Before, After Or Between Storms?

 Have you ever quipped, “I’ll pedal between the raindrops?”

Some of us gave that response when asked whether we’ll ride in the rain.  I will, to a point:  I won’t set out if it’s cold and raining or if I can’t see more than a couple of bicycle lengths ahead of me because the rain is falling so hard or it’s getting blown sideways.

This week, I haven’t been pedaling between raindrops.  Since taking a ride to Point Lookout on Monday I have, however been riding between storms.  In four days, we’ve had three incidents of flooding rains. The first, on Tuesday, began with a combination of rain, sleet and snow that didn’t accumulate.

So when I rode Negrosa, my vintage Mercian Olympic, to Coney Island

I wasn’t sure of whether this was the end of a storm—or the calm before a storm or between storms.

Turns out, it was the latter:  We had two more inches (5cm) of rain last night.

Remnants And Aspirations

Yesterday I played chicken with rain that never came.  The skies were laden with rainclouds (or what looked like rainclouds) that, according to forecasts, would unload on us.

On my way back from the Canarsie Pier, I passed through a still-rundown area of Brownsville, Brooklyn, where a riot of color burst through the sea of gray.

This building houses the East Brooklyn Community High School.  Its stated goals include helping students "get back on track" toward their high school diplomas and GEDs.  To that end, it offers not only the kind of academic attention and counseling such students need, but also access to services.

I would argue that the murals on the building are also vital.  I mean, what does someone who's spent his or her life in a neighborhood rife with poverty and other ills need more than hope?  And what can offer hope--or at least a welcoming environment--better than an expression of creative aspiration?

It's good to see a reflection of the vitality to be found even in what has long been one of Brooklyn's--and New York's--poorest communities, especially where one can see so many remnants of what was.

I don't know how long ago the Chinese restaurant went out of business, or moved away. I wonder whether the name is meant to evoke Americans' ideas of what is Chinese, or perhaps cuisine from the Wuhan region was served there. In either event, if that restaurant were still in that building, it might've wanted to change its name, given Wuhan's connotation with the origins of COVID-19.  

Daring Elsa

Yesterday wasn't quite as hot as Wednesday was, but the humidity was even more oppressive.  That's one reason why I took another morning ride which, I hoped, would bring me home before the early afternoon heat.

That part of my "mission," if you will was accomplished, even though I continued in one direction when another would have taken me home for, oh, a couple of hours.  

The weather forecast was dire:  Tropical Storm Elsa was bearing up the East Coast of the United States.  Sometimes I "play chicken" with the rain:  I ride as if I'm daring the rain to start falling on me before I finish my trip.  Yesterday, the stakes were higher:  The rain would cascade from those heavy gray clouds moving across Staten Island and New Jersey on their way to Brooklyn and Queens.  

Those clouds might have moved even faster than the traffic across the Verrazano Narrows:  They don't have to pay the toll on the bridge!

Seriously, though, I reverted to a youthful delusion:  That I could actually hold bad weather at bay becasue, well, I was pedaling.  Even when the sky and the waters of New York Bay all but matched the steel and glass hues of the Manhattan skyline, I was not ready to turn around.  After all, the brownstones and blue-collar brick row houses of Sunset Park hadn't been consumed by the the gray colussus.

On 31st Drive, one block from my Astoria apartment, rain began to fall.  It cascaded into a torrent just as I wheeled Tosca, my Mercian fixed gear, into the door. 

Playing Chicken With The Sunset

In earlier posts, I've written about "playing chicken with the rain".   On days when precipitation the clouds look ready to drop buckets, I might for a ride, all the while daring the sky to deal me a deluge.  I feel I've "won" the "game", if you will, when I arrive home (or wherever I'm going) just as the first drops plop against my skin.

Today there was absolutely no risk of rain.  It was one of those perfect fall days, with the kind of sunlight that feels as if it's trickling through leaves even though the sky is blue.  And the wind and the waves echo a softly crackling flame.  At least, they seem as if they should.

