A May Ride In December?

I was riding in shorts and a short-sleeved top.

No, I didn't start my holiday visit to my parents in Florida early.  (Actually, in their part of Florida, there is no guarantee I'd have such weather at this time of year.)  Rather, I took a ride which I've ridden (and written about) a number of times:  to Point Lookout and back.

The temperature reached 20C (68F).  For some perspective, the old record for this date was 16C (62F), which was surpassed before 11 am.

Interestingly, it didn't feel as warm as I'd expected.  Some of that had to do with the wind, which, coming from the southeast, I pedaled into most of my way out. Also, riding by the sea, where local water temperatures are around 10C (50C) makes the air seem cooler.  For perspective, in early August, the water temperature reaches 23-24C (72-75F) and in early March falls to 3-5C (37-40F). 

On such a pleasant Sunday, I wasn't surprised to see more people than one would normally expect to see at the beaches.  They weren't swimming, but I noticed that some people weren't wearing much more than I was.  Also, a pretty fair number of young men (mostly) clad in wetsuits rode the waves.

I don't mean to boast when I say that even though I was pedaling into winds of 8 to 12KPH (14 to 20 MPH) most of the way out, I was pedaling rather effortlessly in my big chainring and on the sixth and seventh gears of my nine-speed cassette.  Am I starting to regain some of my old strength?  Or was it because I just felt so good to be on my bike on such a beautiful day?  I would be happy to accept either explanation, or no explanation at all.

Everything was so lovely that even seeing brown and yellow stems and leaves didn't seem so discordant with the spring-like warmth. 

Nor did the almost-winter light or the shortness of the day.

And I was riding Arielle.  Even a name like that is enough to make me feel as if I'm flying.  But, she's a great ride and, of course, the wind into which I rode on my way out pushed at my back and carried me home.

I really should have been grading papers.  Oh, well.



 

A Couple Of Views From The Saddle

Is a ride ever defined by what you see on the horizon?

During the past week, I pedaled into two very different, yet distinctly of-this-season-vistas.

As I pedaled north on the Hudson River Greenway, the sun--invisible even in the cloudless sky--refracted off the dull metallic surface of the river and shrouded the towers of the George Washington Bridge about three miles in front of me.

The other day, I was rolling down 38th Street in Astoria, just a few blocks from my apartment.  There sun, again invisible, would make its presence known only through the bare branches of the tree a mile or so down the street.


Are these the dying embers of a season, of a year?

All I Want For Christmas....

I stopped believing in Santa Claus when I got a bicycle for Christmas.

It's not that I didn't like the bike.  If anything, getting it made me like it even better--and made me more anxious and sadder.  Why?  Well, it was way too big for me.  Like most kids, I wanted to be like grown-ups--or, at least, kids who were older than I was.  The prospect of being able to ride my new Royce Union three-speed (with 26" wheels) tantalized me as much the dream of ascending Mount Everest intrigues and excites mountaineers.

All right... The fact that I got a bike I couldn't ride didn't make me doubt the existence of Santa Claus in the way I would later doubt the existence of God because I have the kind of mind and spirit I have in the kind of body I have.  Rather, I found my faith in Jolly Old Saint Nick dashed a couple of years earlier, when I was walking down Fifth Avenue (in Brooklyn) and saw four Santas--one black, another Puerto Rican--on the same block.

Anyway...I'm sure many of you got bikes that didn't fit, or weren't right for you in some other way, for Christmas.  I'm also certain that many of you found, under your family's tree, a two-wheeler you could hop on and ride immediately.   (Of course, if you lived in one of those places that typically were blanketed with snow during the holiday season, you had to wait a few weeks or months to ride.)  That, I imagine, is still--what with all of the electronic toys available--many a kid's fantasy.

I also imagine that some of you, when you were wee lads or lasses, found three-wheelers under your family's tinsel-wreathed evergreen boughs.  I have vague memories of riding a trike but, as best as I can remember, it wasn't a Christmas present.  In fact, given my family's circumstances at the time, it might have been a hand-me-down from a cousin or neighbor, not that I would have known the difference.

Somehow I don't imagine that as many kids dreamed of getting trikes as getting bikes.  But, if any kid had such fantasies, somehow I don't think it would run to something like this:




If anything, I'd bet that some parents with deep purses or pockets fantasize about buying something like the Vanilla Trike because, well, they could. And I suppose that even the best-heeled (best-tired?) of them wouldn't let their kids ride it.  First of all, it's an object d'art--or, at least, a piece de l'artisanat.  It belongs in a curio cabinet or on a coffee table, not on a sidewalk or in a park.  Second, what kid would know or care that he or she is riding a bike with a hand-brazed Chromoly frame, Brooks saddle, Campagnolo headset and Phil Wood hubs?




Not exactly your typical doormat, is it?

Of course, it's beyond a mere indulgence.  Still, I don't want to seem as if I'm mocking it or resenting anyone who can afford it.  Hey, if I could spend $10,000 without blinking an eye, I'd buy one, too.  Even if I never could ride it.  Even if it's not something I fantasized about when I was a kid.