Jill Tarlov, R.I.P.

Sad news:  Jill Tarlov, the Connecticut woman who was struck by a cyclist in Central Park, has died.

As of this writing, no charges have been filed against the cyclist.  That he remained at the scene, I think, shows that he isn't a scofflaw.

 

And, as I said in an earlier post, I don't want to place blame anywhere.  There are indeed reckless cyclists.  Perhaps I was one in my youth; I don't think I'm one now.  I try not to be, anyway.  I think the same could be said for most cyclists.  At the same time, most pedestrians are careful, as Ms. Tarlov probably was, but sometimes they let their guard down.

Anyway, after this incident, I don't think I'll be riding in Central Park any time soon.  I very rarely ride there, as I said the other day.  I simply cannot enjoy a ride when I have to dodge pedestrians, skaters, skateboarders, horses and carriages and food vendors' carts.   I think the park is actually more congested than the streets and the hazards are less predictable.  I actually feel safer on most streets than I do in Central Park.

Greeting Me

This morning I had a visitor.

Is he/she a bug?  A baby bird?


This interesting creature took up residence on my LeTour some time since Thursday night, when I last used the bike.  It had been parked on the street ever since.

Maybe he/she likes black metal.  Hmm...a new Black Sabbath fan, perhaps?

NIMBY, NOMBY And NOMBE

NIMBY stands for "Not In My Backyard".

We could have our own version, NOMBY, which would mean "Not On My Bike...Yet">

I said that about STI, clipless pedals and a myriad of other bicycle parts and accessories.  

Perhaps there could be another acronym, NOMBE--"Not On my Bike, Ever",

I think this would fall into that category:

 The Scootrix Bike Noise Maker makes me think of the bike radios Radio Shack used to offer in every color in which ice pops were ever made.  But Scootrix is to those radios as modern bike computers are to the old Lucas cyclometers.  Scootrix can make rocketship roars, police siren wails, hot rod screams or--get this--the sound of a UFO, whatever that is.

All right, this accessory isn't NOMBE for me; it's NOMBY.

How And Why A Cyclist Struck A Pedestrian In Central Park

I very rarely ride in Central Park.

Perhaps that makes me a jaded, cynical New Yorker—you know, the kind who think “only tourists” go to the Statue of Liberty, take in a Rockettes show or go to the Village and expect to see musicians, artists and writers living “bohemian” lives.

To tell you the truth, I’ve never been to the Statue or Radio City Music Hall.  And I can’t remember the last time I walked around in the Village.  

I also don’t go into the Park very often for any reason.  Don’t get me wrong: It’s a lovely place, a masterpiece of urban landscape architecture.  And a couple of laps in it can give you a good mini-workout.

Something that happened yesterday reminded of why I so seldom pedal into, or around, the Park.  A 31-year-old man was riding at a good clip when a woman nearly twice his age crossed into the lane.  He shouted for her to get out of the way.  Neither he nor she had time to get out of each other’s paths.  Even if they had, they probably wouldn’t have had any room to maneuver:  On a clear, mild day, the bike lanes are full of cyclists of all kinds:  racers, wannabes, other athletes-in-training on bikes, those who are riding to unwind, the ones (usually tourists on rental bikes) who want to take in the sun and a leaf-fluttering breeze with the skyline as their backdrop and those who want to be seen in the latest team kit and the most expensive bike they could find.

In other words, the bike lanes are clogged with cyclists of varying abilities, pedaling at various speeds and with even more disparate levels of awareness of their surroundings. 

Even the least alert cyclist is probably paying more attention than some people who are strolling across the meadows and around the lake.  I don’t mean to impugn all pedestrians in the park; I am simply saying that those on foot—especially tourists—are more likely to let their guard down while walking through the park than cyclists are while rounding the turns.

That is not to say that neither the woman who was struck—or, for that matter, the cyclist—is to blame.  Rather, the incident should serve as a cautionary tale for everyone who goes to the Park.   That is also not to say the Park can’t be enjoyed by all: Those who ride, walk, run, skate, skateboard or otherwise venture into, around or through the park simply need to act more or less as if they all were motor vehicles on the streets.

As for me, I probably won’t be riding in Central Park any time soon because it’s become so crowded.  I actually feel as though I have more space on most streets.  And the traffic is more predictable.