The waves...Yes, I took an afternoon ride to the Rockaways.  Although the water is still warm enough (at least for someone like me) to swim, the air was cool enough that nobody tried.  In fact, the only people in the water were a few surfers.

But I was playing chicken.   You see, I started in the middle of the afternoon and lingered on the boardwalk (actually, it's concrete now) at Rockaway Park.  A month or two ago, I could have lingered--or ridden--even longer than I did.  Well, actually, I could have done that today, too.  But I was also thinking about the time of day--or, more precisely, the time at which the day would end.

After lingering, I rode some more along the boardwalk and, after crossing the Veterans Memorial Bridge into Beach Channel and Howard Beach, took a circuitous route through streets of wood-frame houses--some with boats in their driveways--away from the ocean and bay and up the gradual climb to Forest Park, right in the middle of Queens.  From Forest, I rode streets I've ridden dozens, if not hundreds of times before as the sun began its descent just beyond the railroad tracks and the East River.

Yes, I got back to my apartment just as the twilight began to deepen into evening and the street lamps were lighting.  I had lights with me--  I always keep them in my under-seat bag--but I didn't have to use them.

In other words, I played chicken with the sunset.  And "won"!

Keeping Hermine At Bay

Sometimes I think meteorologists give us dire weather forecast for long holiday weekends out of resentment. After all, while the rest of us are having fun, they have to stare at computer screens or whatever else they have to look at to tell us The World As We Know It is about to end.

So it was for the weekend that just passed.  First Hurricane/Tropical Storm Hermine was supposed to land on our shores late Saturday afternoon. I figured I could do a ride to Point Lookout before then.

 For much of the day, that prediction seemed accurate:  Ominously dark clouds darkened the sky as the sea churned.  But--wonder of wonders--the clouds broke somewhat and the sun shone through.  So, instead of heading home from Rockaway Beach, I continued along the boardwalk and boulevard to Riis Park and Coney Island, and along the Verrazano Narrows promenade toward my apartment.

We got more or less the same forecast on Sunday:  Hermine in the afternoon.  So I thought I could sneak in a pre-lunch ride, say, to the Rockaways and back.

The weather belied the forecast:  With each mile I rode, the skies brightened, even as  the sea grew choppier and the wind stiffened.  I decided to "play chicken" with Hermine:  I would ride as if I could keep the rain at bay simply by riding.   After a while, I actually started to believe that I could!

Once again, I rode a good bit longer than I originally planned.  I was happy for that:  I did two good days of riding when, according to the weather forecasts, I should have had only one.

But Hermine was still rearing her head.   When I got home, I heard more dire predictions of her paying us a visit some time Monday, Labor Day.  Once again, I took a ride, hoping to get in a few kilometers (or miles) before the storm struck.  But I didn't "play chicken": I stuck with my plan to ride along the North Shore to Fort Totten, a two-hour round trip with a stop to enjoy the view at the Fort.

The rest of the day, though windier, was even brighter than the morning or the day before.  I had a few things to do, so I didn't go back out to ride.  Still, I was happy to have done three rides:  one long , one of medium length and a shorter one.  

Finally, the rain came this morning, just as I was about to go to work.  I lingered just long enough for another cup of tea, and to stroke my cats a few more times.  The rain passed, and I--almost without effort--more than made up for the time I procrastinated and arrived at work a few minutes earlier than I'd planned.

 


The next time someone asks you about the benefits of cycling, tell them that one cyclist (yours truly) "saved" Labor Day weekend:  She kept a hurricane away simply by riding! ;-)   

And to think we all can change so much more by cycling!

A Storm Chaser, In Reverse

You've probably heard of "storm chasers".  They're the folks who pursue hurricanes, tornadoes and such, and sometimes fly into them.

You might say that yesterday, I was the opposite of a "storm chaser".  Instead of riding into the storm, I wanted to finish my ride just in front of it. 

