Bike Love NY

Haarlem

8/17/2019

I admit it: I'm a reluctant traveler. Anxiety is my constant companion - will I get lost in a place I don't speak the language? Will I be able to feed myself (celiac)? Have I packed for all weather? You'd think I was traveling into space, or some place where I couldn't visit a simple pharmacy or restaurant. Still, there it is. It is only my love of bikes and determination to see a place that has normalized them, that has forced me out of my comfort zone in New York. Now that I've come as far as Amsterdam, I have to keep pushing. Haarlem seems like a bikable destination - only 20 kilometers away - I decide to ride there.

But first to the Centraal Station for fuel for the trip. Stubbe Haring, where I'm told the herring is so good, it's like sushi, with the consistency of butter.

It's true! It's messy, but it will keep me going. Then I make my way out of town.

OK, notice anything? Pavement for bikes and cars varies a lot here. While it can often be smooth...

It can just as often be challenging.

Very challenging.

You'll see this particular pavement around pedestrian plazas, even where the space is not shared. Between that and trolley tracks (you often get both together), as a cyclist you really have to watch it. Not surprisingly, you rarely spot road bikes in the city - who would want to deal with this? There have been times when I regretted not bringing my Brompton - but riding over these cobblestones? No thanks.

What the Dutch have done is not only break the car culture, but reduce bikes to their basic function: a simple form of public transportation. This means - you're not gonna like this - slowing them down. Put these streets together with a rainy climate, and even if you're a delivery cyclist, you can only ride so fast before you run the serious risk of wiping out - I've seen it. Can you imagine New York City bike paths and streets like this? That would change everything!

Frankly, biking here - safe as it is - is kind of (to use a turn of phrase) pedestrian. It's not as exciting as New York. But it does work. And you don't fear for your life, which from a New Yorker's point of view is outstanding. As I write, we have already doubled the cyclist deaths from last year and the year is far from over.

The road to Haarlem has smooth pavement, so you see some road bikes out here.

And from time to time, there are some great views

But most of the time it's miles and miles of this:

As for me, it's a little scary for a woman traveling alone. Between that and a one-gear bike with a seat that shows little respect for the Ladyparts, I decide about half way through to make this a 1-way trip, and take the train back. Shouldn't be hard to find.

I arrive in Haarlem about 2o minutes later than GPS had predicted, which doesn't surprise me given my bike. One of the city gates has been preserved (the rest came down to expand Haarlem)

It's a beautiful Medieval city of canals...

One glorious remaining windmill,

And shared spaces, where cars know their place...

And are gently reminded to stay the hell out.

Note: these bollards are electrified to go up and down. Why NYC cannot invest in these on the Hudson River Greenway it beyond me.

Everyone rides here, both young and old.

My interest here (other than biking) is to see the Grote Kerk, the main church around which religious life centered in Haarlem. Beautiful, isn't it?

I'm glad you like it. You can find it on Wikipedia. Cause this is what's there when I arrive:

Haarlem preparing for a jazz festival; you can't get into the church. It's not that I don't like jazz, but I could hear that in Harlem in New York...So I decide instead, to visit the Frans Hals Museum. Hals, who lived most of his life in Haarlem, was a leading painter of the Dutch Golden Age (17th Century).

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Frans_Hals

The museum itself is exquisite, with paintings by many of his contemporaries, as well as artists he influenced - and paintings of course, by the man himself. It is exclusively by, and about white men, but putting that aside, the Dutch understood something about light that the rest of the world did not. They were the first, and their understanding of it remains as luminous and unique as ever. I am captivated.

But about 40 minutes in, anxiety begins to tug at me about the route back. It's not that I can't find the train station (I passed it on the way in), it's about whether I can find my bike. Um...where is it exactly? I've parked my bike in a couple of places since being here. I start back with quickening steps and look every place I can remember being. Was it here?

Nope. How about here?

Not even close. I consider asking for help. "What did it look like?" my helper is bound to ask. "Well, it was black..."

They're ALL black!!

