Yesterday's radio (and, I assume, television) programming was interrupted or punctuated by updates on Hurricane Earl. Forecasters expected it to be the biggest storm in nearly two decades: the biggest since the "perfect storm" that inspired the eponymous book and movie.
For much of the day, it looked as if the storm would hit. The sky was so heavy that it looked as if it could submerge everything beneath it without a single drop of rain falling. And the air, it seemed, was even heavier, yet viscous, with heat and humidity.
But, in the end, more sweat dripped from people's skins than raindrops fell from the clouds. Some time in the wee hours of morning, some of the wind from the storm blew the clouds away. So, save for the difficulty of pedaling into the wind, today was a wonderful day to ride, walk or be outdoors for any other reason. It was warm enough to wear a sundress or tank top and shorts, but the wind was brisk enough to open one's pores to the hind of chill that it brought.
I took a very leisurely ride on my fixie (Is that a contradiction?) and basked in both sun and wind on a park bench. Tosca, my fixie, seemed to enjoy it as much as I did.
The day after a storm, or just bracing for one, everything seems like a reverie. Especially a bike ride.
Today I cycled to my regular job and my "moonlighting" gig. As is so often the case, my Le Tour was the only bike parked at my regular college. On the other hand, when I arrived at my other school, I couldn't find a spot for my bike.
The college has one designated area for bicycle parking. It's about twenty feet directly in front of the guard station where most students, faculty and staff come in if they are driving or walking. In it are those long racks that look like waves of steel. One can lock a bike to the outside part of the "wave"--or inside, if the bike is small enough or can be folded or maneuvered.
Well, it seemed that every inch of space on those racks had been used! Except for the inside one of the inverted "U"s that are part of those waves, that is. So, I took my tote bag out of my rear basket, which I folded. Then I tilted the bike as close to paralell with the ground as I could and managed to nudge the bike inside. Then I locked the frame's rear triangle to the rack.
My momentary annoyance at trying to find a parking spot turned to gratification that so many people rode bikes on such a hot day. (The temp got up to 97 F.) Some of the bikes looked like they came from department stores or the worst eBay sites. But others were well-worn ten- and three-speeds from the 1970's or thereabouts: a Ross Eurosport, a couple of Schwinns, a Motobecane Mirage with its original Simplex derailleur (That would date the bike at 1974 or earlier; Motobecanes started to come euipped with Sun Tour derailleurs the following year.) Those bikes made me a little sentimental, for they were new when I was young and first becoming serious about cycling.
I wish only that I had my camera with me. Not only could I have shown those overflowing bike racks; I could also have been vain and posted more images of myself. I rode in a skirt and heels and received a lot of compliments on the way I looked. The skirt was a paisley print in shades of tropical-seas-blues, white and black. With it, I wore a tank top and short cardigan in one of the shades of blue and a pair of black sling-back peep-toe shoes with three-inch heels.
Because there were so many bikes, I'd bet that I wasn't the only well-dressed cyclist who came to the college today.
I am still thinking, not only about the fact that I saw so many bikes at my new gig, but that I see so few--often, none--at my regular job. I think that the discrepancy has much to do with the fact that my second job has a much more diverse student body: Some come from the poorer areas of the city, but many come from middle-class and even affluent areas of Queens. As Velouria and others have said, the poorer immigrants-- who comprise much of the student population at my main job--often equate cycling for transportation with poverty and lower social status: exactly what they hoped to escape by leaving the places of their birth. And, in those places, there it seems that riding for sport is all but non-existent.
I'll be very interested to see whether I'll continue to encounter full bike racks at my new gig.
Yesterday I biked to work after pulling an all-nighter. Then I came home, and not long after downing a wonderful chicken and rice platter from The King of Falafel and Shawarma, I fell asleep.
In a way, it's upsetting to know that I had fallen asleep after a mere commute on my bike. Yes, I stayed up all of the night before and I'm not as young as I used to be. But, still...I'm supposed to fall asleep after riding up and down mountains or a hundred-mile day on a bike laden with panniers and camping equipment--not from a mere commute.
I guess I haven't given up the notion that it's somehow more noble, or at least more fun, to fall into a long, deep sleep after an adventure or some eclat than it is to drift into (and out, and possibly into again) subconsciousness after mere routine.
Then again, last night's sleep was very restful and restorative. And, when I got home last night, I was so tired that I wasn't thinking about the fact that I had what was basically a very routine day and ride. It was thinking about the circumstances, and wanting to be in better shape than I'm in now, caused me berate myself today for falling asleep immediately after dinner last night.
Have you ever fallen asleep immediately after riding your bike? What was that like?
