I Couldn't Bring Her Florida. I Brought The Next-Best Thing.

During the past week, my bikes were envious.  They knew about my long weekend with near-perfect weather in Florida.  I couldn't replicate those conditions here in New York, at this time of year.  But the past weekend was quite lovely, with sunlight turning the falling and fallen red, yellow and orange leaves into jewels in necklaces that rimmed streets and curbs.

They wanted that, and a seascape like the ones I saw while riding along Route A1A.  A view  just like that one isn't available along the South Shores of Queens or Long Island because the water is more of a steely blue-gray and the light more diffuse, but the vistas are there. 

La-Vande, my Mercian King of Mercia, was ready for one of those views of the ocean.  But when we arrived at Point Lookout, after pushing against the wind most of the way, we were greeted with this:

I could sense her disappointment, though she didn't show it on the ride back.  Of course, we had the wind with us but, more important, she was the nimble, stable ride she's been since she entered my fleet last year.

And when I stopped at the Gateway reception center on Beach Channel Boulevard, a woman exulted, "I just love that color!"

So do I--and the hues of autumn, and the sea.

This Ride Was Good

All rides are good.

At least, I can't think of any bike ride I wish I hadn't taken.   And I've been riding for a lot of years!

Some would say that some rides are "better" than others.  Of course, "better", when it comes to rides is subjective:  Some want to climb as many steep hills as possible; others prefer land flatter than their dinner tables.  Some of us love riding by an ocean or a lake; another cyclist's idea of a "dream ride" takes him or her through deserts or prairies.

You might to ride in the hottest weather with the brightest sunshine; I like it cooler with a mix of sun and clouds.  Your friend might not go anywhere near a bike if there's a single cloud, let alone if a single drop falls from the sky; his or her club-mate believes that if you don't get wet, it's not a "real" ride.

I'll admit there are a few conditions I'll avoid if possible. For example, I don't mind the cold or even rain, but I prefer not to have both together when I'm riding.  (Snow, on the other hand, can be fun.)  And, while traffic doesn't scare me, I prefer not to cross entrances to, and exits from, highways:  When I ride to the Rockaways or Point Lookout, I take a detour through the side-streets of Howard Beach so I can avoid having to traverse the on- and off- ramps of the Long Island Expressway and Belt Parkway that feed into, or lead away from, Woodhaven and Cross-Bay Boulevards.

I took a similar diversion yesterday after I crossed the Victory Bridge over the Raritan River in New Jersey.  On the Sayreville side, I zigged and zagged through an industrial area and residential streets simply to avoid a stretch where State Route 35 (of which the Bridge is a part), US 1 and US 9 merge and are one for about five miles.  There, it's a four-lane road which, at times, sees surprisingly little traffic but, at times, really seems to be carrying the load of three major highways.  

That wouldn't be so bad if there was a shoulder for the whole length.  Unfortunately, the shoulder appears and disappears, much like those bike lanes to nowhere that I see too often.  Worse, a large part of the traffic consists of trucks, which aren't allowed on the stretch of the Garden State Parkway that parallels the section of Route 35/US 1 and 9 in question.  

My detour, naturally, added some distance to my ride, which I'd started in the afternoon.  I didn't mind:  I avoided that potentially-bad section of road and wandered through a couple of historic districts and other areas with cute little gingerbread houses by lakes, streams, Raritan Bay (with great views of New York City) and the ocean.

Starting my ride in mid-afternoon and taking a circuitous route had its advantages, including this:

Now, if you've been reading this blog regularly, that I love descending bridges that lead to the ocean.  I coasted down this one, after pedaling up the hills on Route 36 (They don't call it the Atlantic Highlands for nothing!) for the first time when I was about 13 or 14 years old--either the year my family moved to New Jersey, or not long afterward.  

Call me sentimental, but I still get goose-bumps, especially when it's late in the day and the sun, through a scrim of clouds and haze, begins to tint the blue sea and sky with shades of violet and orange.  Once I reached the base of that bridge--in Sea Bright, on a strip of land not much wider than a football field with the ocean lapping up one side and the river on the other--I was floating.  My bike was a cloud; I had wings.  I felt that within an instant, I'd sailed--on two wheels--into Long Branch, some 8 kilometers down the road--without effort, and that every drop of surf mist, every ripple of wind, and every step of people walking with their partners, their children and their dogs along, had become a part of me.  

