How much difference can a day make?
Yesterday, when I was riding home from work, the temperature was 70F (21C). I was tempted to stop somewhere and take off my pantyhose, just to feel the unseasonably mild air against my legs.
And I was wearing a short-sleeved lavender top and an amethyst-colored overshirt made of a silky material much like that of the blue and gray printed skirt I wore.
Today I wished that I'd worn heavier tights than the ones I wore, even though my riding consisted of a few short errands that totaled no more than 8 miles.
It's about 30 degrees F as I write this, a day and four hours after yesterday's ride home. And the winds were powerful enough to topple utility poles in Westchester County and New Jersey.
Tomorrow's supposed to be much like today. So are the couple of days after that.
Lately I've been debating to myself whether I want to get a Brompton (when I have the money, of course!). On one hand, there are ways I could use a folding bike. And most Brompton owners seem happy with their machines.
On the other hand, I have had one folding bike, which I sold within a year because I didn't like it. That was a Dahon model with a five-speed internally-geared Sturmey Archer hub. It's the only bike I've ever owned that felt both squishy and harsh at the same time. On top of that, the quality didn't seem very good and there were a bunch of proprietary parts. Hal at Habitat says that the Brompton has even more of them.
Perhaps the folding bike I'd really want was made more than forty years ago:
Yes, it was by none other than Rene Herse, who is shown with his creation in the July 1970 issue of Bicycling!
Don't you just love those knickers he's wearing?
Yesterday was cold, but clear. And it seemed that the streets were finally clear of ice and snow. So I rode to work. It felt suprisingly normal, and good, considering how little riding I've done this winter. The ride to my main job, and from there to my part-time job, were actually pretty routine.
And so was the ride home. I know that, bit by bit, we're getting closer to spring because it wasn't dark when I got on my bike at the end of my workday. Rather, I started pedaling around the time the sun was beginning to set.
As I often do, I cut across Flushing Meadow-Corona Park. It's kind of odd to say "cut," as going through the park actually lengthens my ride. But I don't mind, as riding through the park is usually pleasant in and of itself, and it allows me to bypass the worst traffic between my home and work: the area around Main Street in Flushing where, it seems, a whole continent's worth of cars--and driving skills--swerves, squeezes and wedges into four lanes of traffic.
Some night when I don't have any pressing appointments, I plan to actually stop by the Main Street area. It may have the widest and best selection of Asian food available in the US, with the possible exception of what's found in a couple of cities in California.
Anyway...My ride home hit a bit of a snag right in the middle of the park:
OK, so Marianela's not the Titanic and the Park isn't the far North Atlantic. But at times like that, I really wish that ice would remain in little paper cups, where it belongs, with lemon or cherry flavoring.
The ice spread around the Unisphere to the other end of the park. So what to do? Option A was to backtrack and ride up to Main Street. I had scarcely enough time for that. Option B wast to walk across. But I figured I had just as much chance of slipping and falling if I were on my feet as I'd have on my bike. That left me with Option C. That involved riding through the parts of the path where the ice was rutted with patches of exposed asphalt.
This may have been the only time in my life I chose to ride through anything resembling potholes. Maybe the near-constant vibration kept me from thinking about the ice and other hazards. Whatever the reason, I made it out to the other side of the park. And the rest of my ride home was as unremarkable as the segment before the park.
