A Once-In-A-Blue-Moon Ride

 Yesterday was a Florida day I  reverse:  It began with rain that fell “fast and furious”: I don’t think it lasted more than 15 minutes. A curtain of clouds remained, sealing this city into a cauldron that became even steamier when the sun peeked out before filling a clearing sky.*

I took a late afternoon ride in that late-summer soup.  So, not surprisingly, what I wore—and I—turned into wet rags.  I needed to do laundry anyway, so after supper, I lugged my dirty, smelly load to my usual laundromat. 

It was closed for “maintenance.”  I figured there had to be another nearby, so I walked down to 34th Avenue, where I encountered this:

Whatever others (and a government agency or two) say, I aver that I am in the middle of my life.  I claim that status because I don’t know when it will end. That means I might not see, again, what I saw last night. Or I might see its next predicted appearance—in 2037–or the one after it.

The Super Blue Moon is one of the rarest celestial phenomena.  You’ve heard the expression “once in a blue moon.” There’s a reason for it:  The “blue” moon is the second full moon in a calendar month.  Because the moon’s cycle is 29.5 days, it’s “blue” only every three years or so.

The name comes from the ok hue the orb sometimes reflects back to earthbound viewers.  But last night’s blue moon shone as bright and silvery-white as a streetlight because it’s a “Super” moon: a full moon that coincides with the perigee, or the moon’s closest approach to the earth. That happens a bit more frequently than a blue moon, but still only three or four times a year.

Thus, seeing a “blue” moon so big and bright won’t happen again until 2037. Whether or not I get to see it, I saw last night’s Super Blue Moon in the middle of my life, after a late-day ride.

*—To anyone who happens to be in Florida (or Georgia, the Carolinas or Virginia):  I hope you’re safe in the wake of Idalia.

A Lane Along A Great Ride

 Bright sunshine, high clouds, temperatures gthat ranged from late-spring to early-summer from brunch time to early-dinner tine.  Those are the perfect conditions for a Sunday ride, right?

There’s no “but” or “however” in this story.  The cherry on top of this Sunday (pun intended) was that I pedaled into the wind on my way to the Greenwich Common in Connecticut—which meant that the same wind stroked my back (and stoked me!) on my way back.

At the Common, I watched folks in their most carefree moments strolling and sashaying in polo shirts tucked into navy or beige chino shorts, frilly dresses and skirts and college T-shirts over gym shorts whose wearers were trying not to show that they were showing that those shorts didn’t come from discount stores.

Was it all a great show?  Or had the ride and weather elevated my dopamine levels higher than someone who paid a visit to the local cannabis shop half an hour ago? All I knew was that I could’ve held the ride, the weather and the day, if not forever, then long enough to, well, write this post.

Oh, and along the way I found a good, if short, bike lane in the Bronx.

Built on a concrete island on Bruckner Boulevard, under the Bruckner Expressway, it runs for about two kilometers from East 138th Street to Hunts Point Avenue.  I saw some evidence that it might be extended further.  Even if it isn’t, I am sure to use it on future rides, as it will allow me to avoid the chaos of delivery trucks, tow vehicles pulling in and out of auto body shops, motor bikes making deliveries or simply trying to outrun young guys who really want to turn Southern Boulevard into their personal race track.

Finding a useful, safe bike lane during a blissful ride on a perfect day: Could a Sunday spin from Queens to Connecticut and back have been any better?

The Best Reason To Close A Shop

Forty years ago yesterday, a bike shop was closed for, possibly, the best reason any shop could have been closed on a Saturday during the summer—on the last weekend before Labor Day, no less.

How do I know about that closure?  I worked in that shop. In fact, the day before was my last day there. 

On 27 August 1983, I accompanied the shop’s owner, his soon-to-be wife and a bunch of our friends and customers on a chartered bus from New Brunswick, New Jersey to Washington, D.C. The purpose of the trip? To join many, many more people in commemorating the 20th anniversary of the March on Washington:  the one that includes Martin Luther King Jr.’s “I have a dream” speech.

Actually, the anniversary was the day after our trip—a Sunday.  But that didn’t make a difference to those of us who participated—and those who supported us.

Among those supporters were, not surprisingly, Black city residents who gave us sandwiches, snacks, fruit, water, coffee, tea, juice, sun visors and other things that helped us on a typically hot, humid day. I couldn’t help but to wonder how many of them were there—or marched—during the original rally, which took place a few weeks after I turned five. (OK, you can do the math, if you are so inclined!)

Today, on the sixtieth anniversary of the March—and the day after the fortieth anniversary of the best shop closure in history—I can’t help but to wonder how many of the people I saw that day, let alone how many marched in the original gathering, are still alive.  To the best of my knowledge, the shop’s owner—Frank Chrinko—and Wendy Novak, the woman who would become his wife, are still very much with us—and should be lauded for having the best reason to close Highland Park Cyclery on a day when, I think, they could have made a decent amount of coin.