In Long Branch, I saw the soft twilight colors darken into the night that would engulf the streets as well as the sky and sea.  All rides are good; this, like so many others, made me happy in its own way.

A New Day, A New Wrap

Yesterday I managed to get in a nice ride along the coasts, from my place to the Rockways and Coney Island, along the Verrazano Narrows and up to Hipster Hook back to my place.

The morning was overcast but the afternoon turned bright and clear, if windy.  So I wasn't surprised to see strollers, dog-walkers and, yes, cyclists along the boardwalks and on the promenade under the Verrazano-Narrows Bridge.

Vera, my green Miss Mercian mixte, went for the ride, in part because I wanted to ride a bike with fenders:  There is still a lot of crud and "ponds" in the streets, courtesy of last week's snow and the rain we have had during much of the time since that storm.   If you have seen Vera in previous posts, you might see another reason why I wanted to take her out today:

Yes, I swapped the handlebars from Velo Orange Porteurs (which are on another of my bikes) for Nitto "Noodle bar".  The latter is my first choice for drop bars.  I wanted to try Vera with drops because she had them when I first acquired her.  Although I have liked her ride with the Porteurs, I have always had a feeling that she was designed for drop bars.

Also, I wanted to try some new handlebar tape:

I used two rolls of Newbaum's tape:  one in burnt orange, the other in khaki.  I chose Newbaum's tape for the colors and because I am curious as to how it might be different from other brands of cloth tape I've used.

I wrapped the bars in khaki, leaving gaps wide enough to be over-wrapped with the burnt orange.  Then, I finished the ends with regular jute twine I found in a Dollar Tree store.

  


After wrapping the bars, I gave them four light coats of clear shellac.  Although this wrap doesn't have the "sheen" I've seen on some other shellacked bars, I like the look:  The clear shellac darkened the colors slightly.  Also, even though it has a "harder" feel than un-shellacked (Is that a word?) tape, the tape retained much of its texture, which makes for a nice grip.  I think the "feel" may have to do with the fact that the Newbaum's tape is a bit thicker than other brands (Velox, Tressostar, Cateye) I've used. 

It will take a few rides, I think, to decide whether I like this kind of handlebar wrap.  I used to like regular, un-shellacked cloth, but it seemed that I had to replace it every season.  Then again, I could say the same for Cinelli (or any other brand of) cork wrap. 

The burnt orange, while not an exact match, is surprisingly close to the color of the Ruth Works rando bag on the front.  The bag has, of course, developed a bit of patina.  I imagine that if I keep on riding with this new tape, it will develop a similar "character" and perhaps be even more similar to the color of the bag.

To The Beach, Gently Weeping

Tomorrow is supposed to be more like an early-spring day in Belgium or the Netherlands than an early July (i.e., The Fourth) in the US.  Not that I mind, particularly.  But today was beautiful:  a clear sky and a high temperature of about 26C (80F) with little humidity and a moderate breeze.  

I had a few things to do today but I was able to get on the bike by two in the afternoon.  Given that we are just past the longest day (in terms of the length of daylight) of the year, I figured I'd still have enough time to ride to Point Lookout and back before dark--especially if I rode Arielle.

Which is what I did.  Even though I pedaled into the breeze (which turned into a veritable wind by the time I got to Broad Channel), I made one of my better times going out there--and, of course, had an even faster ride back.  Without pushing myself and with a stop at Point Lookout to ponder and soak up sun and salt air--and consume a packet of Welch's Fruit Snacks (Cherries 'n' Berries) with a bottle of seltzer water--I still managed to get home more than an hour before sunset.  (If I were Jewish, I could've been lighting my Shabbos candles!)

Even though my logical mind told me not to go anywhere near a beach, I did.  I saw the traffic I expected.  Notice I said "I saw".  I structured my ride so I didn't have to spend much of it pedaling alongside rows of SUVs with cranky drivers and their spouses screaming at their screaming kids--or each other.  And those vehicles went to the places I expected:  Rockaway Park, Rockaway Beach, Atlantic Beach, Long Beach and Lido Beach.  I also expected to see some of those vehicles and crabby kids at Point Lookout, which is right across from Jones Beach, one of the most popular summer seaside spots in this area.

