Light At The End Of My Ride

 I’m still getting used to the sun setting before supper time in Florida. (I’m not sure I ever could get used to eating the last meal of the day an hour or two after most kids’ schooldays end!) So I have to remind myself not to linger over my bagel and coffee if I want to do a 120 or 140 kilometer ride and get home before sundown.

Mind you, I have lights and reflective garments.  I am not against night riding:  It has been thrilling, surreal and revealing for me. I simply prefer to end a ride of more than a couple of hours in daylight.

Yesterday’s ride to Point Lookout and back—on LaVande, my Mercian King of Mercia—got me home just before high wispy clouds began to flicker with orange rays.  The light at the Point was even more of a harbinger of winter than the early sunset that would follow my ride.

Spanning The Seasons

Last week, daylight savings time began.  That means more daylight at the end of the day.  And, as the days are getting longer, I can now take a late-day ride before it gets dark.

Yesterday's jaunt took me through Queens and Brooklyn to Coney Island and the Verrazzano Narrrows.

I approached a great bridge, one that spans a strait of the Atlantic Ocean separating Brooklyn from Staten Island.  The Spring equinox arrives tomorrow.  Perhaps I am riding toward a bridge between two seasons.  

Verdant Verities And Vera

A few trees in this area--such as the ones I saw on the Canarsie Pier last week--have begun to change color.  A few leaves seem to have fallen, but most of the trees are still green and full.  

However, I noticed another kind of "fall" along the World's Fair Marina promenade as I cycled to work today:

A lot of branches have fallen--or, more precisely, were ripped and broken from their trunks--during the recent storms.  I saw some of the arboreal debris scattered across the path last week; now, it seems, they are being gathered.  In addition to what fell. other limbs have been cut from the trees because they were weak or ready to come off.

Soon these trees will be yellow, orange and red, then brown.  Then they'll be bare.  But one part of my commute will still be green:

Why do you think I call her Vera?  Well, to tell you the truth, the eponymous Pink Floyd song played while I was cleaning her up just after I first got her.  But, still, you have to admit it's an appropriate name--unless, of course, I decide to paint her.  

Winter, Interrupted--Until Last Night

This has been a strange season, to say the least.  We had our only real snowfall at the end of October.  There have only been two, maybe three, stretches during which the temperature remained below freezing for two or more days.  Last week, the temperature reached 75F (24C) on consecutive days.  And, yesterday, the temperature dropped from 52 at the time I rode to work to 27 at the time I rode home.

I knew that the temperature was going to drop, but I wasn't prepared for such a large drop.  That has, in part, to do with the fact that I stayed about two hours later at work than I'd planned.  Also, the wind, which blew briskly when I pedalled to work, grew even stronger by the time I pedalled home--and I was riding into it for part of the way.

Really, though, I shouldn't complain.  Well, all right, I will anyway.  I bought some nice wool stuff this year that I never used! 

On My Bike, I Know The Season Is Changing

Tonight's post on Girls and Bicycles reminded me that cycling is, above all, a sensual experience.  After you've done some miles in the hills, any slice of pizza can seem like the manna from Heaven, and even the most ordinary cup of tea or bottle of beer (not that I've drunk the latter in a long time) can seem like the nectar of the goddesses.  


And, in the course of a ride--even a commute or a short "shake off the cobwebs" ride at this time of year--the senses attune to the subtlest nuances of light and the finest variations of clarity and mist in the air.


The photograph you see was taken from a park near the Nassau County line.  The ride there was flat yet invigorating. Perhaps that was the reason why I could sense, in every pore and orifice of my body, the play between the light that is opening from dimness to softness and the wind's inspiration turning the weariness of bare limbs stretched against gray skies into calmness that will turn to serenity as the clouds open for glimmerings of reassurance.


It's a wonderful feeling, even if it's momentary. But moments like that make rides and get you through the day, and night.  Really, what other reason is there to ride a bicycle?