An Early Sign?

Under a canopy of wizened limbs

They rise from catacombs of winter horizons

Hopeful In Connecticut

The Spring equinox is less than two weeks away.  I can see that days are growing longer: Today I started a ride to Greenwich, Connecticut--140 kilometers round trip--and, even with a half-hour lunch stop in Greenwich, managed to get home before dark.

Although the trees are still bare in the Veterans' Memorial, I saw some green shoots in the ground.  And I saw another sign of the day's mood in front of Town Hall:

Artist Charlie Hewit created this work to resemble the 1950s and 1960s highway road signs that pointed to restaurants, diners, hotels and other businesses.  Their bright colors and bulbs were meant to beckon potential customers, much as Hewit's sign is, perhaps, a call to better days ahead.

A call--and a yearning.  People walking with their dogs, and each other, shed their literal as metaphorical coats; their tired, aching psyches seemed to be reaching for hope just as those green shoots turn toward the fleeting light and warmth of a spring almost begun, their limbs thrusting through ashes and bones turned to mud by melting snow.

A new season beckons on the horizon, much as the sunset served as a call, not only to finish this day's ride, but toward more rides, more days, ahead.

It's Not Dark--Yet!

Where was I at 5:58 PM (EDT) on Wednesday the 20th, Spring Equinox 2019?

I got out for another late-day ride.  The funny thing was that even though I was pedaling into the wind, I wanted to keep on going. And so I did, to Point Lookout. 

You can tell you've been through a winter when you look beyond the rocks and everything seems to be in a shade of stone:  the almost slate-like blue-grey water, the gnarled brown trees and granular tan-colored sand on the opposite shore.

Even though the days are getting longer, and we have more light at the end of the day because of Daylight Savings Time, getting to Point Lookout meant riding home into the sunset along the Rockaway Boardwalk.

After I turned away from the boardwalk and up the bridge to the Queens "mainland", I kept telling myself "It's not dark yet" as the sun disappeared from view--and, yes, even after I turned on my lights in Ozone Park.

Maybe it had something to do with having the wind at my back.

The Season Catches Up As I Race Daylight

The semester is ending and final exams are beginning. That left me with a "gap" yesterday.  So, of course, I went for a ride.

I don't mind cold weather, though I notice I have to be more careful when the temperature drops:  Muscles stiffen and puddles glaze with icy crusts.  At least there wasn't much wind, and a light show of sun and clouds drifted across the sky.

We are ten days away from the Winter Solstice, the shortest day of the year. So, yesterday, we had only a few more minutes of daylight than we'll have on that day.  At this time of the year, we have about nine hours of daylight and, after I did the things I had to do, I had less than six hours left. 

Of course, I could have ridden after dark:  I often do just that on my commutes home.  Still, I prefer to stick to daylight whenever possible.  I would try to get myself home by sundown, but if I went a little bit later, that would have been fine.

Which I did, though not by much--and not for the reasons I anticipated.  Near the end of the ride--about 12 kilometers from home--my front tire started losing air. I was making a turn from Home Street (ironic, isn't it?) onto Fox Street in the Bronx when something seemed a bit off-balance.  I thought perhaps I'd run over something, or that maybe I was just getting tired.  But when I made my next turn, onto Southern Boulevard, I noticed that something definitely wasn't right.  A few blocks down, near 149th Street, I realized that my tire was indeed losing pressure. 

Slow-leak flats are often more difficult to deal with because the source of the leak isn't always obvious.  I didn't want to go to the trouble of locating a puncture or, worse, miss some small shard of something in the tire casing that would cause another flat if I were to patch or replace the tube.  

I was also near a subway stop and, although it wasn't dark, I could see the night approaching.

Plus, I had already ridden about 130 kilometers by that time, so I figured I'd had a decent afternoon's ride. Actually, it was more than decent:  I'd made it to Connecticut and pedaled up a few hills along the way.