The woman--Jill Tarlov of Fairfield, Connecticut--has been declared brain-dead.  The cyclist--identified as Jason Marshall--has not been charged, though the NYPD says they're still investigating the incident.

Late Summer

 While taking an apres-work ride on the paths of Astoria Park and Vernon Boulevard, I couldn't help but to think about how they--and the other streets and paths I've been pedaling--will soon be covered with leaves.

Scottish Trophies

Tomorrow Scottish voters will vote to decide whether to secede from the United Kingdom and form their own nation.

The question on the ballot is simple:  "Should Scotland be an independent country?"  Voters can only check "yes" or "no".

The latest polls indicate that the vote could go either way.  I am not going to make a prediction or take a position on this blog.

If the "yes" voters rule the day, they might want a "trophy" from fellow Scot Reagan Appleton:

A Meditation On Yoga And Cycling

How often do you go for a bike ride to "clear your mind"?  Or "to think about" something or another?  To "de-stress"? Or "focus"?


It probably wouldn't surprise you that I've hopped on my bike many, many times for those reasons or to free my spirit. I know, that last phrase sounds misty and musty and woo-woo, but there it is. 


Given that I've spun my wheels to get my mental wheels spinning (or to give them a rest), it might surprise you to know that I've never done yoga or engaged in any sort of meditation practice.  Oh, I've gone to seminars, workshops and classes on various topics that began with exercises that called for participants to be conscious of their breathing and other basic functions.  But I've never taken yoga classes, gone on zen retreats or done anything of that sort. 


I've had acquaintances and friends--including one with whom I rode fairly regularly for a few years--who spent weekends and vacations going to ashrams and such.  I have even entertained the thought of doing so myself.  But I've never gotten to it.  I don't feel guilty or that something is missing in my life.  It just occurs to me that perhaps that lapse is rather odd, considering how I sometimes spend my bike rides.





So, what started this rumination, you ask?  I ran across an announcement of a yoga-and-bicycling weekend retreat that took place the weekend before last at the Sivananda Ashram Yoga Ranch in the Catskill Mountains, about 200 kilometers from where I live.


Somehow I get the feeling that riding with a yogi would be a very interesting experience.

She-roes On Wheels

I grew up at the tail end of a generation in which boys (of all ages) venerated comic-book superheroes.  We had the Green Hornet, Captain America, Spiderman, the Hulk and, of course, Superman, among others.


As I recall, the only female superhero was Wonder Woman.  There was Batgirl, but I never thought of her as a hero (heroine) because she always seemed subordinate to Batman, and even Robin.


Now, I could tell you that the dearth of girls with superpowers is the reason why I never was never a fan of the superhero genre.  I didn't hate it, mind you:  I just never could care about it.


(By the way, that's more or less the way I feel about science fiction and fantasy.  It's not that I think of them as inferior genres:  I simply never could, for whatever reasons, immerse myself in them.)


Still, I have to wonder how my life might have been different had I grown up seeing something like this:







She's the creation of Thought You Knew founder Alexis Finch.  The lissome lass (!) in the drawing appeared in TyK's Bicycle Pinup Calendar fo 2012.


Ms. Finch says Thought You Knew is a "knee-jerk reaction to the lack of strong women as cycling role models in Chicago.  She explains she was "tired of leaving my sexuality at the door to get taken seriously in bike shops" and "frustrated at seeing so many women sitting on the sidelines at bike events".


For that alone, Ms. Finch sounds like a hero for me!

Wish I Could Be There

Now this looks like an end-of-summer ride I'd like:





Actually, given that summer has not yet ended (at least, not officially) and that it's in  northern Florida (where summer doesn't end until around Halloween), perhaps it can't really be considered an end-of-summer ride.


But it looks like fun nonetheless!

Where These Tracks Could Lead

Back when I was doing a pretty fair amount of off-road riding, I often sluiced through the hills and gullies of Forest Park in Queens.  I was living in Park Slope then, and the park--which was bigger and less agressively policed than Prospect--was about half an hour away. So, on a spring or summer day, I could get in a ride after work.

Since I sold my Bontrager and stopped riding off-road, I have cycled to Forest Park, but not in it.  That is, until today.

Most of the park lies to the west of Woodhaven Boulevard.  But the part to the east is more thickly wooded and has a few other interesting geological features the other side lacks.  (Or, perhaps, the west side had them but they were obliterated by the golf course, bandshell and other things built there.)  I was riding south, toward JFK airport, when I espied one of the paths I used to ride.  It wasn't very long and ended abruptly in the trotting course, where other cyclists and I used to upset the horse riders.  I didn't see any today.

