A Flock Without Masks

Yesterday I took another ride to Point Lookout.  By mid-afternoon, the temperature had reached 15C (60F), in contrast to the freezing-level temperatures compounded by wind I experienced last Thursday. Also, the day was bright and sunny, so I wasn't surprised that half the world, it seemed, was out and about.

When birds congregate like that, I wonder what they're up to.  Are they just "hanging out?" Or is there some other purpose?  Maybe they'd just been enjoying lunch together:  After all, that beach seems to be one of their prime feeding spots.  And to think that they eat stuff for which humans pay real money in restaurants!

Whatever their motives, I can't say I blame them, even if they weren't cooped up, the way people have been.

Speaking of humans:  I noticed an interesting contrast in their behaviors.   I rode down the Rockaway Boardwalk, as I usually do on my way to (and sometimes back) from Point Lookout.  I also pedaled along Long Beach's boardwalk, which I sometimes do.  On the Rockaway Boardwalk, which was nearly empty last week, I'd say that I saw at least a couple hundred people on the seven kilometers or so from the Veterans' Memorial Bridge to the Beach 9th Street.  Most of them were wearing masks and even those who seemed to be family or friends were keeping the prescribed social distance (6 feet).  On the other hand, on the three-kilometer stretch in Long Beach, I saw about as many people, but only two other people--both of them cyclists--wore masks.  And I saw some furrowed brows and stares aimed in my direction.

The one explanation I can think of for the difference is demography:  The Rockaway crowd is more diverse and, it seems, more accustomed to cyclists. I don't think I saw a single nonwhite person (not even an Asian!) in Long Beach, which I suppose makes sense given that it's not as diverse as Rockaway Beach, Arverne or Far Rockaway, the Queens communities through which I pedaled on the boardwalk.  Given that disparity, another is not surprising:  the Long Beach crowd is definitely more middle- to upper middle-class and, I am sure, included at least a few of the New York City and Nassau County detectives who live there.

Perhaps I shouldn't be critical of Long Beach's seeming homogeneity--after all, the birds in the photo all look alike.  Then again, the birds weren't wearing masks, not out of ignorance or as a political statement (in this case, they're the same thing), but because, well, that's just not something birds do!

Steam And Heat

For the past five months, gyms have been closed here in New York.  That means lots of people can use, not only treadmills and exercise bikes, but also saunas and steam rooms.

During the past few days, though, it's been steamier than A Wish Upon Jasmine. (Picking on Fifty Shades of Gray is way too easy!) I mean, it's literally been steamy.  

This is what I saw from the shorline of Greenwich, Connecticut, where I rode the other day.

And this is what I saw from Point Lookout, on the South Shore of Long Island, where I rode yesterday.  That same mist filled the horizon along the Rockaways.

It was odd to see such heavy fog over the water when, only a kilometer or two inland, the sun burned through haze and on my skin.

So, as temperatures soared past 33C (92F), I pedaled 145 kilometers, with some hills, and 120 kilometers (flat) on consecutive days.  During any of the past few summers, this might not have been normal.  But this is the first time I've ridden as much in two days since my crash and hospital stay.

Oh, and I got to sweat even more than I would have in any sauna or steam room.  And I enjoyed a refreshment no gym could have provided!  

One More Ride To Normal

We've all heard that, as a result of the COVID-19 epidemic, some things "won't be the same."  We have some ideas about some of the things that might change--schools, workplaces and such--but we also know that there will be changes that few, if any, of us can predict.

That, I believe, motivates us to want--and celebrate--a return to things that are familiar.

What I have just described can also describe recovering from a major illness, accident or other trauma.  At least, that's how I feel about the aftermath of my crash.

Finally getting on my bike last week, if only for a short ride, was a sign that at least something in my life was on its way to normalcy.  Riding again the other day--and making a dessert I've wanted to make for a long time--was another.

Yesterday I took another step--or ride, if you will--toward life as I knew it.

For the first time in more than a month, I pedaled to Point Lookout.  At 120 kilometers, give or take, it's the longest ride I've done since my accident.  

The good news is that in my neck and shoulders, where pain has persisted, feel better than they did yesterday or at any time in the past month.  I still feel some twinges and stiffness, but simply holding my head up doesn't tire me.  

