24 June 2013

To The Airport


Today I rode Tosca to the airport.

No, I didn’t embark upon some exotic adventure.  I did nothing more, or less:  I rode to the airport.

 
 
Now, you might be wondering what kind of airport this is, or whether I’ve truly gone mad.  (A few people I know would argue that I can’t “go mad” because you can’t go to someplace where you already are.)  But, I assure you, I rode to an airport.


Unless you’re a fan of dirigibles, have flown private aircraft or know more about the history of aviation than anyone should (or you’re of a certain age), you’ve probably never heard of it.  Now I’ll assure you of something else: It’s just like most other airports in that it’s not located in the place for which it’s named.  Well, not exactly, anyway,

 

Flushing Airport is actually in a Queens neighborhood called College Point—which only briefly had an institution of post-secondary education anywhere within its environs.  The terminal opened in 1927 and, for the first decade of its existence, was the busiest airport in the New York Metropolitan Area.  Believe it or not, it actually had more competition than any area air terminal now has.

 

What most people don’t know is that Newark Airport opened only a year later than Flushing, and LaGuardia a decade after that.  (John F. Kennedy International Airport opened a decade after LaGuardia, under the name of Idlewild.)  And, around the same time that the first aircraft alighted from, and landed in, Flushing, Floyd Bennett Field and a few smaller air terminals opened. 

Like Flushing, most of those early airports are gone.  Floyd Bennett Field became the first Naval Air Station in the United States and, later,  part of the Gateway National Recreation Area and hosts a few bike races, rallies and rides for charity.  Others, like Flushing, are all but forgotten. 


After the first flights departed from, and arrived in, LaGuardia, Flushing served as a staging area for military flights.  After World War II, it served private aircraft as well as skywriters and blimps.


The airport was, unfortunately, the site of several accidents during the 1970’s, including one that killed the pilot and two passengers of a small private plane.  After those accidents, the Federal Aviation Administration determined that Flushing Airport was directly in the flight paths of LaGuardia, JFK and other airports.  (The government needed a study to learn that?)  Finally, in 1984, Flushing Airport was closed.  Even so, it still is listed on the registry of air terminals under the code FLU. 

Since its closure, Flushing Airport has reverted to the marshland it was.  (A creek bisects it.)  The main access road has been blocked off.

 

However, the parking lot is still in use, mainly by contractors. 
 

 
 

 

If nothing else, pedaling by the airport gave me one of the more interesting morning rides I’ve had.  In another irony, Flushing is less than two miles from LaGuardia “as the crow flies”.  Still, it takes about half an hour to drive—or pedal—from one to the other because the irregular shape of the Long Island Sound coastline renders a direct route impossible. 
 
 

 

Driving and pedaling between the two airports takes about the same amount of time because motor vehicles are relegated to the expressways, while cyclists can take a route that, as it turns out, is more direct, via side streets and the World’s Fair Marina promenade. 

23 June 2013

Citibike: The New NIMBY?

It looks like Citibike is becoming a NIMBY issue.  

To the great surprise of media pundits (who are, or pretend to be, surprised by just about everything), rich people are getting Citibike kiosks moved away from their fancy buildings while the poor and downtrodden artists of SoHo and The Village are stuck with them.

Only a real-estate lawyer could make such an argument. (I don't think even Citibank's lawyers resort to such duplicity.)  The emphasis, of course, would be on the "lawyer" part:  Any real-estate person worthy of the name would realize that poor, starving artists haven't been in The Village since, say, about 1965 or in SoHo about fifteen years after that.  Even the ones who were starving artists when they moved into their tenements and lofts are probably living off their living spaces, which are worth millions of dollars.



One of the greatest ironies of this story is that it comes in the wake of hysteria about what the supposedly all-powerful "bike lobby" is foisting upon honest, hard-working citizens of this city.  If we are such a powerful lobby, why couldn't we stop Barry Diller and other mega-magnates from having bike stations moved away from their buildings?  I mean, if we're so powerful, why couldn't we prevail over Hasidic Jews who prevented the construction of bike lanes in their communities (South Williamsburg and Borough Park) because they claimed to be offended by scantily-clad female cyclists?

Oh--here's another irony:  A group of Hasidic Jews in Williamsburg has started a Facebook page to campaign for Citibike kiosks in their neighborhood.  Apparently, they recognize the benefits of cycling--for men, anyway--and realize that getting more people out of cars will mean more parking spaces for those who still drive.  Also, I suspect that some want to ride to school, work or whereever, but don't or can't own bicycles because they have large families and live in small houses or apartments.

Having spent a fair amount of time in Hasidic (and even Orthodox) neighborhoods, I can tell you that most are far from being wealthy, even if they own successful businesses or have well-paying positions.  If Steven Sladkus wants to stand up for the "little guy", he might start there.  Oh, and while he's at it, perhaps he can campaign to get Hasidic women on bikes.  After all, you don't have to wear lycra kit to ride a Citibike!



22 June 2013

Which Way?

Today I hopped on Arielle with no particular direction in mind.  After wandering down a street near the Botanical Gardens, I found myself entering an expressway:  No sign indicated I was pedaling in its direction.  I couldn't very well turn around, so I channeled my adrenaline, remaining testoserone (if indeed I still have any), and all of the aggression I could muster from thinking about the boyfriend who cost me a job and the girlfriend who cost me my sanity (well, sort of) to high-tail it to the next exit, which got me onto a street I'd never heard of before.  But, I figured, that was better than the world hearing about a cyclist who's a direct descendant of Christopher Columbus and inherited his navigational skills.

About half an hour later, I found myself pedaling up and down hills in Westchester County.  I didn't mind; in fact, I was enjoying the challenge, which I needed.  The day was perfectly clear but warmed up quickly, though not oppressively so.  

In my effort to avoid that same wrong turn, I headed back in the direction of the Throgs Neck Bridge.  There's no way to walk or cycle across it, but there's a rather nice (though often crowded) next to it.  Plus, I know my way home, more or less, from there.

The plan worked until I had to detour around a street that was torn open.  I then found myself wandering, and coming to a place I seem to encounter only by accident:  Westchester Square in the Bronx.  In fact,  I've never cycled to the neighborhood intentionally, although I never regretted finding myself there.  From what I've seen--and what Forgotten New York says--it seems like quite an interesting area.  It's one of the most architecturally varied parts of the city, with everything from churches and cemetery structures built early 19th Century to saltbox houses and Art Deco-inspired apartment buildings. Also, the shopping area  and it's odd to find streets with names like "Mayflower" anywhere in the Big Apple.  

I didn't bring my camera with me, but here's a streetscape from Forgotten New York:


Given that I seem to end up in the neighborhood only by accident, I wonder whether I'd get there if I set out for it on my bike!