Riding After Ernesto

 Yesterday’s weather reflected May more than August: a high temperature of 24C (75F) and cumulus clouds drifting across a sun-filled sky. It followed a couple of days with similar conditions:  After the heavy rains of last weekend, could it have been a “gift” from Hurricane Ernesto.

During my ride, I saw other reminders of his visit. I cycled down to Rockaway Beach and east along the south shore of Queens and Nassau County to Point Lookout. Swimming was prohibited in all of the beaches I passed—and the ones I saw on my ride ride back, which I continued along the coast to Jacob Riis Park, Sheepshead Bay, Coney Island and the Verrazano-Narrows promenade before turning “inland” where Bay Ridge meets Sunset Park and pedaling through Brooklyn and Queens back to the Bronx.

One interesting phenomenon about the aftermath of a hurricane is its effect on tides. After a storm passes, the water’s calm surface may hide a strong undercurrent—hence the swimming ban.  It also can lead not only to strong high tides but, almost counterintuitively, cause the tide to recede even further than it normally does, as I saw at Point Lookout.  

Someone—a resident, I believe—remarked that on one of the most beautiful days, weather-wise, he’d experienced, he’d “never seen the tide so far out.”

Oh, and I should mention another reminder that a strong storm had passed:  It seemed that no matter which way I pedaled, a strong wind blew at my back or face.  I didn’t mind:  Even when I fought it, the wind seemed to make the day even more beautiful.

Oh, and by my calculations, I did a bit more than a “century” in miles (about 105, or 169 kilometers). Does that mean I’ve extended my “midlife” just a bit more.

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.

If Not The Bike

Another heat wave has this city, and area, in its grip.  That means, as in the previous stretch of serial "scorchers," I'm taking early morning rides.  Also, I needed to get back in time for a lunchtime conference call.

Although my situation precluded a long ride, I was happy to be awake and on the road before the rush hour traffic.  I rode early enough, in fact, that on my way back--which took me along the Malcolm X Promenade--I didn't see very much traffic entering or exiting LaGuardia Airport.  

Also, I rode early enough to avoid an afternoon storm that was forecast, but never arrived.  The seeming imminence of the storm was accented by two skeletal trees on the bay:

It's strange to see them in the middle of summer.  I think they were just planted, along with other vegetation, to shore up a shoreline ravaged by Sandy and other storms.  Or those trees might've been damaged during, and pruned after, one of those storms.

Those trees framed a grimly dreamlike skyline of tall buildings blotted by clouds behind masts of boats belying the seemingly-imminent storm.

That I can find, without even trying, a new view or other sensual experience on a ride I've done dozens, or even hundreds, of times is a reason why I take those rides time and time again.  Some folks--friends--think it has to do with my innate "sensitivity."  I say it's, if not the bike, then cycling.