These first hours are the merest fragmental sliver of a ride across the USA to San Francisco to Los Angeles and then a New York return. But they’re the hours that set the emotions and put us on a road together where we’ll laugh and see and ride an idea, namely the idea that on a bicycle trip we’re in a place up close with our best vulnerabilities and openness, that we’re supporting each other not by insulating ourselves from the landscape but by enabling each other to breathe better in it.
There is the steep rocky Ruckman climb, body english for traction, point the bike between the ruts and round the slick fallen leaves. Everyone is leaping now, rhythm. Familiar wide dirt tracks, we stop for cakes and coffee and then off again northward to a long lovely stretch by the water through stands of blazing yellow.
Andrew doesn’t show disappointment, he just shrugs and says something about well no one said this was going to be an easy ride. My feet are still wet, toes freezing cold from the knee high stream wade. We’re all starting to think about the cold and soon we’ll mutter about it, but it’s mostly fine.
Five riders set out in ideal Autumn conditions to pedal a 204k loop from Manhattan primarily on dirt.
Revolight makes an innovative set of lights for seeing and being seen while commuting.
Like the city, charge fast before the next thing, don’t linger, maximize because there something else happening. Not like spooling out into the map for five hours. Different, not worse, how could a bike ride be worse?
Harry confirms it’s a route he hasn’t done but has heard about, that we might well get lost and dark comes early, that they are all technically public rights of way and, at any rate, the farmers have given permission, the last of which especially gets my attention though the rest of it sounds interesting, too.
The plan is to follow a dirt path through the Bronx up to Westchester County on single and double track, bursts of trash and glass and chainlink glimpses. The neither illusion of it, of shrushing through the woods half a veil alongside the brick iron concrete knowledge of where we are, and that seesaw, not a countryside ride, not through hyper built spaces.
Aglow from time overseas, re-delight in the familiar and the streets and leaning buildings, crackling movement. Errands, shows, coffee dates by Citibike, soaring in that transformation of the City. Saturday Lafayette and Park Ave. closed […]
Photo by M. Coady No place else fills me with the same sense of vital creative focused energy, the tolerance and realization of difference, the excitement in the density of humanity, soaring history and iconography, […]
A patient disciplined row, approachable eager shiny newness. Suit, tie, polished shoes rolls up, dismounts, double checks that it’s secure before pulling the briefcase out of the basket. He walks away, almost looks surprised, a […]
Board the train, a familiar shuffle even if at an odd AM hour and unfamiliar conductors and car companions. Even if this unwieldy cordura bag. Keep having to rehearse that I’m disembarking on an impossibly […]
Serene as Buddha both, a bearded senior with a bird—a cockatoo—on his bars; a dapper pinstripe businessman in a three piece suit on a longboard; neon deep rim narrow riser bar fixies, one every few minutes like […]
They would catch my eye and a more basal part of perception before I became inured to them, start of surprise and piqued alarm, bicycles moving along at a speed not impossible or strictly unusual, […]