The Dawn Of A New Semester

The college semester has begun.  I'm teaching a couple of early morning classes.  This morning, I went in about an hour early to post some materials I'm using in one class.  

There are a number of ways I can ride to work.  This morning, I decided to wend my way through an industrial area of Long Island City.

Now that I think of it, using "wend" and "industrial" in the same sentence seems almost contradictory.  But at the time I rode--about 6:30--there's almost no traffic.  It seems almost bucolic, in a weird sort of way.

And the light is not to be missed:

I wish I'd brought my camera:  I caught this image, such as it is, on my cell phone.  At least there's a glimmering of what I saw.

The Streets Are Their Stage

My mother is wonderful.  She has to be--after all, she raised me! ;-)  Anyone with the patience and fortitude to do that deserves nothing but affection and respect.

Still, if I were to become a mom--which, of course, is impossible unless I adopt or some major advancement in medicine comes along--I want to be like her:

Being a mom like her would mean having a kid like this one:

Both of them have such style:

 Their rear tire needs air. But we can forgive them that, right?

Of course, they are Keri Russell and her son River.  In these photos, they were coursing through Greenwich Village last October.
 

Giving My Regards To Old Broadway

I admit:  Yesterday's post wasn't the most cheerful I've written.  But if I'm going to say anything about the history of the bicycle industry, I have to be honest:  There have been scoundrels in it--though, some might say, fewer than in some other industries.

Now I'll give you a more cheerful picture--literally--from cycling's past.

These folks proudly pedaled along Western Boulevard, a road that extended from Grand Circle (now known as Columbus Circle) to Riverside Drive.  Later, the road would become part of Broadway, the great north-south thoroughfare that cuts, curves, zigs, zags, ascends and descends and even loops over 55 km (about 33 miles) from Battery Park at the lower tip of Manhattan to Sleepy Hollow in Westchester County.

You really have to admire those riders' style.  I do, anyway!