One thing I must say, though:  I realized that I couldn't call it a "late fall" ride.  The bareness of the trees, and the light, definitely painted an early picture of winter:

Seasonal Indecision

Yesterday was one of those days that couldn't seem to decide whether it was very late summer or not-quite-early fall.  

My ride started in a cool mist on Tosca, my Mercian fixed gear.  It was actually pleasant:  I felt every pore and orifice of my body opening in a very pleasant way.

I headed for the Rockaways.  The cool mist clung to silent streets, still homes and closed stores--and to me--as I spun through the western Queens neighborhoods near my apartment.  

But, after I crossed under the "el" (elevated tracks, or viaduct for those of you who don't live in New York), the warm mist turned into a mild steam bath on my way across Jamaica Bay to Beach Channel.  Then, as I crossed the Veteran's Memorial Bridge into the Rockaways--and from the waves and clouds of Jamaica Bay to the tides and sky of the Atlantic--I experienced something I normally experience in early spring:  the temperature seemed to drop 20 degrees (F).  That is normal in April, when the air temperature on the mainland might be in the 70s (F), but the ocean is only in the 40s.  Yesterday, however, the air and water temperature were probably not very far apart:  somewhere near 70F, though it felt cooler along the Rockaway Boardwalk.

It's one of those odd coastal days that I truly enjoy:  The sky is overcast, though still only slightly less blue than the sea on the horizon, and that cool mist swirling about me.  I rode under that sky, by that sea and in that mist all the way to Point Lookout.  

Then the clouds broke and the sun peeked through--at least as I looked eastward from the Point.  Behind me, conditions were the same as the ones through which I'd ridden from the Rockaways.

And that is what I rode in all the way home.  I didn't mind:  Such conditions are actually welcome, at least for me, during the last few kilometers of a 125 kilo fixed gear ride!

Another Ride: Another View Of The Season

Today was almost as unseasonably warm as yesterday was.  Somehow, though, it looked more like a day of this time of year, which can't be called "fall" because almost everything that is supposed to fall has already fallen.  The season is tipping toward winter.  The sky reflected it.

Yesterday, I saw lots of bare trees and sunshine.  Today, though, a curtain of thick gray clouds filled the sky and the air with the kind of shadowy light that induces a "long winter's nap".  And the bay and ocean, even during high tide, seemed as listless, almost as drowsy, as the sky they reflected.

Oddly, though, that light and air energized me.  I felt as full of verve, and my bike felt as lively under me, as on yesterday's ride.  Perhaps feeling good was making me feel good:  Even after a 140 kilometer (85 mile) ride that included some hills and a headwind most of the way to Connecticut on yesterday's ride--and cleaning my apartment afterward-- I felt as if I could have ridden forever.  

I didn't do that.  I did, however, ride 105 kilometers (65 miles) on Tosca, my Mercian fixed-gear bike.  Granted, it was a flat ride.  But I was riding into a stiffer headwind on my way out--to Point Lookout--than I encountered yesterday.  That meant, of course, that my tailwind was also stronger on my way home.

Today I encountered almost no traffic for long stretches of Beach Channel and the Rockaway Peninsula and the south shore of Nassau County.  Part of the reason for that, of course, is that people aren't going to the beach.  But it seemed that even fishermen and surfers stayed home today.  And, even along the commercial strips of Cross Bay Boulevard and by the mini-mall in Long Beach, I didn't see as many motorized vehicles as I would expect to see on a Saturday.  Maybe people haven't begun their holiday shopping.  

Not that I minded seeing so little traffic, of course.  Or even the gray skies:  It framed both the bare trees and the bushes still sprouting their flowers and fruits with a kind of austere beauty different from what yesterday's clear skies and sunshine highlighted.  

Two days, two rides that made me happy.  On two different bikes through two different kinds of landscapes.  Autumn might be falling into winter--and we've had the worst election I can remember--but I am still blessed.

A Sugar Or Snow Coating?

