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.
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?
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.
Last night my commute took me through the great wilderness of the Land of Overdecorated Houses.
Even after so many years of cycling, I still can't get over how much brighter and gaudier those lights and combinations of green, red, gold, silver tinfoil seem when you don't have two feet of glass and two tons of metal between you and them. And the cold, clear night made them glint and glare all the more, or so it seemed.
We're supposed to have more of this bonechilling clarity through the next week. I hear even Santa's reindeer don't want to come out in this weather. Hmm...I wonder...How would the world be a different place if Santa and his helpers rode bicycles instead of sleighs pulled by reindeer.
Marianela's ready for another commute:
She might be showing her age. But, like girls of any age, she likes new accessories--especially a new bag:
And she especially likes it if the bag is retro: real retro, like the OYB bag I described in an earlier post.
Down my street to start another day:
You can tell there's not much left of autumn. Every day, the wind sweeps more leaves off the branches. It leaves the trees more barren, and sometimes even a bit forlorn-looking. And it exposes them to the expanse of sky: a gray sky:
It's a bit like my morning commute: the road and the world open before me, if only for moments. But some days what unfolds is a Mercator Projection of concrete lines and angles puncuated by windows filled with the ashen sky.
At least, at the end of the days like that, I can ride away from it. That was always the second attraction of cycling for me. The first is to pedal into the open waves, whether they are in front of or within me.
