Beauty Among The Ruins

OK, boys and girls, I'm going to give you one more kind-of-sad (or, at least, melancholy) posting.  Then I'll try to stick to happy topics, as this is the holiday season.

Anyway, six weeks after Hurricane Sandy, it seems that I see more and more of its aftermath everywhere I turn--especially when I get on a bike.  Here is what used to be nicknamed "Barretto Beach":

This postage stamp-sized piece of Barretto Point Park has sunbathers and picknickers on it when the weather is warm, and people fishing from it at other times.  It's usually full of sand and is clear of rocks and other debris, if not litter.  And, before the storm, this plot was about twice the size it is now.

It is closed off.  So is the pier at the other end of the park, and the barge that houses a swimming pool.  As much devastation as I saw, I was surprised, frankly, not to see more.  

Here is another part of the park that was eroded:

I guess the '60's Schwinn Collegiate didn't want me to look at it for too long.  You never know what kind of effect such things can have on a young sensibility like mine, you know.

At least Randall's Island, through which I ride to get to Barretto, didn't seem quite as badly damaged--or, at least, more of it has been fixed up.  Here is a shot of one of the island's native plant gardens:

I found the color change on this tree particularly interesting:

Usually, I assume that trees with needles rather than leaves are evergreens.  Apparently, this is some sort of deciduous tree with needles.  Whatever it is, I love the effect of its color change.

Well...I guess this wasn't such a depressing post after all!

Over The Rainbow

Whenever you see neon- or Easter egg-colored "deep V" rims on some hipseter's or messenger's fixie, console yourself with the thought that things have been much, much weirder.

From Bike Snob NYC

You see, all of the rainbow boys and girls are merely aping a trend of the 1890's.  Yes, they really had Velocity Deep V rims in "antifreeze green" in the days of the penny-farthing. I know:  I was there.

All right, so now you know I was pulling your crank--I mean, your leg.  But I can tell you that cyclists actually wore tweed in those days!

When we see images of cyclists and their mounts from the 1890's, they usually seem quaint.  I don't think that a century hence, people will see velo-images of the 1990's in the same way.  

Now, that was a time of some really weird bike parts.  First of all, mountain biking took off in the late '80's.  Around 1990 or so, mountain bikes and components appeared that were not derivatives of their road and touring counterparts.  (That's also when the first frames with suspension were built.)  By the mid-1990's, it seemed that every other twenty-something in California who had access to his father's machines was making derailleurs, brakes, seat posts, cranks and almost every other part.  Some were actually quite good and were improvements over what had been available.  On the other hand, some stuff was merely what we used to call "ELS", or Expensive Lightweight S**t.

In the latter category were nearly all cranksets made by those one-man cottage industries.  I knew riders who weren't built like NFL linebackers and still managed to break Kooka, Topline and some of those other over-machined, over-priced crank arms.  And then there is specimen:  a Cucamonga crank:

Whoever made these cranks seemed determined to incorporate every whacky idea and trend in bike components from the previous three decades or so.  On one hand, the holes are from the '70's, while the shape suggests the '80's mania for aerodynamics, or the pretense thereof.  And the pink anodizing is right out of the '90's.

I don't know anyone who actually rode those cranks.  Perhaps they were made to be "collectibles".  What will some future anthropologist surmise about '90's cycling and cyclists from them?

Early-Winter Blues

Coney Island Boardwalk in early winer.  From Kinetic Carnival

Since Hurricane Sandy, I've ridden to a boardwalk that has been completely washed away and another that has been ripped apart in some sections and collapsed in others.  While others have hopes, however unrealistic, that their beloved seaside promenades (or some reasonable replica thereof) will be ready for next summer, I mourn the loss of them right now.  I know I won't be able to ride them this winter; I am not entirely sure they'll be ready for next fall or winter.

Although I occasionally ride on a boardwalk when the weather is warm and the sun is high, I much prefer them when the sun is lower in the horizon (or when it's overcast) and a chill, or even pure-and-simple cold, blows in off the ocean.  Sometimes I take such rides with others; more often, I do them in solitude.  In fact, sometimes solitude is the very reason I take such rides:  During such rides, thoughts seem to come as clear as the winter sky and  feelings as intense, and even sharp, as the crisp salty air.

So, while others fear what they might lose to Sandy next year; I am mourning the rides I can't do now and won't be able to do during the coming weeks and months.  On the other hand, I count my blessings:  Other people have lost far more to the storm.  Some are my students, and I have met others.  At least I still have some things to offer them, even if they refuse.  And I still have hope for those winter boardwalk rides, if not this season.