Privilege

 I hope yesterday's post didn't depress you.  That wasn't my intention, though much of what I saw made me sad.  Rather, I was just trying to portray a bike ride that was--by intention as well as by accident--different from others I've done, even though it traversed routes I've taken many times before.

Plus, it put a few things in perspective.  At first, I wondered--as I always do when I see a favorite bike route damaged--when things would be back to "normal".  But I soon realized that "normal", at least as I'd defined it, no longer existed.  Even if everything that was damaged or destroyed were to be rebuilt or reconstructed to a semblance of what was before the storms, things wouldn't be the same, for there would be the memory of what was.

But, more to the point, what is "normal" now for the people who lost homes or simply had their lives disrupted?  A few might relocate.  However, most, I suspect will stay.  But even if their homes and communities were (or could be) restored to what they were before the storms, their lives have changed,and will change more.  

Save for my bikes, books and cats, I may not have had much before the storm.  But at least I didn't lose any of those things, or people who are in my life.  I still could ride to the Rockaways; I have a wonderful bike to ride.  Compared to the people I saw yesterday, I am indeed privileged.

Cycling After The Tide

This sign should have given me some idea of what I was getting myself into:

From 91st Street in Howard Beach--where I saw the inverted sign--I took the bridge into Broad Channel and the Rockaways.  

Broad Channel is a bit like the Louisiana, with colder weather.  It's only a three to four blocks wide, with Jamaica Bay on either side.  Some of the houses are built on stilts; many of the people who live there have never been to Manhattan.  In Broad Channel, it seems, there are as many boats as there are cars or trucks.  Some of them were torn from their moorings and were "beached" in the middle of streets, or in front of houses:

But, not surprisingly, there was more to come.  The retaining wall that separates the bay from the entrance ramp for cyclists and pedestrians of the Cross Bay Bridge was gone.  So was most of a restaurant that stood beside it.

When you arrive in Rockaway Beach, you come to a McDonald's.  You know how powerful the storm was, and how much desperation there is, when you see this:

But the contents of that restaurant weren't the only things gone from Rockaway Beach:

This sandy lot was, just four weeks ago, a community garden and flea market.  But something that had been a part of Rockaway Beach for much longer was also gone:

There was a boardwalk here. It extended from Far Rockaway, near the border with Nassau County, to Belle Harbor, about five miles  along the beach.  Gone, all of it, gone:

Much of Riis Park was cordoned off.  But the part that was still open felt utterly desolate:

There were dunes along this stretch of beach.  I don't know how long those dunes stood, but given the force of the storm, I wouldn't be surprised to learn that they were destroyed in an instant.  

At Riis Park, I met another cyclist. Together we rode to a beach club to which he'd once belonged.  Its parking lot was full of sand, and doors of cabanas were pulled off their hinges.  

He had to go home to his sick wife, but I continued toward Breezy Point.  In normal times, it's a sort of gated community:  One enters it through a kind of tollbooth where security guards stand watch.  Normally, when I ride my bike, they barely notice me at all.  Today, though, a female NYPD officer was checking people who entered.  "Ma'am do you live here," she intoned.  I probably could have lied that I did, or said that I was a volunteer who was meeting other volunteers.  But that didn't seem right:  I could only imagine how residents might have felt about an interloper like me.  

What I had seen up to that point was worse than what I'd seen in the news accounts.  I'm sure it was even worse in Breezy Point; for now, that assumption will have to suffice.

I'll close this post with an observation:  It was, or at least seemed, much colder than I expected.  Of course, that would be par for the course in an area, especially on a day as windy as today was.  However, I also realized that many of the houses and other buildings were empty and still had no electricity or heat.  Perhaps it really was colder due to the loss of ambient heat that normally radiates from buildings.  (It's one of the reasons why, on summer days, central city areas are usually hotter than the "ring" neighborhoods or suburbs.)  So it's not hard to understand why people who are sleeping in tents or in the open air are coming down with frostbite and other ailments.

I hope they can all go home soon.

America's First Bike Path

A running joke among New York City cyclists (particularly those in Brooklyn) concerns the Ocean Parkway Bike Path:  It is the world's first bike path, and looks it.