The question is, is it lost - or stolen? I feel a case of Tourista coming on...(did I mention that I'm an anxious traveler?) What if I can't find it? What if I can't find a bathroom? What if I never get back to my life?

I finally decide I'll just have to leave it. Take a train back the next day; if it's stolen I'll have to pay for it; if it gets confiscated, I'll try to locate it through the proper authorities. I'm never gonna find it this way; I've looked everywhere.

Just at that moment, I stumble into an area I have no recollection of ever visiting. And there it is (recognizable by the slightly smaller tires). Last time I will EVER park my bike without taking a photo of it.

Now I'm ready for the trip back.

I begin my ride slowly through the town of Haarlem towards the train station...

When I spy a bike ahead of me making a curious turn. And that's when I hit pay dirt: the underground bike parking garage, the prodigious kind I've heard every Dutch town has, that's near a train station (you may have seen this one on youtube). Even a town as small as this has one. Here it is. Enjoy.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_tRtesGmVAE

My journey to Haarlem is complete (tho I should probably return to the Museum). I find the gate to my train, thanks to this handy bike-sized elevator.

The trip to Amsterdam Centraal Station is about 20 minutes. I wend my way back to my hotel by what has become a familiar route.

It's Friday night in Amsterdam. The streets are crawling with tourists and reeking with pot.

I'm home.

0 Comments

AMSTERDAM

8/15/2019

3 Comments

Five years after I first discovered the possibilities of biking in New York, I find myself at last in "The Holy City:" This is what we in the biking world call Amsterdam; the city that models to us the possibilities of what New York could become if we were to look beyond the mess that Robert Moses started and that Uber and Lyft have finished. For we are finished as a city. Our streets are choked with cars. Buses don't move and subways are broken. We cannot breathe, we cannot walk, or cross the streets; we are being hit and killed by cars in numbers not seen in decades (pedestrians have it worse). We simply have to change; we have to expand our thinking.

So I came here. To observe, to learn and see what the Dutch are doing right just from a personal perspective. And it's a lot.

If you follow the pioneering work of Clarence Eckerson (https://www.streetfilms.org) you already know that one of the things many European cities have done to restore balance, is remove parking. This removes any incentive to drive. In the central city of Amsterdam there is very little car parking. One native told me there is a shopping mall that offers 200 parking places inside the building. Beyond that, cars simply have very little place to go. But there is bike parking. And how:

I mean, everywhere you go...

At the Centraal Station, in spite of 3 floors of bike parking (including underground valet) and an close to acre of it on the ground, there are barges on the water, which hold even more bikes. And they get used!

It seems there is never enough.

To the naked eye, it eventually starts to seem like so much clutter. I mean, who would need so many bikes? But as a New Yorker, your eye is different and you quickly translate: in our city, that number would represent cars - lots of cars. Because most cars driving around New York only hold one person. No WONDER we can't move!

In spite of the clutter, a cyclist looking at all this bike parking is like Oliver Twist peeping into a shop window filled with delicacies: we have virtually no bike parking in New York. The occasional bike rack, usually taken up by delivery bikes. Everyone else is left to their own devices. There is one company trying to make a go of secure parking: https://www.ooneepod.com/ We are rooting for them, but so far they have yet to find permanent space in Manhattan.

So changing who gets parking has had a tremendous effect on how Amsterdam functions. But they've done lots else. Like build bike lanes truly protected from cars.

With split phase light signals for bikes...

Floating islands for buses and trollies so that bikes don't have risk being pushed into traffic, or getting crushed by a 10-ton vehicle approaching the curb.

But there are also unprotected lanes which feel perfectly safe, in part because they are not adjacent to parked cars who could pull out at any minute or "door" us. And check those bumps to the right: if you did pull over, you couldn't open your car door. If you stop to discharge passengers in the middle of the street you'd hold up traffic (which cars hate to do to each other). So traffic moves and bikes are safe.

The truth is, there's been a complete culture change here. Bikes - and pedestrians - have been so prioritized over cars, that even when they mix with them, cars tend to drive rather sheepishly - especially when turning - like an ex trying to live down past bad behavior (yeah, good luck with that). As a result, anyone can walk here - you can walk all over the city.

