Saturday Sillies: What If Charlton Heston Had Ridden A Bicycle In "The Ten Commandments"?

I have always known that we, as cyclists, can change the world around us. 

We all know about the ecological effects:  If we get to work or school, or take joyrides, on our bikes, we don’t use the gasoline and other resources used by, or cause the pollution made by, automobiles.  We also know about the health benefits:  The exercise of pedaling makes our bodies stronger and the emotional release of being on a bike makes us saner. (Notice that I used the comparative rather than the absolute form of the word “sane”.) 

I believe many of you also know that we can also be agents of peace.  Although we can be competitive with each other and get angry with motorists who cut us off or pedestrians who step into our paths while they’re texting someone, for the most part, we’re calmer than most other people.  That, I believe, has to influence the people around us in one way or another.

That got me to thinking about how my riding, or cycling generally, might have influenced the drivers of these vehicles I encountered on my ride today:

Did I have the kind of influence Charlton Hestonhad in The Ten Commandments?  Am I such a powerful cyclist that I can cause two cars to part and let me pass?

Or, could it be that the police officer and taxi driver were so in awe of a woman in late middle age riding her bike—and passing a guy half her age—that they stopped dead?

Perhaps my riding so roiled their competitive juices or stimulated their production of testosterone (Wouldn’t that be ironic?) that they stopped each other in each other’s tracks?  On the other hand, something about me might have caused each of them to recognize something about each other and meet each other in the wilderness of Randall’s Island? 

Hmm…Maybe they, in the tedium and stress of their jobs, they were simply seeing so struck by seeing someone happy—positively giddy, like a lovestruck teenaged girl—that they simply had to stop?

And, dear reader, I’m still feeling giddy.  I’m not sure of why:  The ride, while pleasant and invigorating, was not exceptional.  I did nothing exceptional before or after the ride and I ate foods that, while both healthy and tasty, had no mind-altering chemicals of which I’m aware.

If you’re giddy, how can you not change the world around you—or, at least, some part or some people in it?

Giddyup!  I’m going to keep on riding.  Maybe I’ll stop some more traffic.

(As I type this, the Beatles’ Hey Jude is playing on the radio. Somehow that seems exactly right.)

Riding In Dry Heat To The Sea--And An Old "Friend"

In my youth, one of the things I did when I was trying to figure out--or, perhaps, avoid--whatever it was I was supposed to be doing was to teach English in a language institute near the UN.  

In every lesson, I would give students at least one tip on "how to sound like an American".  One--as I've mentioned in another post--is never to call the largest city in California "Los Angeles".  To us 'Murikuns, it's "L.A."

Another one of my tips was to talk about the weather.  Americans are always talking about it, I'd tell them, and that's one of the easiest ways to talk with an American--and learn everyday English.

In that vein, I'm going to say something about the weather, as I did yesterday.  It was hot today, though not quite as oppressive as the last couple of days.  But there was a huge difference:  very low humidity.  Those of you who live and ride in places like "L.A." or Arizona are probably accustomed to such conditions.  But here in the NYC Metro Area--indeed, on most of the East Coast--heat=humidity, at least most of the time.

It's weird, at least for me, to ride in 90 degree F (32C) weather without sweating. I take that back:  the body sweats, but it doesn't drip.  Rather, the beads of sweat evaporate before you can see or feel them on the surface of your skin.  Meantime, you're sucking down water or your favorite color of Gatorade or whatever your preferred libation is for bike riding.

In some way, I guess it makes sense that I'd ride to the ocean on a day like this. Specifically, I pedaled to Point Lookout:  into the wind to Rockaway Beach, balancing the wind on my right side to the Point and on my left side back to Rockaway and, finally, with the wind at my back from Rockaway Beach.

The tide was in, so the sandbars and many of the rocks I've seen on previous rides were submerged.  However, I did get a glimpse of an old friend:


He's at the center of the photo.  Look closely and you can see--no, not Jaws

but the Point Lookout Orca!

I hadn't seen him in a while. Whatever he (somehow I think he's male) is, he deserves the same respect accorded other mysterious aquatic and amphibious creatures like the Loch Ness Monster.  I think he prefers that to being compared to Pac-Man:

Hmm...Could the inventor of that iconic video game have been working from some Jungian archetype?  Could that person have had the Point Lookout Orca in his or her subconscious without realizing it?

Whatever Point Lookout Orca is, he's never chased me.  I guess I'm not as tasty as the crustaceans and bivalves he can find in those waters.  After all, who ever paid $100 for a plate of me?  Orca, on the other hand, gets to eat what's served in the city's most expensive restaurants--for free.

And I get to have a great ride without breaking a sweat.  It all works out sometimes.

Riding Through Five-Minute Monsoons

The sky is an iron-gray pall.   Every hour or so, curtains of rain fall from it for about five minutes.  Then it disappears, as if it were merely a hologram and once again the gray sky looms for another hour.

If you happen to be outside when the rain falls, you will get soaked.  Then, when the rain stops, you will ride or walk around sheathed by your wet clothes--if, of course, you didn't have rain gear.

I think now of times I made deliveries on days like this when I was a messenger.  The funny thing was that I could walk into some of the swankest buildings and stuffiest offices, soaked to my skin, and people in suits that cost more than I made in a month didn't blink an eye.  Sometimes they would even offer me a cup of coffee.  

(Once, when I made a delivery at the Pierre Hotel, someone--a manager, I presume--offered me lunch.  I took him up on it and promised that if I ever needed to stay in a hotel in New York, I would not consider any other.  I don't think he held me to it.)

I pedaled and delivered in the most soaking of downpours, against winds magnified in the concrete canyons of Wall Street and Midtown, and with needles of sleet stinging my face. And, yes, in the snow.

But I had nothing on these folks in Mumbai, India:

For that matter, I don't think the US Postal Service does, either. Nor did the US Postal Team:

Those guys were in Indonesia. Isn't it funny that the folks in the background, under an umbrella, don't seem as submerged as the guys on bikes.

When rain comes suddenly and you don't have rain gear, you can do one of three things:  You can wait it out.  You can ride it and get wet.  Or you can improvise:

Today I took a brief ride and packed my foldable rain slicker.  And, yes, I rode through two five-minute monsoons.