In other words, maintenance seems to have been deferred ever since it opened in 1894.  

The Ocean Parkway Bike Path when it opened in 1894.

Still, it's an interesting--and even fun--ride for all sorts of reasons.  For one, you can use it to ride from Prospect Park to Coney Island, as I have often done.   For another, it's separated from the pedestrian path and rows of benches by an old railing.  If it's not raining, some of the last remaining Holocaust survivors will share bench space with Hasidic and Orthodox Jewish women and their children, wizened Russian men and Middle Eastern people in various states of being covered up.

Plus, the Parkway is a cross between one of those grand Boulevards you find in European cities, and an urban highway.  That is not surprising, when you consider that Frederick Law Olmstead--who designed Prosepect Park (as well as Central Park, Fairmount Park in Philadelphia and Mount Royal Park in Montreal)--took those boulevards as his inspiration when he built the Parkway. Whereas most European boulevards lead from one grand square or plaza to another (as the Champs-Elysees leads from la Place de la Concorde to l'Etoile), Olmstead's parkways led to or from one of the parks he designed.

Ocean was thus the first Parkway ever built; Olmstead followed it with Eastern Parkway which, as its name indicates, radiates from the park to the eastern edge of Brooklyn.  

Olmstead designed those boulevards in the 1860's, before bicycling became popular.  So, of course, he wasn't thinking about bicycles, let alone automobiles, when he planned his parks and routes.  However, he seems visionary in that it was relatively easy to incorporate bike paths into the Parkway routes as well as in the parks he designed.

But I don't think he planned on the kind of maintenance they would--or, more precisely, wouldn't--receive!

Two Wheels In The Parade

I've been to the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade twice:  once with Eva and the other time with Tammy.  The time I went with Eva was one of the coldest Thanksgiving Days since the first MTDP in 1927; the time I went with Tammy was one of the warmest.  

But I digress.  It's usually the balloons that get most of the attention.  Sometimes an unusually elaborate or extravagant float will show up on the evening news, but the most air time is devoted to the newest and most impressive-looking balloons.

Little attention is paid to the participants on bicycles.  I'm not talking only about the floats that are propelled by one or more pairs of pedals:  I'm thinking about the costumed people on two wheels.  Occasionally, someone will ride a single bicycle or tricycle, but it seems that couples on tandems are the most common velocipedic  parties to the parade.

Working Up An Appetite

How's this for a new category:  an "appetite-enhancement bike ride"?  Apparently, such a ride was organized for today in Sacramento, CA.

Sacramento "Appetite-Enhancement Ride"

I took such a ride--on Tosca, of course-- after family members and I called each other and before I went to my friend Millie's house. It's not the first time my Thanksgiving has followed such a pattern.  Also, not for the first time, I felt that neither the ride nor the day with Millie and her other friends and family was long enough.  

Who said Thanksgiving Day was a time for grueling centuries (although I'm sure some cyclists did them today!) or dietary restraint?

Somehow I don't think these guys took an appetite-enhancement ride:

Stephanie's (see below) boyfriend Tony, his son  Jason and Stephanie's son Stephen.

For that matter, I don't think these folks did, either:

Millie (on left) with her husband John, her friend Joanne, her daughters Stephanie and Lisa, and  Lisa's friend Louis.

When A Favorite Bike Ride Is A Disaster Zone

I think I just figured out the reason (or, at least, a reason) why I've been tired and have had bouts of crankiness and melancholy.  I haven't been on a ride of more than 20 miles in more than a month.  

In Point Lookout, NY.

On the 21st of October, I rode to Point Lookout; the following day, I did a ramble with Lakythia through parts of Brooklyn and down to the Rockaway Peninsula, including Breezy Point. That was the weekend before Sandy struck, and the weekend after the Tour de Bronx.

The destination of many of my rides.