Easter will be celebrated next Sunday.

I still remember the candy we used to get as kids:  chocolate bunnies, a rainbow of jellybeans, marshmallow "peeps" and those wonderful diorama eggs made of sugar.  Each of those eggs had a peephole that allowed you to look at scenes of little boys and girls hunting for Easter eggs, fields and flowers and, of course, Easter chicks and bunnies.

Those eggs were my favorite Easter confection.  I wouldn't eat mine right away, or sometimes even for weeks:  Those Easter (or Spring, anyway) scenes were just so pretty that I didn't want to risk ruining them from breaking the egg! 

I think what I loved best, though, was that I felt like I was looking at an Easter scene with a covering of snow, or one inside an Igloo.  It was like getting the best of both seasons.

The dioramas themselves were inedible:  They were usually made of paper.  Those eggs are harder to find today, and the ones that are available have dioramas that aren't nearly as elaborate.  As I understand, the reason is that a government regulation says, in essence, that if a candy is edible on the outside, it has to be edible inside.  So the dioramas are now made of candy, which is more difficult to turn into pretty scenes than paper or plastic are.

Still, I am tempted to get one:  I still think it would be fun to look at a Springtime scene with a coating of snow.

It would be different from the one I saw while pedaling over the RFK Bridge this morning:

That, on the first full day of Spring!

So Winter Starts...Now?

The Winter Solistice will come at 11:48 pm--just twelve minutes before midnight--in this part of the world.   As I'm not a Druid, I'm not going to engage in some ritual or another unless I'm at Stonehenge--which doesn't seem likely.  It's hard to think of the coming of winter when the early-morning low temperature was higher than the typical high temperature for this day, and is still climbing well after sunset.

What's even stranger is that weather forecasters say the weather will continue to get warmer all the way until Christmas Eve, when the high temperature is projected to pass the old record (17C, or 63F) for the date by about 5C, or 8F.  Christmas Day is predicted to be almost as warm.

That leads me to wonder whether we'll have an exceptionally mild winter--or whether we'll have this spell of warm weather before temperatures plunge and we have a major snowstorm some time after New Year's Day.

In other words, will my winter rides look like this:

or this?:

More Fruits Of The "Harvest", After Work

Today brought more of what we've had for the past couple of days--and what meteorologists are forecasting for the next couple of days:  summer warmth and early autumn light.

All right, they didn't forecast the light, except to tell us what time the sun will set.  But the sun is taking on an early twilight glow and, as I mentioned yesterday, I am seeing a few trees start their color changes.  It's quite lovely:  the first signs of autumn hues haven't yet brought the melancholy that comes later in the season (which, by the way, I often enjoy). 

Another day in the cusp of two seasons gave me another opportunity to relish my harvest, so to speak: I took an after-work ride to Coney Island.  While I enjoyed the ride, I did notice it more when I pedaled into the wind today than I did yesterday or on Monday, when I rode to Connecticut.  Perhaps it was a result of riding late in the day, after work.  Or it may have just been a matter of riding my  Schwinn LeTour instead of one of my Mercians.

Whatever the case, I had an easy ride back.  And it was interesting, to say the least, to see how much difference a week and a half makes on the number of people who go to the beach:

Some folks, like the ones in the photo, will go to the beach on any day the weather is remotely summer-like--and sometimes not-so-summery.  They are the ones who have decided it's still summer (which, of course, it still is--at least officially).  They are not like the ones who don't ever go to the beach after Labor Day or before Memorial Day, whatever the weather.

I guess we have equivalents to both kinds of people in the cycling world.  Some hang up their bikes as the days grow shorter, while others take any opportunity, at whatever time of year, to ride.

As for me, I will continue to enjoy the "harvest" for as long as I can--and continue to ride as long as the streets aren't covered with ice.

Believe It Or Not, It's Almost Tweed Season

Even though the temperature has reached 28C (82F), it's officially Fall, and has been for five days.

