The Heat Wave I Escaped; What I Couldn't

The day I got to Paris, it was hot and humid.  At least, it was hot by Paris standards--or it seemed so because I wasn't expecting it.  But for the rest of my trip, the weather was mild to pleasantly warm.  The rain waited until I wasn't riding because, well, I made it wait.  (You didn't know I had such powers, did you?  I can do all sorts of things just by twitching my nose! ;-)) Thus, I had lots of nice weather for cycling, walking and picnicking along the Seine when I wasn't visiting museums and friends.

When I got back, my friend Millie--who takes care of my cats--told me I'd "dodged a bullet", if you will.  "You missed the worst heat wave," she informed me.  So, in addition to reveling in the good time I had during my trip, I counted my blessings:  I was glad not to experience temperatures high enough to melt lycra.  

I got to thinking about the first trip I took across the Atlantic:  the one in which I rode for three months in England, France, Belgium, the Netherlands, Germany and back into France before deciding to stay there.  I took that trip during the summer of 1980, which was said to be the coolest and rainiest for at least a generation in most of Europe. (The weather aggravated the tendinitis in Bernard Hinault's knee and caused him to withdraw from that year's Tour de France after the twelfth stage.)  I didn't mind:  the cycling was pleasant; so were a lot of other things.  On the other hand, that summer was one of the hottest on record in much of North America, including New York and New Jersey.  And, from what I heard and read, the heat and humidity continued until October that year.

Two decades later, I spent a month cycling in France and Spain.  Once again, I "dodged" an extended heat wave in New York.  To be sure, I experienced a couple of hot days during my trip, but none like the ones that were baking the Big Apple that year.  When I returned, people told me how they sweltered on the city's concrete and asphalt; I have to admit that I felt a kind of guilty pleasure, as if I were a kid who'd just had ice cream when she wasn't supposed to.

When I got home from that tour, about a month of summer remained.  As I recall, we didn't have any really hot weather--or much rain-- for the rest of that year.  I rode a lot, long and fast and often, as far as I could from what I'd escaped--or, perhaps, merely avoided.  I was "safe"-- at least for another year, until my next trip, which would be the last I'd take in the life I'd led up to that time.  Of course, I didn't know--couldn't have known--that.

This year, going away allowed me to "dodge" one "bullet", if you will. But not another:  today the temperature reached 33C (92F) and, according to weather forecasts, will increase by a degree or two every day until Sunday.  And, as the temperature is rising, so is the humidity.

I have to admit:  I punked out today.  I didn't go for a ride, except to the college where I teach, about 10 kilometers from my apartment.  OK, I got on my bike and pedaled, but it doesn't count as a real ride, does it?  

Was my old self asking that question?  Who says every ride has to be an escape or a dodge--or that it has to be ridden at the speed, or with the intensity, of one that will never be done again?

Seeing The Coming Heat Wave

Every few years, it seems, we get the sort of summer we've been having this year:  Not exceptionally warm through most of June, July and August--until a heat wave comes right around Labor Day. 

Officially, today wasn't part of a "heat wave". But tomorrow is supposed to be the beginning of one.  Today, the temperature reached 33C and the air grew more humid:  a  marked contrast to the dry, almost crisp conditions we'd had for a few days.

I went for a ride anyway, out to the middle of Long Island and back.  I sweated, but no more than I have on other rides, and I wasn't really tired after 120 km.  But tomorrow will be toasty, the forecasters say:  about 35C.  And the two days after that will be hotter, and more humid.

I'll be working, so I'll probably ride late in the day, or the evening, when--at least in theory--it should be a touch cooler, if not less humid.


Even if I hadn't heard the forecast, I think I would have known the heat wave was coming.  I believe I saw it in the slightly reddish hue of the full moon that loomed over the Amtrak trestle that transverses Randall's Island when I was riding home last night:

 

A Day At The Races, In The Town

Yesterday I rode out to Somerville, in part to see the races (some of them, anyway) and in part for the ride itself.  Also, it’s good—for me, anyway—to re-enact an old ritual every now and again.

Last year, I took a route I had followed several times before, through Newark and Jersey City and Westfield.  From there, I followed, more or less, the paths of the Rahway and Raritan rivers to Bound Brook, the next town over from Somerville.

This year, I decided to try a route I found on one of the map websites.  It looked promising:  It avoided a section of US Highway 22 on which I found myself very briefly but I wanted to avoid because the high point of it was finding a deer carcass sprawled across my path.

Well, I found myself veering off the route on several occasions:  There were series of turns that would have challenged even the best ballerinas.  You can guess what happened next:  I found myself on that very same stretch of 22.  Admittedly, I didn’t have to spend more than half a kilometer on it, but it was unpleasant enough, especially in light of what happened:  A section of my front inner tube bubbled through a cut in my tire and flatted---at the very spot where I saw the deer carcass last year.

A minor annoyance, I admit.  But I decided that this ride was going to be “perfect”—which is not a good mindset from which to set out on two wheels (or for doing very many other things, I’ve found).  I fixed the tube (I had a spare, but I figured the tube was easily fixable) and booted the tire.  During those few minutes, it seemed that the temperature rose by about ten degrees:  What had been a pleasantly warm day was turning into a borderline “scorcher”.  Beautiful as the day was, conditions were draining:  The weather had turned hot, with direct sunlight.  And I was pedaling directly into a 20-30 KPH wind.  I guess if I ever decide to ride across a desert, such conditions would train me well.

On top of everything, I’d forgotten my water bottle.  As I was getting dressed, I popped it into the freezer.  I sometimes leave it in for a few minutes before a ride on a warm day:  The water doesn’t freeze, but remains pleasantly cool for a couple of hours into a ride—by which time I’d need a refill.

What that meant were a couple of stops at local grocery stores for Poland Spring water and Gatorade, which I don’t normally drink.  I made an exception for the latter because I saw that I wasn’t sweating but my T-shirt was turning into a tie-dye collage or batik (choose your metaphor) of salt stains.  

Still, I enjoyed the ride, which I estimated to be about eight or ten kilometers longer than I’d planned.  I didn’t stay for all of the races:  I left just before five because I wanted to avoid riding in the dark through the desolate industrial areas of North Elizabeth and South Newark.  I made it to Penn Station in Newark just as the orange and red and purple of the sunsets (which are so colorful in those polluted areas) were turning into the metallic hues that reflected the new office and condo towers near the station.

Arielle, as always, made it a great ride.  And I am more and more convinced that the Ruth Works Brevet bag hanging from my handlebar is the best piece of bicycle luggage I’ve found in a long time, if not in my cycling life.

Oh, by the way, I rode—from what I measured on my maps—164 km, or a little more than 101 miles.  That means I rode my first non-metric century of the year.

(By the way, I've written a post about the town itself on my other blog.)

Riding A Heat Wave

This is what I looked like when I rode to work yesterday:

From Simply Bike

I figured you, dear readers,could take a joke.  If I looked like her when I rode to work--better yet, if I showed up for work looking like her after riding--I'd have a book contract or a modeling contract or some kind of contract--though, I presume, not one on me.


Truth is, I didn't go to work--or bike-riding--yesterday.  I woke up late and, as the air was already steamy, I figured I would ride in the evening.  But I got caught up in other things, including reading a book I'd been meaning to read, making pesto, working on my bikes and playing with Max and Marley. Before I knew it, the hour was late and I was falling asleep.  Oh well.  


I'll get in a ride today, even if it's only down to the Williamsburg waterfront and Recycle-A-Bicycle.  Then, at least, I can say that I didn't turn into a complete wimp in the first heat wave of the year.