If you can't walk, you can roll

Or take public transportation, which is accessible

And biking is safe for everyone. Moms...

Delivery Workers.

Dog Lovers.

Vision Zero (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Vision_Zero) is a science, and I don't claim to be an expert, but I know the principles when I see them - because I feel safe. And they're at work in Amsterdam. New York will never be Amsterdam, but we can be a much better New York. It's time to turn the streets back over to the people.

3 Comments

Couples Counseling

8/12/2018

1 Comment

Let’s face it: New York is just not a great place to be if you’re trying to get over your ex, and your ex is the bike. In Chelsea, the first protected crosstown lanes are going in right now. The boroughs are verdant with bike activism and new lanes. Prospect Park and Central Park are now car free.

vimeo.com/282870647

And the L-train shutdown will easily double the riding in Manhattan.

Every time I pass my folding bike, Lucille and my road bike Lola in the hallway, my heart is tugged. I can’t bear to part with them, but at this point I’m terrified to ride. I've suffered 2 nasty tire-slips which came seemingly out of the blue, and my trust is broken.

If you believe Dorothy Parker's adage that that the quickest way to get over one man is to get under another, my attempts at shifting my focus should have worked by now. I’ve tried: walking with podcasts, Pilates, tap dancing, a rigorous daily workout routine (meh), jazzercise. I've reminded myself how lucky I am to be able to walk on two legs and hook up my bra. But nothing has replaced my yearning for the bike.

Nobody considers couples counseling until they have exhausted every other resource (I know this from personal experience). It’s a painful process fraught with disappointment, largely because two parties go into it allegedly to stay together but underneath, each secretly hopes the other one will change.

To be honest, I don’t have high expectations of Lola changing: she’s always been a narcissist. Her 16lb weight and compact crank leave other bikes in the dust; and the impatient sound of her chain coming up on other cyclists causes them instinctively to move over and make way; she doesn’t seem to care that even without a bell, she’s louder than an ambulance on the Greenway. So I’m almost not surprised that the one thing I ask her to do she refuses: put on nubbier tires. Her sleek frame will not accommodate them. The best I can do is these.

(Specialized All Condition Armadillo Elite Tire)
Good for gripping the road in the rain (not that I’m considering it). I opt for them anyway. I don’t know what else to do; The bulk of the work it seems, will be up to me.

As I look at my own responsibility, the one thing my two tire-slip falls had in common was - forgetting the curb, the sand or other convenient excuses - I was turning left and fell right. I even had a fellow rider in Central Park warn me about my lopsided riding...

http://www.bikeloveny.com/blog/a-good-friend

But I never anticipated what a game changer it would be.

As I wait for Lola’s tires to be replaced, I ask my bike tech Marc if there is such a thing as a bike coach? Someone who could observe my riding and point out where I might be off? (Gawd, could I be any more like my mother? Truly, this feels like a new low). Marc is not put off by my question though. In fact, he says with a twinkle in his eye, there’s something better. He recommends these:

Bike Rollers.

Most people says Marc, maintain their balance with forward momentum and never think about side balance. Most people don’t have to. I am not one of them. Bike rollers, he says, will change this. With bike rollers - round tires gliding over round rollers – side balance is everything. If you have any holes in your technique they will reveal it fast. Until you ride properly, you simply won’t stay up. And then he says something unexpected: once you learn how to ride rollers, you don’t actually need to keep using them. They will permanently change your riding. I am hopeful but dubious. Could bike rollers really be the answer to my problem?

My first Googling attempts yield a multitude of hairy wipeouts.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jJcxtTxqFHQ

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=igtWGRheTcc

But then I look for instructional videos and see that it actually can be done. Hint: look straight ahead, keep a fast steady pace, set up in a narrow place where you can’t fall over.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2n5b5mhvKA0

I throw myself on the mercy of Amazon and wait with some trepidation for my tough-love therapist to arrive.

