A Guide Against The Wind

Yesterday afternoon I had some time.  There were things that had to be done, but as long as they got done when they needed to be done, it wouldn't matter when I started working on them.  I guess that's a definition of having, if not free, then flexible time.

Since you're reading this blog, you know what I did.  Of course.  This time, though, an hour or two in early-to-mid-afternoon stretched into, well, very late afternoon. That may have had to do with having the wind at my back and mild (at least in comparison to the past week or so) temperatures as I pedaled down through Queens to Rockaway Beach.  

Of course, when I'm riding with the wind, I know that I'll have to pedal against it to get home.  But I was feeling so good that I just wanted to keep on going.  Which I did---to Point Lookout.  

I hadn't planned to go swimming.  Still, it was a bit of a surprise to see the beach closed, even if it was for work to ensure that the beach is still there in the future.  

So I hung out for a bit by the bocce court.  In contrast to the boardwalks of the Rockaways, Atlantic Beach and Long Beach, where I saw more people than I expected, I had the court and playground all to myself.

By the court, there are stones commemorating family messages and with messages of hope.  I couldn't help but to notice the juxtaposition of these stones:

The one on the left reads, "Mangia bene, Ridi spesso, Ama molto"--Eat well, laugh often, love much. Will those things lead to, or result from, the top-notch lawn care in the slate on the right.  

Even though I was pedaling along a route I've ridden many times before, I felt as if I were being guided to, or through, something--the wind that had grown stiffer, perhaps--along the Rockaway Boardwalk.

As I photographed sun rays coruscating through clouds, I chanted some lines from the Sardinian writer Salvatore Quasimodo:  

M'illumno 

d'immenso.

Maybe that should be engraved in one of those stones by the bocce court on Point Lookout.

Ride Noir?

I ride in the rain, sometimes.  The cold, too.  But rain and cold together is a no-go for me, unless a ride starts off without one or both but they converge somewhere along the way.

Most of yesterday moved through cycles of rain and freezing rain.  I had a class and other commitments, so I didn’t mind.  Fortunately, the rain stopped near the end of the day and the temperature seemed to rise a bit. So I decided to take a short ride.

Mist rising from the river to the bridge made Astoria Park feel a bit like the setting for a noir film.  So I wasn’t surprised to see a film or television crew. (I didn’t ask; they looked focused on task.) 

I’m curious to see how they use those vistas—and whether they took a shot of a latter-day Weegee on a Mercian fixie!

Winter Vista On A Sunday Afternoon Ride

Yesterday the temperature rose into the balmy (at least for those of you in places like North Dakota) 20's, or around -5C.  So I went for an afternoon ride which, among other things, zigzagged the border between Brooklyn and Queens.

The border between the US and Canada has a Peace Garden.  Probably the closest thing our interborough boundary has is Highland Park, with the Ridgewood Reservoir as its centerpiece.

Somehow it feels even more like a reflection of deep winter than all of the displays or any day-after-snowstorm vista in this city.

I usually see at least a couple of cyclists there. Yesterday I was riding solo, though I saw a fair number of people walking their dogs, or with each other. Some looked happy to be there, but others eyed me, and other strollers, with suspicion, as if we'd intruded on their own private Idaho, if you will.

I can't say I blame them.  I know I've referred to Highland Park as our local Montmartre for its location on the highest point in the area and the views it offers.  Of course, it doesn't have the onion-domed cathedral (my favorite building in Paris) and I reckon that fewer people visit the park in a year than visit one of the most iconic places in the City of Light in a year.

It's kind of ironic that in writing about it on this blog, I'm more likely to tip off someone in Belleville or Berlin than the folks in Bensonhurst or Belle Harbor about a place where I go for a quick ride and the cheapest form of therapy (along with  a cuddle from Marlee) I know about.