One Ride, One Washout

 I’ve wimped out.

After taking a great ride, yesterday, to Connecticut, I was going to pedal out to Somerville, New Jersey so I could…watch other people pedal.

But when I woke up this morning, I couldn’t see out my windows.  It had nothing to do with anything I imbibed with my post-ride ravioli with Salsa Giustina*. Rather, my window panes were sheets or curtains of cascading comet-tails of rain.

Photo by Dave Sanders for the New York Times.

I wouldn’t have minded riding in gentler rain: Three of my bikes have fenders and I could’ve worn my rain jacket.  Also, it’s pretty warm today, in a late spring-almost summer sort of way, so a shower would feel nice.  But I am not about to start a ride in a near-zero-visibility torrent and the prospect of standing in a downpour to watch races—even if they are part of the once-a-year Somerville event—just doesn’t appeal to me.

Oh well.  Maybe, if the rain lets up a bit later, I’ll go for a ride—or to the Botanical Garden.  I’ve been there twice since I moved next to it (and got a free membership):  to see the lilacs a couple of weeks ago, and for the orchid show and cherry blossoms last month, just after I moved in. It’s funny, really, that I’ve been there twice (and a few times before I moved here) but I am one of those New Yorkers who has never been to the Statue of Liberty!

*—Fresh tomatoes, garlic, onion, mushrooms and red sweet peppers, simmered in olive oil with sliced black olives and seasoned with rosemary, freshly-ground black pepper and squeezed lemon.  Like many such concoctions, it’s best when it’s a couple of days old:  I made it on Thursday night.

A Little Too Close?

 Call me a prude…but shouldn’t they be on a tandem?

An Extracurricular Activity We Didn’t Have

 Mention “bike gang” and, for most people, images of burly, bearded, tattooed (How many more past participle adjectives can I use?) men come to mind.

Some folks in Plymouth, Massachusetts want to put a stop to one.  And it’s not because the “bikers” are breaking the sabbath—although I’d bet that some are playing loud music.

I doubt those bikers have beards or tattoos because, well, they’re middle school pupils.  And the bikes they’re riding aren’t Harleys, Triumphs or “rice rockets.” 

Some residents, however, fell as menaced by those boys on bicycles as they might by a pack of motorcycles thundering down their streets. The boys—whom police describe as members of a school “bicycle gang.”—allegedly buzz by pedestrians on sidewalks and stall traffic by riding—and popping wheelies—in front of cars.

I think the real reason why the cops want to fine the kids (or their parents) is not so much for their behavior. (What kid hasn’t popped a wheelie?) ln fact, the feelings of some parents were echoed by one who “enjoys” seeing the kids.  Rather, I think people’s concerns lie with their kids performing stunts in traffic and disrupting or endangering people—whether pedestrians, drivers or other cyclists—who are simply navigating their days.