The Ride: A Constant In The City

Yesterday I answered my own question by taking a ride.  As I often do, I zigzagged through some neighborhoods in Queens and Brooklyn before ending up in Coney Island. As the day was warm and sunny, and the wind of the past few days had all but died down, people were out: cycling, walking with themselves, canes, strollers, dogs and their friends, lovers, spouses and children.  And although yesterday was officially a holiday, there was, on some streets, nearly as much traffic as on a normal weekday.  People who didn't have to go to work simply wanted to get out, and I couldn't blame them.

It seemed, somehow, that the bike I chose to ride influenced the ride itself.  Because the wind was nearly calm, in contrast to the previous few days, I felt like taking a spin on Tosca, my Mercian fixed-gear bike.  And, while I didn't plan my route beforehand--in fact, I thought no further ahead than the next traffic light throughout my ride--I think I stuck to a flat route in part because I couldn't shift gears.

My ride--about 70 kilometers in total--was very nice, except for one thing:

At Prospect Park, I took a detour (if you can call anything on a ride like the one I took yesterday a detour) onto some streets I know but hadn't seen in a while. Hal Ruzal, the former partner and mecahnic/wheelbuilder par excellence of Bicycle Habitat--and the one who introduced me to Mercians and a few interesting bands--moved out of the house in the photo two and a half years ago.  I've joked that he "got out of Dodge": the pandemic struck just a couple of months after he left.  He's now living in another part of the country that, while affected by COVID (where wasn't?), didn't suffer from lockdowns or other ravages were we experienced here in New York.

When I texted that photo, and a couple of others, to Hal, he seemed more saddened by the generic townhouse-like building constructed across the street from his old house, and by the fact that the house next door is vacant and up for sale.  "I hope the lady who owned it didn't die," he said.

My message was more evidence, to him, that the city of our youth no longer exists.  I would agree, and sometimes I mourn the loss of it, but there is still much I enjoy--like the bike ride I took yesterday.

Cycling In The Mist

Was I in London?

Or San Francisco?

Actually, I rode along the south shore of Queens and Brooklyn yesterday.  From Rockaway Beach to Fort Tilden, the fog was so thick that in some places I could see only three or four bicycle lengths ahead of me.

Still, more people strolled, cycled and scootered (Is that a verb?) along the boardwalks than I'd expected.  It was Sunday, after all, and fairly warm, with a brisk breeze from the southeast.

Perhaps even hardened cycnics were taken by the hazy romantic atmosphere.  You could be alone and feel it.  The odd thing is that I felt as if the dreaminess was making me pedal faster.  Perhaps there was less resistance--to feelings internal as well as things external.  Of course, I had to make myself slow down in a few places.  Nothing like running someone down, or being run down, to ruin the mood, right?

 

The fog started to clear, at least on land, after I started pedaling from Breezy Point to the bridge to Brooklyn.  But it lingered in the horizon, out to sea, which made for some oddly serene light.

There are some folks who will do whatever they do, whatever the weather.  I rather admire them.

The day will be lost to the mists of time.  But not what I, or anyone else, felt or remember.

 

Out Of Season

Late summer + Late afternoon =  Winter?

Perhaps that equation makes sense if you are the sort of person who grows sadder as the summer draws to a close.  In normal times (whatever that means anymore), the days grow shorter and cooler at this time of year.  So, if winter isn't incipient, fall is certainly on its way--with the barren season not far behind.

Although the air was warm when I mounted my bike, I felt as if I'd taken a ride in the middle of January or February, after the bright lights of Christmas and New Years' festivals are switched off.  Coney Island, like other seaside destinations, seems to retreat into hibernation from that time of year until Easter or Passover.  During those spring holidays, people congregate on the boardwalk, and sometimes even venture on the beach, even if the roller coasters and Ferris wheels and other attractions have not yet opened.

But such gatherings were absent yesterday.  Granted, it was a Thursday afternoon, but in normal (there's that word again!) times, I would have to weave around groups of strollers on any summer afternoon that didn't include a raging thunderstorm.

Most people would say that Coney Island is "dead," or at least closed, when the Cyclone--one of the most iconic amusement park rides in the world--and Wonder Wheel are still, their entry gates locked tight.    But, for me, what really shows that a stake has been driven into Coney Island's heart is this block:

I remember riding the "bumper cars" with my grandfather as a child, and trying to win prizes at the shooting range.  Tourists usually come to "the Island" for the "big" attractions, like the Cyclone and Luna Park.  But, for me, the real spirit of the place--in all of its grit and garishness, in the hustle of its carnival barkers and the pulsing of its shopowners'  hunger alongside the expanse of ocean--is in places like the shooting gallery, the sideshows and the old man--actually, he turned out to be exactly my age, save for a few days!--who sat in front of one of the padlocked doors.

