This Bridge Is Out

You don't cross it for the scenery:  There are a power plant, trailer park and a container port on one side, and petroleum refineries and a rather rundown section of a gritty city on the other side.  


I used to cross it, though, every month or so.  When my parents were still living in New Jersey, I used to ride over the bridge's pedestrian lane--a ribbon of concrete just wide enough for a bicycle with dropped handlebars, seperated by a rusting iron wall about as high as the top of the average  cyclist's pedal stroke--to an intersection of a couple of highways, where I had to dodge trucks and ten-year-old Buicks driven by people who hated their jobs and put-upon housewives.


Such was the charm of crossing the Goethals Bridge.  Even if you've never been anywhere near it, you've probably seen it:  It's the bridge in the opening credits of The Sopranos. The bridge connects the only two places in the universe where the Sopranos could have lived:  Staten Island and New Jersey.  To be precise, the hulking span--which, even on a clear day, simmers in angry haze of smoke from rusting but still-functioning factories and refineries--links the most stereotypically unappealing parts of New York City's "forgotten borough" and a city that, until recently, basked in the glow of its neighbor:  Residents, in defending their hometown, would say, "Well, at least we're not Newark!"


But the bridge--named for the engineer who supervised the construction of the Panama Canal--was a link to greener pastures, to use a cliche.  Riding south from Elizabeth on Route 27, the industrial landscape would turn into a more-or-less suburban vista that included a rather nice park along the Rahway (as in the state prison) River.


I hadn't intended to ride that far into New Jersey. But I have been contemplating a ride to some of my old stomping grounds along the shore.  So, I decided to take a ride to the bridge, and to go across it.  However, a wrench was thrown into my plans.

Or, more precisely, a fence was erected between me and them.   Behind it, you can see the entrance to the path--when it was there.  Apparently, it's been removed or blocked off.  For all I know, it may have collapsed:  The Goethals is one of those bridges that always seemed in need of repair.  I'd bet that the soot those refineries and factories belch has something to do with it.

Anyway, when I turned around, I saw a Port Authority cop making his rounds.  In response to my question, he said there's no path for pedestrians or bicycles.  "Never has been," he added.


"Really?  I used to cross over it."


"But there never has been a path."


"There used to be something, on the side. It wasn't much, but I used to cross it.  So did other people."


"Well, there never was a path," he said.


Half-joking, I said, "Oh well, I guess I broke the law twenty years ago."


"Maybe you did," he said, suppressing a grin.


He then advised me of how I could go to New Jersey:  across the Bayonne Bridge, over which I have ridden a number of times.  He even gave me directions on how to get there.  The only problem is that Bayonne, while it has its charms (It was, after all, the home of Frankie Valli and the Four Seasons!) , is really in the middle of nowhere.  More precisely, it's on a peninsula, and the only way off is through the bridge and a couple of highways.  At least, those are the only ways I know to go to points south in New Jersey.


So, I followed the Port Authority cop's directions past the container port, more decaying industrial buildings and marshland (in Tony Soprano country!) to Richmond Terrace, which snakes under the Bayonne Bridge and the north shore of Staten Island to the eponymous ferry:  the only way on or off the island.


On my way back to Manhattan, I thought about the ride in, when I met and exchanged e-mail addresses with a young(er) man.  More about him, possibly, later.

Cyclist Fatally Doored In Queens

The stretch of Union Turnpike where a cyclist was struck and killed by a car door

What are the greatest fears of an urban cyclist?

I'd bet that many cyclist would say that getting "doored" is one of them.

It's something we all think about, particularly when we ride between traffic and the parking lane on narrow city streets.  I have been "grazed" or suffered a glancing side-blow from drivers opening their doors.

While my encounters with doors were painful, I escaped with injuries that healed with rest.  However, last night, someone on his way home from work wasn't so lucky.

A 39-year-old lighting technician whose name has not yet been released was riding eastbound on Union Turnpike, a major thoroughfare in central and  eastern Queens.  Although it's not far from where I work, I generally avoid Union Turnpike because it has the worst of two worlds:  highway traffic speeds and a parking lane where cars frequently pull in and out, or weave, as most of the Turnpike is lined with stores.  On the other hand, I can understand why he took the Turnpike, especially if he'd had a long day at work and wanted to get home quickly.  

Anyway, as he was pedaling, a driver opened his door.  The NYPD doesn't suspect any criminality on his part, probably because he remained at the scene after he realized what happened.  But even his action, and the help passerby gave the cyclist, were to no avail.  According to one eyewitness,  who said the Lord's Prayer over the victim, "The handlebar went right through his jugular" and "The blood was pouring out like a fire hydrant."  


According to Section 1214 (pdf) of New York State Vehicle And Traffic  Law, which regulates the opening and closing of vehicle doors:

No person shall open the door of a motor vehicle on the side available to moving traffic unless and until it is reasonably safe to do so, and can be done without interfering with the movement of other traffic, nor shall any person leave a door open on the side of the vehicle available to moving traffic for a period of time longer than necessary to load or unload passengers.

As police suspect no criminality on the part of the driver, they most likely believe he was acting in accordance with the above rule. I have posted it here, in case you live in New York and are involved in a "dooring" case in which you believe the driver was careless or had malicious intent.

