Boulevard Ochenta y Siete

 Yesterday’s rains left bright skies and brisk winds today: about as nice as can be expected this early in Spring.

So, of course, I went for a ride this afternoon. About 3.5 kilometers from my apartment I saw this:

I have passed that spot before, But today I couldn’t help but to notice how it was decorated. 

As colorful as the flowers (made of crepe paper) and ribbons were, that spot—a pocket park at the intersection of Southern Boulevard and Tremont Avenue—cannot be festive. That block of Southern is called the Boulevard Ochenta y Siete:  Boulevard 87.

And that name is the reason why that park can be decorated only in the sense that people who brave wars, disasters or other tragedies are “decorated” when medals are pinned on them. 

On this date in 1990–35 years ago—Julio Gonzalez got into an argument with his ex-girlfriend, who worked at the Happy Land Social Club, across the street from the park. Bouncers escorted him out of the club. Out on the street, he shouted, vowing to have the club shut down—which, ironically, he (or someone else) could have done, as it operated without a license.

In his rage, he went to a nearby gas station and bought a gallon of gasoline, which he would pour onto the staircase—the only way in or out of that second-story club—and light it.

In the wee hours of that morning, revelers, most of them Hondurans celebrating Carnaval, packed the darkened space. By the time firefighters put out the blaze, 87 would lose their lives.  

In a cruel irony, Gonzalez’s girlfriend, Lydia Feliciano, wasn’t there. In another terrible twist of fate, exactly 79 years earlier—25 March 1911–the Triangle Shirtwaist Factory Fire claimed the lives of 146 workers, most of them young Italian and Jewish immigrant women. The Happy Land Fire was thus the deadliest conflagration in New York City since Triangle Shirtwaist—whose victims, like those at Happy Land, had no way out.

It wasn’t lost on me that I enjoyed an afternoon ride aboard Tosca, my Mercian fixed gear bike, during a beautiful Spring afternoon that just happened to be an anniversary of two of the worst tragedies to befall my hometown, New York, before 9/11.

A Budding Season

 Wednesday, on my way to work, I rode by St. Nicholas Park, which sits on a bluff between City College and central Harlem. The day was just warm and bright enough to herald Spring, but the wind nipped just enough to remind me that, perhaps, Winter wasn’t finished with us yet. 

I decided, however, to focus on the advent of Spring when I saw this:

A "Cathedral" Under Hell Gate

Yesterday I reprised the late-afternoon ride I took two days before:  a 72 km (45 mile) round trip from my apartment to Fort Totten and back.

The air was a bit chillier, but brighter, than on my previous ride.  Perhaps that accounted for my seeing fewer cyclists, though I encountered more bundled-up people with their dogs along the waterfront path that winds under the Throgs Neck Bridge.  But the biggest difference--for me, anyway--was that I started a bit later.  You might say that I was playing chicken with dusk:  I got to my apartment in under some of the last flickerings of twilight.

The return leg brought me to the Connector between Randall's Island and the Bronx.  It runs underneath the viaduct that ushers Amtrak trains toward Manhattan and Penn Station.  There, I was treated to an early glow of sunset:

That light proved irresistible to me:  I slowed down and, of course, stopped to take pictures, even at the risk of ending my ride in the dark--which wouldn't have been the worst thing, as I'd brought lights. 

 

Later, I relished the irony of feeling as if I'd entered a cathedral while pedaling under a viaduct that continues from the Hell Gate Bridge.

Flying Righr—For Me, Anyway

 Daylight Saving Time means..a longer late afternoon ride. 

This time I pedaled out to Fort Totten via the Bronx River Greenway, Randall’s Island and the Malcom X Promenade—about 72 kilometers, or 45 miles, on my not-quite-as-the crow-flies route. 

Well, I didn’t see any crows, so I had an excuse for not following them.  I’m sure these birds, not quite of the same feather, won’t hold it against me:

Eat-ce un Amour Nouveau?

 I know it’s been almost two weeks since Valentine’s Day.  But it’s still February. So I thought I’d share this story of how a divorced couple may have found a new way to relate during a bike ride:

https://www.nytimes.com/2025/02/21/style/modern-love-divorce-paris-trying-to-not-love-him.html

Flocks Seen During A Solo Ride

 Seen during a mid-winter, late-day ride on Randall’s Island:

Under a Bridge, Through a Gate

The semester has begun and I’ve been busy.  I had just enough time the other day for a 25 kilometer non-commute ride.