Even so, it's hard not to notice a change in the light surrounding the still-green trees.  It's especially noticeable at dawn and dusk:  The red, orange and yellow hues of the sky are starting to take on their autumnal tones more like the ones we will see on the leaves in a few weeks.

It's not quite time for tweed yet, but it will be soon enough. The folks in the Alpena (MI) Tweed And Bike Club certainly seemed to be embracing the change in the seasons when they announced an upcoming tweed ride a few years ago:

You can't get much more autumnal than that, can you?  But a black-and-white image that accompanied this one also conveys the spirit of the season nicely, I think:

Goodbye To A Season

Summer ended--officially--yesterday.

Even if the coming winter is anything like the one we had last year, I reckon there are still about two months, possibly more, of really good cycling yet.  Then the fun starts.

Into The Season, Late: Into The Wind

In this part of the world, winter has been longer, colder and grayer than in recent years past.

That means, among other things, that the transition to Spring has been later--by about a month--than it normally is.  So, we've been getting the proverbial March winds in April.

Under normal circumstances, riding in it would be invigorating, even bracing. But since I've done less cycling than I normally do, riding into the wind has been arduous.

 But at least we had blue skies and sunshine yesterday.  Life is good, cycling is great.

The Season: Warmth Or Light?

This year, as in others, the middle of March is an odd time:  It's neither winter nor spring, really.  

From Kevin's Travel Journal

Although today is pretty wintry (temperature barely above freezing, strong gusts), it doesn't seem like a day in, say, late January or early February.  It may have something to do with the fact that Daylight Savings Time began on Sunday, so the sun is not setting until 7pm.  

From Easy As Riding A Bike

At the same time, most of the trees are still bare and much of the ground is wizened (in spite of the rains we've had) and covered with brown grass, weeds and brush.  It's a bit like looking at an old person in an old winter coat, and knowing that both have to survive only a few more days to make it through the season, but also knowing that one or both might not make it.

We could still have another snowstorm or two, or some other kind of storm.  But the days grow longer and soon the trees will begin to bud.  I took did my first metric century (and first Point Lookout ride) of the year on Sunday, a few weeks earlier than I've done them in other years.  Still, I might be relegated to sneaking rides of two hours or so between bouts of bad weather and various obligations.

Of course, about five months ago, we had the inverse of what we're seeing now:  weather and water that were still pretty warm, trees still covered with leaves that were just beginning to change color, but days that were growing shorter.   I was riding into a season's, and a year's, demise, but it was harder to notice or easier to ignore, depending on how I think of it.  In contrast, my ride on Sunday, and the next few I will take, will be like emerging from a cocoon, however slowly, into light and space that could be almost overwhelming until I adjust to them, as I have done every year.

If you had to choose between cold and light or warmth (relative, anyway) and darkness, which would you choose, and why?

Don't Even Think Of Parking Here!

Today I rode with my friends Lakythia and Mildred.  If yesterday felt more like the first day of summer than the first day of autumn, today reminded me of everything that is great about the new season:  Everything felt cool, clear and crisp.

When we decided we wanted brunch, we were in my neighborhood, more or less.  So I suggested a couple of places I frequent.  I also thought it would be better to leave their bikes--and, of course, mine--in my apartment rather than to lock it here:

A Ride In Two Seasons

I know that Fall "officially" begins on Saturday, the 22nd.  However, I think I saw some signs of when I rode out to the Canarsie Pier late this afternoon:

On some of the trees, the tips of the leaves are turning brown:

And, on others, entire leaves have turned:

A few leaves have already fallen to the ground.

I used to look forward to the fall:  I always enjoyed riding in the cool, crisp air.  Although it was a bit warm for a fall day (about 26C), the air felt autumnal because brisk breezes from the sea swept over the streets.  Somehow, this day, which straddled summer and fall, made me a bit sad.  For one thing, the days are growing noticeably shorter.  And three seasons have passed; a year is passing.  

