How Real New York Cyclists Cross The East River

When you live in any place--especially a major city--for any period of time, you realize that there are certain "things only tourists do".

For example, Parisians don't visit the Eiffel Tower or go to le Boulevard des Champs-Elysees unless they absolutely must.  And, no Parisian--unless he or she is a student or oherwise on a really tight budget--eats in the cubbyhole restaurants and frites stands along la rue de la Huchette, known locally as Allee des Bacteries.

(OK, so I went up the Eiffel Tower once.  But I was new to town at the time!)

Likewise, New Yorkers don't go to the Statue of Liberty or Radio City Music Hall.  We also don't go to the Empire State Building unless we work there.  (The same held true for the World Trade Center.)

What don't New York cyclists do?  Well, the first thing that comes to my mind is this:

From nycentralparktours

These days,  no Big Apple bike rider pedals across the Brooklyn Bridge unless he or she is part of an organized ride-or under extreme duress.

Of course, at one time there was almost no other practical way for a cyclist to cross between Brooklyn and Manhattan.  For many years, the bike/pedestrian lanes of the Manhattan Bridge were closed.  (Recently, the north walkway reopened, making the Manhattan the only New York City crossing with more than one usable bike lane. )  And, if you entered the Williamsburg Bridge, you really had to wonder whether you and your bike would both make it to the other side:  If the condition of the walkway didn't shake you or your bike apart, you and your bike might be parted from each other en route by someone who, shall we say, knew that you were riding a good bike but had absolutely no intention of riding it himself. (Yes, the thugs were all male in those days

But now, the condition of the Williamsburg has greatly improved and, while we might bemoan the proliferation of hipsters in the neighborhoods on either side of the bridge, you have to say at least this much for them:  They're not going to mug you for your bike.  And the north lane of the Manhattan Bridge offers easy access to one bike lane that actually makes sense: the one that separates cyclists from the traffic entering and exiting the bridge and expressways at Sands Street in Brooklyn.

Plus, there are now daytime ferries between Brooklyn and Manhattan.  I've seen people ride their bikes to the boats in Williamsburg and Grand Army Terminal and disembark at Wall Street.

So now New York cyclists don't use the Brooklyn Bridge, not to show how sophisticated they are, but because, at times, it seems as if all of humanity is walking across it.  And, of course, they're not watching for cyclists:  They're craning their necks, taking photos, embracing, eating, drinking or doing almost anything else you can imagine.  And stateboarders are weaving among them. 

So, it's much easier to ride over the Queensborough (what I usually take, as I live near it), Williamsburgh or Manhattan Bridges to Manhattan.  Besides, if you want a view of the Brooklyn Bridge (and the lower New York harbor), your best bet is the south walkway/bike path of the Manhattan.

 

Without Mike Or The Green Light

Now that the latest Gatsby movie is in theatres, I thought a North Shore ride was appropriate.  (I'm still not sure of whether I want to see the movie.)  Anyway, here's one of the novel's most iconic scenes, minus the green light.

Then, on my way back, I stopped for a "snack":

Of course that sign for "Mallow Marsh" was placed during the reign of Mayor Rudolph Giuliani.  Can you imagine Mike Bloomberg allowing such a thing?

The Burn

As I mentioned, on Saturday I rode to Connecticut.  It is my second-longest ride (75 miles or 120 km) this year; only the Memorial Day ride I took to and from Somerville (101 miles or 163 km) was longer.

However, I felt more tired at the end of Saturday's ride, in spite of the fact that I spent some time in the saddle between those two rides.  There are several possible explanations.  

One is that Saturday as a warmer day.(86F or 30 C in Greenwich vs. 72 F or 22C in Somerville). Another is that on the Somerville ride, I did almost all of my climbing on the way out,whereas I had to contend with a couple of upslopes (albeit smaller) on my way home from Connecticut.

But I think the most important factor was the sun.  Both days were nearly cloudless, but I think that in the two weeks between the two rides, the sun's rays had grown more intense.  I used even more sunscreen the other day, but I still burned:

Well, at least I didn't have any interviews today:

I will be more careful about my jewelry selection on my next ride:

From the Unofficial Ride To Biking In Boulder

All right. So that last picture isn't mine. But you get the idea.

At least I didn't get the "waffle burn" on the backs of my hands, even though I was wearing my crochet-backed gloves!

In all, though, I can't say it's any worse than getting "road rash",although the latter can give you bragging rights in some circles.

Finnegan's Ride

Way back in the snows of antiquity, I read James Joyce's Dubliners, Ulysses and Finnegan's Wake.  Call me a philistine, but I haven't touched any of them since.  Not that I wouldn't; I just don't feel the urge to do so.  

Plus, I really think Ulysses--all 800 or so pages--has to be read in one sitting.  I am reminded of that after tuning into WBAI, the local Pacifica radio station, for its annual Bloomsday reading of the book.

Ulysses is a stream of consciousness (or a collection of the world's longest run-on sentences) that describes a single day--16 June 1904.  

One thing I might do some year soon, if I have the money and time, is to go to a Bloomsday bicycle rally in Dublin.  If nothing else, the sight of all of those people, attired in the vetements of the period and riding delivery bikes, riding from pub to pub in through the streets of Dublin.

It's All About The Shoes!

I think I've found my next pair of cycling shoes:

And they'll only cost me $300.

Never mind that they're the wrong size.  They're in my color:  purple.  (Well, OK, lavender).  These shoes are actually much prettier than they appear in this photo, which I shot through a display window.

I mean, what's not to like?  In addition to the lovely color and details, they're from Chanel, made in France:  no knock-offs here.

So where did I find these chaussures carines?

Well, since you're reading this blog, you probably have guessed that I saw them during the course of my ride today.  So, of course, the question becomes:  Where did I ride today?

OK, so Arielle is telling you that it's next to a body of water.  So what other clues can I give?

I don't know how those blotches got onto that photo.  But at least you know that there were boats moored where I cycled today.

And they weren't just any old boats.  Nor were the others I saw at my destination.  They belong to some of the wealthiest people on the planet.

If your "Great Gatsby" associations led you to think I was riding along Long Island Sound, you'd be right.  Except, I wasn't riding much along the Long Island part.

Rather, these photos came from Greenwich, Connecticut.  The consignment shop in which I saw those lavender Chanel ballet flats is just up the hill from the yacht club, where I saw those boats.

You might think that I'd need to butcher modify the shoes to make them suitable for cycling.  I'd have to add a carbon fiber insert to the insole and drill them for cleats.  Or so one would think.

But, given the kinds of pedals I ride these days, I think I could get away with pedaling in those Chanel ballet flats as they are.  Would Coco approve?

The idea that I would use them for cycling made me think of a joke I played on Stella Buckwalter, who worked at Open Road Cycles and later opened, with her then-partner Stelios Tapanakis, Rock'N'Road in Park Slope, Brooklyn.

Orange was her favorite color.  In a thrift store, I found a pair of pumps in that color with 15 cm (6") heels.  

She had recently bought a new bike, onto which she had installed a pair of SPD pedals.

So--you guessed it--I drilled out the soles of those shoes to accept SPD cleats!

She got a kick out of them--even though the shoes were the wrong size.  I figured as much when I found them, but they were only $1--and worth much more than that in the laugh I got out of her.

Of course, drilling the shoe and installing those cleats defeated one of the purposes of off-road SPD shoes and pedals:  It was impossible to walk in those pumps with the cleats on them!  

Then again, knowing Stella, I doubt that she would have tried such a thing, even if the shoes fit!