Today I did something I haven't done in too long: I took an early-morning bike ride, and I wasn't going to work.
There was a time in my life when, if such rides didn't constitute the majority of my cycling, they were at least routine. On days when I worked in the afternoon or evening, I took such rides, and on weekends I got up early to take my long rides.
But I can't recall the last time I did such a ride. Part of the reason is the work schedules I've had. I also can't help but to wonder whether the hormones and other changes have made me into more of a night person: I stay and get up later than I used to. At least I can say that, as often as not, I'm writing or doing some other necessary work when I'm "burning the midnight oil."
Today I made a point of getting out early. For one thing, I wanted to avoid the heat this part of the world would experience later in the morning and afternoon. But I also wanted to remember what it was like to take such a ride.
Back in the day, my early-morning rides were solitary or in the company of other hard-core cyclists, all of them male. The latter kind left me pumped with adrenaline and testosterone: If I went through a day cocky, it was a result of such a ride. On the other hand, the early-morning rides I did alone left me feeling a peace with--if not within--myself and the world around me that I rarely, if ever, attained in any other way.
Today's ride--a little more than an hour and a half on Tosca, my "fixie," left me feeling contented and ready for the rest of the day. That was definitely a good thing on a day which is not structured by outside forces. I needed to do laundry (which I did), but there was nothing I absolutely had to get done today. But I managed to accomplish a couple of other things I could just as easily have put off.
I say this, not to congratulate myself, but to show what a wonderful thing it is to be able to ride early in the morning without going to work.
While riding to Randall's Island last week, I passed the block--9th Street, from the Noguchi Museum to a construction-supply store-- on which I lived before I moved to my current locale.
The day I moved there, nearly a decade ago, was almost frighteningly clear and blindingly hot. I had just left the last long-term relationship in which I'd been involved; I knew I was going to embark upon a part of my life I'd spent my life avoiding but which was absolutely necessary to become the person I've become, for better or worse.
I was struck by how much the light and shadows looked like the ones I saw the day I moved there:
When Velouria came to town for the New Amsterdam Bike Show, we rode down this block. It just happened to be along the way.
I made a wrong turn in the Bronx...
It sounds like the title of noir film, doesn't it? If such a movie were made today--in Hollywood, anyway--someone would tack a "happy" ending on it and the critics would call it "life-affirming" or some such thing.
Anyway, after teaching a class, I took a spin along the East River and into the Bronx. (Sounds so idyllic, doesn't it?) Because of construction (Why do they call it that when they're tearing something apart?), I had to take a detour. I found myself under the ramp for the Willis Avenue Bridge. If you've ridden the Five Boro Bike Tour, you've rolled across that bridge.
Underneath that overpass are some interesting old industrial brick buildings. It's sort of like DUMBO. From one of those buildings hung one of the more interesing--and, unless you know the area, incongruous--signs I've seen:
When I first saw that sign, I thought perhaps someone was making a film. Turns out, the place tunes, repairs and stores pianos. In fact, they've probably tuned at least some of the Steinway pianos that are made in Queens, not far from where I live.
That's all the more reason for me to be surprised if someone hasn't made a film (or part of one) there. It's hard to find a locale that looks more Victorian, in a shadowy sort of way, than that spot where Bruckner Boulevard begins.
Can you guess what comany made this bike, or even where it was made?
At first glance, it looks like a Dutch bike, doesn't it? And, in many ways, it resembles one. But it's at least a few pounds lighter.
I'll show you the men's version of this bike:
Its owner added braided cable housing,toe clips, a TA one-clamp water bottle cage and a Brooks saddle bag. Even if you can't see the decals, there's one detail that should give you a clue as to where these bikes were made.
The headlight has a yellow lens. Until recently, the bikes (and cars) sold in a particular European country came so equipped. That country is, of course, France.
Now do you know who made these bikes? Clue: They were the largest bicycle manufacturer, and one of the leading auto-makers, in Gaul. Oh, yeah, and they made those great pepper mills.
Yes, those bikes were made by Peugeot. When I worked at Highland Park Cyclery, I actually sold one of the women's version. Back in 1982, there was practically no demand for such bikes in the US. And, no "serious" cyclist rode anything but a diamond (a.k.a. "men's") frame. But the customer wanted a stable, upright, sturdy bike. Plus, she liked the style of it.
She wore a skirt when I was fitting the bike to her. She mentioned, just casually (ahem!) that she had long legs for a woman her height. As if I hadn't noticed...
Our relationship lasted, if I recall correctly, about a year. Looking back, I'm surprised it held as long as it did: I was in my early 20's and she was about a dozen years older. She was a surprisingly durable rider, and was a writer. However, beyond cycling and writing, we didn't have much in common. Plus, as the self-help folks like to say, each of us had our issues.
Still, I have some rather fond memories of riding with her. And, I am responsible for the only sale of the women's version of that bike--the Peugeot VX-40--at Highland Park Cyclery. In 1982, that was no small feat, if I do say so myself!
On a hot day, one of the best ways to end a bike ride is with a boat ride. That I did today on the Staten Island Ferry, after a ride on Helene that took me up the Bronx cliffs, across Manhattan, down the New Jersey Palisades into Hoboken, Jersey City and Bayonne, then, finally, over the bridge into Staten Island.
One of the nice things about riding on a hot day with low humidity, as I did today, is that the weather isn't nearly as oppressive as it is with high humidity. On the other hand, if you're like me, you drink anything and everything in sight. Still, I think I got to the Ferry less fatigued than these guys:
Helene is in front; the bikes behind her were ridden by the two recliners. At least nobody can be accused of reading over this guy's shoulder!:
As befitting a high-class English lady with some French culture, Helene was her usual modest self:
With her, the ride was definitely smooth sailing:
