To Which Side Did This Ride Take Me?

The days are growing longer, however slowly.  That's a sign of Spring approaching, even if the past week's weather has been colder than a month ago--or what I experienced when I arrived in Paris during the first week of January.

But I am happy to have enough daylight late in the afternoon that I can sneak in a ride after classes.  So I took a spin down "Hipster Hook" from my apartment into Greenpoint and Williamsburg, and back through the still-bluecollar and industrial areas along the Brooklyn-Queens border.

Along the way, I stopped in what has to be one of the strangest, and in its own way, charming stores in New York.  I thought the sign might have been a "leftover" from some previous owner:  The lettering fonts and overall styles look like they're from the '50's, and delis, bodegas and the like no longer have to announce themselves as "self-service," as customers are accustomed to picking up what they want and paying for it. On the other hand, in France and other European countries in marketplaces and  stores that aren't supermarkets, you ask the fruitier or fromagier or whoever is working there--who might be the proprietor--for what you want and they pick it out for you. That was still common in the US, or at least here in New York, when I was growing up.

Anyway, the reason why I call this store "charming" is that it is unlike any other I've seen here.  It has all f the things you'll find in a deli or bodega, from coffee to cat litter.  But it also has a hodgepodge of items you might find in a dollar, or any other thrift, store:  small tools, housewares, stationery and the like.  

If you go there, you'll probably encounter something like what I saw: Gnarled, dessicated and otherwise weathered old customers buying lottery tickets and brands of beer that, I thought, disappeared 40 years ago alongside hipsters and wannabes buying craft beers I hadn't heard of, organic hummus and light bulbs. 

Oh, and the store includes something that was a veritable industry 20 to 30 years ago but is now as rare, and dated, as cuneiform:  movie rentals.  I don't know of any place in my neighborhood, or any place else in New York, that still offers this service.  I don't plan to avail myself to it since I no longer have a functioning player, but it's interesting to know that such a service still exists.  Best of all, there are gnarled, dessicated and otherwise weathered old customers buying lottery tickets and brands of beer that, I thought, disappeared 40 years ago alongside hipsters and wannabes buying craft beers I hadn't heard of, organic hummus and light bulbs.

Speaking of relics and artifacts:  On the ride back, I encountered these:

Those graffitoes have graced the wall of Calvary Cemetery that faces, ironically, Review Avenue in an industrial area along Newtown Creek.  I remember seeing them as a kid, when my family and I went to visit relatives nearby.  (Calvary wasn't the only cemetery we passed.  How did that affect my emotional development?) And I've seen them a number of times, usually from the saddle of my bicycle.

I have wondered what those people were like (or if they were real!). Did Marty and Janet stay together--get married?  Divorced?  Did one of them "come out" in his or her 40's?  And Joe?  Sometimes I imagine a blue-collar Brooklyn or Queens guy, like an older brother of one of the kids I grew up with. Was he sent to Vietnam?  Has he lived a long and happy, or a turbulent, life?  For that matter, are Marty, Janet and Joe on the side of the wall from which I encountered their "tags?"  Or are they on the other side?

An Epic And CNN

One of the great things about cycling is that you can get from place to place faster than you can walk, at eye level. And you can stop without having to alert a bus driver so you can hop off.  An example is a ride I took yesterday afternoon. I zigzagged through industrial areas along the Broooklyn-Queens border.  Some of the old factories and warehouses have become studios and shops but, thankfully, there's still a lot to see from the street.

You can even witness an epic battle that doesn't involve gangs.

One piece I saw in Bushwick, however, reminded me of old-school hip hop, when it wasvcalled "the CNN of the ghetto.

Is he warning the neighborhood about something?

The world moves on.  Things change--including ourselves and, in some cases, our bikes.  I just hope that we don't lose the spirit of those graffiti murals--and that I can see them simply by taking an afternoon bike ride!

Change of Scenery

When I cycle to work, I follow the same basic route on most days.  Sometimes I'm detoured.  For example, about three years ago, the RFK Memorial Bridge was closed, so I had to go through the East Side of Manhattan rather than Randall's Island.  At other times, however, I take short side-trips that more or less parallel my normal commute.

This morning was one of those times.  For some reason, when I got to the Bronx side of the Randall's Island Connector, I decided to turn right rather than left on 133rd Street.  Then I took a left onto Walnut Avenue, which cuts through the industrial heart of Port Morris and ends at 141st Street.  Normally, I would take Willow Avenue, which parallels Walnut but ends at 138th Street.  

Along Willow Avenue, I pass a great piece of street art.  But on 141st, where I rode this morning, I encountered an even grander (OK, the artists themselves probably wouldn't use such a term!) urban artscape:

Tats Cru is a group of graffiti artists who have become muralists.  Depending on who you ask, they "evolved", "went mainstream" or "sold out".  I suspect that when they reached an age at which they had to support themselves, and possibly others, they took whatever someone was willing to pay for their work.  I can't say I blame them.

What it means is that some of their work, at least, will survive.  And so will they.  I am happy for that.  So many people and things haven't--except in the memories of people who've lived, and cycled, in this city.

Riding Every Linear Mile

One of the great things about cycling in my hometown of New York is that it allows me to see a lot of street art close-up.  My commute to work takes me through an industrial area of the Bronx where murals of one kind and another cover the walls of industrial buildings.  It's become such a part of the landscape that nobody, it seems, refers to it as "graffiti", a term that implies impermanence and echoes disdain.

I have also seen street art, or the art of industrial spaces, while pedaling through streets and along canals and railways (some disused) in other cities on both sides of the Atlantic.  I'm sure other cyclists have had their minds and senses similarly enriched in cities I have yet to visit.

