a sunny Sunday, half of the cyclists, 70 percent of the skateboarders and 99 percent of the people with dogs or baby strollers would be on that path.  Pedaling through the Port Morris industrial area--deserted on Sunday--and Bronx side streets would be bucolic by comparison.

So, after taking Bill and Cindy through, or by, the Gates of Hell, we descended (literally) to Randall's Island where we rode underneath the Amtrak viaduct.  After the Gate, these arches were rather impressive.  Funny thing is, I don't normally see them that way:  They are, after all, part of my commute.

So are these houses on Alexander Avenue in the Bronx:

Not far away are these houses.   Save for the graffiti next to the "fish" building, almost nobody expects to see them in the South Bronx:

They're diagonally across from each other on the Grand Concourse.  The mansion is the Freedman House, built in the 1920s for formerly-wealthy people who had fallen on hard times. Now it contains an event space, art studio and bed-and-breakfast. It's almost jarring to see such a classically Florentine house across the Concourse from the Art Deco building with its mosaic. 

Anyway, Cindy had an appointment and had to leave us before we reached Van Cortlandt Park. Back when I lived on the Upper West Side and in Washington Heights, I used to take quick spins to the park, where I would check out whatever was on display in the Manor or watch the Irish rugby and soccer players. Time marches on, and now there are different folks playing a different game.

The clouds thickened, but never threatened rain.  But they didn't portend anything like Spring, either.  Rolling across the hills of Riverdale, they broke against the shore of Spuyten Duyvil, another place almost nobody expects to find in the Bronx:

Into Daylight--More Of It

How do you know it's Spring?

Well, the weather hasn't been in tune with the season, at least in these parts.  But I can see more daylight in each day--to the point that early morning commutes beginning in darkness pass through the sunrise and end in early morning light, all within the space of not much more than half an hour.

So, you ask, what am I doing on such early commutes?  Well, two days a week, I have 8 am classes and I like to arrive early to prepare my lessons, and myself.

The early morning ride certainly helps!

To Hell And Dawn

Yesterday I wrote about a ride that included a fallen tree and the sunset.  The latter, not surprisingly, made the ride glorious, while the tree made it more interesting.

Somehow it fits that I was riding at sunrise this morning.  Actually, I was making my commuter a little earlier than usual so I could get a bit of work done before my classes.  I am noticing, however, that day is dawning earlier and ending later.  Sunday, we move the clocks ahead an hour for "Daylight Savings Time," which means more daylight at the end of the day.  It also means that I might be making a pre-dawn commute or two before the end of the month.

Anyway, from the RFK Memorial Bridge I got to see the morning arise at Hell's Gate--actually, the Hell Gate Bridge:

"Dawn" and "hell":  They almost seem contradictory, don't they?

Welcome To Port Morris

When you enter a neighborhood, town, city, state or nation, you might see a sign that says "Welcome To..." or "Entering..."  Or the sign might consist only of the name of the place.  

Most people don't realize that there isn't a neighborhood called "South Bronx."  Rather, it's a section of the borough that consists of a number of different neighborhoods.  Depending on whose definition you believe, they all lie south of the Cross Bronx Expressway, Tremont Avenue or Fordham Road.

By any definition, I work in what's now being called "SoBro".  (Uh-oh.  There goes the neighborhood!)  I also enter it--and, specifically one of its neighborhoods--when I ride off the Randalls Island Connector:

They really let you know where you are, don't they?  To be specific, that mural graces Willow Avenue between 134th and 135th Streets in the heart of Port Morris, a mostly industrial area at the very southern tip of the Bronx.

But that's only half of the mural.  Here's the right-hand side of it, with a detail:

I first saw this mural a couple of weeks ago, when I decided to vary my commuting route a bit.  Actually, I decided to take Willow Avenue when I saw a sign for a bike lane that recently opened along its side.

I know I've been critical of bike lanes.  The one on Willow Avenue is, like others in the city, separated from the street by a couple of lines of paint and a few poles.  But there actually isn't much traffic on Willow:  Most of the motorized vehicles are on the nearby Bruckner Expressway.  But you do have to watch for trucks pulling in and out of the driveways that cross the lane into factories and lofts.  I must say, though, that truck drivers are generally (at least in my experience) more careful and courteous than others.  They often honk and wave to me!