I pedaled to Randall’s Island, where I did a couple of laps that took me under the Art Deco-inspired Queens span of the RFK Memorial Bridge 

and the Gate of Hell

or, more precisely, the Hell Gate Bridge.

Congestion Relief=Crash Relief?

 Streetsblog is an excellent source of information about road and transit conditions, and city policies. One thing that makes it so good is that most of the posts are written from the perspective of people who actually walk, cycle and drive the city’s streets and ride its buses and trains. That, I believe, accounts for why I enjoy, and feel affirmed by, reading it: Streetsblog’s editors and contributors understand (and offer the data to confirm) that creating a safe, sustainable and affordable city isn’t a zero-sum game between the safety of cyclists and pedestrians and the interests of drivers. Rather, they support and explain the principle that when cyclists and pedestrians are safer, motorists can move about more efficiently—and safely.

As Gersh Kuntman reported, the first twelve days of congestion pricing in midtown and lower Manhattan—the most densely populated and commercially active part of New York City—has cut the number of crashes and injuries by half compared to the same time period last year.

That period included ten business days and a weekend, as it did last year. While that laudable decrease came after an “outlier” year in 2024, this year’s statistics nonetheless show a 48 percent drop in crashes and 27 percent decrease in injuries from 2023. Moreover, the 2025 numbers are even lower than those of the corresponding periods of 2021 and 2022, which were affected by the COVID pandemic.

Photo and photoshop by Gertz Kuntzman

The explanation, according to Metropolitan Transportation Authority Policy and External Relations Chief John J. McCarthy, is basic math. “Seems logical that fewer vehicles, less gridlock and calmer traffic flow in the congestion relief zone would lead to a decrease in crashes and injuries,” he said.

And less-congested and safer streets are better for everyone who interacts with them, says Ben Furnas, Transportation Alternatives’ Executive Director. “One less crash can mean that a parent gets home to their kid, a worker reaches their job safely or a cyclist arrives unharmed,” he explained. (Italics mine.)

So, it turns out—as the title of Gertzman’s post announces—that the congestion-relief zone, as the area affected by congestion pricing is called, is actually a crash-relief zone. That sounds like a “win-win” situation.

A Record—For Whom?

 According to the latest statistics from New York City’s Development of Transportation, the number of cyclists in my hometown set a record for the fourth straight year.

Some may criticize their methodology:  They counted only the cyclists using the East River crossings, which connect Manhattan with Brooklyn and Queens.  While I wonder what, exactly, can be extrapolated from it, I also understand that those crossings are among the few places where à accurate counts can be made consistently.

Photo by Frank Franklin for the NY Daily News

From my observations, however, such a methodology skews the findings and conclusions drawn.  Cyclists using those East River crossings tend to be commuters—usually, going to Manhattan—and younger than other cyclists.  I think the DOT’s way of counting also misses riders who commute within their own borough or, say, from Queens to Brooklyn, and misses the Bronx entirely.

One interesting finding that squares with my observations is that even after the new bike lane opened on the Brooklyn Bridge, the Williamsburg Bridge is still the preferred East River crossing. It’s easy to see why.  For one thing, many of the young commuting cyclists I’ve mentioned live and/or work in the neighborhoods on either side of the bridge.  Also, at least in my experience, it offers easier access than the other bridges, and the Manhattan entrance is at the end of a protected bike lane along Delancey Street. 

Oh, and if you’re a tourist (or simply not a commuter or regular NYC cyclist), I’ll let you in on a secret:  the Williamsburg offers the best views—including those of the Brooklyn Bridge!

When It Was A Gravel Rider's Dream

Following the trail further, the hardy voyager wandered over 'hills and valleys, dales and fields' through a countryside where trout, mink, otter, and muskrat swam in the brooks and pools; brant, black duck, and yellow-leg splashed in the marshes and fox, rabbit, woodcock, and partridge found covert in the thicket.

The preceding passage isn't an account of my latest ride, though it could have described other rides I've taken.

I have, however, pedaled down the route followed by the author of that passage.  My latest trek along that thoroughfare--one of many--took me past stores, restaurants, condo and co-op buildings and offices.

Also, I rode in the opposite direction from that of the scribe who penned that passage.  Today, it's the only way one can travel for most of the roadway's length.

I am talking about one of the world's most famous urban byways:  Fifth Avenue in Manhattan.

The section Arthur Bartlett Maurice described ran from about 21st to 28th Streets:  about a mile and a half from the Avenue's southern terminus at Washington Square Park.  He was also narrating a northward ("uptown" in New York parlance) trek; since 1966, all of the Avenue, save for a few blocks at its northern end, has allowed only southbound ("downtown") traffic.