Actually, I just wanted to get a ride in with the limited time I had because I woke up late and had a couple of things to take care of.  I could have skipped riding, I suppose, but I have felt so sedentary and indoor-bound lately.

Late in the afternoon, according to the weather forecasts, we were supposed to have thunderstorms with strong winds and possibly hail.  Now, I don't mind riding in the rain unless it's cold, but I try to avoid conditions that were predicted.  

I alighted for the Rockaways at 1pm.  I figured I could make it at least to Rockaway Beach and back before the deluge.  

Even if you haven't spent a lot of time seaside, you could tell, from looking at the clouds that the weather was going to take a turn for the worse.  And the wind coming off the ocean wasn't merely brisk; it had the edge and that weightless feeling of "butterflies in the stomach" that signals approaching bad weather.

Well, I did manage to have a light late lunch by the beach and make it home before the rain came.  Although it fell steadily for a time, and the wind blew my bedroom door open, we didn't get any hail, there were no rumbles of thunder and lightning didn't blaze the sky, which remained as gray as I saw it at Rockaway Beach.

Oh well.  I guess that instead of being a reverse storm-chaser, I played chicken with the rain, again.

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! 

 

Even Max Couldn't Bear To Look At Me!

Yesterday, the weather forecast said today the skies would be "partly cloudy-to-sunny" and whatever chance we'd have for rain would come late tonight or in the early hours of tomorrow morning.  When I woke up this morning, the sky looked heavier and grayer than I expected it to be.  I turned on the radio.  Sure enough, the forecast had changed to "occasional rain and drizzle."

So I figured I could get out before one of the occasions and, if I got caught in one, I could ride or wait it out.  Although a fairly cool day for this time of year, I wouldn't have minded getting caught in a shower, especially a light one.

Including my "beater" (the Schwinn LeTour), I have three bikes with fenders.  Reason and logic would have dictated taking one of them.  But, I have one of those lives in which not much is dictated by reason or logic.  So, of course, I took one of my fenderless bikes--Tosca, my Mercian fixie, to be exact.

Needless to say, I did get caught in one of the meteorological "occasions" that was forecast. I rode through it, and another.  Not surprisingly, I ended up with some dirt and mud spattered on the wheels, frame and seat and handlebar bags (which cleaned up surprisingly easily). 

Unless I've had a particularly long or hard ride, or I simply don't have time, I clean my bike before I clean myself.  It's not that I care more about my bikes' than my own appearance (although I think my bikes are far more capable of looking good than I am!).  Rather, I always thought that it didn't make sense to take a shower, then to get dirty again when cleaning my bike.

After giving Tosca her wipe-down, I turned toward the sofa and saw Max:

Hmm...Maybe I was grungier than I thought I was!

Daring It All To Fall

Now you are going to see one reason to have a "beater" bike:

Some would argue it's not fair to treat a bike that way.  Perhaps.  Certainly, I would never leave a cat or dog in the cold, snow, sleet, slush and rain.

Yes, that's a description of the weather we've had since just a few minutes after midnight.  How can I pinpoint the start of the storm so accurately?, you ask.  

You see, after doing things I had to do yesterday and hearing dire predictions for today's weather, I figured I'd take a ride, however late the hour.  Actually, I got on Tosca at about 10:30 and got home just as light flakes were eddying to the ground. 
 ,
Almost as soon as I walked in the door, the flakes turned to needles of frozen precipitation and thus were more affected by the force of gravity.  Now that's one kind of weather condition in which I won't ride if I need not.

In other posts, I've written about "playing chicken with the rain".  This time, I rode as if I were daring every kind of precipitation Nature could have thrown at (or, more precisely, dropped on) me. I still have enough childish mischieviousness to revel in last night's little victory.