But I saw this:

That tree, or whatever it is, always looks the same, no matter the time of day or year.  I've asked a couple of people what kind of tree it is and how it got there; no one seems to know.  Next time I see a Parks Service employee, I'll ask.

Somehow it fits into my  "While His Fixie Gently Weeps" post-- or the spirit of Salvador Dali that helped to inspire it.  While a bare tree/Gently weeps.

Now I'll show you someone who gently weeps:

At least, that's what she did when I walked by.  She and the window are across the street from where I live.  I passed them after I got home, returned Arielle to The Family and went to the store.  

She gave a soft, rather forlorn, meow.  I think she knew she was looking at a friend but we couldn't get any closer than we were.  Perhaps one day...

I Wasn't Expecting A "Beach Day"

This weekend began quite lovely, if rather chilly.  Now, if that sentence sounds impossibly Victorian, or at least British, so be it.  There is something languorous, in a pre-war sort of way, about Memorial Day weekend, which many in the US regard as the beginning of summer.

The sky has been almost preternaturally bright, as if breezes were brushing away every trace of clouds.  It also pushed away heat, which I don’t mind in the least.  Temperatures of 15 to 20 C (60 to 68 F) are, to me, all but ideal for cycling.  But it’s not exactly beach weather—at least to most people—and the water temperatures are around 13C (55F).  

So, I figured that people wouldn’t go to the beach—which meant it would be a good day to ride to Point Lookout.  Or so I thought.

The ride itself was pleasant enough.  I encountered a bit more traffic than I anticipated, and on summer days—in fact or in name only—it’s never too early in the day for drunks to spill out of the Long Beach bars.  If anything, I saw a few more inebriates than usual, for the college students had just come home.  A group of them played “chicken” with me, thrusting their faces into my path to see how close they could come to getting smacked by my helmet.

The beaches and boardwalks were full of people.  A few dipped themselves in the water; a few donned wetsuits and surfed.  At Point Lookout, as you see in the photo, people propped themselves on the cinderblocks or on beach chairs to watch airplanes make squiggles and bows with their vapor trails.  

Shows like that aren’t my kind of thing.  My father loved them, so I saw lots of them when I was growing up.  So, while I respect the skills the pilots of those planes have, I’m not enraptured by frivolous displays of bravado.  More important, though, I don’t like the message behind those shows.  Most people—at least, the ones I saw at the show-- seem to believe it’s “Support Our Troops”.  Having a brother in the Armed Forces, I’m all for “supporting” them.  However, I don’t want to throw them in harm’s way for no good reason—or, worse, for them to be used to celebrate our ability to make war.

After two of the planes made a heart or something with the vapor trails, I hopped back on my bike.  The wind blew off the ocean and at my left side until I got to Rockaway Beach, where I turned right.  From there, the wind carried me home under blue skies, away from the vapor trails.

Going To The Beach And Riding To The Ocean

Many years ago (before many of you were born!), I dated an astrologer.  Apparently, I am a Cancerian--or, as some politically-correct types would say, a "Moon Child.  However, Astrologer was not politically correct, at least not in matters of pigeonholing, I mean pegging, people's personalities and destinies.  So, she told me that I was "such a Cancerian."  


Later on, she would remove the "ian" suffix and continue the sentence.  But that's another story.


According to her--and everything I've heard or read (admittedly, not much) about the subject since, Cancer is a "water" sign.  In fact, Astrologer claimed that Cancer is the "ultimate" water sign and, according to her charts, I was about as Cancerian as one could be.


If nothing else, it was a pretty good rationale, at least for her, for ending our relationship.  But that's yet another story.


Anyway, I will concede that there is at least some truth to what she said.  I am certainly drawn to water.  Not to beaches, necessarily, but to water--wide expanses and endless vistas of it.  I am so drawn, in fact, that sometimes everything along the way can seem like the desert.

Now, I've never actually ridden through a desert and, truth be told, never had any desire to do any such thing.  This is probably as close as I'll come to it.  I can hardly imagine anything that contrasts more with the ocean.

Sometimes, at the end of a bike ride, the ocean greets me:  "Where have you been?"

Sometimes I cannot explain; when I can, the answer never makes any sense to someone who's gone to the beach.  I know I am a different person when I go to the beach from what I am when I pedal to the ocean.

Another day, I will join them again.  After that, I will continue the ride I took today, on my bike, to the ocean.