I felt pretty good in general.  The only "bad news," if you can call it that, is that I felt more tired than I usually feel at the end of such a ride. Part of my fatigue was a result of not having done such a ride in more than a month.  Another part of my tiredness came from having pedaled into a fairly brisk wind from the southeast, under a bright sun, all the way to Point Lookout.  Of course, I had the wind at my back on my way home, but there was still nothing between me and solar rays but my sunscreen.

What I've said about the sun and wind isn't a complaint:  I could hardly have had a more beautiful day on which to complete one more step on my return to what is normal in my life.  I wonder what will change.

When I Couldn't Look Out

The other morning, I woke up early and wasted little time in getting in the saddle.  I figured that if I got home by noon--which I did--I could beat the worst of the heat and humidity predicted for the day.

The weather reports also said there could be heavy fog and mist in coastal areas--where, of course, I planned to ride.  Specifically, I headed for Point Lookout because I enjoy the ride and because it's 125 kilometers:  not a bad before-lunch total.

I knew about the construction at PL, but I didn't mind:  I knew that, as the name implied, there would still be something worth looking out at.  And I figured the mist and fog would make it seem even more littoral.

That they did.  But the only problem was that I couldn't see anything at all, besides machinery, at Point Lookout.



Should it have been renamed, if only for the day?

Offering An Illusion Of Safety

Sometimes there just isn't a better way.

I am reminded of that whenever I ride along the North Shore of Long Island and eastern Queens.  The area offers much, from mansions and country clubs with the Gatsby vibe to picturesque towns like Roslyn (where, incidentally, Gabriela Mistral--the first Latin American and fifth woman to win the Nobel Prize for Literature--spent her last few years) as well as tidal wetlands, beaches, bird sanctuaries--and cliffs.  Best of all, there are actually some nice roads for cycling and a few bike lanes, including one that winds along the bay near Udall's Cove Park. 

Cyclist riding on Northern Boulevard near the Little Neck Bay bridge

The problem is in getting there from my part of Queens.  I know a few decent routes that will get me to Bayside, about 20 kilometers from my apartment.  Little Neck Bay, an arm of the Sound, reaches into the neighborhood, and you have to cross it in order to get from Bayside to Little Neck and Nassau County.  Oh, I could get around that body of water if I take a detour southward--one which I actually don't mind, as there are some quiet side streets and a rather nice park (Alley Pond) along the way.  I don't mind, as long as I have enough time or am not trying to stay ahead of rain I didn't anticipate before my ride.


But if you want to go directly from western Queens, where I live (just across from Manhattan), there is only one choice if you don't want to swim or take the Long Island Railroad:  Ride the Route 25A, a.k.a. Northern Boulevard, bridge over Little Neck Bay.  

Northern Boulevard is a four-lane road.  For most of its length, at least in Queens and Nassau County, it is a commercial thoroughfare,  which means that it is heavily trafficked.  But even where it cuts through parks and nature preserves-- as it does on either side of the Bay bridge-- there is little if any respite from the traffic because, as it happens, highway exit and entrance ramps veer from and merge with the road near the bridge.

At 6:30 on a summer morning almost two years ago, 78-year-old Michael Schenkman was cycling eastward, in the direction of the bridge--ironically, on his way to the nearby Joe Michaels Mile Bike Path.   A black Chevrolet Impala traveling in the same direction on Northern collided with Schenkman, who died shortly afterward.  The driver, to his credit, remained at the scene.

223rd Street and Northern Boulevard, where Michael Schenkman was killed

After the crash, the city's Department of Transportation came up with a plan to create a bike lane on the north side of the bridge by taking out a lane of traffic.  The local community board approved it, but changed its mind just as the DOT was beginning to work on it last September.  Tomorrow, members of that board will march along the side of the bike lane project.  They--led by State Senator Tony Avella--want the DOT to scrap the lane and, instead, expand the width of the sidewalk so that it can be shared by cyclists and pedestrians.

