Build It And They Won't Let You Ride On It

You win a few, you lose a few...


Today I rode to the Steeplechase (a.k.a.Coney Island) Pier.  For years, it's been ravaged by storms and tides; the section that meets the boardwalk literally had beach sand "growing" through it. 

Well, it's been re-boarded.  (Roads are re-paved; I figure that boardwalks and anything else with planks on it is re-boarded. )  Thankfully, actual boards, and not concrete substitutes, were used.  


So far, so good.  But I got about fifteen meters onto the pier (It's about 150 or so meters long.)  when an earnest young woman in a green Parks Department polo shirt blew a whistle.  "Miss! Miss!"  I turned.  "You have to walk the bike!"


Well, that was a first.  And how did she know I'm not married, anyway?

Given that it was so hot (The temperature was close to 90F, or 32C, when I left my apartment at 9:30 this morning), I expected to see more people on the pier.  If nothing else, it offers, in addition to views (and good fishing, if you're into that sort of thing), nature's first air conditioning:  sea-breezes.  It was--or felt, anyway--about ten or fifteen degrees (F) cooler than it did when I left my apartment.


But, in addition to the fisherpersons (Yes, I've seen women casting lines into the surf!), you see some interesting, if solitary characters:

Nothing like having the whole city--let alone the whole world--to yourself, eh?


Note:  I apologize for the lack of detail in these photos.  I took them with my cell phone.

An Early Morning Ride, Because I Could

Today I did something I haven't done in too long:  I took an early-morning bike ride, and I wasn't going to work.


There was a time in my life when, if such rides didn't constitute the majority of my cycling, they were at least routine.  On days when I worked in the afternoon or evening, I took such rides, and on weekends I got up early to take my long rides.


But I can't recall the last time I did such a ride.  Part of the reason is the work schedules I've had. I also can't help but to wonder whether the hormones and other changes have made me into more of a night person:  I stay and get up later than I used to.  At least I can say that, as often as not, I'm writing or doing some other necessary work when I'm "burning the midnight oil."


Today I made a point of getting out early.  For one thing, I wanted to avoid the heat this part of the world would experience later in the morning and afternoon.  But I also wanted to remember what it was like to take such a ride.


Back in the day, my early-morning rides were solitary or in the company of other hard-core cyclists, all of them male.  The latter kind left me pumped with adrenaline and testosterone:  If I went through a day cocky, it was a result of such a ride.  On the other hand, the early-morning rides I did alone left me feeling a peace with--if not within--myself and the world around me that I rarely, if ever, attained in any other way.


Today's ride--a little more than an hour and a half on Tosca, my "fixie," left me feeling contented and ready for the rest of the day.  That was definitely a good thing on a day which is not structured by outside forces.  I needed to do laundry (which I did), but there was nothing I absolutely had to get done today. But I managed to accomplish a couple of other things I could just as easily have put off. 


I say this, not to congratulate myself, but to show what a wonderful thing it is to be able to ride early in the morning without going to work.

Along The Way

While riding to Randall's Island last week, I passed the block--9th Street, from the Noguchi Museum to a construction-supply store-- on which I lived before I moved to my current locale.  


The day I moved there, nearly a decade ago, was almost frighteningly clear and blindingly hot.  I had just left the last long-term relationship in which I'd been involved; I knew I was going to embark upon a part of my life I'd spent my life avoiding but which was absolutely necessary to become the person I've become, for better or worse.


I was struck by how much the light and shadows looked like the ones I saw the day I moved there:

When Velouria came to town for the New Amsterdam Bike Show, we rode down this block.  It just happened to be along the way.