Justine's First Multiday Trip

Tomorrow I'm going to do something I haven't done in seven years:  I'm going to take an overnight bike trip.


Actually, I'm going to be gone for three days.  Millie is going to take care of Max and Charlie.  She's happy to do that, and she's happy to see them:  She rescued them from the streets.


This will be not just the first "long weekend" bike ride in seven years:  It will my first ride of more than a day since my surgery and since I started living as Justine.   And it's going to take me to the Delaware Water Gap.


I'm actually kind of nervous about this.  I haven't really done a lot of riding.  All right, so I've done three 100 kilometer rides, on flat lands.  My first and third days' ride will be much longer than that.  It will also include some hills, which I haven't done.


At least I'm not going to carry a lot with me:  Changes of underwear and socks, another pair of shorts and T-shirt (besides the ones I'll ride), a bathing suit, a light sundress (which will work as a cover-up) and a light sweater that I'm going to take from one of my twinsets.  The night will be cooler where I'm going, and I could wear the sweater over the sundress if I really need to be somewhat presentable.  And, of course, I'm going to take enough hormones, my dilator and camera.

At least each of those items is small.  I'm going to try to fit it all into my Carradice Barley bag.   When I went for my surgery, everyone marvelled that I had everything I needed for eleven nights in a carryall. 


Some things I'm taking aren't so different from what I took on Nick's rides.  But the bathing suit and sundress are things Nick never would have brought.  As Nick, I also didn't have twinsets.  And a dilator!  Hormones!:  As my old self might've said:  "What's with that shit?"


If I recall correctly, that's what Eva said the last time I rode my bike to the Delaware Water Gap.  We'd gotten into an argument--about what, specifically, I forget, but I think the mere fact that we were together got us into arguments--and I pulled my bike off the wall, rolled it through the apartment and slammed the door on my way out. 


I had absolutely no idea of where I was going or when I would be back.   Of course, that was part of the plan: Had I told her "I'll be back in an hour," or even "I'll be back in a while," it would have given her a more or less definite amount of time to cool off or to toss my belongings out of the apartment.  Part of me never wanted to see her again, but I also wanted her to worry. 


And she did.  I knew that when I called her.  I changed few dollars for a bunch of quarters in a diner somewhere and found a pay phone.  (For all of you young people reading this:  In those days, the only cell phones were on Miami Vice.  And they were about the size of today's laptops!)  I dialed; she picked up on the first ring.


"Where the fuck are you?"


"Pennsylvania."


"Penn Station?"


"No, Pennsylvania."


"Where?"


"The Delaware Water Gap--you know, next to the river, across from New Jersey."


"Shit!  What the fuck are you doin' there?"


"Well, I got on my bike and this is where I ended up."


That's when she said, I think, "What kinda shit is that?"


It was late, but the air was pleasantly cool and the sky was so clear and the full moon was so bright that I could see my reflection in the trees.  All right, I took considerable license with that, but you know what kind of full moon I'm talking about:  the kind you never see in a large city.


I crossed back over onto the New Jersey side of the Delaware River and kept riding until I saw a motel.  I paid something like thirty dollars, and I think I was the only person who stayed there that night.  Having no clothes to change into, I figured it was pointless to take a shower.  Besides, I was tired, so I simply flopped into the bed.  It might have been the worst mattress ever made, but no queen (I'm talking about monarchs, not the kind that live in Chelsea.) ever had such a plush bed.  At least, it seeemed that way.  I guess it's an example of some corollary to the principle that anything tastes good when you're really hungry.


Now, of course, I don't expect this ride to be anything like that one.  If anything, I'll probably be even more tired than I was that night because, for one thing, I haven't done as much riding within the past year as I did in a few weeks before that ride.  Also, I'm about a quarter-century older.  And, of course, there's one other change. 


So why did I pick the Gap for this trip?  Well, I have other memories of that place:  I did a ride there with a club of which I was a member when I was at Rutgers.  That was a shorter ride than this one will be, and I probably rode faster on that ride than I will on this one.  Also, I did a hike there when I was a scout.  (Yes, a Boy Scout.)  So, I have pleasant memories of the place, and even though this distance is longer than anything I've done in a while, I don't think it's impossible even if it's a bit intimidating. 


I had thought about going along the Jersey coast from Sandy Hook down to about Island Beach State Park, or  the East End of Long Island or even taking an Amtrak to Boston and going out to Cape Cod.  But I figure that any beach area is going to be trafficky--and expensive. 


So it's off to the Delaware Water Gap for me.  I'll try and post during my trip.

