In my youth (Yes, I once had that!), a couple of my poems were published in a small magazine. It was a big deal to me, and I thought it would lead to fame, if not fortune. Still, I was surprised when a stranger on the street recognized me as “the poet.” I blushed. “I’m not the only one,” I demurred.
“But you’re going to be The One. You’re going to be famous—and rich.”
He even said something about becoming a millionaire. “Well, not many people become millionaires from poetry. Or even thousandaires.” At that point in my life, I wasn’t even a hundredaire.
These days, I am just as surprised as I was then when a total stranger recognizes me. If anything, I reassure myself that the statute of limitations has run out for anything I did—and I am a different person, literally, from the one I was—in my wayward, footloose days.
Such concern, however, we’re unwarranted yesterday, as I was spinning along the Rockaway Boardwalk, when a young man pedaled up to me. “I read your blog!”
Turns out, Luca was on the return leg of a ride to Point Lookout. So was I. He had a bit further to go, though: to Jersey City, where he manages Jersey Cycles. He’s an “alumnus,” if you will, of a few area bike shops I’ve frequented.
Some of those shops have been taken over by Danny’s, a regional chain. We talked a bit about the business: It’s tougher than most people realize. And it’s changed in all sorts of ways. It occurred to me later that it might account for his, and my, tastes in bikes—and blogs. In particular, he mentioned “The Retrogrouch.”
You might say that my encounter with Luca was a momentary brush with fame. Ironically, he revealed a way I might’ve attained fortune. One of the shops in which he worked was part of the Metro chain, which became part of Danny’s. The entrepreneur who started those shops, Luca said, “was all about real estate. He didn’t care about bikes.” Hmm...Had I understood that when I had opportunities to open up a bike or book store, I might have retired by now.
Still, I’m glad I didn’t. Although I wouldn’t mind having more money, I’m not sure about having a fortune. As for fame—moments of it are fine, at least if the recognition comes from someone as cool as Luca.
Yesterday and the day before, the weather was more like May--or even June!--than February. Best of all, I managed to get out of work early enough the other day, and have enough time between classes and a late-day meeting yesterday, to do some non-commute riding.
I wasn't really "playing hooky", but I like to feel as if I were. (Do people who say "as if I were" play hooky?) In my defense, I'll say that I took my "guilty pleasures" in the Bronx, where I work.
New York City's most maligned borough has some of the most amazing murals. I saw this one while riding a bike lane in the Hunts Point Market area that must have opened in the last year or two. At least, I hadn't ridden there in a year or two, until the other day.
Then I took in a view of the East River and South and North Brother Islands--the latter of which was the site of one of the worst maritime disasters in this city's history--from Barretto Park.
Not a bad way to end a work day, don't you think?
Some of us try to create routes that are circular, triangular, trapezoidal or in geometric shapes with names I've forgotten. One reason, of course, is to keep from taking a back-and-forth ride: you know, the kind in which you ride to someplace and ride back to wherever you started via the same route you took to get there.
I'm guessing, though, that the majority of rides people take are of the back-and-forth variety (or what the French would call aller-retour, the same term they use for "round trip"). Those are, of course, interesting and fun in their own ways.
On such rides, the wind becomes more of a factor than on other kinds. After all, if you're riding in a circle, there are parts of your ride in which the wind won't be a factor at all, and you will probably spend less of it pedaling directly into it, or with it at your back, as you might on a more linear route.
When riding back-and-forth, most of us probably would prefer to ride into the wind on the way out and to let it blow us back home, or to wherever we started riding. At least, I know that's my preference. And I certainly got it today!
I got on Tosca, my Mercian fixed gear some time after three this afternoon. For the first five kilometers or so, to Woodside, I was riding diagonally into the wind. But lwhen I turned south on 69th Street, I was found myself riding into the teeth of a wind that varied from thirty to forty-five kilometers (about 19 to 28 miles) per hour for the twenty or so kilometers I pedaled to Rockaway Beach.
Once I got there, I wasn't surprised to see kite flyers or a kite-surfer:
The latter "wiped out". He certainly didn't have an easy time retrieving his board while holding onto his kite!
The temperature had reached 90 F (32C) before I started riding. The air felt about twenty degrees F (or ten C) cooler on the beach, under a bright, intense sun. In the middle of summer, people would go into the water, even though it would seem relatively cool. However, only the surfer braved the waves: The ocean temperature is still only around 55F (12C), cooler than most people prefer for swimming.
I could have stayed all day and all night! But I had a couple of things to do tonight, so I didn't stay long. Perhaps I could have stayed longer than I did: It took me only half as much time to make it home as it did for me to pedal to Rockaway Beach!
And, of course, you notice the wind you're pedaling into--or the one blowing you home--even more when you're riding a fixed gear!
Is the spectacle of day turning into evening the most autumnal part of the day? Or is Fall the twilight of the seasons?
During my short but exhilirating late-day ride today, the time of day seemed to mirror, perfectly, the time of year. Day was turning to dusk; leaves were falling and spreading a shawl of deepening hues across the aging, wizening ground just as the setting sun cast its glow across the deepening cold of the river and sky.
Some have said that cycling sharpens our awareness of our surroundings. I agree that it does, in part because it opens our internal vistas in much the same way skies and trees open before us.
On my way back, I stopped in Queensbridge Park. The bike path along Vernon Boulevard, which wends its way along the Queens side of the East River, detours into the park and brings cyclists, runners, skateboarders and dog-walkers within the shadow of the bridge for which the park is named. The park is named for the bridge. But, while people use the name in reference to the park (and a nearby housing project and subway station that share the name), they never use it to refer to the bridge, which is more widely known as the Queensborough or 59th Street Bridge.