But I saw something more interesting, at least to me (or in terms of this blog):

 Did I never notice the track all those times I rode off-road?  Or did I forget about it?

When I chanced upon it, a cute tuxedo cat scurried across.  I don't know how long it's been since a train last rumbled and clattered over it, but I'm sure it's been decades.   It parallels a Long Island Rail Road (Yes, it's spelled as two words!) line that runs through another part of the neighborhood.  Perhaps some now-discontinued branch of the line ran here.  Or, maybe, freight trains:  The Atlas Park mall is about a kilometer to the southwest.  It used to be an industrial park (That phrase seems so strange) that, at one time, housed General Electric, Kraft, Westinghouse, New York Telephone and other large companies.  There are still some small factories as well as warehouses near the mall.

Anyway, I can't see abandoned railroad tracks without thinking, "Now this would be a great bike path!"  Old rail lines have been so re-purposed in other places; if the same were done to the tracks I saw today, they could be linked to the nearby section of the Brooklyn-Queens Greenway , which might one day be a continuous greenway that connects Brooklyn and Queens. 

Shifting Reversals

When someone displays a flag upside-down, it's usually a sign of protest.

Other emblems and objects are posted with their downsides up, it can be a signal of distress or surrender--or a message to someone who's "part of the club", so to speak.

So, what does it mean when a bicycle part--a derailleur, specifically--is made with its logo turned on its head?:

This "Vic" derailleur was made in China for Sugino during the mid-1990's.  It was designed for use with six-speed index systems.  That alone could be a reason for the upside-down logo:  By the '90's, only the cheapest department-store bikes came with six cogs in the rear. Perhaps Sugino, which has made many high-quality cranksets over the years (I ride four!) didn't want people to know they were "slumming" it in the low-end market!

(Ironically, the only other Sugino-branded derailleur was a real gem:  a rebadged SunTour Superbe Pro with an even nicer finish than the original, which is saying a lot!)

In contrast, the reversed logo on this next derailleur can be seen as an example of the many lapses in workmanship or quality control to be found in products manufactured in Soviet-era factories:

 

 To be fair, according to Michael Sweatman (author of the Disraeligears website), this Tectoron KS-01 derailleur is well-made:  strong and tight spring and pivots, smooth-spinning pulleys and no steel or plastic anywhere in sight. It's also only about 15 grams (about half an ounce) heavier than a current Campagnolo Record or Shimano Dura-Ace rear derailleur.  Most important, I would expect it to work reasonably well for a derailleur of its time (1978):  After all, its design is based almost entirely on the Campagnolo Nuovo Record derailleur of the same vintage.  Its only real fault is that it seems to have been finished in a way only Stalin (or, perhaps, Hoxha) could love. 

The next, and last, derailleur I'm going to show lacks the nasty charm (Is that an oxymoron)--and almost every other virtue--of the Tectoron:

Triplex, based in the Spanish Basque city of Eibar (also home to the--justly--better-known Zeus), Triplex made derailleurs and other components that, from three or four meters away, looked like Campagnolo's offerings.  Unlike their crosstown rivals--and other manufacturers of Campy knock-offs--Triplex never made anything that even remotely approached the quality or durability of the venerated Italian innovator.   I can say this, having seen a few Triplex changers--as well as those from many other Campagnolo imitators during the '70's and '80's--when I worked in bike shops.

Hmm,,,Would mounting a Triplex with the logo right-side up have improved the performance or durability?

 

Sheltered From The Ruins Of 9/11

As you aware (I'm sure), today marks thirteen years since the Twin Towers of the World Trade Center were destroyed.

There's nothing I can say about the terrible events of that day that hasn't already been said, except for this:  Whatever the truth about it is, it probably won't be known during my lifetime.

That said, I'm writing to point out something that's on display at the 9/11 Memorial Museum, which opened in May.  (The Memorial opened on the ten-year anniversary in 2011.)

The bicycle rack, and bicycles attached to it, were found mostly intact on Vesey Street.  Ironically, Five World Trade Center, a low-rise office building just to the south of the Twin Towers, shielded the bikes and rack from the destruction that befell the Twin Towers.

