Torment In The Torrent

I recently taught Dante's Inferno.  In it, Hell is divided into nine circles, each reserved for particular kinds of sinners and each with its own punishments.

(As best as I can tell, I'd end up in the third ring of the seventh circle.  But I digress.)

One thing that has always struck me about the punishments meted out in each part of Dante's Hell is that they are not only retributive (at least, according to notions of divine justice prevailing in his time);  they are also meant to torment those who are sentenced.  At least, that is how it seemed to me.

Sometimes it seems that the torment is worse than the punishment itself.  I think it's because the resulting pain, humiliation and embarrassment endure for even longer than any physical torture.  Plus, folks whom you believed to be friends or allies--or, at least, fellow travelers--will pepper you with "witty" comments or taunt you with laughter.

At least, that was the experience related described Dublin-based writer Cal McGhee in his Broken Bicycle Blues.  As if it weren't bad enough to get thrown from his bike into a parked car, all of his attempts to call would-be rescuers failed:  The Vodafone customer you are calling is not accessible at the moment.

Oh, but it gets worse:  He starts to walk his bike in the pouring rain.  He doesn't get very far when the "innards of the back tyre unravel and intertwine with the wheel, rendering it absolutely 'bolloxed'."  So, unable to roll his bicycle alongside him, he has to carry his machine--until he no longer can.  

Then, "not equipped with any weaponry," he saws at the tire with a key in an attempt to cut the tire off.  But that key proved no match for the tire and snapped in half.

That key was--you guessed it--his bike key.

Having endured the ordeal of flat tire, crash, broken key and the jeers of other cyclists who passed him, he finally reaches home, where he is "greeted by the beaming smile of a child."  He reaches out to embrace the tyke when he notices how grungy he is and stops himself.

"That's how I died," he informs us.

He asks that no flowers be brought to the funeral.  Instead, he requests donations that can go to "an experimental business heralding a new regime" in which "cyclists in peril" will be "rescued and fed curry sauce until they are restored to full health."

Will that ease the torment of other cyclist seeing him walking and carrying his bike?

Playing Chicken--In Reverse--With The Rain

In other posts in this and my other blog, I've written about "playing chicken with the rain".   It's one of my guilty pleasures:  I go out for a ride when the sky looks absolutely pregnant with precipitation and keep on riding, all of the while daring the sky open up on me.  The best such rides are the ones in which I pull up to my house (or wherever I'm going) just as the first couple of drops touch my skin:  I feel as if I'd gotten away with something.

I was playing a kind of "reverse chicken" during this morning's commute.  It rained last night, heavily as I slept and a little lighter as I was getting ready to go to work.  As I hopped on my bike, a few drops plipped against my helmet; by the time I got to the RFK Memorial-Triborough Bridge (a little more than a kilometer from my apartment), the rain had stopped and the sun was starting to break through the clouds.

By the time I got to work, what little rain had fallen on me had dried up.  I looked no different than I would have had I ridden under clear skies during my entire commute; none of my co-workers asked, with astonishment, whether I had actually ridden "in this weather".  I was smiling or grinning, I'm not sure of which, and they might have wondered what I was smiling or grinning about.  I'll let them think what they will (I love them. I really do!); I am content to start my day feeling as if I'd gotten away with something, like a kid who made off with the box of cookies! 

 

Riding Through Five-Minute Monsoons

The sky is an iron-gray pall.   Every hour or so, curtains of rain fall from it for about five minutes.  Then it disappears, as if it were merely a hologram and once again the gray sky looms for another hour.

If you happen to be outside when the rain falls, you will get soaked.  Then, when the rain stops, you will ride or walk around sheathed by your wet clothes--if, of course, you didn't have rain gear.

I think now of times I made deliveries on days like this when I was a messenger.  The funny thing was that I could walk into some of the swankest buildings and stuffiest offices, soaked to my skin, and people in suits that cost more than I made in a month didn't blink an eye.  Sometimes they would even offer me a cup of coffee.  