Product Review: King Iris Water Bottle Cages

Each of my Mercians now has at least two Kings.


No, this isn't going to be a tell-all about the Royal Family.  And, this also isn't going to reveal something your Western Civ teacher never mentioned.


Each of my Mercians--Arielle, Helene, Tosca and Vera--now has a Chris King headset.  They really are much better than any other made.  I once had a King headset that I rode on three different bikes over a dozen years or so.  Yes, those headsets are expensive.  But, given that I get three to five years out of most loose-bearing headset, I think the King is worth the investment.


But this post isn't about those headsets.  Much has already been written about them, most of it laudatory, and I have little to add.  Instead, this review is going to be about the other Kings on my bikes:  the Iris water bottle cages.

The maker of King water bottle cages bears no relation to Chris King--at least in bloodlines.  (Can't get away from the Royal Family meme, can I?)  However, they share the same kind of excellent workmanship.  And, it wouldn't surprise me if the water bottle cages share the headsets' near-indestructibility.


King offers several styles of water bottle cage, including ones that look rather like the old Blackburn and TA cages.  The one I chose, the Iris. is something like the Velo Orange Moderniste and similar cages offered by other companies.


King's Iris cage, at first glance, is a bit chunkier than those. But there's a good reason:  It's made of tubular stainless steel, while the others are made of stainless steel rods or wires.  Actually, I liked the look of the King cages when I saw them, and liked them even better when I installed one on Vera.  And I liked them just as much after I installed, and used, them on my other Mercians.


All of King's cages are hand-made in Durango, Colorado.  The body is made of a continuous tube, which is welded to two small plates of the same material.  Those plates have holes drilled in them so you can mount the cage on any standard water-bottle braze-ons.


After nearly a year of using them, I have found Iris cages to be very solid, and to offer a firm grip on the bottle.  It might take slightly more effort to pull the bottle out than it does on other cages.  However, I think this is not a problem because the cage also eliminates the problem of rattling that I encountered with other cages since I started using stainless-steel water bottles.


King's Iris cages aren't super-light, at least not by today's standards.  At 48 grams, they weigh about what other similar cages weigh, and are heavier than carbon cages.  However, given how solid and nicely made these cages are, the weight is a small penalty, in my opinion.


And, given what I've said about these cages, I think that the  suggested retail price--about 17 USD--is quite reasonable.  You can find them for slightly less, as I did, especially if you buy more than one.

Do Ya Think I'm Sexy?

Now, tell me: When was the last time you read a post in a cycling blog that had the same title as a Rod Stewart song?


Well, now you just did.  Do you feel you've accomplished something you can tell your grandchildren?  (ha, ha)


Anyway, during a ride to Point Lookout, Arielle wanted to do a "sexy" pose.  So, now you're going to be treated to a piece of bike porn:

What This Ride Led To

Last night I did something on a whim.  Actually, some plans I'd made were cancelled by the person with whom I'd made them.  I had mixed feelings about that:  On one hand, I lost some money, though not a fortune.  On the other hand, I would have been doing something that, when I think about it, I realize I didn't particularly want to do:  I would have been working with a high-school kid who is preparing for statewide examinations.  There was a time when I could regard such a test as a "game" to win, even if I opposed the test in principle.  However, I no longer feel that way.  Plus, I have the feeling that the parent would have been more difficult than the kid.


As it happened, I had been riding, and had just stopped at Recycle-A-Bicycle in DUMBO, Brooklyn when I got the message.  I was looking for a part, which they happened to have--and the price was reasonable.  The funny thing was that the young woman who helped me mentioned that volunteers were coming to their shop last night to help with dissassembly of donated bikes.  I asked about some of their programs and volunteering opportunities; after describing them, she asked whether I might be interested.  I said I couldn't help them last night, as I'd had a commitment, but I'd keep them in mind.


After the kid's mother cancelled the tutoring appointment==The kid had an allergy attack--I turned around and offered to help out at Recycle-A-Cycle.


Now, I haven't worked in a bike shop in close to two decades.  Since then, the only bikes on which I've worked have belonged to friends, family members or me.  But everyone seemed so relaxed; most of the people there were just learning how to fix bikes. I worked in a group with a young fellow named Darren, who was giving hands-on instruction to two other volunteers.  


About half an hour in, he said, "You know what you're doing!" and I found myself co-instructing with him.  One of our "pupils" was another young man named, who was about Darren's age; the other was another woman who was somewhere between his age and mine but who grew up working on machines with her father and brother.  


I guess I shouldn't have been surprised that I was taking on the role of instructor as I was helping to strip bikes down.  When the young man was pulling a V-brake arm off a a badly neglected bike and the stud  on which the brake is mounted came off the frame, he thought he'd done something stupid or wrong.  I assured him that he'd done neither, and that he was in a "guilt free zone."  As for the woman:  She has mechanical skills, but she had never worked on a bicycle. I pointed out that she was progressing well, and that she was doing more in her very first attempt at working on a bicycle than I did in mine--which, by the way, is the truth. 


Anyway, I think I''ll continue to volunteer with Recycle=A=Bicycle as long as my schedule allows.  I also want to ride, and work with, WE Bike, a women's cycling group I encountered at the New Amsterdam Bike Show.