Detroit is one of those places and Thomas Leeper is one of those cyclists.  Except that he claims he's "not really a bicyclist."  Whatever he chooses to call himself, he's ridden 2200 miles of The Motor City's streets during the past sixteen months for his passion project, Every Linear Mile.  

He's been photographing graffiti, murals and other kinds of art, including found-object-art, he's seen along the way.  His goal, he says, is to "give kudos" to folks who are "helping to beautify the city" with their work.  "Ninety-nine percent of it was created with no financial incentive in mind," he explains, so their efforts don't cost anything to the financially-strapped city.

Since he began the project, he's had 11 flat tires, stepped on seven nails, has had nine verbal offers of drugs and been chased by eight dogs.  "I've learned how to ride fast when I need to," he says, and keeps pepper spray on him, but "has never really felt unsafe."  

Welcome To Port Morris

When you enter a neighborhood, town, city, state or nation, you might see a sign that says "Welcome To..." or "Entering..."  Or the sign might consist only of the name of the place.  

Most people don't realize that there isn't a neighborhood called "South Bronx."  Rather, it's a section of the borough that consists of a number of different neighborhoods.  Depending on whose definition you believe, they all lie south of the Cross Bronx Expressway, Tremont Avenue or Fordham Road.

By any definition, I work in what's now being called "SoBro".  (Uh-oh.  There goes the neighborhood!)  I also enter it--and, specifically one of its neighborhoods--when I ride off the Randalls Island Connector:

They really let you know where you are, don't they?  To be specific, that mural graces Willow Avenue between 134th and 135th Streets in the heart of Port Morris, a mostly industrial area at the very southern tip of the Bronx.

But that's only half of the mural.  Here's the right-hand side of it, with a detail:

I first saw this mural a couple of weeks ago, when I decided to vary my commuting route a bit.  Actually, I decided to take Willow Avenue when I saw a sign for a bike lane that recently opened along its side.

I know I've been critical of bike lanes.  The one on Willow Avenue is, like others in the city, separated from the street by a couple of lines of paint and a few poles.  But there actually isn't much traffic on Willow:  Most of the motorized vehicles are on the nearby Bruckner Expressway.  But you do have to watch for trucks pulling in and out of the driveways that cross the lane into factories and lofts.  I must say, though, that truck drivers are generally (at least in my experience) more careful and courteous than others.  They often honk and wave to me!

And I get to see some street art.  Those, I think, are good reasons to change up my commuting route.  At least I know exactly where I am!

A Message Like No Other

When you cycle in an urban area, you see more graffiti than the average person.  More important, you see it at closer range than someone riding a bus or cab, or driving by.

Even while seeing so closely, you don't remember a lot of it.  After all, so much of it, frankly, looks alike.  But every once in a while you see "tags" that stand out for their use of color, artistry or simply their overall size.  And, sometimes, you see a graffito that's a true work of art.  I am fortunate in having lived, for years, not very far from Five Pointz--whose days are. lamentably, numbered.

But this piece--on the side of a Barrow Street building, just west of Hudson Street in Greenwich Village, is like no other I've seen:

Will It Become Lost Art?

Yesterday, while riding to my weekly volunteer stint at Recycle A Bicycle, I chanced upon something I may never get to see again:

Two years ago, David Wolkoff, who owns the property on which 5 Pointz is located, announced plans to raze the building and construct two towers of luxury condos in its place.  The demolition has been scheduled for next month.

Given that 5 Pointz is located just behind the old courthouse (one of the most attractive buildings in Queens, in my opinion) and less than half a kilometer from PS 1 and the Citicorp building.  As much as it pains me to say this, it's actually rather surprising that 5 Pointz has endured in its location in a quickly-gentrifying neighborhood for two decades.

That means, of course, something else that it pains me to say:  Two decades' worth of some of the best graffiti, by some of the best-known graffiti artists, will be lost.  And artists who have studios inside the building (for which they've been paying below-market rents) will have to find new digs.  Some might actually leave New York altogether.

It also means the loss of one of those landmarks that provides cyclists in New York with a vista different from any other.  

Cycling By A Graveyard

After the rain stopped, and I'd downed a lunch special from Fatima Chinese Restaurant (a Halal Kung Po Chicken with Hot and Sour Soup), I hopped on Tosca.


My late-afternoon ride took me through some areas that are very familiar to me:  the industrial areas that line Newtown Creek from the Queens side of the Koszciusko Bridge.  Even on weekdays, there really isn't as much traffic as one might expect--and, because much of it is truck traffic, it's sporadic.  


Railroad tracks rim the creek on the Queens side.  Next to the tracks are warehouses and small factories that line Review Avenue.  I've been trying to find out how that street got its name:  It doesn't look to me like very many things ever got reviewed there.


Across the Avenue from those factories and warehouses is a cemetery.  Actually, you can't see the cemetery from the street, as it's on higher ground.  So, what you see is a stone wall.


What's interesting about the stone wall is the graffiti:  It's from a more innocuous time, at least in terms of graffiti:

Also, it's much simpler, in composition and color (Do I sound like a pretentious art critic, or what?), than what we see today.

The style and the content of the graffiti tells you that it's older.  Plus, I've seen the graffiti on that wall for the past 25 or so years.  In fact, I even recall seeing some of it, including the piece in the next photo, during my early adolescence, when my family passed through the area on our way to visit relatives.

It makes me wonder where Joe is now.  He's well into middle age, or possibly even an old man, if he's still alive.  I suspect I could say the same things about Al.  As for Marty and Janet:  Did they stay together?  Get married?  Or did one of them go away to college, or war , and never see each other again?

I also wonder whether any of the people (men, mostly) who work in the area have ever noticed the graffiti on the wall. If they haven't, I guess the job fell to a cyclist.  It makes sense:  Cyclists, in my experience, tend to be curious people.  I wonder why that's so.