Can you believe this was once a sight along Fifth Avenue?

This month marks 200 years since the Avenue--which was mainly a dirt path--opened.  It had been planned thirteen years earlier; its opening ushered an unprecedented building boom that, decades later, would lead to the stretch abutting Central Park to become "Millionaire's Row" and, later, "Museum Mile."

Or this?

Mind you, I don't make a point of cycling Fifth Avenue.  But there are times when it's an efficient and, given that it doesn't have a protected bike lane, relatively safe way to go.   Because the stretch from 110th to 59th marks the Park boundary, most side-streets dead-end into it, so there are few intersections to navigate.  Also, I find that its traffic patterns and flows are fairly predictable, even along the Midtown sector.

Oh, and I always make sure I wave to Patience and Fortitude when I pass the main New Yave to ork Public Library building.  If they could talk.... 

(Thanks to Esther Crain, the author of one of my favorite blogs--Ephemeral New York--for the tribute to Fifth Avenue's bicentennial.)

Urban Range

 

West 59th Street, Manhattan, from the saddle of Tosca, my Mercian fixed-gear bike.

Equal Rides, Unequal Fares

 $2.90

$4.79

Those two prices say much about the state of mass transit in New York City, my hometown.

The former is what you pay for a single ride on a city bus or subway.  The latter is what half an hour on a Citibike costs.

I would reckon that a typical subway ride—say, a commute from Astoria or Williamsburg to Midtown or Downtown Manhattan—takes about half an hour to 45 minutes. The disparity between the transit fare and a Citibike rental becomes even more pronounced, however, when you realize that if your bus gets caught in traffic or you decide to take a longer excursion on the subway, it won’t cost more. On the other hand, each additional minute beyond that $4.79 half-hour on a Citibike will set  you back 36 cents.

Photo by Joe Buglewicz

A bill introduced in the City Council last week would keep Lyft, the company that operates Citibike, from charging more than the cost of a transit fare for a two-hour bicycle ride or an hour on an e-bike. “Bike share is an essential part of the New York City transit landscape,” said Lincoln Restler, a Brooklyn council member and the bill’s sponsor.”We need to make it accessible and affordable to all.”

Restler has been one of the Council’s strongest advocates for cycling.  His remarks reflect a philosophy that includes cycling as a vital part of this city’s transportation system. It seems that his bill has at least a chance of passing, given that Mayor Eric Adams has said he would be “open” to considering more Citibike subsidies for low-income New Yorkers.  The chief stumbling block is that what the bill proposes couldn’t take effect until 2029, when Lyft’s current contract with the city ends.

First Times, Again

 I’ve never been here before—on a bike.

So exclaimed “Sam,” my new neighbor and riding buddy when we stopped at City Island during our first ride together. I heard it a few more times the other day, after we pedaled the length of Manhattan on the Hudson River bike lane and looped past the Staten Island Ferry terminal and South Street Seaport to the Williamsburg Bridge.

“I’ve never crossed this on bike!”

He also rode “Hipster Hook”—the waterfront of Williamsburg and Greenpoint for the first time. In fact, our ride was his first into Brooklyn and Queens.

He apologizes for riding a pace slower than mind. I don’t mind, I assure him. He, who has asthma, is riding, and that is good. So what if we need to stop so he can use his inhaler? 

More than anything, I enjoy his company: Let’s say that he’s lived a life vastly different from mine and therefore sees things in a way I never could. Plus, I love seeing him experience those “firsts” on a bike. 

I suspect that if we do some of the same rides again, that sense of discovery won’t disappear: He will change as a rider as, I believe, we all do. Besides, I can take a ride I’ve done dozens, or even hundreds, of times and experience something new or anew, whether in my surroundings or my body, or the bike itself—whether I’m by myself or pedaling with a new riding buddy.

Moonlight Cruise

 Yesterday I combined a daytime ride with “taking care of business.” That meant crossing into Harlem and pedaling—sailing, really, with the wind at my back—down the Hudson River Greenway to the World Trade Center, where I boarded a PATH train to Journal Square, Jersey City.

As I rode the streets of the Bronx, Manhattan and Jersey City,I was surprised at how little traffic I saw. Could it be that the NYC Metro Area is experiencing an “August absence “ like that of Paris and other European cities?

Traffic was so light, in fact, that when I resumed my trip in Jersey City, I rolled down JFK Boulevard—a “stroad” I would not take under other circumstances—all the way to the Bayonne Bridge, where I crossed into Staten Island.