As someone who has pedaled that stretch of Northern Boulevard dozens of times, I can say that those folks probably aren't cyclists it would be a terrible idea for everyone.  First of all, no one quite knows how wide the sidewalk would have to be in order to accommodate both cyclists and pedestrians--and whether it would mean new construction or taking out another lane of traffic. Either way, it would probably cost more than what board members claim--or, for that matter, the DOT's project.

Worse, though, is that the sidewalk crosses a highway exit ramp.  It's bad enough when pedestrians have to walk into the crosswalk with cars streaming on the ramp; I can only imagine the consequences if cyclists and pedestrians are forced to share that crosswalk!

Some experienced cyclists (like me) who are familiar with the area have learned how to at least minimize the risks while riding along the bridge and Northern Boulevard.  A shared sidewalk would give less-experienced cyclists (and those unfamiliar with the area) the illusion of safety, which can be worse than any hazard of the road.

Recycling Bikes In Brett's Memory

Families find all sorts of ways to keep the memory of a loved one alive.

This might be a "first", though:  a recycle-a-cycle program.

Three years ago, a motorcycle accident took Brett Rainey, whom his sister, Lisa Karrer, described as her "best friend".

She lives in Huntington Station, a Long Island town just a morning or afternoon ride from my apartment.  It has its charms, but as in many parts of Long Island, streets marked with hardscrabble lives are woven among the strands of  mansion-lined lanes.  A kilometer or less away from folks who drive their Mercedes' to shops where they buy the latest carbon fiber bikes and lycra kit, one can see children who don't have a bike to ride--or immigrants, mostly young, who could use a bike to get to the lawns they manicure and houses they paint.

Living with such a reality, and with the memory of a brother whose last job--and passion--gave birth to the idea.  "My wife said why don't we get used bikes?  We'll fix them up and donate them to the kids that can't afford them, we'll give them in Brett's name because that's what he would have wanted," she recalled.



The family's project, Brett's Bicycle Recycle, has given away about 100 bicycles, tricycles and skateboards since it started last year.  "Some of these kids have never even rode a bike and they're like 14- to 15-years old and they're in shock,"  Karrer explains.  

"He would have loved seeing this," said his mother, Drena Kanz 

First Time To The Point

It's hard for me to believe now that on Saturday, I took my first ride to Point Lookout since December, or possibly earlier.

Also, it was my first ride to the Point with Bill--and his first ride, ever, there.  The tide was out, revealing a sandbar where, in warmer months, kids skip and dogs skitter.  We saw a couple of teenagers wade into the water, which reached just above their ankles, to the sandbar.  In my younger days, I might've done the same, or even joined them.  But the ocean water is still only about 8 degrees C (45F), and I know it will warm up fairly quickly during the next few weeks.  I can wait.

Instead, the pleasures of such a ride are the sun, wind and vistas--like the one we saw on the Marine Parkway-Gil Hodges Memorial Bridge:

The sky, as beautiful as it was, didn't look quite spring-like. But we were looking at it about two hours later than we would have in, say, January.

Sheltered In Memory

On Sunday, Bill, Cindy and I took the ferry from the Brooklyn Army Terminal, about a mile from Bill's apartment, to Rockaway Beach.   Perhaps I "read" the choppiness of the water into everything I experienced on the ride, from the wind skittering over sand and marsh grasses to the clouds scattered through the sky.

Don't get me wrong:  I enjoyed the ride.  It wasn't long, but the company and the vistas were pleasant, and sometimes interesting.

Saying that someone lives in "a house by the water" probably conjures, for most people, an image of its inhabitants gazing over expanses of sea and sky from an open-air balcony or glass-enclosed solarium.  But, really, it can mean much else, such as this

or this

The first photo probably is a better reflections of most people (at least those who've never lived in such places) have of living "in a beach house" or "by the ocean".   There is one difference, of course:  more color.  If anything, it might look more like South Beach, Miami than the South Shore of Long Island.

The other photo is probably closer to the reality of most waterside residents.  If you think you've seen it before, you probably have:  A couple of weeks ago, we rode by it when the tide was out and mud and other detritus oozed (where murky water would lap around when the tide is in) between those islands of marsh grass and houses.

We are still trying to figure out what the geared wheel is.  My theory is that there was a boat dock there at some point--perhaps as recently as in the days just before Sandy--and that wheel was part of some mechanism that towed boats in.  Now that I think of it, I recall seeing boats in the area before Sandy.

Anyway, on the way back to Bill's place, we rode through Sunset Park.  Many, many years ago, my grandparents took me to the top of this hill

in the park.  The view doesn't seem to change much.  Or maybe there is more change than I realize, and I just don't see it because I always look out, toward the harbor and Statue, from that hill.  It's as if some law of physics applies only in that spot:  My eyes cannot turn in any other direction. 

But at least that view is different from any other maritime or littoral vista I have encountered.  It has to be, even if someone  builds houses of the blue and green and terra cotta tiles--or gnarled bark-- between me and the expanse of harbor:  the one I saw with my grandparents more than half a century ago, and with Bill and Cindy the other day.

Say Hello To Dee-Lilah

I suppose Bill still falls into the category of "new friend" and "new riding buddy".  After all, I've known him only since October.

Yesterday he met my latest friend.  Now you are going to meet her, too.

Here is Dee-Lilah:

Yes, she is the Mercian Vincitore Special I ordered back in May.  Actually, she arrived a week ago and Hal, at Bicycle Habitat, assembled her for me.  I rode her home that evening. But work, other commitments and lousy weather kept me from riding her again until yesterday.

Before meeting up with Bill, I took her for a spin of about 17 kilometers.  That whetted my appetite for more time with her.

Our ride took us through a variety of vistas: spires and windows that justify Brooklyn's nickname "The Borough of Churches", neat row houses in western Queens, the nearly suburban abodes to the east, opulent estates that look out onto the bay and ocean from the Five Towns and the more ramshackle places on the way to the boardwalk at Far Rockaway.

My ride with Bill spanned about 115 kilometers.  So, in all, Dee-Lilah's second ride took me for 130 kilometers, or about 75 miles, of pleasure.

Even with such varied visuals around me, I could hardly keep myself from looking at her.  I mean, I still can't help but to marvel at this bottom bracket:

or these lugs:

All right, I know it's a bit presumptuous to say how beautiful one's own bike is.  But, on my way to meet up with Bill, a couple of guys were wheeling two pricey mountain bikes with all the latest gadgets off a curb.  They stopped themselves, and asked me to stop so they could marvel at my bike.

And, I was about four blocks from my apartment when another guy was getting out of his car and stopped to express his admiration.

It was a bit difficult to stand the bike anywhere, as the day was windy. (It's March, after all!)  But I think Bill got some nice shots of the head tube and other features of the bike.

I'll devote another post to more technical details for the bike.  For now, I'll just say the bike is very aerodynamic.  It must be:  I felt like I was flying. 

Welcome, Dee-Lilah!

From A Fallen Tree To Burning Towers And The Sunset

Friday's weather was practically the definition of "dreary":  at any given moment, we had any given combination of snow, rain and sleet combined with winds that gusted, at time, to 90 KPH.

While the stuff stopped falling out of the sky Saturday morning, a ceiling of thick clouds obscured the sun--at least, for most of the day.  And it was still pretty windy.  No matter:  Bill and I went for  a ride.

We were exulting in our good fortune when we encountered a "souvenir" of the previous day's weather:

I'd heard that trees fell and power lines snapped.  Still, it's a surprise when you find them right in the middle of your route.

It wasn't really a surprise that the tree fell:  We could see the decay near its base.  Also, it was pretty easy to see that the tree needed more room for its roots to spread and deepen.  I guess that when that tree was planted--100 years ago?--no one expected it to grow so tall--or for concrete to be poured over its base.

One car looked totaled.  The others struck by the trees looked repairable.  Fortunately, neither Bill nor I had bikes in the path of its fall!

I rode my Trek because I expected to encounter more debris, mud and other detritus of the storm than I did.  Bill rode the rattiest of the three (!) early '70's Schwinn Sports Tourers he owns.

We stared riding just after noon and made a longer-than-expected lunch stop.  So, by the time we got to the bridge from Far Rockaway to Atlantic Beach, on the south shore of Nassau County, it was already late in the day.

The South Shore of Long Island is one of the few places on the East Coast where you can look west and see the sun set on the ocean, the way you would in, say, Laguna Beach.  And we spent much of the rest of our ride headed into the sunset, from Atlantic Beach to Sheepshead Bay on Brooklyn's South Shore.

