Here in the New York Metro area, we've just had a weekend of warmer-than-normal fall weather, punctuated by showers late in the morning and early in the afternoon on Sunday. I did a fair, but not unusual (for me, anyway) amount of riding.
Saturday brought me and Dee-Lilah, my Mercian Vincitore Special, to Point Lookout. In previous rides to the Point, instead of "the rocks," I've made another beach area, known mainly to residents, my turn-around point. While it doesn't have as commanding a view as "the rocks" (where there are now large mounds of sand), the quality of light--a scrim of sea mist across a screen where blue meets blue--is serene. It reminds me that when I'm cycling (or reading or writing) alone, I feel further from loneliness than I've felt in some of my relationships and in social situations.
I rode into the wind just about all the way to the Point--which meant, of course, that I had the wind at my back on my way home for my last ride before the end of Daylight Savings Time.
Yesterday I got out later than I'd planned. Since I figured (correctly, it turned out) on taking a shorter ride, I hopped on Tosca, my Mercian fixed-gear bike. I had no particular destination in mind. My ride turned mainly into a series of dodges around the street closures and crowds gathered for the New York City Marathon.
On my way back, I pedaled up the Vernon Boulevard bike lane, which detours through Queensbridge and Rainey Parks. Just past Rainey is an ersatz "beach" and kayak launch site below street level--where, less than a mile across the river from the Manhattan skyline, an autumnal vista more reminiscent of the New England seashore presented itself.
The weekend marked, to me, the end of one part of Fall. Now another begins. The light will be different, I am sure, but still beautiful.
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