Ironically, I saw the densest crowds on the Ferry’s observation decks. Most of the people were, of course, tourists. But the few who seemed to have ridden the Ferry before couldn’t’ve been blamed for standing in the cool breeze.

Tell me, where else can you go on a moonlight cruise for free?

And my “moonlight cruise” continued on La-Vande, my King of Mercia, up through Manhattan where, I believe, I could’ve navigated by the August blue moon even if all of the neon and street lights—and all of the headlamps on cars, trucks and buses—had gone dark. 

I saw only one other cyclist and one runner as I wound my way up Central Park to Adam Clayton Boulevard *, where people seemed to enjoy the night as much as I did.

*—You can tell someone is native to the neighborhood if they call it “7th Avenue,” just as no New Yorker refers to 6th Avenue as “Avenue of the Americas,” its official name since 1945.

Hunger Ride?

Another heat wave. Tomorrow will be even hotter. 

I didn’t eat anything before setting out on an early ride to Randall’s Island. On my way back, I started to feel hungry about five kilometers from my apartment.

We’re the pangs in my stomach a result of the ride, not eating breakfast—-or seeing this?:

A New Totem?

 Not long ago, if you saw a wooden likeness of a Native American outside a storefront, the establishment inside was more than likely a cigar shop or tobacconist.

The new equivalent of the “cigar store Indian” is a bicycle, or a likeness of one, festooned with flowers and ferns. But smoking isn’t allowed (at least here in New York City) in the sort of business this new totem most often signals: a café.

I saw this one during my early morning ride.  It was, at least, a bike I recognized: a Raleigh Colt. Like the classic Raleigh 3-speeds, it came with 26 inch wheels and Sturmey-Archer hubs. The main difference, it seemed, was that the frame design was tweaked (the boy’s version is a “camelback”) to allow for a smaller frame on full-sized wheels.

Anyway, I thought the café Colt was just another decoration until I got a second glimpse.

The flowers aren’t attached to the bike, and the rear tire is flat. I wondered whether someone had abandoned the bike there.  Or do the café’s owners bring it inside at closing time?

Haring What I’m Seeing

 Seen during an early morning ride in New York:

Morning Light On The Island

 Another early morning ride to City Island. Check out the light:

Ghost Ride

 As I ride around New York City, I sometimes see “ghosts.”

Now, before you assume that I’m going insane, I am—at least in the opinion of some people—already there. Seriously, though, among the “ghosts” I see are buildings that are vacant or being used for entirely different purposes than the ones for which they were intended.

Also, there are what Esther Crain, the author of Ephemeral New York (one of my favorite blogs) calls “ghost” signs.  They usually were painted on the sides of buildings to advertise some business or another.  As often as not, that establishment is long gone. I found an exception just a few blocks from my new apartment:

Tierney Auto Body works is still in the same location but the sign has to be at least 40 years old:  The lower part of the sign (not visible in the photo) gives the telephone number—without an area code. Until 1984, all five boroughs of New York City were covered by the 212 Area Code.  But as fax machines and, later, cell phones become more common, the 212 area code was running out of phone numbers and new area codes were added. It then became necessary to dial an area code when calling within New York City.

While riding the other day, I discovered another “ghost” sign that dates from around the same time, or earlier:

Prospect Hospital, its name barely visible at the top of the sign, closed in 1985. That sign, like the one for Tierney, gives a phone number without an area code.

Another thing I found interesting is the sign’s proclamation that “alcoholism is a treatable disease.” Although researchers and doctors had been saying as much since the 1930s (when, incidentally, Alcoholics Anonymous was founded) that idea started to displace, in public perception, the old notion that alcoholism is a moral failing during the 1960s.

Speaking of the 1960s:  By that time, artists and intellectuals who were associated with the later part of the Harlem Renaissance had moved to East Elmhurst and Jamaica in Queens or (as in the case of John Coltrane) to Long Island. But during the Renaissance, theaters for movies, plays, vaudeville and other kinds of shows and exhibits flourished in Harlem. The “ghost” of one “shadows” a building that now serves as a church on 145th Street:

So, if nothing else, my bike trips show that you don’t have to be Demi Moore, Patrick Swayze or Whoopi Goldberg to see “ghosts” during your ride!

Late Day Ride In January

 I sometimes take an early morning or late afternoon ride down through Sunnyside and Maspeth and cross the Kosciusko Bridge into Greenpoint and Williamsburg.

The entrance to the bridge flanks a cemetery and offers one of the more foreboding views of the skyline, especially in winter.