Only one rider stepped forward to reclaim his bicycle.  To this day, the identities--and fates--of the owners of the other bikes are not known.  Given that the Towers were struck by Flight 11 at 8:46 am, one or more of the owners may well have been a messenger making that day's first delivery--or a restaurant delivery worker bringing some executive his or her coffee and bagel.

 

Flipping At The End Of The Season

Summer doesn't end--officially, at least--for another two weeks.  To most people here in the US, it ended last week, the day after Labor Day.  Most colleges began their new academic years just before then; most elementary and high schools (at least in this country) started just after.


Some people try to get in one last bike tour or some other adventure before going back to work or school.  Someone whose nom de You Tube is "Chainless" decided to end his summer in his own unique fashion:

A Parking Performance

A couple of weeks ago I wrote a post about strange and interesting bike-parking racks.


Well, I came across another--this one in Lawrence, Kansas:

From Ride Lawrence

These were installed behind the new Theatre Lawrence.  The local Rotary club donated the materials.  Blacksmith Kate Dinneen turned them into a structure that suggests actors holding hands and bending forward in a company bow at the end of a performance.


She should join in that bow!

New Light In Long Island City

Superstorm Sandy flooded Recycle-A-Bicycle's Long Island City shop, which is only a pedal stroke or two from the East River.  So, it was no surprise that the mural on the outside of the building had faded badly.


So local artists Sunny Hossain (a student at a nearby school), Pasqualina Azzarello and Alex Cook teamed up to give the old building new life:





And they got a well-deserved parade:





Their friends and family are justly proud:

Why Do The Editors Of "Bicycling" Think New York Is The Best City For Cycling In The USA?

If you read Bicycling, you already know the magazine has just rated my hometown, New York City, as the best city for cycling in the USA.

I am always suspicious of "best of" ratings in any subject. Even when using the most objective criteria, people come to different conclusions about what is "best".

Now, I grant you that more people are riding bikes now than at any other time I can recall.  Best of all, the riders aren't all lycra-clad racer wannabes or twenty-year-olds on tires wider than those on a Hummer.  People are actually riding to work, shop, visit galleries and museums and attend concerts, ballgames and school. Some are riding, well, to ride.

We also have bike lanes, some of which are completely segregated from the streets.  And, of course, we have a bike-share program that has proved immensely popular.  These would have been all but unimaginable only a few years ago.  Moreover, the number of bike shops has grown exponentially a decade after it seemed that online retailers would wipe out all but a few brick-and-mortar establishments. 

But--not to dump Gatorade on anybody's Gran Fondo--I have to wonder whether all of the things I've mentioned actually make New York the "best" cycling city.

Now, it's hard to argue that a bike-share program isn't good for a city's cycling infrastructure and culture.  On the other hand, as I've mentioned in other posts, bike lanes don't necessarily make cycling safer or entice more people to ride.   For one thing, some are so poorly-designed that they actually put cyclists in more peril than they would have found themselves while cycling on the street.  This is particularly true in intersections or spots where lanes begin or end.  For another, some motorists become resentful--and, as a result more agressive and confrontational-- because they feel the lanes have taken parking spaces and roadway against them.  

Even more to the point, when bicycles are segregated from traffic, motorists don't learn how to interact with bicycles, and cyclists don't learn the safest ways to ride.  As I've mentioned in at least one other post, such awareness is what makes many European cities safer (or, at least, to seem so) than their counterparts in the US.

Finally, I have noticed that the Big Apple Bike Boom, if you will, is not spread across the city.  I see many other cyclists on the streets of my neighborhood, Astoria, which is the northern end of what I like to call "Hipster Hook".  The communities of Long Island City, Greenpoint and Williamsburg, as well as the area around the Navy Yard, are part of it, and are full of young, well-educated, sometimes creative and often ambitious people, most of whom are white.  Those characteristics are shared by the cycling-rich neighborhoods of (mostly downtown) Manhattan.  

On the other hand, one still finds relatively few cyclists in the poorer and darker (in residents' skin hues) neighborhoods of central and eastern Brooklyn, upper Manhattan, southeast Queens, the north shore of Staten Island or almost anywhere in the Bronx.  The same holds true for the older white blue-collar neighborhoods of central Queens, southwestern Brooklyn and much of Staten Island.  Moreover, one almost never sees a female cyclist in any of those areas.   

So, while I am happy to see that there are more cyclists--and, most important of all, more consciousness about cycling--here in the Big Apple, I am not sure that those things make it the "best" cycling city in the US.  And we are certainly nowhere near as bike-centric as any number of European cities are.