He saw me riding and taking photos.  We talked.  He told me a bit about his life and how he ended up there, like a piece of driftwood on a more remote beach.  I assured him that what happened to him could happen to any one of us, myself included.  "I don't want to keep you," he said.

He wasn't keeping me.  I still have choices:  I would ride back to my neighborhood, where some would complain about restaurants and bars that aren't allowed to serve patrons indoors.  He would look for the bits of work--sweeping sidewalks, unloading trucks--the few still-open hot dog stands (Nathan's, and others) and other shops could offer him, and pay him a few dollars for. 

I rode to winter.  He was living in it. I rode home.

A Good Friday

Yesterday was Good Friday.  In all of the time I was in Catholic school, no one ever explained why it was called "Good."  I mean, if the person after whom the religion was named was executed on that day, what could be so good about that?

I was reminded of that while I was teaching Dante's Inferno this semester.  While it's usually read as a stand-alone book, it's really part of a trilogy--along with his Purgatorio and Paradiso--called the Commedia Divina.  Yes, the Divine Comedy.  Of course, students asked what was funny about it.  I explained that in ancient drama and epic poetry, a comedy is basically anything that isn't a tragedy.  Dante's trilogy proceeds from Hell to Purgatory to Heaven, which is a "happy" ending, if you will--which is what makes his work a "comedy."

I think that, in a similar way, the word "good" meant anything that had a felicitous conclusion.  According to Christian beliefs, the persecution and murder of Christ was "good" because it culminated in his resurrection.

Anyway, yesterday was a good day--in the sense most of us use that term today--because it was sunny and bright, if a bit breezy and cool.  So, I went for another coastal ride, this time to the Rockaways and, from there, to Breezy Point, Coney Island and Hipster Hook.  

I saw a lot of families, particularly Hasidic Jewish ones, on the boardwalks.  The kids ran, jumped rope and played all the games kids play, while their parents chatted and sometimes joined their kids.  As it happens, Passover is celebrated this week.

Anyway, I expected to see more cyclists than I did.  Maybe some didn't want to deal with the wind.  In any event, all of the action was on the boardwalk because the water is still too cold--about 8C (45F)--to swim.  Sometimes, on days like yesterday, one sees wet-suited surfers in the water.  Today I didn't see any.

I'm not complaining.  I had the best of both worlds:  I did a ride I've done many times before, and it felt great.  And, as I'd eaten only a croissant before riding, I worked up an appetite.  So the salsa (homemade) and chips I brought for my "picnic" sure tasted good.

I hope to have some more weather like I had yesterday before I go back to work next week! 

My Personal Track

It was cold ,at least compared to the weather we've had.  It was windy.  

So what did I do today?  I went for a bike ride.

That is not, in itself, so unusual (at least for me).  For one thing, the cold and wind were balanced out by the bright sunshine.

So, perhaps, you can understand why I rode along the bay and the ocean:  to Howard and Rockaway Beaches, then to Breezy Point (which certainly lived up to its name!) and Coney Island, from which I pedaled along the Verrrazano Narrows and under the bridge named for it.

The funny thing about the beach areas, at least around here, is that they are usually a couple of degrees warmer than the areas only a couple of miles inland.  The wind, however, makes it feel colder, which is why I had long stretches of shore, beach and boardwalk almost entirely to myself.

Even on Coney Island, where I often find couples, young and old, strolling in the shadow of the Parachute Jump and and men fishing from the pier, I felt as if the boardwalk was my own personal track.

Speaking of which:  I rode Tosca.  Yes, my Mercian fixed-gear.  Pedaling into the wind on a fixie is good training, to say the least.  But riding with it--especially on such a flat ride--feels almost like cheating! 

The World Is About To End, Again, And I Decided To Enjoy The Ride!

The world is about to end, again.

So what did I do?  I went for a bike ride, of course.

All right...I wasn't as cavalier as I might've sounded.  For one thing, the situation isn't quite as dire as the end of the world, or even the end of the world as we know it.

But tomorrow the beaches will be closed.  Think about that:  Beaches closed on the day before Labor Day, a.k.a., the penultimate day of summer--at least unofficially.

Hurricane/Tropical Storm Hermine has plowed across northern Florida and Georgia and is in the Atlantic, where she is surging her way toward New Jersey, New York and New England.  Even if we don't get the wind and rain she's dumped to our south, forecasters say that the strongest riptides in years will roil in local waters.  So, as a precaution, Mayor de Blasio has declared that our beaches--Coney Island, the Rockaways and South Beach of Staten Island among them--will be closed tomorrow.

I decided to ride toward those littoral landscapes.  First, I took my familiar jaunt to the Rockaways and, from there, to Point Lookout.  