All right...I'll make this lighter, and bring it back to cycling. Here's a sign for which I wouldn't dare not to stop!:

Wandering Into An Early Start

I've a question for those of you who commute:  How much do you vary your routes?  

Also:  Have you ever made a wrong turn, or even gotten lost, on a ride to work or a routine appointment?

Today, I could answer "yes" to the first part of my second question.  After wheeling out of my apartment, I proceeded two blocks further on 23rd Street than I normally would before making a right turn.  You might say that subconsciously (or, perhaps, not-so-sub-consciously), I wanted to make that diversion: I had left early and the weather could hardly have been better.  In fact, if I hadn't had to go to work, I would have made a few more "wrong" turns!

At first, what I got was nothing more than a slight change of scenery: I was riding along 30th Avenue, which I know but don't cycle very often because it is narrow and lined with stores.  Motorists frequently pull away from the curb, or dart into any parking space that becomes available, without paying much attention to other motorists or cyclists.  Also, pedestrians frequently dart out from between cars in the middle of a block, or saunter into that narrow space between the parking and traffic lanes, seemingly oblivious to everything else.

But, ironically, there was less traffic as I neared LaGuardia Airport.  Actually, it does make sense:   Wednesday is not a heavy travel day.  From there, it wasn't far to the World's Fair Marina Promenade.  Today was one of those days in which even the metallic hues of Flushing Bay seem almost idyllic.  

From there, I crossed the Northern Boulevard Bridge and made a couple more wrong turns under some trees that haven't yet begun to change color.  You might say that I was in a kind of seasonal denial, that I was holding onto one last moment of summer before going in to work.

The greatest irony of today is that, in spite of my meanderings, my office mates and students remarked on how early I arrived.

Following The Scent In The Light Of Another Season

Assisi, Italy.  By Aaron Huey, in The National Geographic, July/August 2007

The past couple of days have been a bit chillier and wetter than what is normal for this time of year.  Or, perhaps, it just seems that way because of the mild, dry winter and April we had this year.

Somehow, at least for me, the unusual weather conditions left me feeling as if Spring hadn't arrived. Perhaps I am one of those creatures who doesn't respond so much to the season itself as to the change from the previous season.  I barely noticed that change from February to March to April.

However, the chilly, damp weather of the past few days left me feeling, ironically enough, that Spring had finally arrived.  I first noticed it one day last week, when I rode to work.  The rain had just passed; it washed the air with the scent of blooming flowers and reflected a subdued yet forgiving light of a dissipating cloud cover.

I could have followed that scent, in that light, all day.  But that day's ride had to end at work. But, at least, the sky had cleared and I pedaled home in the moonlight. 

November Cycling

Today's the first of November.


This is the month that separates the committed cyclists from the rest.  People who pedal once or twice around the park every other weekend usually call it a season about now.  At least, that's what they seem to do in Northern Hemisphere locales that have four discernible seasons.


Yesterday I noticed there were fewer cyclists on the roads and Greenway than there've been on most Sundays during the past few months.  That isn't too surprising:  It was a chilly, windy day, though it was lovely, if in a rather austere way.


Although it was Halloween--the last day of October--in cycling terms, it was more of a November day.  That, for me was part of what I enjoyed about cycling yesterday.


Of course, no month is more beautiful than October.  Perhaps May or June could be said to be as lovely, if in entirely different ways from the month that just passed.  Cycling--or doing nearly anything else outdoors--in  October is a feast for the senses.


On the other hand, November grows grayer and more wizened as it proceeds.  Colors fade into shades of ashes and as trees are stripped of their leaves, their branches grow darker and splinter.  Somehow, though, they endure like the coats the old and the poor wear through another season.


Someone who continues cycling this week, this month, will probably continue to some time just before Christmas.  And anyone who continues cycling after that will probably still be on his or her bike in February.


By then, even they--we-- will be ready for another season, having cycled forward from the light of the gray November tableau.