T Time

 Yesterday’s ride, though short (about 40 km) was interesting. I had previously ridden most of the streets as segments of other rides. Until yesterday, I didn’t realize how close or connected some of them are.  They will, of course, become strands I will weave into new itineraries.

One strange part of the ride began next to the Albert Einstein College of Medicine. (Don’t you feel smarter just reading that?) There begins this street:

A few blocks later, it runs along the Amtrak and Metro North rail lines and becomes this:

So how did Sackett lose one “T”? Did he/she/they not show up for the 4 p.m. ceremony? Or did the railroad’s builders need a “t” to turn a rack of land* into a track?

The street continues along its way beside the railway and, at Hering Avenue in Morris Park, regains its previous identity:

So how did Sackett regain its second “t?” Hmm…The neighborhood, Morris Park, has been an Italian enclave for more than a century. One thing I know about my people is that we drink coffee. (Growing up, I heard, “Tea is for sick people.”) So I imagine it wouldn’t have been difficult to get at least one of us to give up a “t.”

Anyway, I had coffee before the ride. I probably didn’t need it:  The sunshine and brisk breezes woke me up!

*—That, I imagine, is how the two sides of land might look with the trench, but without the tracks, running through them.

Going On A Ride As The Neighborhood Goes

Someone delayed the start of my morning ride.

They* climbed from the gutter and onto the sidewalk, missing my front tire by a few feathers.

If I hadn’t seen—and touched—Maria’s pigeon a few weeks ago, I would have been shocked that this one came so close to me and didn’t fly way as I drew closer. They did, however, fly away once I started riding, which led me to believe (or at least hope) they’re not sick.

Now I’m going to tell you a secret:  They and I are part of a conspiracy to gentrify the neighborhood.

Ok, so that was a joke.  We’re not the only white folks in the neighborhood. And although it’s not the Upper West Side or even Astoria, this part of the Bronx doesn’t seem to need (or want) gentrifying:  It’s working- and middle-class, racially and ethnically mixed with, it seems, more of both “traditional” families and LGBTQ people than I expected.

I must say, though, that even in the most posh NYC neighborhoods, I don’t see many people or other beings whiter than I am.  And it’s not often that my ride is momentarily disrupted by a pigeon.

*—Have I become everything the Faux News/MAGA crowd hates? I’m even referring to animals by gender-neutral pronouns!

Who Copes Better?

What did I see this morning, as I began my fourth week (!) in my new apartment?

Marlee has been cuddling with me even more than she had been in the old apartment--and that's saying something.  I wonder whether she's scared about being in a new and possibly strange place.  Or does she like my body more because I've gained weight? At least, I feel as if I have.

As you might imagine, I haven't done a lot of cycling, at least compared to what I normally do.   If I have gained weight, however, it may have as much to do with how I've been eating.  Last night, I realized that because I've been so busy, most days--including yesterday--I've been eating my biggest (or only) meal at the end of the day.  

Will Marlee still love me--or, at least, my body--as much when I get back to my normal cycling and eating habits?  And will she like this new place when it's all neat and arranged?