Outrunning The Clouds To Spotty Showers

If you've been reading this blog for a while, you may recall that I've written about "playing chicken with the rain."  As often as not, I manage to keep the rain at bay. ;-)

I did the same thing again today.  As I pedaled down 11th Street in Long Island City, I was greeted with this fairly ominous-looking vista:

Most days, the weather across the river in Manhattan ends up in my neighborhood withing a few minutes.  That's because Manhattan lies to the west, the direction from which most of our weather (one notable exception being hurricanes/tropical storms) comes.  When I can't see the spire on Liberty Tower (where the Twin Towers of the World Trade Center once stood), I know it ain't gonna be pretty.

The weather forecasters predicted "spotty showers" for the afternoon before a full-on storm would plow in for the evening.  What else can showers be but "spotty", especially on your clothes?

That is exactly how my ride ended:  with the showers making spots on my tank top and shorts just as I reached my front door.  In the meantime, I managed to make it to Point Lookout and back--105 km, at least.  I say "at least" because I took what I believe to be a slightly longer route--through Brooklyn--home.

Dodging The Rain For The Light

The past two days have included bouts of rain.  A deluge bore upon us just after I woke up this morning; after that, it seemed to rain every two hours or so.

This afternoon, I decided to do one of my "playing chicken with the rain" rides.  I got on Tosca (She really seems to like those rides!) and dared the skies to spill their wrath on me.


After riding cirlicues of cul-de-sacs and alleys around La Guardia Airport and the World's Fair Marina, I pedaled up the incline from downtown Flushing to Bayside Avenue, which took me to the eponymous neighborhood--and one of my favorite cycling destinations in Queens:

Fort Totten, as I've mentioned in other posts, was built at the point where the East River (which separates Queens from Manhattan, the Bronx and Rikers Island) opens into the Long Island Sound.  Some say that this is where Gatsby's "North Shore" begins.  

It offers one of those "I don't believe I'm in New York City" views.  The great thing about it is that it's as wonderful on a day like today as it is when the sun is shining and there isn't a cloud in the sky.

Some would call the light I saw today "subdued" or even "melancholy".  I wouldn't disagree with either, and enjoy both aspects of it.  In a way, it's rather soothing, even forgiving:  It reminds me, just vaguely, of the light that illunminated many days (especially in the early spring or fall) I lived in Paris and some of the time I spent in Prague.  Although it's a light you in which you can immerse yourself after long periods of difficulty, it is not merely soothing for it brings a lot of things into relief in a way that most people (I include myself) could never do on their own.

As for "playing chicken with the rain":  I felt a few raindrops as I took the photo.  And a few more whisked me as I rushed through Jackson Heights.  But, at the end of the ride, most of the moisture on my skin was my own sweat:  As you might expect, the day was very humid.

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...

Arriving In An Autumn Garden

One of the things I have always loved about cycling is that, even during and after the most routine rides, my senses are sharpened.  Food tastes better, my cats seem cuddlier and I see colors more vividly.

I was reminded of this when I got to work today.

That, in the garded in front of the administration building.  The ride in was otherwise unremarkable, save perhaps for the fact that I was once again "playing chicken with the rain."  I did encounter some drizzle on my way home, but I rather enjoyed it.  Perhaps it was an after-effect of seeing seeing a bright autumn garden at the end of my ride this morning.

A Small But Guilty Pleasure

As I've mentioned in other posts, I don't mind riding in the rain, as long as it isn't cold.  What I like even more, though, is something I've described as "playing chicken with the rain."

So it probably wouldn't surprise you to hear that one of my "guilty pleasures" as a cyclist is starting a ride just as the rain ends and arriving at my destination, or simply ending my ride, just as the rain begins. 

That is exactly what I managed to do today.  Of course, only leaving just as the rain ended, albeit temporarily, was intentional on my part.  Arriving at work just as the rain started again was merely a consequence of crossed fingers (or, what we called "birth control" in my teen years.  Don't ask!)  

Anyway, it's always nice to start the work day feeling as if I'd won, or at least gotten away with something.  Tonight I'll see whether I can do the same going home.

Bike Noir

Really, I don't like to leave my bikes in the rain.  But sometimes it's inevitable.