(Once, when I made a delivery at the Pierre Hotel, someone--a manager, I presume--offered me lunch.  I took him up on it and promised that if I ever needed to stay in a hotel in New York, I would not consider any other.  I don't think he held me to it.)

I pedaled and delivered in the most soaking of downpours, against winds magnified in the concrete canyons of Wall Street and Midtown, and with needles of sleet stinging my face. And, yes, in the snow.

But I had nothing on these folks in Mumbai, India:

For that matter, I don't think the US Postal Service does, either. Nor did the US Postal Team:

Those guys were in Indonesia. Isn't it funny that the folks in the background, under an umbrella, don't seem as submerged as the guys on bikes.

When rain comes suddenly and you don't have rain gear, you can do one of three things:  You can wait it out.  You can ride it and get wet.  Or you can improvise:

Today I took a brief ride and packed my foldable rain slicker.  And, yes, I rode through two five-minute monsoons.

Into And Out Of The Rain

Yesterday I went back to the college to pick up a few things I'd left.   The sky was swaddled in clouds that looked utterly pregnant with rain. (How's that for a bad metaphor?)  I decided to pedal in anyway.

The rain started when I passed Citifield, a bit more than halfway there.  It wasn't too bad; I'd brought my rain jacket with me and I was wearing shorts.  Plus, I was riding Vera, which has full fenders and a flap on the front.

Also, I was riding faster without really trying.  Although I normally try to avoid riding in the rain if I can, once I'm riding in it, I get a strange but good kind of "high", as long as it's not cold.  In addition, I think the slick roadway makes for faster (if slipperier) riding.  

Then, when I got to the college, I stayed and chatted with a couple of people in the hope that the rain would let up.  It did, finally.  I pedaled to Jackson Heights--about 3/4 of the way home--before I started to feel more like I was on the Maid of the Mist and that I was riding right into the Falls.

About a kilometer from my apartment, the rain stopped abruptly.  But the sky looked as ready as it had been to drench me and anybody else who, whether through necessity or insanity, were on the streets.  Still, I made it.

From Bike Riding Guide

One day, I'll ride in the rain the way she does.  Until then...

When I Ride--And Don't Ride--In The Rain

I am often asked whether I ride in the rain.  The most precise answer I can give is, "within reason".

What does that mean, exactly?

Well, if it's raining and the temperature is less than 40F (5C), I won't ride.  Likewise, I won't start a "pleasure" ride in the rain unless it's warm and I'm at a seashore. And, unless I absolutely have to be somewhere (e.g., my workplace) and there is no alternative means of transportation, I won't ride if it's raining so heavily that I can just barely see out of the windows of my apartment.

The latter condition prevailed today, just when I had to leave for my commute.  The rain stopped for a few brief interludes throughout the day.  But I knew more was coming.  I think this cell-phone photo I took from the Queensborough Plaza train station tells today's weather story:

The clouds envelop much of the Empire State, Chrysler and UN buildings which, on most days, are clearly visible from the station platform.  

And, yes, more rain came. It fell even harder than what came down when I was leaving my apartment.

Getting Caught Without My Raingear

Last week, I wrote a post in which I asked you, dear readers, how you decide whether or not to ride in the rain--or when the weather looks chancy.  I also asked whether you bring rain gear if there's a chance of rain.


Well, on my way home last night I felt like an utter fool.  You see, I had to Kingsborough Community College for a workshop and because I agreed to proctor an exam.


Both appointments were in the morning.  So, I anticipated leaving some time in the afternoon.  The day started off bright, sunny and a little bit cool.  The air warmed up, but the skies didn't become any less clear, during the ride--parts of which are quite pleasant.  My destination is in a part of Brooklyn called Manhattan Beach, which looks more like a town on coastal Long Island or Connecticut.  


Well, for various reasons, I ended up staying later than I'd planned.  And, by the time I was ready to leave--around 7:30--rain had begun to fall.  No, forget that.  It was as if the sea, which abuts the campus, was pouring itself over the buildings, paths and gardens.