Anyway, the park--about two kilometers from my apartment--is wonderful and interesting in all sorts of ways. One, of course, is the views of the river, harbor, skyline and, of course the bridge--especially when the lights are turned on. Another is the way that it seems to stand, almost defiantly, against its surroundings.
As I mentioned, there is the housing project across Vernon Boulevard from its eastern side. There are also small factories and warehouses. The bridge looms over park's southern side. But to the north is a Con Ed power plant:
During the summer, the leaves on the trees at least partially obscure those smokestacks, depending on the spot from which you're viewing. Now, of course, the trees offer no such cover. However, they seem to be as inseparable in this autumnal vista as this season and time of day.
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.
It was a gorgeous late-summer day...and life intervened. The new semester is starting, so I had various things to attend to, including course outlines and finding and restoring links to readings and films I'm assigning my students.
At least I got out to ride in the middle of the afternoon,. I took Arielle, my Mercian Audax, off the peg and inflated the tires. I knew she would feel great after spending a week on a rented hybrid, but Arielle exceeded my hopes and expectations. I felt as if I were in a race car suspended by hot-air balloons. Or maybe a flying carpet with jet engines.
Whatever the metaphor, the bike overcame the deficiencies in the human engine. Possibly the best part of all was riding a Brooks Professional--which is starting to feel really broken-in--after whatever was on the rental bike and the cheaper leather seat on my LeTour.
The bike felt so good I just wanted to keep on riding it. And that's what I did, all the way to Connecticut.
I'd've gone even further than I did into the Nutmeg State, but I really didn't want to ride back in the dark. I have lights, but riding back from ConnectIicut means passing through a couple of dodgy neighborhoods. I've ridden them in the dark, with no problems, but I prefer to avoid nocturnal rambles in them.
I descended to the Queens side of the RFK-Triborough Bridge just as the sun was setting. From there, it's only a kilometer to my apartment after 120 kilometers of delightful cycling.
I arrived in a glow of twilight, and in an afterglow of an invigorating ride--and, of course, my adventures of the past few weeks!
This may not seem terribly bike-related, save for the fact that I saw it while riding by the pond in Prospect Park yesterday:
Somehow the loneliness of the long-distance runner doesn't seem so terrible. In fact, it's quite beautiful, even in an image taken with a cell phone and my photographic skills!
Gunnar and Velouria may not have ever met. But they have created a monster.
You see, they both used the word "pretty" in talking about the photo someone took of me the other day. So, when I stopped during my ride today, I asked random strangers to take photos of me.
Here's the first one, taken by a young Japanese woman on the George Washington Bridge:
OK, so it's not going to get me an endorsement deal, much less a modeling contract. But at that moment, I understood what Salvatore Quasimodo meant by writing the shortest poem I know of:
M'illumno
D'immenso.
That I was riding over the bridge at the beginning of rush hour but not dealing with the rush hour traffic was, in and of itself, pretty exhilarating. But it was an utterly glorious day: Yesterday's heat and humidity were nothing but memories (or bad dreams). Pedalling across the bridge felt like flight.
On the Jersey side, I turned left and pedalled down the road that winds a descent from the top of the Palisades to the shelves of rock that line the Hudson, which looked like the sun-filled atrium of one of those very peaceful houses in which everyone would like spent his or her childhood-- and some can visit in their dreams.
I spun the cranks of Arielle, my Mercian road bike, as I descended layers of sunlight to the ferry piers at Port Imperial. Then I followed the riverside road to Hoboken, where young people who work in downtown Manhattan were ascending from the PATH station. A day like this really feels like an ascent when you're coming from the grimy subterranean depths, and when you feel a cool if strong breeze before the sun begins to set.
In back of me is the old Erie Lackawana railroad terminal on the Hoboken waterfront. At times like that, I wish the government hadn't taken over the still-existing railroads after the Penn Central bankruptcy of 1970. After all, what use will anyone have again for such a beautiful word as "Lackawana?"
I continued down Washington and Jersey Avenues to the Jersey City waterfront. Marlon Brando's character certainly wouldn't recognize the place now. He might, however, recognize Richmond Terrace and the views from it:
I stopped in a nearby deli for something to drink during the boat ride. That, ironically, caused me to miss a boat, with the next one half an hour later. I had to spend that time in a penned-up "secure" area. Staten Island's terminal of its eponymous ferry feels more like a series of airport security checkpoints. A TSA employee even brings in a dog to sniff the bicycles.
Anyway, here I am in their version of Checkpoint Charlie:
Still, as you can see, I was in a great mood.
You may have noticed something pink attached to the saddle of this bike, and my fixed-gear. It's one of the more interesting products I've tried lately: a Bike Burrito. It's so named for the way it folds (or rolls) up. Inside it are a few small tools and a spare inner tube.
Back in the day, when I was poor, I used to roll up my repair kit inside a bandana and strap it to my saddle rails. The Bike Burrito is basically the same idea, except that it has pockets inside and is made of very sturdy duck cloth, much like Carradice bags. That canvas comes in various colors as well as a few prints as Jayme, who sews the Bike Burritos herself, finds them. I ordered the two pink ones with black interiors. They are "negatives" of a combination she offers regularly: black outside, pink inside. (That might be more anatomically correct, but what the heck.) I also bought another, in a multi-colored paisley, which will go on my Miss Mercian. That bike, because I'm building it with the Velo Orange "Porteur" bars, won't have the tape you see on my fixed and road Mercians.
Anyway...I recommend the Bike Burritos, which are available in three sizes. Jayme is very sweet and accomodating, in addition to being a talented designer and crafts person. And, her creations are compatible with Shimano, Campagnolo and SRAM shifting systems, as well as all other current and vintage components and bicycles.
And I recommend late afternoon-early evening rides along the Hudson that culminate in ferry rides back to the city!
