Bryter: Ryde Now, Not Layter (Apologies to Nick Drake)

Some things felt right again after I rode to St. Augustine and Daytona Beach from my parents’ house.  The cobwebs fell off, so to speak, after days without riding and sunlight.

Today was even better:  I did my first long (100K plus) ride on my home turf, if you will.  And I did it on Tosca, my fixed gear bike, no less.  Because she’s so responsive, about the only thing that hindered me was the wind.  But at least I had it with me on most of my way back after pedaling into it on my way out.

It was all but impossible for me not to ride today.  Not that I would have tried not to:  The sky was brighter than it’s been in a long, long time up this way.  Now, some days this winter were clearer—or, at least, some things could be seen more clearly, including the sorts of reflections and images that come to some of us from within.  

If you live in a place where winters are long and full of short days, you might know what I mean.  Some things are never more striking—or, at least, stark—than they are against an alabaster landscape, bare branches and an ashen sky.  It’s sort of like a photographic negative of a chiaroscuro painting.  

But today was all light and color.  I might be the “extroverted introvert” that someone called me, but even at my most introspective, I can stand a dark night (Is there any other kind?) of the soul for only so long.  

Even against the blue, sunny skies, and among the budding flowers and trees, there are still signs of the old season.

And there are signs of other seasons further past:  to be more precise, the one of Superstorm Sandy.  Dunes are being fortified along the Rockaway shore; there’s even been talk about building a sea wall.  I wonder if this is the scaffolding for it.

If it is, it’s certainly wasn’t necessary today.   The tide was out everywhere I rode all the way to Point Lookout.

Also, although the air temperature reached 27C (80F) in my neighborhood, it was—or at least felt—about 10C cooler along the shoreline.  That’s because the ocean temperature is still only about 7C (45F).  It will warm up fairly rapidly during the next two months.  But for now, I think there’s more danger of freezing than drowning from that water.

Tomorrow—or, perhaps, later tonight—I will see the effects of the sun and wind on my skin.  One good thing about having ridden in Florida the week before last is that, as a result, I remembered to use sunscreen today.  Often, I forget it on my first warm-day ride and feel the burning and fatigue the following day, if not that night.

But all in all, this ride lifted my spirits.  That’s all I ever wanted, really.

Hey! Don't Forget About Me!

A few days ago, I “blamed” Max when I didn’t get out of the house earlier than I did for a ride. 

Of course, I wasn’t upset with him.  How could I be?  When he’s not impeding progress I probably wouldn’t have made anyway, he climbs on me and purrs.  

Marlee does that, too.  However, she’s a bit more possessive of everything—including my lap and the spotlight—than Max is.  So she wasn’t content to see Max get all of the attention.

So she’s been posing in front of me whenever I sit, stand, take down one of my bikes, read, eat, talk on the telephone, write—or do just about anything else.  She wants me to take her picture because she knows, just knows, that she’s so photogenic and every picture I take of her is going to be better than the last.  Of course, neither the camera nor the photographer has anything to do with that!

Max can make orange the new black or whatever just because…well, because he’s orange and he’s Max.  But Marlee knows how to work her stripes:

Who, me?  Yeah, you!

Scorchers And Rough Riders

Somehow it makes sense that the leader of the Rough Riders would start a Scorcher Squad.

In 1898, the Secretary of the Navy resigned his position so he could join the First US Volunteer Cavalry.  This unit would gain renown in Cuba during the Spanish-American War.  For their exploits on the island, they and the former Navy Secretary would be nicknamed "Roosevelt's Rough Riders".

Three years earlier, this Theodore Roosevelt had been the New York City Police Commissioner.  That year, 1895, may have been the peak of America's first Bike Boom, and pedaled two-wheelers were the fastest vehicles on the streets of the Big Apple.  Particularly fast riders were known as "scorchers" for the way they blazed past everyone and everything else on the road.  

Now, every good crime-fighter knows that one of the most effective ways to make his or her city's streets safer is to harness the skills of renegades and outlaws.  A modern example of this would be to enlist hackers to help in the fight against cybercrime.  In the final years of the 19th Century, that meant using "scorchers" to apprehend speeding horse-drawn carriages.

That is exactly what "Teddy" had in mind when he formed the "Scorcher Squad".  This 29-member unit of cyclists made 1366 arrests in its first year.  That number is particularly impressive when one realizes that the city then consisted only of the island of Manhattan (Brooklyn, Queens, Staten Island and the Bronx would join it in--que coincidencia!--1898) and had only a sixth of the city's current population. 


 Roosevelt's creation was so successful that in less than two decades, it expanded to include 1025 bicycles in addition to 276 motorcycles and 327 horses.  But after World War I, cars as well as motorcycles replaced bicycles on patrol.  By the 1930's, bikes had all but disappeared from constabulary units in New York as well as other American cities.

But in the late 1960's and early 1970's, three Presidential commissions concluded that community policing was more important than technology and crime-fighting, which had been the foci of law enforcement agencies for more than three decades.  Cities began to reinstitute bicycles and, by the late 1980's, bike patrols had made a visible comeback.

Can't you just picture the Rough Rider on one of today's police bicycles?



N.B.:  The above photo and some information in this post were taken from Bowery Boogie.

The Road--And Season--Ahead

In cycling, any given time of year provides its own trials and pleasures.  In this part of the world, it is early in the Spring.  So far, riding has been a bit arduous but very exhilarating.  I think both have to do with how little riding I did this winter.

The ice and mounds of snow and slush are gone.  Some trees, bushes and other plants are budding now.  They fill me with hope, but do not yet distract me from the ones that are still bare, the ground that is barren from now and the buildings and other structures that bear the patina and show the wear and scars of the season we experienced so recently.  

 

So I am not surprised to see a kind of tentative energy in the steps and body language of people, some of whom I had not seen in months. I guess I ride that way, at least some of the time:  Even though the signs of a new season are around us, something in my body--and mind--still has not quite attuned to its rhythms. At least not yet.  It's almost as if I--and, perhaps, the people I see--still need to be convinced that it is indeed Spring, and we're not going back.

As long as we're moving forward, I guess it doesn't really matter whether we're pushing through mud or promenading along a path lined with cherry blossoms--or pedaling around potholes in the streets.  There is a ride, a season, ahead.

I Ride When He Lets Me Go

It's been mild, but windy, ever since I got back from Florida.  As far as I'm concerned, those are fine riding conditions, if not anything like what I encountered in the Sunshine State.

I've managed to do a bit of riding. But it hasn't been easy. Every time I try to go out, I have to get past the gatekeeper:

I mean, wouldn't you have trouble getting past that intimidating stare?

Yeah, I'm talkin' to you!