Where Has The Rider Gone?

Had you fallen asleep, say, a month ago and awakened today, you might check your calendar to be sure that it is indeed Wednesday, not Sunday or a holiday.   Your favorite stores, restaurants and public venues are closed, or open for only a few hours.  And there's practically no motorized traffic on the streets, save for men--almost all of them are men, and immigrants at that--delivering food on motorized or electric bikes.  

I also notice, surprisingly, fewer people on bicycles.  Since cycling is still allowed, as long as cyclists keep their "social distance" (2 meters or 6 feet), this is somewhat surprising.  Also, I would think that some people who still have to go to work might ride bikes, whether because the buses or trains they normally take are running less often or not at all, or because they wouldn't want to get on a bus or train--or share a car with anybody.

But the Citibike racks are close to full, and bikes that are normally parked overnight have remained on the streets for weeks.  I wonder whether their owners ride only to work or school, or are too scared to go out. (I've heard more than a few people say they planned to shut themselves in this week.)  Or--might they be sick, or worse?

Across the street from that Schwinn chained to the lightpole, I saw a sign that it is indeed early spring:

As the cliche goes, life springs eternal, even in the face of disease and death.

Walnut Avenue, Cherry Blossoms and Hyacinths

After doing the work I needed to do, I took a ride.  Since I wanted to head out of the city, even if for a little bit, I cycled north and followed, coincidentally or not, part of my normal commute.

Well, more or less.  I pedaled up Walnut Avenue, which parallels Willow Avenue, the street with the bike lane I normally ride up to 138th Street.  I chose Walnut because it goes all the way to 141st, where I can make the turn underneath the Bruckner Expressway and pick up Southern Boulevard.  

Both Avenues lace the heart of the Port Morris industrial district in the Bronx.  Normally, when I ride along Willow--even as early as 6 am--I see trucks and vans pulling in and out of the factories, warehouses and luncheonettes.  Walnut also teems with activity--on a normal day, that is.

No day during the past two weeks or so has been "normal."  Of course, that's nice for cyclists:   The scene I rolled through looked more an early hour of Sunday morning than just after noon on a weekday.  

I must say, though, that the few people I saw were friendly:  They waved and smiled.  More important, I detected a kind of recognition--like what I sense from people I see by the ocean in the middle of winter.  Just behind me, on Randall's Island, cherry blossoms were pulsing their pink flowers and purple, blue and white hyacinths colored plots fenced in the fields and perfumed the air.  

All of that color, and those scents, felt like beautiful acts of defiance in a world forced into silence.  My bike ride felt something like that, though I did it for my own pleasure--and health, mental as well as physical.

Vital But Still Closed

The other day, Hal Ruzal and I exchanged text messages and e-mails.  He is a co-founder and former chief mechanic of Bicycle Habitat.  He also turned me on to Mercian bikes.

Now he’s living in New Mexico.  He told me he’s riding every    day but “there’s nowhere to go at night.”  That’s not a surprise, given that the same situation pertains here in New York, which has more restaurants, bars, clubs and the like than just about anyplace else on Earth.

Anyway, I’d shared that Habitat is closed, even though bike shops are permitted to remain open.  He said Charlie, the owner, was making a “wise move.”  I agreed, though I am sad about it.  

Bike shops are vital now because cycling is one of the few ways one can go to work—or simply get out—while maintaining “social distance.”  On the other hand, some shops—such as Habitat’s Chelsea branch, are tight spaces in which it would be difficult, if not impossible, to accommodate more than one or two customers at a time, especially if they’re bringing bikes in for repairs or overhauls.

Also, another characteristic Habitat Chelsea shares with other shops—including the ones in which I worked—is that mechanic’s areas are extremely tight:  Mechanics, as often as not, work at arm’s length, or less, from each other.

In that sense, Habitat and other bike shops are like other vital businesses such as grocery stores:  Their customers can distance themselves from each other, but their workers can’t.