In the middle of the journey of my life, I am--as always--a woman on a bike. Although I do not know where this road will lead, the way is not lost, for I have arrived here. And I am on my bicycle, again.
Another Beautiful Fall Day today. If I don't have some really urgent commitment, and I am not out and on a ride, someone should check my pulse!
"Ride me!"
Seriously, it was just one of those days when I couldn't have not ridden, even if I tried. And I don't know what would have motivated me to try.
Anyway, I did the most quintessentially fall ride I could do without taking a train or plane--or accompanying someone who was driving a few hours out of town. You guessed it: I rode to Connecticut again. On Arielle, my Mercian Audax, of course.
This time, though, I changed my route a bit. I've found more segments of the East Coast Greenway I hadn't ridden previously: Today I took it all the way from the Bronx to Rye, which is near the Connecticut line.
Most of the route follows secondary roads that are commercial strips or main streets of residential neighborhoods in several Westchester County towns. Some parts of it are two-lane streets with cars pulling in and out. The drivers, thankfully, seemed cognizant of cyclists and gave me as much of a berth as they could. I also noticed that they were very careful before opening their doors and didn't honk or yell at me when I was just ahead of them and they were trying to pull into a parking spot. Maybe they were in a good mood: After all, it was Saturday and most of them were shopping or getting waffles or ice cream in the cute little stores.
And, where I couldn't find any more ECG signs--near the Rye train station--I followed a hunch and took a left on Purchase Street, which I rode for about a kilometer to a fork, where I decided to hook right onto Ridge Road. Not surprisingly, I had to climb a couple of hills, though they weren't terribly steep or long. And it brought me to Port Chester, where I know the side streets well enough that I could follow them over the state line.
So,on today's ride, I managed to avoid US 1--and the entrance and exit ramps for I-95 and other highways--altogether. That alone was enough to make me happy.
Even better was the opportunity to see the changes in foliage. In just over a week, I saw more reds and yellows in the trees and bushes.
And, interestingly, some flowers have come into bloom.
Some years, there is a week or so when the Fall seems like a second Spring. The colors are, of course, different, but no less vivid.
To think that I was offered such treats during a ride when I felt really, really good! Today I also realized another reason why I've done my Connecticut Ride so often. It's like one of those meals that offers a nice combination of tastes, textures and even colors. This ride takes me from my block of brick houses, across the park that is Randall's Island, through the industrial areas and shabby but lively tenement-lined streets of the South Bronx, along tree-lined streets in Westchester County and around the vast estates and horse farms of Connecticut. And back again. Pretty good for a day ride, wouldn't you say?
Bigger is better. Height makes right. Size matters. You've heard all of those ridiculous notions before. Of course I don't believe any of them: If I did, I never could have undergone a certain medical procedure that has allowed me to become, completely, the person I am. There was, however, a time when I believed "bigger is better", "height makes right" and "size matters". When I was a kid, I wanted to "graduate" to bigger bikes. That meant going from a bike with 20 inch wheels--like most "choppers" and other kids' bikes of the time--to one with 26 inch wheels, like the kind found on three-speed bikes. Later, I would believe--as many other people did--that 27 inch wheels were one of the things that made ten-speed bikes "better" than other kinds of bikes. Now we have "29ers"--which are really just 700C wheels with wider rims and tires. That size is used mainly for mountain bikes, though I have heard of a few other kinds of bikes made with it. Not to be outdone, Patrick Ng has designed a "39er":
Yes, that bike has 39 inch wheels. Of course, such a bike cannot have the same frame dimensions as a 29er, let alone a 26 inch mountain bike or 700C road bike.
As an example, the chainstays measure 637 mm and the total wheelbase is 1487mm. To put that into perspective, a typical 29er has chainstays of about 440 to 465 mm and wheelbase of 1160 to 1220 mm. Touring bikes with 700 C wheels have similar dimensions, while racing bikes are shorter.
Perhaps the wildest part of this bike's design is its steering: The handlebars are nestled inside the main triangle and control the fork by a pair of cogs linked with a chain. The handlebars are so placed to give a riding position roughly similar to that of a 29er bike and to prevent massive toe overlap with the front wheel. Perhaps you are scared or appalled by this bike. Or you might want to be the first kid on your block to have it. If you're of the latter category, you're out of luck: This bike is no more than an artist's rendering of Patrick Ng's whimsical design, and there are no plans to produce it. This bike, however, is not the first far-fetched machine Mr. Ng has designed. Check out his Ridiculous Bikes--Roost Carbon: Only the 28 inch wheels bear any semblance to current standards. Its 188 mm rear axle spacing (vs. 130 on current road bikes and 135 on mountain bikes) is needed to accomodate the 13-speed cassette with a range of 11 to 53 teeth. And, with its 1500 mm wheelbase, I can only imagine (as if I want to!) how it handles. Patrick Ng may have designed these bikes tongue-in-cheek, and we can laugh at them. But one thing we should have learned in recent years is that no idea is so ridiculous that it won't become an industry standard. If anyone decides to produce 39ers, the marketing campaign could include one of my favorite Queen songs:
Now, if someone wants to outdo Mr. Ng, he or she would have to design a "49er". That person could get rich by linking it to a certain San Francisco sports team. Of course, it would have to be painted red and gold!