From the path between Jacob Riis Park and Fort Tilden, we saw the Manhattan skyline--about 30 kilometers away, as the crow flies--ablaze.  Of course, in New York it's hard not to associate blazing buildings with 9/11--especially since a number of firefighters who died that day lived in Rockaway Beach and Belle Harbor, two South Shore communities we traversed on our ride.  But I had to remind myself that those skyscrapers were glowing in the reflection of the sunset, not burning in the aftermath of a disaster.

The sun, hidden most of the day, ended the day by playing peek-a-boo with the clouds before disappearing into the sea.

As our ride ended, it had one thing in common with The French Connection:  a ride under the New Utrecht Avenue elevated subway.  Well, all right, our time under it wasn't nearly as long or dramatic.  

I certainly hope the household is "stationary."  I wouldn't want to live in something that didn't stay in place, at least while I'm inside it.  And I certainly wouldn't allow whoever painted that awning the use of my stationery until he or she learned how to spell.

Or maybe I wouldn't be so picky.  After all, I was still basking in the glow of that sunset we prolonged by riding into it.

N.B.:  Bill took all of the photos in this post.

Another Day In The Good Life

Sometimes the weather forecasters like to scare us.  Or so it seems.  Today, they gave us dire warnings of "possible" or "likely" thunderstorms this afternoon.

Whatever they were trying to accomplish, their admonitions worked for me.  I got out nice and early for a ride today--on Arielle.  She seemed as happy as I was:  Even when I pedaled into the wind--as I did for about half of my 125-kilometer ride--she just kept on going.  And I felt that I could, too.

In fact, when a very light rain sprinkled the streets, sand and stones of Point Lookout, I wanted to ride even more.  Rain on a warm day can sometimes has that effect on me.  The precipitation, though, didn't last as long as the cup of coffee I drank at the Point.

The clouds looked more ominous than they actually are--at least to me, or anyone else who is familiar with the weather patterns.  The tides swelled, but the clouds were moving south and east--in other words, out to the sea whose waves were growing.

In contrast to yesterday's ride to Connecticut, the trek to the Point is flat, which may be a reason why it seemed so easy.  In fact, my round-trip didn't took four hours, and I wasn't even trying to "make time"--and I took a slightly longer-than-normal route from Forest Park back to my apartment.

By the time I got home, though, I did make time for a nice long European-style lunch:  a cod fillet I poached with  mushrooms and onions I sauteed, along with a simple salad of Boston lettuce, sliced carrots and beets pickled with dill in Balsmic vinegar.  I washed it all down with  a small wedge of Mimolette: a reddish-orange French cheese that looks and tastes oddly, though pleasantly, like butterscotch.  If that doesn't make it a dessert cheese, I don't know what does.

Yes, Max and Marlee got small pieces of cod, too.  I'm not cruel enough to make them watch me while I eat food they'd love without sharing some with them.  Of course, I held the onions, mushrooms and everything else!

I didn't have to go to work today.  I got to ride and have a nice meal, if I do say so myself.  I had the company of two cats.  And I'm going to do some more writing after I finish this post.  Am I privileged, or what?

(I apologize for the photos, which I took with my cheapo cell phone!)

Receding Waves And Raising Imagination

Another beautiful early summer day means...a ride, of course.  This one took me to Point Lookout.  I pedaled against the wind most of the way out and with it most of the way back.  

When I got back, I talked to my mother and told her I "looked like a tomato."  She asked whether I'd used sunscreen; which, of course, I had.  In fact, both of my stops were for the purpose of applying "beach grease".

What was most striking about the ride, though, was that the tide at the Point had receded further than I'd ever seen before.  I can't recall the sandbars stretching as far and wide as the ones that were exposed yesterday.

Speaking of exposure:  I could just barely see that couple on the sandbar.  It didn't look like they were wearing a whole lot, though it looked like they were doing quite a bit.  One of the things they were doing, of course, was leaving something to the imagnation!

What else might we lose if and when sea levels rise?