After a quick set up, I spend the 1st week riding in a too-wide hallway, hanging onto the nearby bannister for dear life, and trying to balance. I get nowhere. I spend the 2nd week like that. And the 3rd - but I can’t seem to get any further. If this is doable, I’d like to know how.

As I look back, I can see how deeply ingrained my habits were. Desperate to move forward, I call Marc. I’ve found a narrower bathroom doorway that would work, but I’m scared to try this alone. He volunteers to come over just in case.

We set up in the doorway, and I try to hold on with one hand as I did before, but there is no hand-hold in this space. There is nothing for it but to let go and ride. I brace myself – and tip over right away. Not far; the doorway keeps me from actually going anywhere. I try it again. And again. There isn’t much Marc can do. Holding the handlebars will only throw me off. He encourages me to engage my core and keep up my speed - and eventually to my astonishment I experience 10 seconds of perfect riding – really riding. Marc is cheering me on. “You got it!” he exclaims.

I feel like Eliza Dolittle. My cycling transformation has begun!

vimeo.com/280824779/b7199f6713

The closest thing I can compare it to is flying. It’s the hardest thing I’ve ever attempted physically, but the best. And I realize one of the reasons I feel so free on a bike, is the sense of balance. This is why I’ve always found exercise bikes - and even trainers - so dull. Without the sense of freedom balance gives you, what’s the point?

It is also instantaneously clear to me why I fell: I had been riding with most of my weight on the handlebars, definitely weighted more to the left. You can’t do this on a bike roller and stay up. You have to relax your shoulders – both shoulders - keep your weight centered on the saddle and balance with your core. Marc says the optimum ratio is maybe 70:30 saddle to handlebar weight, and that seems about right to me. Looking back, it’s a wonder I didn’t fall sooner.

There are some other things about bike rollers that are different. For one, there’s no real resistance (though you can find some rollers that have it for a price), even if you change gears. And unlike trainers, they will not help you build power. But sweating is off the charts (I still haven’t figured out why). And breathing – one of the best things about a real bike - is great.

Most of my cycling friends have never heard of bike rollers. Used mostly by racers and track bikers, this technology long preceded trainers and exercise bikes. “Are you crazy?” asks one of the best cyclists I know. “Those things are terrifying!” This by someone who would probably master them in 2 minutes – ‘cause how else could she be such a fearsome rider?

But it doesn’t matter. I was the one who needed them. I am the one who uses them. And I am the one who loves them; they are healing my relationship with the bike, something I thought could never happen. There is no price on this.

To be honest, it will still take some time to get my confidence back - I’ve said this before and because of that, I’m not putting a time limit on it. For all I know, I may never take Lola out on the road again (though she is itching to go – she is a road bike after all). But I have taken my Brompton Lucille – the twitchier of my two bikes – out for a couple of rides. And my riding is indeed different. Steering from the handlebars is light and optional – most of my steering comes from my core now. At this point, I’m still very conscious of technique, and ride very deliberately. But I can tell my riding is different because I can now signal effortlessly with my either hand. This was impossible before; I could only signal with my right.

What a revelation! I’m thinking I can ride this way anytime I want – be safe and never leave the house! I picture a future of doing just that: me, Lola and bike rollers riding into the sunset when, with a sense of dismay, I realize I have been taken in by the oldest trick in the book: transference. I think I have fallen back in love with riding; I have actually just fallen in love with the therapist. It’s a great training exercise, but it remains to be seen whether Lola and I will be able to rebuild our relationship without the safety of our therapist (or that handy doorway): out on the road.

There are all kinds of couples and all kinds of relationships. What would work for some people seems totally out of place for others. Still, they say willingness is the most important thing.

You have to start somewhere.

1 Comment

Painkillers

1/23/2018

8 Comments

Anyone who has had a bike accident which required them to go to the ER, will be asked about their pain level. In my case, as I sit dizzily on the bikeway trying to get my bearings, my hunky lifeguards arrive cheerily bearing first aid, and offer me - wait for it...

Fentanyl.

