This morning I rode under more of the haze that blanketed yesterday’s ride. That’s one reason I limited my saddle time to the morning: Even before I heard the weather advisory, I knew the air quality wasn’t good. Also, the forecast included heavy thunderstorms for this afternoon.
That’s the sky I saw at the end of my ride, as I made the turn onto Crescent Street. Just as I reached my door, I heard the first rumbles of thunder!
I have just ridden to Point Lookout, again. Here, and in other coastal locales, one can ride under overcast skies, or into a misty horizon with no threat of rain.
But today’s haze is something else: smoke from the massive fires that have burned in much of western North America.
The haze has been the backdrop of my ride, from my apartment
to the Jamaica Bay Refuge
Rockaway Beach
and here, drawing a curtain just beyond Point Lookout.
So I took a ride to Greenwich, Connecticut. Along the way I felt I was playing hide-and-seek with the sun and clouds. The clouds caught up at the Greenwich Common, where they retreated behind the Veterans’ Monument—and trees like the ones on the Connecticut state quarter—in full bloom.
For many of us, cycling is (among other things) therapeutic. One reason is that riding helps us to put things into perspective.
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| From Redbubble |
If you can get over the hill, you're not over the hill: You're a Midlife Cyclist!
On Tuesday, I rode to Connecticut. Otherwise, it's been a week of local rides, mainly because I've tried to get home before early afternoon, when the heat and humidity is usually worst.
Yesterday fit that pattern. It also fit another: I rode with a neighbor with whom I hadn't ridden before. The difference between Kevin, with whom I rode yesterday and Lillian, whom I mentioned in an earlier post, is that she is re-discovering cycling after 40 or so year, whereas Kevin is a lifelong cyclist who raced.
I didn't get a photo of him, and I'll say more about him (and Lillian) in later posts. I did, however, take some images of a ride that combined the old and the new for me.
The old: We pedaled along the East River waterfronts of Queens and Brooklyn to the Williamsburg Bridge, which we crossed onto Manhattan. We continued to the "bottom" of the island, where ferries dock.
We took one of the boats I'd never before ridden: the one to Governors Island. Being in a place where you're never more than a few hundred meters from the water is, of course, perfect on a hot day. If and when I go back, I'll pack a picnic lunch and circle the island a couple of times, as Kevin and I did.
I enjoyed riding with him, but I had the same sense of irony, tinged with a bit of guilt, I feel when I ride along Red Hook, Bush Terminal or other parts of the Brooklyn waterfront. Riding there is, of course, all about pleasure, and if I exert myself, it's an attempt to augment whatever training I might be doing. During my childhood, and before, some relatives of mine and kids I grew up with worked that waterfront--long, hard hours, most likely without much thought for the beauty of the water or waterfront--or the Manhattan skyline, so close but in another world.
Well, I had the privilege of other folks on the ferry: We were entering Governor's Island as civilians. My father didn't have that privilege: Whenever he went to the island, it was part of his duty as a Coast Guard reservist. He didn't enjoy it, in part because he was going there to perform repetitive tasks. But, more than anything, it was an inconvenience: When the island was a military installation, access was limited, as it is on other bases. What that meant was that only a couple of boats made the trip to and from the island every day, and if you missed the last one, you were stuck. On the other hand, today the boats make the crossing every 40 minutes starting at 10 am.
To be fair, my father might've appreciated some landmarks like the Castle or the officers' houses for the history behind them. But neither he nor anyone else went there to cycle, walk, picnic, camp or do anything for fun or recreation back in the day.
I plan to return, as I ride along the Brooklyn waterfront for fun. But the irony of my presence there, or on Governors Island, is not lost on me.
If you’ve ridden with a dynamo-powered light, you’ve converted your pedaling power into electricity. Some cyclists have also turned their RPMs into amps that ran everything from toasters to tuners.
Now a Dutch province (where else?) is using the bike path itself to generate ecologically sustainable electrical power.
On Wednesday, elementary school students in Maartensdijk, a village near Utrecht, became the first to ride the 330 meter path. Its prefabricated concrete blocks are embedded with solar cells and coated with a transparent layer that allows sunlight to reach the cells as it protects the path.
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| Solar bike lane in the Netherlands |
Arne Schaddelee said, “you have to dare to use innovation” to reach goals like the one the Netherlands set for itself: being climate-neutral by 2040. “And this is very innovative,” the provincial official declared.
But it’s not innovation for innovation’s sake. “We have a very full province,” he explained. “For that reason you have to try dual use.”
His pronouncement could also apply to his country: The Netherlands is one of the world’s most densely populated nations.
I did see some great murals. One, though, stopped me in my Continental tire tracks.
Oh, Prince, Mr. Elegant One, we would welcome any rain, purple or otherwise, on an afternoon as hot as this one has become!
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| Jeremy Barrett, R.I.P. |
His city has a "denser, older urban core that was laid out before the automobile." Around it, though, are neighborhoods that were "designed around cars."
That could be a description of many cities, perhaps yours. But Tanner Thompson was describing Norwalk, Connecticut, where he is the Chairman of the Walk/Bike Commission. He adds that as cars have gotten bigger and streets have gotten wider, cyclist and pedestrian fatalities have increased across the nation.
Shameka Fisher is relieved that her 15-year-old son did not become one of them--but understandably angry that he could have. Last month, he was riding along Connecticut Avenue at Taylor Avenue when a Toyota RAV 4 struck him from behind.
The boy, who is "recovering nicely," jumped off his bike but collapsed off-camera. He called his mother, who rushed him to the hospital, where police met them. One officer said they should have remained at the scene of the crash, but, as Ms. Fisher said "the mother in me" caused her to act on reflex, just as her son probably did when he jumped off his bike.
The bicycle ended up under the SUV. The driver, whom the police are seeking, backed off it and sped away. Thompson said the hit-and-run is "horrifying" but the Bike/Walk Commission is committed to "making Norwalk a place where this doesn't happen."
That is a goal I can get behind, and I wish Thompson well--and a good recovery for the boy and his mother, who probably is suffering from some degree or another of PTSD.
About a month ago, I snapped up a bike I saw on Craigslist. The woman from whom I bought it said she'd posted it only a few minutes earlier. And, given how bike prices have skyrocketed, it was a bargain.
The bike, a Mongoose Switchback from about 20 years ago, wasn't for me. I picked it up for a neighbor I've gotten to know better since the pandemic started.
She hadn't ridden a bike "in about 40 years," she said, and wanted to start again. So I figured a bike like that would be a good "starter."
I've taken a few rides with Lillian. They weren't long treks, but I've enjoyed them. So has she. It's nice to see someone taking up cycling again. Somehow I feel that she's rediscovering an old friend, if you will, as I'm making a new one.