The view to the east was ominous--at least, in the sky.  Those clouds looked as if they could have solved all of my hydration problems for a while.  But, as the day was relatively cool (high temperature around 25C or 77F) and the sun wasn't beating down on my skin, I didn't sweat much.

People seemed to think the beaches were already closed (well, the Mayor's pronouncement wouldn't affect Point Lookout).  Not many of them were on the sand or in the surf--or even on the boardwalk--in the Rockaways.  With those skies, it looked more like a mid- or even late-fall day than the End of Summer.

And Point Lookout was deserted!  Even the streets were all but empty:  the few cars I saw were parked.  A long, wide sidebar surfaced in the water, belying the predicted storm surge.  Normally, people would walk themselves and, perhaps, their dogs, on it.  But today the seagulls and egrets had it all to themselves.

Vera, my green Mercian mixte, seemed to be enjoying it.  Or, perhaps, she was anticipating the ride back:  We had pushed into the wind most of the way from my apartment to the Point.  So, of course, it would give us a nice push going back.

Except that I decided not to pedal directly home.  The ride felt so good that as I approached Beach 92nd Street in the Rockaways--where I would normally turn off the boardwalk (where we rode today) or Rockaway Beach Boulevard for the bridge to Broad Channel--I decided to continue along the boardwalk to its end in Belle Harbor, and from there along the Boulevard to Riis Park and Fort Tilden.

Then I rolled across the Gil Hodges/Marine Parkway Bridge to Brooklyn, along the path that rims the South Shore to Sheepshead Bay, Brighton Beach and Coney Island.  

Along the way, fissures split the cloud cover.  By the time I got to Coney Island, the sun had reclaimed much of the sky.  And, when I got there, I saw crowds of the size one would expect on a summer day.  I wonder whether they had been there all day or if they started to stream in for their "last chance" as the sky cleared.

Sunlight glinted off the water as I rode the promenade from Coney Island to the Verrazano-Narrows Bridge, where I once again saw the kinds, and numbers, of people one normally finds there on a summer Saturday:  cyclists, skaters, skateboarders, fishermen, young couples, older couples and Orthodox Jewish families enjoying their shabat.

Speaking of enjoyment:  Everyone has his or her own definition of that word.  Apparently, some Nassau County officials have their own interesting interpretation:

For the record, that women's bathroom in Point Lookout Park was filthy.  And the doors of the stalls didn't shut.  Nor did the front door of the bathroom.  I thought about calling Supervisor Santino, but didn't.  I was enjoying everything else about my ride and didn't want to interrupt it--especially since, if we incur Hermine's wrath, I won't be able to take another like it for a while!

Sneaking Off To The Boardwalk In The Fall

The weather warmed up a bit today, but it was still pretty blustery.  Still, this day felt very October-like, in contrast to the last three days,  which felt more like Thanksgiving weekend.  Not that I mind cool or chilly weather; it just seemed to follow me from Canada after the mild weather this part of the world was experiencing as I embarked.

Anyway, this afternoon I had some time to sneak out for a Coney Island ride, and to return home via the path that passes under the Verrazano-Narrows Bridge--about 65 kilometers all told.

One sign that it's really Fall is that the boardwalk was not full of the strollers, sunbathers and such one sees even on weekdays for a few weeks after Labor Day.  But, more important, the light and air take on different hues and feels around the time of the Equinox.

Is it my imagination, but has the Parachute Jump taken on the color of fallen leaves?  A few weeks ago, it seemed more like a reddish-orange.  Hmm...Could I be imposing my ideas of the season on things I see?  Is life imitating the season?

Whatever, Tosca seemed to be enjoying it as much as I did.  Even though I didn't have a lower gear to shift into when I was pedaling into the wind, I didn't feel as if I had been straining.  In fact, riding today seemed like a shorter version of my ride the other day, albeit with different scenery.  Maybe it has something to do with the way I respond to the light and air of this time of year.

On the Coney Island Boardwalk, this sign has a way of popping up where you've never seen it before, after you haven't seen it for a long time.  

I would have expected to see it during the height of the summer season.  As a matter of fact, a couple of times when I rode on the boardwalk during the summer, police officers motioned for me to get off my bike.  But today there were no cops in sight.

Still, I didn't ride along the boarwalk:  I had just a bit more than enough time to ride to Coney and back.  But it was plenty.

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.

Riding On Rails

Today I took Tosca, my fixed-gear Mercian, for a ride.  

Sometimes people who haven't ridden a track bike or a "fixie" ask me what it's like.  One description I've given is that--if you'll pardon me a cliche--it's like "riding on rails".

Perhaps that's what, subconsciously, led me along the South Shore of Nassau County, Queens and Brooklyn to Coney Island:

Now, if you want to talk about "riding on rails", you have to think about the Thunderbolt.  

If you ask most people to name a roller coaster on Coney Island, they'll say "Cyclone", with good reason:  Few amusement-park rides, anywhere, are better-known.  Even if you've never been to Coney Island, you've probably seen it in movies (such as The Wiz and The Sting II), Beyonce's video XO or in Grand Theft Auto IV (in which it's called The Screamer).  Roller-coaster aficionados still rate it as among the best; it's almost certainly one the most thrilling rides to be had anywhere and one of the best remaining examples of a wooden-car roller coaster.

The current Thunderbolt, by contrast, opened only last year.  It's more like a modern mega-amusement park ride, with its twists and turns.  What most people under a certain age don't realize is that there was another Thunderbolt, which opened in 1925 (two years before the Cyclone) and closed in 1982.  The Cyclone very nearly met the same fate in the late 1960s, when attendance at Coney Island's amusement parks and beaches declined sharply with the opening of newer parks and beaches, accessible by expressways, and the deterioration of the neighborhood around the roller coaster.  (In the 1980s, Coney Island was often referred to as "Crack Island"; since the late 1990s, the area has been rebuilt, bit by bit.) Today I saw crowds like I've never before seen; kids of various ages screamed with terror or squealed with delight as the the Thunderbolt rose and dropped.

Speaking of dropping:  For the past half-century or so, the Parachute Jump (the "umbrella" you see in the background) has been closed.  There have been rumors about reopening it.  Perhaps there could be some way to connect it to the Thunderbolt:  When it reaches the peak of the loop, riders could "bail out".  

Hmm...I wonder what the city Parks Department would think of that.

As for me:  I'll stick to "riding on rails"--on Tosca.

 

Not The Five Boro Bike Tour

Everyone who knows I’m a cyclist, but isn’t one him- or herself, is going to ask whether I did the Five Boro Bike Tour.  The answer is “no”.

I am happy for those who did.  I simply don’t want to ride in such a mass of people, some of whom have no idea of how to ride in groups.  Also, I don’t want to be stuck on Staten Island for three hours, waiting to get on the Ferry. That happened the last time I rode the 5BBT.

Plus, I’m cheap.  I don’t want to spend $25 on a one-day ride, even if there’s a T-shirt at the end of it. 

Finally, I did fourteen of the first twenty 5BBTs, twelve as a rider and two as a  marshal.  There just isn’t any sense of discovery for me when I do the ride, which takes basically the same route every year.

I did, however, go on a ride.  As I did yesterday, I decided on a bike before I decided on a ride.  In this case, I took Vera—my green Miss Mercian mixte—out on another gorgeous day.  The weather was much like yesterday, but a bit warmer.  So I wore one less layer and used more sunscreen.

Vera, like Arielle, didn’t seem to mind that I didn’t have a planned itinerary.  She took me through on a journey through a place that showed no sign of the changing season, and another that couldn’t help but to remind one of the fact that today was one of the first warm days of the year.

Passing Forest Park and rolling down Woodhaven Boulevard as it turned onto Beach Channel Drive, I could have been on my way to the Rockaways again.  Much as I enjoy riding there, Vera wasn’t about to take me there, and I was happy for that.  

We detoured through the western side of Howard Beach,where tidal marshes stand between Jamaica Bay and 78^th Street.  The reeds look the way they did during the winter, the fall and the previous summer and spring.  They don’t even seem to have been affected by Superstorm Sandy—or a fire that raged a few months later.  

From there, I picked up the bike trail along Shore Parkway to the Canarsie Pier, where it seemed every male from the surrounding neighborhoods was fishing.

Then I continued along the Shore Parkway path.  Traffic along the highway was, by that time, at a near-standstill in both directions.  Some of the vehicles had bikes attached to them, but I suspect some were on the way to the piers, the beaches or any number of outdoor spaces.

Next stop:  Coney Island.  It simply wasn’t possible to ride the boardwalk because it was so crowded.  It was like the Fourth of July, except that nobody was swimming.  Although the ocean is warming, it’s still only about 10 degrees C (50F):  too cold for most people.  Lots of folks were walking, playing volleyball, building sandcastles or simply hanging out in the sand. Even Hasidic Jewish girls were taking off their shoes and treading the sand in their heavily-stockinged feet.

Up to that time, the wind had been blowing at or beside me.  That meant, of course, I’d have the wind at my back for a  good part of the ride home.  Even with all of its cracks and potholes, the ride up the Ocean Parkway bridle path  and past Prospect Park and the Williamsburg waterfront went quickly.  

So…I had two great days and two great rides on two great bikes.  I could hardly ask for more.