Fentanyl?! That seems a bit of a stretch. I haven't broken my back. I need an addiction like I need another broken arm. My wailing obviates the need for a siren as the ambulance speeds over bumpy streets to the ER (I turn down the offer). There, I’m told Fentanyl is all EMTs are allowed to give me. Not morphine (50% less potent, but also less dangerous), not Ibuprofen, not Tylenol - not even an aspirin (not that that would have helped much).

Clearly, there's money in opioids, and it's turned the entire medical profession into pushers - even the lifeguards! There's money in prescribing opioids, and there's even more money in getting people off them. A whole industry in fact, of rehabs (when the 12-step programs were always meant to be free). But guess where else there's money?

Medical marijuana. And I'm in California.

OK, it's not the same, but a couple of days after leaving the ER, (with a prescription of Oxy I never asked for), I opt for a more holistic approach. I go online, talk to to a doctor, and get a prescription for medical marijuana.

A veteran of New York's Blue Laws, I'm unschooled in the ways of cannabis, and quickly encounter a learning curve. Active ingredients, I’m told, can generally be divided into CBD (no associated high) and THC (join Weight Watchers now). CBD is used as a mild painkiller, often for people with arthritis, and also as a sleep aid. Since the pain from my broken arm has been keeping me awake at night, CBD sounds like a good idea.

I find a dispensary nearby.

The waiting room is small and subdued with subtle lighting, and a receptionist in dreadlocks. But it is distinguished from any waiting room I've ever been in by the pungent stink of muscular, well tended cannabis. The receptionist takes my ID and I peek through the teak slats behind him. It looks like a deli. It looks like a candy store.

It looks like the Herbology class at Hogwarts.

“Budtenders” stand patiently behind the counter. The atmosphere is quiet and professional. One person at a time is allowed into the dispensary. Alas I am not one of them; my New York ID invalidates my California prescription.

Before I can ponder what to do next, The receptionist tells me that it is possible to order for delivery. He gives me the number of his sales rep: “Tell him you are a friend of Sonny who's a friend of James, Sarah’s boyfriend, who...” This “Rep” is sounding more and more like a dealer. Do I really want to go down this road?

But it turns out I don't need to. A quick call to a friend as I am leaving, reveals I never needed a prescription to begin with. In California, recreational pot is just as legal as medical! Will wonders never cease? Next stop: MedMen.

There's a 10-minute wait outside the place, and ID is checked, but except for the familiar odor when you get inside, there is a 180 degree difference between this and the dispensary. Designed to look like an Apple Store...

There is a central island with iPads showing photographs and Peterman-like drawings of plants, accompanied by text detailing the strains, the origins of harvest, percentages of CBD to THC. There are also flat, covered dishes with magnifying glasses built in, and spring-loaded latches so you can sniff the product.

Assorted marijuana products line the walls: bubble bath balls, dropper bottles, vaping pens, sublinguals, chocolate-covered cannabis-infused blueberries (5 mg THC per bite), weed for rolling. Wandering salespeople are knowledgeable and available to help - and business is booming: the noise level rivals Macy's on Christmas Eve (before Amazon). By the time I leave, the line stretches around the corner.

I wonder what's going to happen to those little dispensaries when word gets out about this place?

I emerge with 2 salvs for my sore shoulder (one with THC), and a bubble bath ball. Oddly, these come in both CBD as well as THC versions (seniors bring your Life Alert pendant with you into the tub). Oh, and a bottle of drops for sleeping.

The sleeping drops are lovely, the salvs only go so far. Broken bones are too much of a challenge for marijuana it seems, and I wind up resorting to Ibuprofen, Tylenol, and the strategic application of cold packs.

I am lucky my pain is manageable with just these. I pass no judgement on anyone who needs more powerful pain relief. There are meds for that.

But to my knowledge, no pain killer has ever been invented for the pain of a broken heart. As I'm leaving MedMen, I spy this.

Like the lover who dumped me but lives nearby, this is a sight I know I'm going to have to get used to every time I leave the house. Especially back in New York where bike lanes are increasingly ubiquitous. The first protected crosstown lanes are going up right near me. I was the one who recorded the ride to illustrate the need for them.