Outrunning The Clouds To Spotty Showers

If you've been reading this blog for a while, you may recall that I've written about "playing chicken with the rain."  As often as not, I manage to keep the rain at bay. ;-)

I did the same thing again today.  As I pedaled down 11th Street in Long Island City, I was greeted with this fairly ominous-looking vista:

Most days, the weather across the river in Manhattan ends up in my neighborhood withing a few minutes.  That's because Manhattan lies to the west, the direction from which most of our weather (one notable exception being hurricanes/tropical storms) comes.  When I can't see the spire on Liberty Tower (where the Twin Towers of the World Trade Center once stood), I know it ain't gonna be pretty.

The weather forecasters predicted "spotty showers" for the afternoon before a full-on storm would plow in for the evening.  What else can showers be but "spotty", especially on your clothes?

That is exactly how my ride ended:  with the showers making spots on my tank top and shorts just as I reached my front door.  In the meantime, I managed to make it to Point Lookout and back--105 km, at least.  I say "at least" because I took what I believe to be a slightly longer route--through Brooklyn--home.

Cycling To School

Yesterday I wrote about a sight I saw on my way to school.  To work, actually, but since I was teaching, I guess I could say I was going to school on my bike.

Which is kind of ironic, in a way.  You see, when I was going to school--at least, in the way most people think of it--I didn't ride my bike there.  

From Department of Transport  (UK)

All through my years in elementary school, and into junior high, I lived in Brooklyn.  I was never more than four blocks, or about a third of a kilometer, from any school I attended.  The same was true for just about every one of my peers.  So, nearly all of us walked; a few--believe it or not--were driven.  There weren't any bike racks or other storage facilities where I learned (well, where someone tried to teach me, anyway) reading, writing, 'ritmetic and religion.  

In those days, one almost never saw bikes parked on the street:  When any of us rode, we brought our wheels into the park or into our homes (actually, the basements of our houses or apartment buildings). If we went into a candy store, we propped our bikes by the store; I don't recall anyone's bike being stolen.  (Yes, that was in Brooklyn!)

Even after we moved to New Jersey, we never had to travel far to sit in classes in which I daydreamed about being a girl while my male classmates were thinking about girls.  Maybe a few other kids rode bikes; you knew they were freshmen or sophomores because when they became juniors, they got their drivers' permits and didn't touch their bikes again.

So, I grew up thinking that all of the kids who rode their bikes to school were fresh-scrubbed, blue-eyed Midwesterners  (or, perhaps, Southerners) with blonde pigtails or crewcuts.  Of course, they all rode Schwinns that they got for their birthdays or Christmas and, even when after their bikes were passed on to younger siblings, they looked like they just came out of the showroom.

I didn't pedal to class until I was in college.   Even if I had a driver's license, I couldn't have driven:  Underclassmen weren't allowed to bring cars on campus.  That didn't matter, really, because if I took a class on the other side of town, or the river, I could get there faster than the students who took the campus buses.  And, most of the other things I needed were within easy walking or cycling distance.

The Dawn Of A New Semester

The college semester has begun.  I'm teaching a couple of early morning classes.  This morning, I went in about an hour early to post some materials I'm using in one class.  

There are a number of ways I can ride to work.  This morning, I decided to wend my way through an industrial area of Long Island City.

Now that I think of it, using "wend" and "industrial" in the same sentence seems almost contradictory.  But at the time I rode--about 6:30--there's almost no traffic.  It seems almost bucolic, in a weird sort of way.

And the light is not to be missed:

I wish I'd brought my camera:  I caught this image, such as it is, on my cell phone.  At least there's a glimmering of what I saw.

The Streets Are Their Stage

My mother is wonderful.  She has to be--after all, she raised me! ;-)  Anyone with the patience and fortitude to do that deserves nothing but affection and respect.

Still, if I were to become a mom--which, of course, is impossible unless I adopt or some major advancement in medicine comes along--I want to be like her:

Being a mom like her would mean having a kid like this one:

Both of them have such style:

 Their rear tire needs air. But we can forgive them that, right?

Of course, they are Keri Russell and her son River.  In these photos, they were coursing through Greenwich Village last October.
 

Giving My Regards To Old Broadway

I admit:  Yesterday's post wasn't the most cheerful I've written.  But if I'm going to say anything about the history of the bicycle industry, I have to be honest:  There have been scoundrels in it--though, some might say, fewer than in some other industries.