Of course, I didn't have any rain gear with me.


I thought I could wait it out. After about half an hour, the rain let up.  Not even two minutes after I pedaled off the campus, I rode by the eponymous beach.  You can guess what happened next:  Another deluge, even harder than the one I waited out, came raining down.  The only problem was that there was no shelter.  There were no houses on that stretch, no lean-tos or even trees.  Worse, lightning started to flash all around me.


Within seconds, it seemed, my skirt, blouse and sweater were soaked.  My sandals were like completely full sponges under my feet.


I rode another couple of minutes, to a mini-plaza with a pizzeria, a coffee house and a couple of small stores.  I was about to stop there--the thought of a slice of hot pizza (at a place where I'd had good pizza on other rides)appealed to me.  But the idea of sitting someplace, soaked to my skin, did not.  Then I thought about taking the train, about half a mile away. When I got to the station, though, I realized that the train's air-conditioning might be running.  Sitting in it, in my besoaked condition, definitely would not have been a good idea.

From The Guardian (UK) Bike Blog

So, even though I knew it would take me about an hour and fifteen minutes to get home, I continued to ride.  Somewhere around Brooklyn College, in the middle of Brooklyn, the rain started to let up.  It had all but stopped by the time I crossed the Pulaski Bridge from Greenpoint into Queens.  From there, it's only a few minutes to my apartment.  I stopped at a greengrocer:  the boxes of strawberries and the piles of cherries (both red Bings and yellowish Queen Annes, which taste like a cross between a sweet cherry and a nectarine) in their bins were even more appealing than the pizza had been an hour earlier.  So, after filling my Carradice Nelson Longflap with the luscious fruits, I pedaled home.


The most interesting thing--to me, anyway--was that, except for my sandals, I was dry.  And so was everything in that bag.


That fruit sure was good.  So was the concoction I threw together:  chicken, corn kernels, scallions, chili peppers, Italian green peppers, red bell peppers and mushrooms, all stir fried with a little bit of curry powder and soy sauce, and tossed over some Japanese buckwheat noodles.  Max and Marley were all over me:  They liked the chicken, too. (All right, I cooked some without the vegetables and sauce and noodles for them.)

Rain Gear Or Not?

It's been raining on and off today.  Meteorologists forecast more of the same for the next three days or so.  


My grandmother used to joke about "walking between the raindrops."  Has anyone ever cycled between raindrops?  I've ridden between bouts of rain.  In fact, that's what I did today.  


Whenever I've gone on a multi-day ride, I've brought rain gear with me.  Sometimes I'll bring it on a day ride.  But today I didn't bring any with me.  


Do you usually bring rain gear if you think there's a chance of getting wet?  Do you take your chances?  Or do you not ride in the rain at all?


Whether or not you ride in the rain, you've got to admire this cyclist's sense of style:

From Cyclingtops.com

Through The Sprinklers

From RocBike

Today's commute turned into a game of "playing chicken with the rain."  Sometimes those commutes are the most fun because, when I do manage to dodge the rain, I feel like a kid who's gotten away with something.

The first half-hour of my commute felt like a ride across a big lawn lined with rotating sprinklers.  It seemed that, as soon as dewy drops evaporated from my nose and hands, I'd get spritzed with another quick round of moisture. 

However, about half an hour into my ride, heavier rain dropped from the sky.  Suddenly, I could just barely see ahead of me.  I ducked under a canopy in front of a store.  What kind of a store it was, I wasn't exactly sure.  The sign advertised photo finishing and passport service; inside I saw a jewelery case, a couple of fax/copy machines and a couple of desks.  And, although the store appeared to be open, I didn't see anybody--not even an employee--inside.  I wanted to thank somebody for providing such a good canopy exactly when I needed one!

Anyway, the rain stopped, but I saw lightning flash about a mile or so away.  I trusted-- for that moment, anyway-- the wisdom in the old wives' (how sexist!) tale of how lightning never strikes twice in the same place. 

Then it was back to riding in and out of the invisible rotating sprinklers.  It wasn't raining when I got to work.  About an hour later, the sun was shining and my students were staring out the window as I was teaching them the most important things anybody would ever teach them.  Well, I probably wasn't, really, but I have to make them--and myself--believe that.  Right?

You Never Know When It Will Come In Handy!

"Why do we have to learn this?"

"You never know when you can use it."


I couldn't begin to count (I'm an English instructor, after all!) how many times I've had that conversation with a student. 


Truth be told, we learn lots of things we never use.  If I haven't used trigonometry or calculus by this point in my life, I doubt that I ever will.  Then again, I doubt that I know very much, if any, of it at all because whether or not I actually learned those things is certainly debatable.  I took classes in them, yes.  But I didn't do well, and I don't think I retained a whole lot of either of them.


Tonight, for my commute home, I used a skill that I learned as a Boy Scout(!) many, many years ago.  No, I didn't start a fire by rubbing two sticks together or weave a lanyard.  What I did was to forecast the weather.  Well, OK, I didn't predict the storm that came our way.  But I managed to avoid it.


One thing I learned during those hikes and camping trips is that most weather patterns--at least in the continental United States--move from west to east.  So, after my class, when I saw the sky darkening and heard that heavy rain and hail were falling in New Jersey, I knew enough to wait before riding home.


The ride from my class to my apartment--at least via the least-trafficked route, which I took today--is about twelve miles.  That includes a somewhat circuitous route through Kissena and Flushing Meadow Parks.  And, as it happens, the class is east-southeast of my apartment.


So I stayed for two hours after the class to read some papers and do a small piece of online research.  So, by the time I left the campus, the rain had already passed over the campus, as well as my Astoria neighborhood.  That meant I didn't have to ride in the rain (or hail!), although the streets ranged from slick to swampy, and there were large pools of murky water on the paths in the parks.  But I didn't care, as Marianela has fenders; the one on the front has a long mudflap.  


Who could have known that a skill I learned as a Boy Scout could help me to ride home in a skirt and blouse without getting doused!


Hmm...Might I actually use calculus or trigonometry one day?  Will I ever fix a tubular (sew-up) tire again?

Riders In The Storm?

Today I went for another ride with my new riding partner.  We got out later than we'd originally planned because she was summoned, at the last moment, to a second interview for a job that she really wants.  


As we did on our previous ride, we met at a little park with a big statue that stands almost exactly halfway between my place and hers.  And the clouds that covered the sky grew darker and thickened.  Times like that remind me of at least one of the reasons I cycle:  Somehow I manage, in such situations, to believe that the rain will hold off long enough for me to do my ride.  Or, sometimes I like to "play chicken with the rain," as if I could dare it. Some of the rides I've enjoyed most are the ones in which I "held off" the rain long enough to finish my ride, and the first drops fell just after I got home--or just before.


There have been times in my life in which those rides were the only occasions in which I could muster up any sort of optimism, much less the defiant kind that motivates me to "play chicken with the rain."  


Today we did get caught in the rain.  As a matter of fact, we got soaked by a sudden downpour.  As it was a warm day, I didn't mind; in fact, I rather like getting rained on during a summer ride.  On the other hand, she doesn't care much for riding in the rain, although she didn't complain.  


But we both agree that we're willing to take a chance on a heavily overcast day when there's a possibility of precipitation, although neither of us wants to start a ride in the rain.  I've ridden with people who went out and rode no matter the conditions, and with others (including a ride leader in a club to which I belonged) who literally wouldn't ride if there was a single cloud in the sky or the temperature was below 40 degrees F. 

How do you feel about riding in the rain?  Are you one of those riders who will go out even when an old guy with a long beard is gathering animals into a boat?  Or are you a rider who won't ride if there's even the slightest possiblity of rain? (If you are, what are you doing in the Northeast or Northwest?)  Or are you like me:  willing to chance that "stray" shower or the passing storm?