Riding Into Crowds And The Wild Blue Yonder

One thing about air shows:  You don't have to be at the venue in which they're held in order to see them.  You can see them for miles around.

I should have remembered that when I decided to head for Point Lookout yesterday.  When I got there, I wondered why it was so crowded (well, at least in comparison to the way it usually is).  Jones Beach, where the the Bethpage Air Show was held, is only the length of a football (soccer, I mean) field from the rocks at Point Lookout where I usually lunch and/or meditate in the middle of my ride.  So, of course, the spectators at Point Lookout had as good a vantage point as the folks at Jones Beach or Bethpage.

In a way, that turned out just as well.  I took Tosca--my Mercian fixed gear--along a sandy path to a more remote area of the beach.  The tide was out, so there was a lot of beach.  (In places like Jones Inlet, what's good for bathers or beach loungers is not good for boaters:  The fact that the tide was out also meant that sandbars were exposed.) She didn't mind that I pushed her along the sand:  I pedaled into the wind most of the way out there, so I was pushing pretty hard on the pedals.  

Of course, that meant I had the wind at my back for most of my way back. Interestingly, even though there was a crowd at Point Lookout, I didn't see much traffic anywhere along my ride--not even along the strips of bars and restaurants in Long Beach and Rockaway Beach.

They were still watching the air show, I think, when I got home.

Does That Thing Have A Heater?

"Do you have a heater on that thing?"

So shouted a random stranger as I rode by.  I simply smiled and winked, though I doubt he saw the latter under my shades.

If I had stopped to talk to him, I might've said something like "This weather brings out my natural glow."  Of course, he wouldn't have known that I might not have a natural glow.  But that'll be our little secret, dear reader.

Anyway, I just had to get out for a ride.  December and May are for college instructors what March and April are for tax accountants.  I feel like I'm in that scene from Fantasia in which the brooms multiply.  The difference is, of course, is that instead of brooms, the papers are reproducing themselves everywhere I turn.  And, although I'm always learning something new (or so I hope), I am not an apprentice.  At least, I'm not considered one.



Back to the ride:  The gentleman who wondered how I could ride in the cold (about -2C or 28F, which is the coldest it's been so far this season) was walking his dog along a block of houses that are more expensive than they seem on the South Shore of Long Island.  I was, again, riding to Point Lookout on a day when about the only people walking along those streets or on the beaches were accompanied by dogs, mostly big ones.

I guess today seems polar to some people because we've had a mild fall:  In fact, I don't think the temperature fell below 5C (40F) before this week.  Interestingly, we had strong winds, sometimes as much as 80KPH (50 MPH) the other day and last weekend.  But today's air was still, which may be the reason why the weather didn't seem cold to me.

It was also probably the reason why, without any unusual effort, I kept a good pace along the flat route.   Interestingly, the only climbs I encounter are near the beginning and near the end of my ride.  Neither are long, but both are fairly steep, or seem so as they seem to erupt from the flat stretches that precede them.

The funny thing about today's ride--which left me invigorated and refreshed after 105 kilometers--was that, as I rode, I saw winter more than I felt it.  I mean, it was a bit colder than it's been and I was wearing more layers than I wore, say, a couple of weeks ago.  And I could feel the chill on my face. But, in spite of the fact that I haven't ridden much during the past couple of weeks, I wasn't feeling the cold or even a nip in the rest of my body and I felt supple, in spite of how little I've ridden during the past couple of weeks. 

The signs of the coming season were in the clouds, in the light of this day, and in the graying waves that receded into the horizon that offered a hint of a distant sunset.

I love riding under this sky, with the first hint of winter, because they are somehow intimate to me in ways that the summer light--as much as I love that, too--is not.  Perhaps it has to do with the fact that so few people are out on a day like this, and those who are--by choice--appreciate the austere beauty of such a day.

The snow that was forecast has begun to fall.  It won't last, and it won't accumulate, at least not in the Five Boroughs.  But the northern suburbs of Westchester and Rockland Counties and Connecticut might get a layer of frosting on the cake while we get a dusting, perhaps a coating.

Tosca, my Mercian fixed gear, does not have a heater, in response to the man's question.  And I'm glad she doesn't.    I wonder, though,  whether this guy (or girl) has a heater: