I'll Be Back, Really!

It's a human thing. You'll never understand.

Marlee may not know that today's weather is predicted to be even hotter than the past five, with a high temperature around 38C (100F). But, surely, she doesn't understand why I would go out--for a ride, or any other reason--when she cuddles up and falls asleep on me.  She knows that I'll be gone--for how long, she may not know.  I promised her that today's ride, like those I've taken on each of the past few days, won't be more than a couple of hours.  Still, she's doing everything she can to keep me from going.

I think that, deep down, she knows that her efforts might delay me for a few moments but won't stop me.  I belive that she also knows I'll be back.  Still, she insists on using her superpowers--her cuddliness and that she's ridiculously cute--to persuade me.

Cats may not have a sense of guilt. But I think they know that humans have it--especially if we come from certain religious or ethnic traditions, including the ones in which I was raised.

Don't go!

I'll be back! (No, I didn't say it in my Arnold Schwarznegger* accent!) 

*--Just as there isn't one "French" or "Italian" accent, there isn't just one "German" inflection on English.  The Governator, however, has an accent all his own!

Fate And Mirth In The Morning

Yesterday:  Another early-morning ride.  Today:  Yet another, after I publish this post!

About yesterday's ride:  It turned into a pleasant ramble between Queens and Brooklyn, including a couple of what I've come to think of as New York Unicorns:  working-class neighborhoods where people live in houses, some of which were passed on through a couple of generations--or that still have those generations living in them.

I am talking about the corners of Ridgewood, Queens and the parts of Greenpoint near the Kosciuszko Bridge that haven't been colonized by hipsters and trust-fund kids.  One nice thing about them is that you don't encounter a lot of traffic on the streets.  In fact, I saw fewer motor vehicles throughout my ride than I'd anticipated.  There were a few spots where I had to navigate around traffic bottlenecks.  In all of them, crews of workers from the city's Department of Transportation or Con Ed were tearing off layers of pavement and excavating the layers of rock that underlie them.  I said "hi" to someone who appeared to be the foreman of one of those crews.

"Hot day for a bike ride?"

"Hot day for the work you guys do."

He demurred, "We're used to it.  I tell the guys to drink lots of water and Gatorade."

For a moment, I wondered where they went when they had to pee. Then I realized that on a day like yesterday, they probably didn't have to go, just as I haven't had to take "potty stops" during my recent rides: Whatever I've drunk, whether on my longer rides or short morning jaunts, was sucked up by the sun and wind against my skin.

'Take care,' the foreman advised.

'Tell your guys to be careful."  I pointed to the pit they were digging.  "My exes are down there!"

He guffawed. "Have a great day."  

"You too!"

Perhaps that somewhat-morbid joke was inspired by what I saw as I crossed the Kosciuszko Bridge.  (I probably won't ever learn to speak Polish, but I can write that name without using spell-check!):

From morbid joke to morbid thought:  The fate of all of us is, of course, can be seen in the foreground of that image.  The journey, for some, includes what's in the background.

OK, now that I've given you my deeeep thought for today (to the extent that I'm capable of such a thing), it's time for me to ride.   I want to get home before the temperature gets anywhere near the forecast high  of 36C (96F).

Taste In Destinations

Yesterday morning I kept with my riding plan for this heat wave, which is expected to continue at least until Sunday.  Once again, I set out after quick breakfast--coffee and two English muffins pan-toasted with olive oil, fresh-ground black pepper and rosemary--early.  

(I like butter as much as anyone does.  But I feel that olive oil is more elegant.  Maybe it has to do with my Italian heritage.)

My trip took me to Fort Totten and back, via the Malcolm X Promenade and some zigging and zagging through northeastern Queens residential streets.  All told, I did about 40 km (25 miles) round-trip before 10 am.  And, yes, I did get my fresh Greek yogurt from Kesso's:  Their hours coincided with mine.

At Fort Totten, I could see how hot an humid the day would be--and, in spite of the clear skies at that moment, I could tell, from the haze on Long Island Sound,  that the storm forecast for the afternoon would indeed drop lots of water very quickly and hard:  the thunder almost seemed to be an echo of the rain pounding against the sidewalks.

I felt confident, though, that I would get to my place before the storm.  Maybe it had something to do with riding Tosca, my Mercian fixed gear: I couldn't coast; I had no choice but to pedal.  It felt really good.

 

Somehow I think she knew that house was officer's quarters when Fort Totten was still an active military base. (A small section, fenced off, is still used for Army Reserve exercises, and the Fire Department trains in another part.)  My bikes have such good taste in their destinations!