Along For The Ride

 We’ve all seen sepia-toned photos of mustachioed, too-hatted men astride “penny-farthing” (high-wheeler) bikes.

You may even have seen an image of a woman—probably in “bloomers”—on one of those machines.

But what about the kids?

The Longest And Best Afternoon—So Far

 Yesterday, my afternoon ride ended with me riding into the sunset.

I started around 12:30 and made a stop at Addeo’s, one of the best “finds” in my still-new neighborhood. I bought a small loaf of pane de casa—a crusty exterior surrounding a fluffy, almost-creamy interior (Did I just describe an old-school New York Italian?)—to accompany the tomato, hard-boiled egg and piece of Cabot’s Seriously Sharp white Cheddar in my Acorn trunk bag.

La-Vande, my trusty King of Mercia, made those miles out to the Rockaways feel like a magic carpet ride, even though I was pedaling into headwinds and its chain and cogs are about ready for replacement. Interestingly, when I made the left turn off the Veterans Memorial Bridge into Rockaway Beach, I felt I was riding a tailwind all the way to Point Lookout, even though the wind pushed, however slightly, at my right side.

I couldn’t help but to notice that I hadn’t seen much traffic on the streets or very many strollers or dog-walkers on the Rockaway or Long Beach boardwalks. On my way back, I found the reason: Orthodox Jewish men in drag (though they never would refer to it that way) or otherwise becostumed—for Purim.

Their revelry reverberated through my being: I felt such joy simply from riding my bike that no matter which way I turned, I felt a breeze at my back.  And i didn’t see the sun setting into tbe ocean: I saw just flickering, but still glowing, light and waves all the way to Coney Island.

So ended my longest ride so far this year:  130 kilometers, or 80 miles.

A "Cathedral" Under Hell Gate

Yesterday I reprised the late-afternoon ride I took two days before:  a 72 km (45 mile) round trip from my apartment to Fort Totten and back.

The air was a bit chillier, but brighter, than on my previous ride.  Perhaps that accounted for my seeing fewer cyclists, though I encountered more bundled-up people with their dogs along the waterfront path that winds under the Throgs Neck Bridge.  But the biggest difference--for me, anyway--was that I started a bit later.  You might say that I was playing chicken with dusk:  I got to my apartment in under some of the last flickerings of twilight.

The return leg brought me to the Connector between Randall's Island and the Bronx.  It runs underneath the viaduct that ushers Amtrak trains toward Manhattan and Penn Station.  There, I was treated to an early glow of sunset:

That light proved irresistible to me:  I slowed down and, of course, stopped to take pictures, even at the risk of ending my ride in the dark--which wouldn't have been the worst thing, as I'd brought lights. 

 

Later, I relished the irony of feeling as if I'd entered a cathedral while pedaling under a viaduct that continues from the Hell Gate Bridge.