The Bridge Called My Bicycle

As I rode this evening, I  was thinking about what "Velouria" posted yesterday on her Lovely Bicycle! blog.  In it, she talks about bicycles with "trusses":  an old design that is apparently being revived by a few small builders like A.N.T.  


The "truss" frames she showed are indeed lovely, and she mentioned that the bicycles that inspired them were built about 100 years ago and patterned after truss bridges.  


You simply can't spend any time in New York without going over some bridge or another.  Even the sorts of people who leave Manhattan only to go to Europe pass over stone or girdered spans over streets and roads that were, in some cases, streams or small rivers before they were filled in.  


And I can't help but to think of bicycles themselves as bridges.  After all, there is something "on the other side" of every bike ride.  This evening, it happened to be the wonders of New York--and Nature's-- architecture:

You all know the building in the center:  It's the one phoenetically-challenged kids of my generation used to call "the En-tire State Building."  I took this admittedly primitive photo from this spot:

The pier in the photo is part of Gantry Plaza State Park in Long Island City.  Of course, the opportunity to experience a nautical breeze while taking in one of the best possible views of the Manhattan skyline is reason enough to go there.  It also happens to be just a few blocks from the PS 1 Contemporary Art Center. 


What's interesting about the park and the museum--and much of the rest of the neighborhood--is that about 15 years ago, they were part of an industrial area, much of which was decaying or derelict.  Stolen cars were abandoned there; indeed, the area was, as I understand, the setting for part of the Grand Theft Auto series. In 1885, the Long Island City docks bustled with shipments of Long Island produce headed for Manhattan and points beyond; a hundred years later, those docks were all but abandoned.


However, even in its dilapidated state, the waterfront and some of the buildings on it shared a trait with those classic and classy bicycles that people sometimes find in basements and barns.  That trait was perhaps best expressed by Victor Hugo in Les Miserables:  "Le beau est aussi utile que l'utile.  Plus peut-etre."  ("The beautiful is as useful as the useful.  Perhaps more so.")


I apologize that my keyboard doesn't have those fancy and pretty markings the French and other speakers of non-English languages like to put on their words.  My favorite one in French is the "hat," or accent circumflex.  Since I couldn't type one, I'll give you a photograph of one.  In fact, this photo has a whole bunch of them:

Even if it's named after an auto company that got bailed out twice, it's still beautiful.  In fact, the Chrysler Building is still my favorite skyscraper, and one of my favorite buildings in New York.  This one ain't bad, either:

Still, to me, nothing constructed by humans compares to a bridge.  

And the bicycle is a bridge for many of us.

Night Commute

Today I rode to, and tonight I rode from, work--in a sundress. When I got to work, I slipped on a cardigan (which is half of a twinset) in a shade of blue like the one in the bands on the dress.


One of the things I'm enjoying about teaching an evening class is the commute home.  I'm only doing it twice a week, but it's enough to remind me of an aspect of cycling I've always loved.

Riding at night, even if only for a commute, has its own rhythms and therefore requires its own mindset.  What I've always loved, of course, is the calmness that fills the air, and me, from the time the sun sets.  I especially like it after teaching a class, which requires an energy entirely the opposite of what I feel on a ride under moonlight. Plus, as it happens, the route I took tonight (I have four different routes to and from work.) takes me through some residential areas that are possibly the most resolutely middle-class in Queens or New York City:  They are quieter than, say, the stretch of Broadway around the corner from my apartment. 


Ironically, for all that I'm praising night riding, I almost never end up riding at night by design.  It's usually been the result of working later in the day, as I am now, or of getting lost or otherwise seeing plans go awry.  One of the few times I deliberately went on a late-night ride was when I met up with a Critical Mass rally in Columbus Circle about a dozen or so years ago.   I didn't do another CM ride for a number of reasons.  For one, I'm not crazy about riding in such large groups.  And, for another, I really would prefer not to be arrested or go to jail, even if only for a few minutes.   Finally, I'm not quite certain about what organizers are trying to accomplish.


On the other hand, being out at night by choice can be enchanting, if you're in the right areas.  That happened to me during my tours in France and other places.  In particular, I think of the time I rode in circles (squares?) around Orleans and found myself pedaling ,or seeming to pedal, with the rhythms of moonlight reflected on a Loire that seemed to be just barely rippled by the breeze and in the almost silvery shadows of leaves on the vines and pear trees.


Now, I didn't see vineyards or pear trees, much less chateaux, on my ride home.  But I still had the air that was beginning to cool down after another day of 90-plus degree weather.