I'll admit that on one or two--okay, maybe a couple more--all right, a few more--occasions, I went for a bike ride instead of something I "should" have done.
Mind you, I never skipped out on anything vital. I only played hooky from meetings and other events that written or unwritten protocols recommended or advised.
Oh, and I'll admit that I missed a life event or two, but not of anybody who was particularly close or important to me. And, all right, here's my big confession: I actually skipped out on somebody's "big day"
The ceremony I missed was for a friend-of-a-friend-of-a-friend of an acquaintance, or something like that. And, as I recall, I didn't receive a formal invitation, only a verbal one. I'm not sure that anyone noticed I wasn't there.
On the other hand, I still recall that ride (with Jonathan) many years later.
The past couple of weeks, we've had our best weather during the work week--just when I've had to teach classes and go to meetings. And all through the past weekend, we had the sort of weather only Marlee could love--because it keeps me home and she can cuddle with me!
So, yesterday, I snuck out for a ride between classes and a meeting. A curtain of clouds crept between us and the sun, but no rain fell and the air was rather mild. Once again, I rode in the Bronx, within a few kilometers of my job.
Yes, that really is dust in the background. But it has nothing to do with the tall cylindrical structures in the background
though it could have at one time. Until the 1980s or thereabouts, they served as an industrial facility. Now they are part of the Cement Plant Park along the Bronx River. I've ridden by and through that park before. It's small, and not exactly rustic, but is oddly quaint and bucolic in the way an old industrial town in New England or the Midwest might be.
Out the other side of the park, I followed a few streets to the area around The Hub, and into a neighborhood often referred to as "Banana Kelly" after the shape of Kelly Street. On another street a couple of blocks from Kelly--Dawson Street--I saw this
and this
and this
all within a block. Not surprisingly, that street is landmarked as part of the Longwood Historic District.
All of those houses, and others on nearby streets, were designed by the same architect, Warren Dickerson, in the 1890s. At that time, the Bronx was still developing: much of the northern and eastern parts were still marshlands, woods or farms.
The houses in this district are 2 1/2 stories tall and semi-detached, separated from each other by side driveways and ornamental iron gates. As attractive as they are, they seem, at first glance to be variations on a theme. That is becuase they are, and that is what Dickerson intended. He wanted to create a unified streetscape, and that he did. While they started with the same basic design, they distinguish themselves from each other in the details in much the same way family members have their own individual characteristics but resemble each other. But what makes them work together is that houses alongside or across from each other "mirror" the angles curves of each others' stoops and bays.
The houses in that district were one of the first attempts--if not the first attempt--to create such visual unity in a neighborhood in New York City. That such a block, and others like it, were created is all the more remarkable when you realize that there were basically no zoning codes in Westchester County--of which the Bronx was a part until it joined New York City, which also had no zoning laws, in 1898.
That those houses remained intact is practically a miracle given the devastation and abandonment that consumed nearby streets and communities during the 1970s. While some of those surrounding areas in the South Bronx have been rebuilt, they do not have the character of the houses I saw on Dawson Street.
Then I biked back to the college, and a meeting. Nobody tells you about such things when you're in graduate school!
Today I was asked to go to a function where I really didn't have to be. I never exactly said "no," but I didn't commit to it, either. So, if anyone notices I wasn't there (There's a good chance nobody will!), I can say that "something came up."
Which it did. That "something", of course, is a ride. When I left my apartment just after noon with Arielle, scarcely a cloud besmudged the blue, sunny sky. A strong breeze bent tree limbs and flickered leaves. But the weather was just warm enough that the breeze invigorated me.
Given that it was such a lovely day, I figured I could ride to Point Lookout and be home around the time of the end-of-day traffic filled the roads. It was a good plan, but not necessarily for the reasons I planned.
We all know that when you pedal into a breeze, it turns into a wind. And when you pedal into a wind, it turns into a gale. Someone told me that once. That person, once again, was right. But I didn't care: I just wanted to ride.
Then, as I pushed through Howard Beach and along the roads and bridges to the Rockaways, clouds gathered. By the time I got to the Rockaway Beach boardwalk, the skies were overcast. Even though they grew grayer and more opaque, they never really darkened. So, I knew there was no real threat of rain.
But by the time I got to Point Lookout, I felt I was looking at what Andrew Wyeth might have painted had he lived in a coastal town:
Still, the ride was more than pleasant and, surprisingly, didn't take much longer than it normally did. I also wasn't tired.
The upside to pedaling in the wind, of course, is that when you turn around, it's at your back. Arielle really lived up to her name: I felt like I was floating over the roads through Lido Beach, Long Beach and Atlantic Beach, and over the bridge to Far Rockaway. Even when riding the boardwalk, I felt like I was on a magic carpet powered by Eddie Mercx, Jeanne Longo and a Russian sprinter or two.
Things probably never would have gone so smoothly had I attended that function I really didn't have to attend!