Now I'll give you a more cheerful picture--literally--from cycling's past.

These folks proudly pedaled along Western Boulevard, a road that extended from Grand Circle (now known as Columbus Circle) to Riverside Drive.  Later, the road would become part of Broadway, the great north-south thoroughfare that cuts, curves, zigs, zags, ascends and descends and even loops over 55 km (about 33 miles) from Battery Park at the lower tip of Manhattan to Sleepy Hollow in Westchester County.

You really have to admire those riders' style.  I do, anyway!  

You Have Nothing To Lose But Your Black Beauty

Today is Labor Day.

Over the past 130 years or so, bicycles have done much to improve the mobility of--and bring pleasure to--countless working people. 

There are, however, dark chapters in the history of the cycling industry.  Now, no bicycle company has ever exerted the same degree of control over the American economy as, say, General Motors once did, or as petrol and financial services companies now lord over much of the world's economy.  Still, some titans of the two-wheel trade have been, in their own ways, as anti-worker and just plain ruthless as the captains of other industries.

One such example was Ignaz Schwinn.  A mechanical engineer by training, he emigrated from Germany to Chicago in 1890 and, with Adolph Arnold, started the company that would bear both of their names until 1967. 

When America's first bike boom--which roughly spanned the last decade of the 19th Century and the first of the 20th--went bust, Schwinn and Arnold acquired several smaller bicycle manufacturers as well as two early motorcycle makers--  Excelsior and Henderson --to create what would become the third-largest motorcycle manufacturer in the United States, trailing only Indian and Harley-Davidson. 

As is too often the case, the company's prosperity was not passed on to its workers. So, on 9 September--a week and a day after Labor Day--in 1919,  the metal polishers, buffers and platers of Schwinn and Excelsior-Henderson went on strike. 

What did those workers want?  A 44-hour workweek and wages of 85 cents an hour.

Unions representing other laborers, in sympathy, boycotted not only Schwinn and Excelsior-Henderson, but also other brands (such as Black Beauty and Harvard)  under which those bicycles and motorcycles were sold.  Herren Schwinn and Arnold soon felt the pinch because, even though the first American Bike Boom was a decade past, many workers were still riding bicycles to work and, sometimes, for recreation.


So what did the august leaders of the company do?  They hired lawyers and got injunctions against the unions whose members were cancelling, or not placing, orders.  They also had striking workers arrested on trumped-up charges of being strike-breakers, employed ex-cons to beat them up or to persuade them to become scabs and even had foremen shoot at the strikers.

Every labor journal of the day mentioned the strike and exhorted readers to support the strikers in any way they could, whether by standing with them physically or participating in the boycott.  From the accounts I have read, it seems that Schwinn had singularly bad relations with its workers; more than one journal said it was OK for Schwinn workers to buy other companies' bicycles and motorcycles.

Hmm...Had I known about this, would I have so badly wanted that Continental I bought when I was fourteen years old?

N.B.:  Schwinn workers also struck in the fall of 1980.  Some blame this work stoppage for the closure of the company's Chicago manufacturing facilities--which, truthfully, were no match for its foreign competitors-- a few of whom, by that time,  were making bikes sold under the Schwinn brand.

Flora And Fauna

I have to admit:  I've never cycled in a desert. 

If I ever do, will I know a cactus when I see one?

From Wanderlust and Lipstick

 

The Day After: Flight

So far, so good. If yesterday's ride was smoother and faster than I anticipated, today's ride made me feel as if I had a smoother pedal stroke than Jacques Anquetil.

I had ridden Tosca, my fixed-gear Mercian, only twice since my accident, and each time for no more than a few kilometers.  So I wondered whether not being able to coast would allow me to ride pain-free for a second consecutive day.

Pain?  What pain?  I felt myself spinning faster and more fluidly with each kilometer I rode, up through Astoria and Harlem and Washington Heights and down the New Jersey Palisades to Jersey City and Bayonne, then along the North Shore of Staten Island to the ferry.

Once I got off the boat in Manhattan, I just flew, without effort.  Granted, a light wind blew at my back, but I was passing everything on two wheels that wasn't named Harley.  Really, I'm not exaggerating.  I even flew by those young guys in lycra on carbon bikes.  

What does that say about me--or Mercian bikes?