Maybe, even after all of these years, I'm not a real New Yorker after all: I still enjoy the views when I'm crossing some of this city's bridges. This morning, as I wheeled across the Queens span of the RFK Memorial/Triborough Bridge, a woman who I thought was out for her morning run stopped mid-span to take photos of the skyline. I didn't mutter "tourist" or any of the other epithets a jaded resident of the Big Apple might hurl at such a person. In fact, I stopped to snap a picture. But I didn't take one of those photos that includes silhouettes of the UN Towers and the Empire State and Chrysler Buildings. Instead, I turned my camera (my cell phone, actually--the woman was using a real camera) in the opposite direction:
The Hell Gate Bridge, which carries Amtrak trains to and from New Haven, Providence and Boston, winds through the Bronx and upper Manhattan. They are to the west (and north) of Astoria, where I live and begin my commute. You can see the skies turning gray to the west. That meant, of course, that the clear skies I was enjoying as I crossed the bridge would, more than likely, move across the river. And, depending on what time of day I went home, I could contend with rain while crossing the bridge or on the other side. Most of the commutes I've done to jobs I've had in the past have taken me along streets in residential, commercial or industrial areas. I get to sample all three during my current commute. However, riding to my current job also involves riding over the Queens span of the RFK/Triborough Bridge which, at mid-point, is separated from the East River by about 90 meters (145 feet). It's a bit like riding in a helicopter: It allows me views I never had on previous commutes. It also allows me to see incoming weather in ways I never could before. I still listen to the weather report before I leave and prepare myself accordingly. As useful as that is, there's still nothing like seeing a real-time video of the day's conditions unfolding. The raingear is in my pannier, but literally seeing what's on the horizon prepares me in a unique way for a ride home that could be very different from my ride to work.
In earlier posts, I've written about "playing chicken with the rain". On days when precipitation the clouds look ready to drop buckets, I might for a ride, all the while daring the sky to deal me a deluge. I feel I've "won" the "game", if you will, when I arrive home (or wherever I'm going) just as the first drops plop against my skin. Today there was absolutely no risk of rain. It was one of those perfect fall days, with the kind of sunlight that feels as if it's trickling through leaves even though the sky is blue. And the wind and the waves echo a softly crackling flame. At least, they seem as if they should. The waves...Yes, I took an afternoon ride to the Rockaways. Although the water is still warm enough (at least for someone like me) to swim, the air was cool enough that nobody tried. In fact, the only people in the water were a few surfers.
But I was playing chicken. You see, I started in the middle of the afternoon and lingered on the boardwalk (actually, it's concrete now) at Rockaway Park. A month or two ago, I could have lingered--or ridden--even longer than I did. Well, actually, I could have done that today, too. But I was also thinking about the time of day--or, more precisely, the time at which the day would end.
After lingering, I rode some more along the boardwalk and, after crossing the Veterans Memorial Bridge into Beach Channel and Howard Beach, took a circuitous route through streets of wood-frame houses--some with boats in their driveways--away from the ocean and bay and up the gradual climb to Forest Park, right in the middle of Queens. From Forest, I rode streets I've ridden dozens, if not hundreds of times before as the sun began its descent just beyond the railroad tracks and the East River. Yes, I got back to my apartment just as the twilight began to deepen into evening and the street lamps were lighting. I had lights with me-- I always keep them in my under-seat bag--but I didn't have to use them.
In other words, I played chicken with the sunset. And "won"!
Every city's mass transit system has its own rules about bringing bicycles onto trains, buses and other vehicles within the system. Here in the New York Metropolitan area, each part of the system seems to have its own regulations. For example, on PATH trains, bikes are allowed only in certain cars on the train, while on Long Island Rail Road and Metro North and New Jersey Transit trains, bikes are allowed during certain hours and in certain areas of each car. On the other hand, in New York City subways, there don't seem to be any rules at all. At least, I haven't found any, aside from a prohibition against locking a bicycle to any part of a station, such as a gate. But there is a certain unwritten etiquette which, from what I've seen, nearly every cyclist follows. Mostly, it's common courtesy: Don't block doorways or get in people's way, and try to keep your grimy bike away from passengers' clean clothes. And try not to bring your bike on the train during rush hours! I try not to bring my bike onto the subway at all, not out of fear, but mostly out of pride. I prefer to ride the entire length of my route whenever I can; I'd rather be riding my bike on even the busiest streets than wheeling or holding it in a crowded subway car. If I've had a mechanical breakdown or some other problem (thankfully, these things have been rare for me) and have no other way of getting to a bike shop, home, work or wherever else I have to be, I'll get on the train. Also, if I stay out later than I'd planned and I don't have lights with me, or if it's a cold day and it starts to rain heavily, I'll get on the train for safety and health reasons. But I try, at all costs, to avoid "bailing out" because of tiredness. That, to me, is an admission of defeat. I can't remember the last time I did that, but I can recall one or two occasions when I got on the train because I just didn't feel like riding anymore. I wonder what this guy was thinking and feeling when he got on the train:
