Where Am I? In My Favorite Season

What is your favorite time of year for cycling?

For me, the answer has varied throughout my life.  I guess it had a lot to do with my over-arching mood at that time in my life.  For example, I have loved Fall riding at different times for the colorful foliage, the sunset light that simmers into a chill, or just the melancholy (definition:  aesthetically sad) feeling. 

Right now, I might say the month of May because--ironically--because of its colors, which include many shades of purple.  But one thing I truly love is that there is more daylight with each day:  a trend that will continue until late in June, when Summer begins.

Those extra minutes and hours of daylight mean that even if I am busy during the morning and afternoon, I can take a ride late in the day.  I have lights, but I prefer to ride in daylight whenever I can.

Which I did yesterday.  After pedaling to the World Trade Center, I took the PATH train to Jersey City and rode down to Bayonne, where I crossed the bridge into Staten Island--and the Ferry.

I took these photos with my iPhone.  Depending on which way I turned, each was recorded as a different locality.  This one is recorded as "Bayonne"

and these are "Brooklyn"

Even this

which is every tourist's vision of the Manhattan skyline, is marked "Brooklyn."  I took all of those photos within a couple of minutes, from the ferry deck, and did nothing more than turn at a slightly different angle with each shot.

Ironically, I would ride through Brooklyn on my way home.

Marching, Or Pedaling, To Our Own Drummers—Or Guitarists

 I have to admit that along with the mental and physical health benefits—and sheer pleasure—cycling has given me, something that keeps me in the saddle is that it still feels subversive sometimes.

During my junior and senior years in high school, I definitely was pedaling to my own drummer (or guitar player: they were my real musical heroes, along with Bob Dylan) when my peers were leaving their Schwinn Varsities and Continentals, Raleigh Records and Grand Prixes (Is that the proper plural?) and, in a few cases, Peugeot UO8s, the moment they got their drivers’ permits.

Since then, I’ve been in the minority for most of my life: In previous posts, I recalled how I often pedaled rural roads, suburban subdivisions and city streets without encountering another adult cyclist. Then, as now, some saw me as a nuisance or even a threat:  Even during the last years of the Cold War, a man or woman astride two wheels instead of behind one and on four was linked, in some minds to socialism or communism (which, although different, were and are conflated).

Even today, as adults—mainly young ones—riding to school or work, or for fun, are more common here in New York and in other places, I still feel that bicycles are vehicles, if you will, for changes.

I was reminded of that during a late-day ride, when I was greeted by this grand dame at MOMA/PS1.

Along the way, I pedaled along a familiar path on the Long Island City waterfront.  If I were just a little more self-centered (which would be saying something!), I’d say the Parks Department landscapers were paving the way for me.

I’m told that people whose favorite color is purple tend to march, or pedal, to their own drummer, or guitarist or lyricist.

Signaling

With one exception, each of my bicycles has a bell.  They are effective in signaling pedestrians and other cyclists I pass (yes, even at my age).

Well, most of the time, anyway.  Sometimes folks are wearing headphones—not just any headphones, but the kind that seem to completely seal off outside sounds. I ring, I shout, they don’t hear me.  On more than one occasion, I’ve tapped people on the shoulder or brushed them.

I can almost understand why someone would design a bike around a horn loud enough to clear the way for a ship full of grain in the Bosporus Strait.