Nina: A Nice Person In A Nice Bike Shop

You've probably seen the following in your favorite bike shop:

• MAMILs
• Fitness buffs who want to try a new sport/activity
• Customers who have more money to spend than riding experience
• People who haven't ridden since they were kids and are intimidated by all of the newfangled bikes and accessories
• Women who are there with their boyfriends/husbands--and, much less frequently, men who are there with their girlfriends/wives
• The ones who've decided to go on the next MS (or other charity) ride, but haven't been on a bike in years.

There are other kinds of people you meet in bike shops.  But, based on my experience in working in shops and having visited many others, the people I've mentioned are the one who seem to be found in just about any shop.

Today, I met someone who doesn't fit any of the above categories.  I stopped in the shop--James Vincent Bicycles of North Bergen, NJ --in the middle of today's ride.  The shop has been in business for 75 years and, even though it carries "serious" racing and mountain bikes from the likes of Cannondale, Trek and Giant, it attracts a lot of people from the immediate neighborhood, sometimes for non-bike-related issues.

The young woman I met today is one of those neighborhood denizens.  Actually, her father was there for a non-bike issue, and she accompanied him.

But she wasn't one of those bored and resentful family members who doesn't share her relative's enthusiasm for cycling.  In fact, she was on the same kind of wheels as her father rode:

Nina could get around perfectly well without that cart.  But her father couldn't:  He had no legs.  He'd gone to the shop to have something in the chasis tightened:  He could feel it coming loose, and it would've taken only a decent-sized hole or crack in the sidewalk or pavement to immobilize him.


I only got to talk with Nina briefly.  She seemed like a very nice and intelligent young woman.  I'm guessing that she rode her cart to the shop so that her father would have it in case he needed to leave his at the shop.  Even if that's the case, she's doing a great thing in helping him and experiencing, however briefly, the world as her father does.


I rode behind them for a few blocks until they turned.  I continued down the Jersey side of the Hudson River to the Bayonne Bridge, and through Staten Island to the Ferry.  I'm not religious, but I can say I felt blessed:  two good legs, a great bike, a beautiful day and an interesting ride.

A Simple Life?

Normally, I'm happy to get home from a trip to Florida.  These days, I'm happy to see my parents, in part because I don't know how many more years they'll be in this world.  But, apart from them and some lovely bike-rides (The good and bad news is that they're all flat!), I have almost no motivation to go to Florida.


Since I got back last night, though, I'm feeling a little wistful. I think the feeling started on Monday, when I rode down A1A through Painters Hill and Flagler Beach.  Along the way, I stopped, for no particular reason, in one of those stores that sells things made out of seashells.


The proprietress was one of those friendly, helpful and sun-bleached people you meet by the sea, though not necessarily by the trendy beaches.  "Anything I can help you with, let me know," she intoned in a voice of sunshine and sea salt.  She wasn't one of those surly, hipper-than-thou storeclerks you see working in trust-fund enclaves.  She probably wasn't making a lot of money, but she also, most likely, didn't need to. 


I imagined myself in her place, but with my cats and bikes.  I imagined myself closing the store and riding Tosca up and down A-1A or along any number of other roads.  It used to amaze me there weren't more fixed-gear bikes in Florida; this time, I saw a pretty fair number in and around St. Augustine.  Of course, their riders were young, or seemed to be:  I don't expect a senior citizen who hasn't been on a bike since he or she was a teenager to hop on a track bike.


Anyway, I'll be back to my normal rides, work and such soon enough.  One day, if I can afford it and don't have to worry about property values, I might have a house that looks like this (ha, ha):

Half A Century On A Cruiser

Today I rode the longest distance I've done on the cruiser I borrowed from my parents' neighbor:  52 miles.  Given that it's designed to make the rider feel as if he or she is sitting on a sofa chair while the boardwalk goes clack-clack-clack under the tires, I feel good about the ride.

The bike I rode is certainly nothing like these, which I saw parked in front of a convenience store near the Old City:

At least, I got to St. Augustine faster than Ponce de Leon did when he was looking for the Fountain of Youth.

And I will say that even though I wrecked the original rear wheel, the bike is sturdy if flexy. 

If it had been about fifteen years ago, I would have tried to ride the bike across the moat just below the castle.  After all, there's no water in the moat and no water=no alligators. 

There is a dedicated bike lane for much of the length of A-1A.  One way in which drivers--even the transplanted ones--here differ from the ones in New York is that they don't use the bike lanes to pass or double-park.

Plus, the beaches, inlets, dunes and ocean are beautiful.  Here is a view from the bridge over the Matanzas Inlet:

Check out this formation on a nearby beach:

St. Augustine, in addition to the tourist traps one would expect, has some interesting establishments.  At least, the spirit behind them is not what you'd find in New York:

A Giggling Gator?  I'm having a hard time picturing it.  However, I have to love a place with a sign that says "Open when we get here\ Closed when we leave."