Such was the case last night.  I managed to just beat the rain on my way to work.  As you may know, one of my favorite games is "playing chicken with the rain."  So, I always run the risk of getting caught, or parking, in the rain--or of going to work dry and coming out to find a wet bike.

I guess I shouldn't be so surprised that Vera would take to a rain-slicked night.  The raindrops and streetlights bring out her natural glow, I guess.

She likes to show a little leg now and again.  Given that she kept going, and got me to work before the rain, I can certainly indulge her!

Balancing Acts

Meteorologists are saying that this is already the seventh-wettest year on record here in New York.  And we have almost three months left in the year.  So, while we may not have the wettest year ever, it seems that this year will almost certainly be among the wettest five, or even four.


Don't you just love it when TV and meteorologists talk about "going for a record," as if there's anything we can do about it? I mean, it's not like we're sprinters and this is the Olympics or the Tour de France. Or--given that this is October--it's not like we're Derek Jeter and Mariano Rivera in the baseball playoffs.


It does seem, though, that anything done outdoors--whether riding a bike, playing a baseball game or holding a street fair--involves striking a balance with the risk of rain.  How much of a chance do you want to take?  How much can or will you do before the rain falls, and under what conditions do you want to continue?  


Anyway, the other day Lakythia, Mildred and I went on one of those "playing chicken with the rain" rides where we did some miles and stopped in a couple of bike shops. Mildred didn't like the bike she'd just bought, so she wanted to exchange it.  However, she also wanted to see another had to offer before going to the shop where she bought the bike.


She'd bought some absolutely hideous-looking Trek road model.  I don't know how it rode, but I could understand her wanting to exchange it because of its sheer garishness (Is that an oxymoron?) alone.  In its place, she got a much prettier (white with emerald green panels and black trim) Specialized Dolce, which I think also fit her better.  


Anyway, our ride ended when she exchanged the bike at Bicycle Habitat in Soho, where I was fitted for, and purchased, Arielle, Helene and Tosca.  I was going to ride with them to Brooklyn, then back to my place, but the Brooklyn Bridge was closed in the wake of the protests.  


And it was starting to rain.  I confessed, "I might just wimp out and take the train home."  


"I simply can't imagine you doing that!," said Lakythia.


So, even though the rain was falling harder by the minute, I rode.  The funny thing was that I somehow felt safer than I would have had the weather remained dry.  Perhaps it had to do with the fact that fewer people were out than one might normally expect when it's getting dark on a Saturday.


At least I didn't suffer what this rider experienced:  

No, I didn't ride with an umbrella the other night. However, I have done that trick before, and I've seen other cyclists--particularly in England and France--using one hand to navigate and the other to (perhaps futilely) keep dry.


Now, of course, everyone who's ever made deliveries on a bicycle has ridden one-handed while using his other hand to carry whatever he was delivering.  Plus, I'm sure many of us have stopped, bought (or picked up) something and carried it home in one hand.  


Once, I carried home a chair I picked up from a curbside.  Another time, I lugged a torchiere-style floor lamp.  I can recall a couple of times when I brought back pizzas that I balanced on one hand (once when I was drunk) as I piloted the bike with the other.  


But, perhaps my strangest (and noblest) bit of one-handed riding came when I picked up a little dog that, apparently, got lost or was abandoned and had never been outside her home before. She looked like one of those dogs that Posh Spice might carry as an accessory.  No one claimed her, and she had a collar but no tag.


I was riding home from a late class and I pedaled down one of the neighborhood's main commercial streets in the hope of finding a vet's office or animal shelter.  No such luck.  Even I'd found one, it might have been closed at that hour.  So, after ambling down that street, and another commercial area, I brought the dog--I don't know what breed she was, exactly--to the local police precinct.  I hoped that, from there, she made it home, or to a home.  At least, I figured, she was off the streets, where she could easily have been run over.  I have to admit, though, that I enjoyed bringing that dog in just to see the expressions on the police officers' faces:  There's nothing like watching macho guys get mushy.

What have you carried during a one-handed bike ride?