And I get to see some street art.  Those, I think, are good reasons to change up my commuting route.  At least I know exactly where I am!

Which Is A Shadow Of Which?

Last night, I stayed late at work.  And I had an early morning class.

So, on my way home, I followed one "shadow":

across the RFK Memorial Bridge

to my home in Queens.


This morning I followed another

on Randalls Island, to the Bronx

and the early risers (or all-night workers) I teach.

Mott Haven Morning

What is the difference between "dawn" and "sunrise"?

Someone, I forget who, said that if you call it "dawn", you probably aren't awake for it.  Whatever you call it, it's early in the morning.

I'm not complaining.  I was just thinking of a title for this post. "Dawn In The Bronx" seems like a Chamber of Commerce slogan.  So I opted for "Mott Haven Morning."  Whatever you call it, I was up for it.  And it was good.

Just Ahead Of The Dawn

This semester, I teach early classes on Monday and Wednesday. Yes, I volunteered for that as part of a deal, sort of. But that's another story.

Anyway, today I decided to ride to work a little earlier than usual so I could do a bit of work before classes.  Also, I sensed I would have an even more pleasant commute than usual.

I pedaled across the Queens span of the RFK Memorial Bridge just in time to see the sun rising over the North Shore of Queens and Long Island--just beyond Rikers Island, and just ahead of a southbound Amtrak train that would pass over the Hell Gate Bridge.

And I was pedaling just ahead of the sunrise.  One of my students said I brought light into the room today.  I wonder whether she saw me riding across the river, in front of Hell Gate.  

Not Paved With Gold: Lined With It

We've had some insanely nice weather the past few days.  That's going to end late this afternoon or tonight, according to weather forecasts.  Rain will fall, but it won't be anything like what folks in Texas and Florida have experienced.  And it won't be accompanied by wind.

This morning's commute, though, was a treat:

Hell Gate doesn't seem so Hellish when the sun rises amidst the columns of morning.

From the dawn horizon, I rode the Randall's Island path underneath the Amtrak trestle (a.k.a. the Hell Gate Bridge) to the Randall's Island Connector.

Randall's Island Connector: The Bronx's new car-free link to Manhattan from STREETFILMS on Vimeo.

Legend has it that people emigrated to the US after hearing that streets in America were "paved with gold."  Believe it or not, such stories still circulate and entice the poor, the hungry and the ambitious to come here.

Of course we all know the streets aren't "paved with gold".  But, for a moment, it seemed as if the Randall's Island Connector was lined with it:

A good day has followed.

No Clear Skies Ahead--Or For The Ride Home

Maybe, even after all of these years, I'm not a real New Yorker after all:  I still enjoy the views when I'm crossing some of this city's bridges.  This morning, as I wheeled across the Queens span of the RFK Memorial/Triborough Bridge, a woman who I thought was out for her morning run stopped mid-span to take photos of the skyline.  I didn't mutter "tourist" or any of the other epithets a jaded resident of the Big Apple might hurl at such a person.  

In fact, I stopped to snap a picture.  But I didn't take one of those photos that includes silhouettes of the UN Towers and the Empire State and Chrysler Buildings.  Instead, I turned my camera (my cell phone, actually--the woman was using a real camera) in the opposite direction:

The Hell Gate Bridge, which carries Amtrak trains to and from New Haven, Providence and Boston, winds through the Bronx and upper Manhattan.  They are to the west (and north) of Astoria, where I live and begin my commute. 

You can see the skies turning gray to the west.  That meant, of course, that the clear skies I was enjoying as I crossed the bridge would, more than likely, move across the river.  And, depending on what time of day I went home, I could contend with rain while crossing the bridge or on the other side.  

Most of the commutes I've done to jobs I've had in the past have taken me along streets in residential, commercial or industrial areas.  I get to sample all three during my current commute.  However, riding to my current job also involves riding over the Queens span of the RFK/Triborough Bridge which, at mid-point, is separated from the East River by about 90 meters (145 feet).  It's a bit like riding in a helicopter:  It allows me views I never had on previous commutes.  It also allows me to see incoming weather in ways I never could before.

I still listen to the weather report before I leave and prepare myself accordingly.  As useful as that is, there's still nothing like seeing a real-time video of the day's conditions unfolding.  The raingear is in my pannier, but literally seeing what's on the horizon prepares me in a unique way for a ride home that could be very different from my ride to work.