When I was in Rome last summer, I learned that during the centuries when the Colosseum was all but abandoned, so many species of vegetation grew in it that Domenico Panaroli cataloged them.
According to some writers and chroniclers, all of those herbs and other plants created micro-climates within the Colosseum's walls. I don't find that so difficult to believe: Different parts felt hotter or cooler, depending on the sun, shade and wind, during my visit there.
My commute this morning got met to thinking about the possibility of Colosseum "microclimates". For one thing, the lane I ride to the Randall's Island Connector winds underneath the tracks on which Acela trains shuttle between New York and Boston. Those tracks run on a viaduct supported by stone arches that would not look out of place in Rome, or the ancient parts of many other cities in the Old World.
But, more important, I think I rode into a microclimate:
The remanants of yesterday's storm dripped, and rays of sunlight flickered, through the tracks above. And I pedaled through the "rainbow" you see in the photo. I didn't see another rainbow anywhere else, nor did any rain fall. And the sky grew brighter as I neared the college.
After yesterday's rain, it was nice to commute under clear skies. However, a rainstorm that wasn't in the forecast drenched the campus this afternoon. And I hadn't covered the Brooks saddle on Vera!
When I finally got outside, the rain had stopped.
I hope this is a good omen for Vera's saddle--and a lot of other things! Does catching only the tail-end of a rainbow count?
I know that autumn officially began a week and a day ago. However, the ride I took today felt like the first of the season.
In part, it had to do with the weather: The temperatures were almost exactly on target, maybe a couple of degrees cooler than normal. The air had that cool crispness you normally associate with the season (at least in this part of the world). But most telling was the particular kind of haze one sees in the distance at the seashore when clouds gather at this time of the year:
This is not the "hothouse" haze borne of humidity you can't escape on a summer day. Nor is it the light, almost linen, haze you see on a mid- or late-spring day. This is the kind of haze that brings colors into focus yet diffuses light. If I were a painter or even a photographer, I would want to render the subtle differences in tones between these kinds of haze on my canvas, paper or screen.
As I started my ride home from Point Lookout, the sky quickly grew brighter, almost as if in a flash. Then, almost as quickly, clouds gathered and grew darker and heavier than the ones in the first photo. About half a mile from the Atlantic Beach Bridge, what I like to call a "Florida Shower" fell from the sky: an intense rain that cut visibility to nearly zero--but, strangely, was not accompanied by thunder or lightning. Also, it wasn't steamy, as the ones in the Sunshine State usually are. I took refuge under the awning of a church that, it seemed, had completed its services and breakfasts or lunches for the day.
Within fifteen minutes, I was back on the road again.
Summer...In the US, it's a time when frazzled parents with squalling kids go to amusement parks, professional couples go and fry themselves on beaches that, they believe, only they know about. And guys go to the movies to see pikshas of girls with guns. Said girls, of course, are usually not wearing much more than their ammo belts.
So, for all of you guys, I'm going to offer the next best thing--a girl in Prague, on a bike:
OK, so I'm not wearing a bikini and my accessories don't run to bandoliers. And maybe I'm more of a babushka than a girl. (All of the tacky souvenir shops are full of row after row of Russian dolls. I thought Vaclav Havel and Alexander Dubcek ended such things!) So, just for having to endure the indignity of seeing an overweight middle-aged American woman on a rented bike, I'll offer you this:
Really, I didn't intentionally make her blurrier. I mean, just because she's younger and more attractive than I'll ever be, and is wearing an outfit I can only hope to pull of in my next life, it doesn't mean I sub- (or not-so-sub-) consciously took a bad photo. My real purpose...ahem...was to show the wonderful shop from which I rented the bike I rode. It's the same one from which I took a guided tour the other day: City Bike, on Namesti Republiky (Republic Square). It's a tiny place, entered thorough one of those wonderful covered passageways one often sees between public buildings in this city.
City Bike is literally steps from this architectural marvel. Municipal Hall out-Art Nouveaus any Art Nouveau building you've ever seen.
Just how you envisioned your next renovation, right? Just go down to your local Home Depot and pick up all of those materials.
The building and City Bike are also within two kilometers of many of this city's attractions: the Old Town Square (with the Astronomical Clock), among other things, the Old Jewish Quarter (where I went into the Starenovo, a.k.a. Old-New, Synagogue, the supposed home of the Golem), Wenceslas Square, the Charles Bridge and, of course, the Castle.
Today, on my first solo ride, I went by all of those places. Then, from the Castle, I took a left (I'm not talking about my politics) and went straight (No comment on that.) through some parts of the city I hadn't seen.
This building, in the Smichov shopping center, seems to be an inverse mirror reflection of Frank Gehry's "Dancing Building" on the other side of the Vlata River. (You can't see one building from the other, so I don't think this symmetry was intentional.) Smichov has been described as Prague's most "schizophrenic" neighborhood: the area around the shopping center and Andel station contain some of the city's swankiest villas. Yet, less than two kilometers down the road I cycled, near the Schmikovske Nadrazi rail station, is one of the most impoverished areas of the city. From that station, I found myself riding through an old industrial area, some of which seemed to be abandoned, until I came to an old residential area and, finally, a trestle that was just wide enough for the trams that passed over it.
Although I seemed to be cycling in even tighter spaces than I do in New York or have in Paris, riding these streets didn't seem quite as frentic. To be sure, I didn't have to be any place in particular at any given time. But, even when I rode down ancient cobblestoned streets not much wider than my (I'll let you choose the part of my body. Ha, ha.) and drivers approached from behind, they didn't honk their horns or pull as close as they could to my rear wheel. Admittedly, those streets aren't very long, so they didn't have to spend very much time waiting. But I could not imagine a New York or Parisian driver being so patient.
After I got back to my hotel and walked in search of a meal, this sight greeted me:
That, after this:
That was one of two rainbows I've seen since I've been here. A sign, perhaps? I hope!
