Day Is Done

Last night, I stayed up much later than I'd planned.  There was a technical glitch, and I got a bunch of angry e-mails from students and a couple more phone messages from the technical school in which I taught a couple of classes this year.  It turns out neither the college nor the students got the grades.  For some students, it's not merely an inconvenience; it can actually affect whether or not they can register for some of the courses they need, or get financial aid.


And I got another message from the college telling me that I hadn't taken some online training course in sensitive communications (a subject about which I know absolutely nothing) or some such thing.  When I opened the site for that course, which is not maintained by the school itself but by an outside contractor, it crashed my computer.  Of course their IT department denies that their software would ever do any such thing to my computer.


So, after scrambling to fix those things (I'm still not finished with the course), I got to bed much later than I'd intended.  That meant, of course, that I got up later than I'd planned.  But at least at this time of year, in this part of the world, you can get away with that, as days are longer.  In fact, it turned out rather nicely.  I'm talking about the day as well as my ride. 

And now, appropriately enough, I'm listening to Nick Drake's "Day Is Done."

A Sign On A Nearly Perfect Day

We know we're committed to something (or someone) when an absolutely normal, routine day of it is utterly satisfying.


Today was such a day.  I didn't take a long ride:  Just enough to meet my friend Bruce, whom I hadn't seen in months, for lunch and to wander some side streets of the East and West Villages in Manhattan.  


I'll admit, though, the weather was glorious:  warm, but not overly so, and sunny, with a few clouds and moderate humidity.  


The ride itself was its own reward.  But even if such hadn't been the case, the ride would have been worth it for this:

His sign reads:  "Keepin' It Real.  I Need Weed.  Spare $1.00. Respect the (I couldn't read the last word.)"  


It wouldn't surprise me if he didn't actually smoke weed.  Actually, I hope that's the case, if only because it would show that the man has a talent.  Perhaps one day he will be able to use it, and won't need to stand with a sign like that.


Then, hopefully, he'll make some other cyclist's--or someone else's day.  It might even be on a day like today.

At The End Of The Day

OK, for the 300th post on this blog, I will reveal all of the secrets of the universe, at least as they relate to cycling.


All right...Now that I've got your attention, I'll do something a little more mundane.  (Did I just do a bait-and-switch?)  I am going to show you, at least in some way, what it means to cycle home from work on a Thursday night in my neighborhood.

Astoria and neighboring Long Island City are the Queens--and New York City--neighborhoods in which one can come closest to living in Manhattan without actually living in it.  So, even though the streets and houses have the feel of a smaller urban area, everything seems to point in the direction of Manhattan, directly to the west.  


So, depending on the time of day, one can see the sun setting directly ahead, as I did today.  


And, of course, no ride home from work is complete without stopping for something to eat, or the ingredients to make it.  Today that meant ciabatta and anisette biscotti:

I blame Marianela. She claims the light in that place--and the block at the end of the day--brings out her natural glow.  How come that line doesn't work when I use it? ;-)