Also, part of the reason for my sadness is having helped, in small ways, the storm's victims in those areas.  Before I went, I had a hard time imagining those places I associate with cycling pleasure as scenes of devastation.  Now, having been to the Rockaway peninsula--one of the most ravaged areas--I'm having a hard time seeing it as the route of a pleasurable bike ride.  That is not the same thing as having memories of riding there:  Of course I will recall many moments and days of serenity and joy.  Perhaps I will have such times there again.  But, for now, I almost feel guilty when I think about riding those seaside streets and lanes again.

From The Daily Beast

I have no doubt that, in time, roads will be cleared and repaired and, perhaps, boardwalks rebuilt.  If homes can be fixed, their owners will; if not, perhaps new ones will be built.  People who live in places like Breezy Point and Rockaway Beach don't give up on them, at least not easily.  I'm sure many will be there if and when I ride there again.   Even though many of them simply would not live anywhere else, I can only wonder how they'll see their native land, if you will, in light of Sandy.  And--perhaps selfishly on my part--I wonder how it will feel to pedal one of my Mercians there again.

Commuting Among The Ruins

Today I commuted along the route that includes the promenade along the World's Fair Marina.  I went there, in part, to see the condition of the path.  It was surprisingly good.

However, the shore it skirts didn't fare quite so well.

Nor did the Marina.

Still, I was able to commute with Vera.  In short, I could still ride my bike.  There are some things for which I am grateful.

Who Rides The Lanes?

Whatever their flaws, dedicated bike lanes seem to increase the number of cyclists, particularly commuters and utility cyclists.  At least, that's what I'd conclude from my own observations, however representative they may or may not be.

I, along with WE Bike, are going to do some research on the topic.  We'd like to know not only whether (and, if so, by how much) the number of cyclists increases after bike laned are constructed or set aside.  Also, if the number does indeed increase, we'd be curious to know what types of cyclists are increasing in number.  Are they mainly commuters, recreational cyclists or some other kinds of riders?  Also--as you might expect from WE Bike--we'd like to know whether the number of female cyclists increases as a result of lanes opening.  

From Cyclr

Why does that last question matter?  Well, even though the number of female cyclists has certainly increased, the vast majority of pedalers one sees, at least in this city, are male.  Are there actual or perceived barriers to cycling for women (and girls) that are, at least partially, eliminated when lanes are opened?

Going To The Gym

Although there was a time--in my days as Nick--when I was lifting weights and doing other kinds of training in addition to my cycling, I don't think I ever became a "gym rat."  In fact, I have not spent much time in gyms since I was in college.  The atmosphere in most is oppressive, albeit in different ways:  Some gyms are simply physically depressing, others were little more than glorified singles bars and still others--the ones used mainly by young men--were just terrifying to me.  

In other words, I never felt the safety or solitude that I have on my bike.  Riding a stationary bike in a gym never had the same appeal for me that the open road or trail has.

I guess other people feel something like I feel.  That might be the reason why someone invented this:

From The Bicycle Forest

I guess the inventor of this figured that if one couldn't bring a bike into the gym, one could instead bring the gym to the bike!

Real Good Fall Twilight

It seems--at least in this part of the world--that the colors of October are celebrated more than those of any other month.

Reverence for the hues of that month are certainly just.  However, some of what I saw on today's ride left me absolutely stunned.

I saw this on the wooden bridge in the Randall's Island nature preserve:

Oh, but the visual feast didn't end there.  Barretto Point Park was closed, probably because of flood damage and weakened trees that might fall at any given moment.  However,through the fence, I saw this:

and this:

I know that the hues of autumn sunsets are particularly rich.  But lately it seems the skies are outdoing themselves.  I wonder whether it has anything to do with the recent storms.

My ride today was short.  But the name of this park, about three miles from my place, says it all:

This piece of real estate is in Rego Park, a Queens neighborhood that is currently home to thousands of emigres--many of whom are Jewish-- from Uzbekistan, Tajikistan and Russia.  It gets its name from the Real Good Construction company, which developed most of the neighborhood in the early 20th Century.

If you are visiting the neighborhood for the first time and it seems familiar, you've probably read Art Spiegelman's graphic novel Maus.  The scenes with his aged Polish Jewish father are all set in the neighborhood, where Spiegelman grew up.

Anyway, as you can probably tell, today's ride was short but Real Good.