I still believe in cycling, and I will always love it. I will always admire the riders: working cyclists, commuters, day-trippers and racers. They are road warriors extraordinaire. But in three years, I've visited three different ERs. The best I can do now is to continue to advocate for cyclists, help keep them safe, and on the road - out of the ER and off painkillers.

8 Comments

Unrequited Love

1/10/2018

10 Comments

He's bad for you but he makes you feel so good. Attractive, powerful, even immortal. It's a fallacy of course. Haven't you been listening? Self-worth comes from within! And yet, there's something about him. You've never felt this way before about anybody (and you've been around). He’s irresistible. There are a growing number of red flags, but you are confident you will be the exception.

Your life opens up. So THIS is what love is about! The more you learn about him, the more fascinating he becomes. You can see a future here. You travel together. You begin to record and write about your experiences. Then one day for no reason, he hits you - hard. You are in shock. What happened? You did nothing wrong. You hope this is a one-time event. You vow to be better. You tentatively recommit. Then out of the blue, he hits you again and the cycle repeats itself.

Did I say cycle?

Once again in Los Angeles over Christmas, I rent this beauty.

We do a number of great rides together. Cheviot Hills (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FJDlPG2nCJ8). Patricia Avenue (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vgldZ1wznO0). This bike is sparky and fast. As the “Bomb Cyclone” ravages New York a continent away, what better act of defiance than a protracted ride along the beach in LA?

I start from the entrance to Ballona Creek.

And ride almost 30 miles. At Manhattan Beach, I learn this is where beach volleyball started.

But ultimately, I become less interested in the beach itself, than the creative ways people have found to look at it.

I wish I had started this ride earlier. It goes all the way to Palos Verdes, and I would love to make the entire trip. But winter light is shortened even in Los Angeles, and I reluctantly turn back so as not to have to cycle in darkness.

I'm running at a good clip, passing a fellow cyclist. The path is not congested, there are no sharp turns to be made. But there is by definition a fine, invisible sprinkling of sand. And before I know it, I hit the ground too fast to even brace myself. I hear the familiar and terrifying clattering of the bike. My head bounces off the pavement. I'm wearing a helmet, but when I sit up, I can't move my arm.

And here is the great difference between New York and California: in a twinkling, I am surrounded by 5 beef cakey lifeguards, the front line for EMT here, all focused on me with concern, and smiles that would light up a stadium. If only I could reach my phone! No one will believe I could ever attract babes of this caliber. It's the one highlight of my final escapade.

I will not take the reader through the painful ambulance ride, the drudgery of the ER, the x-rays, the scans showing a shattered humerus - and having to once again be taken care of by my long-suffering sister. My heart is too broken for that anyway. I know it's going to be 4 to 6 weeks. I know my riding days are coming to an ineluctable end.

And like any woman in a halfway house who looks back on her abusive relationship, I can no longer ignore those red flags. Bono. My late friend Jamie Johnson, who died on his bike. A woman in her twenties I heard about just a year ago, riding in a group with helmet, not particularly fast, who hit a pothole and went down at an odd angle. Paralyzed for life. Friend of a friend who spent 3 months in the hospital with a hip injury. Twice. The wife of my internist who will never walk again without a walker. Young still. My own orthopedist, former cyclist, who was so badly injured on a downhill in Europe that he was out of work for a year and a half. In short, every cyclist I know on one level or another. There may be people this never happens to. I am not one of them. The fact is, I love the bike, but the bike does not love me back. Not the way healthy people define love.

In my heart of hearts, I knew this day would come eventually. I just didn't think it would come so soon. And it’s jarring to be here so abruptly, having just recommitted to this blog.

I have no regrets. I wouldn't take back a moment of it. There is nothing like cycling: the exploration, the sense of adventure, the pure joy of being alive. The breathing of outdoor air, of real air. Discovering parts of New York, of Missouri, Ireland and France I would never otherwise have seen. Riding has made me healthy and strong - but not invincible. In the space of 3 years, I have had three injuries, and three lengthy recoveries. This does not bode well.

Many years ago, having suffered a romantic betrayal, I consulted a friend in a healthy marriage. I will never forget the question she asked me. “How can you love someone you don't trust?” And how long, I ask myself, before the betrayal has much worse consequences?

For the record, and before you even suggest it, spinning is not a viable alternative. That would be like giving up the Goth bad boy for the stamp collecting guy in high school who wears the pocket protector and whose idea of adventure is rearranging turtles for the class science project. This guy might one day make a good provider, but no woman in an abusive relationship is ever gonna trade her abuser for this. Love is still love.

I’m not ready to give back the ring. The thought of selling Lola, even worse Lucille, is more than I can bear right now. I will put those decisions off for another day.

For now I just need to heal, and think about how I can look for joy in other ways. Nothing will give me what cycling did. But somewhere out there is a healthier love.

10 Comments

What I Didn't Know (part 1)

11/24/2017

4 Comments

It’s everyone’s dream to be able to go back in time with the wisdom we have now, but in the circumstances of the past; to experience life with a sense of predictability and control, and make better decisions. Living our lives with the advantage of hindsight is a fantasy forever plaguing us second-guessers (“If only I had known!”). But what if the chance to do that still doesn’t give you the answers?

When I began this blog, I was just starting breast radiation, a grim and very real procedure following surgery (which was bad enough), and what was left of my denial was running on fumes. Waiting rooms of neon light, whose rock music mocked hairless patients with searing radiation burns; sessions on the gurney bombarded by the mechanical whip-sawing sounds of medical equipment – all of these were hammering home the fact that no matter what I did, I was from hereon in an eternal member of the Pink Ribbon Club.

My mother had died just weeks before. Time off the gurney was spent grieving, shutting down the bureaucracies of her life, planning a memorial (amid thoughts of my own), and sorting through a history of acquisitions precious to her after years of decline.

So the sight of two people joyfully carrying their Bromptons down the steps of a Mexican restaurant on a Spring evening startled me, long in a deficit of hope. I was primed for anything that held promise of life. I saw them and touched with an imaginary finger, the filmy membrane of memory - bike rides of my youth, speeding along sandy streets between tall dunes, surging with independence and optimism, the sense of having life ahead of me, of freedom and possibility. I felt something within me spring alive I had not felt in years. On the strength of that vision, I brought Lucille home the next day, and never looked back. Until now.

What would I have said to my then-self in that moment if I had known the future? If I could have foreseen a fractured wrist, or 5 months stranded away from home healing from a knee fracture; if I could have understood the physical - and worse mental - pain of learning how to walk again. Would I take back any of the rides I’ve gone on - through Manhattan, over its magnificent bridges, through the five boroughs? Would I prefer never to have ridden in France? In Ireland? In short, would I have thought the risks worth the experience?

Cyclists, when discussing these things, usually answer “Oh, it’s just a part of it. You heal and keep riding.” As if these things were never permanent (I've learned sometimes they are). And my circumstances have changed. The results of a recent bone scan show the stakes for falling are much higher for me now. So the question arises: is there a point to keeping a biking blog if at any moment a sudden injury could put an end to it? And more importantly - should I be riding at all? Wrestling with these questions explains – if anyone is interested – my silence lo these many months.

The thing is, hindsight isn’t always 20/20. Given the warnings I’m now aware of, given my own personal experience, I still find myself attracted to riding. And I ask myself all the time why, since I'm not a daredevil by nature. To be sure, I ride for exercise. I also ride for transportation. I ride to experience my city in a different way, to see more of it, to rejoice in it. I ride for the sense of empowerment I don’t always have in other areas of my life. And of course, I ride for joy. In the end though, I think I ride because I ride. I don’t know if I can explain it any better. I ride because there’s just nothing else like it.

And so I have decided to continue this blog. Because there's still so much I don't know, and riding for me is the best way to discover it.

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Crosstown 21st Street East to West

9/22/2017

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21st Street: East River to 1st Ave
21st Street is subsumed by Stuy Town

Cyclists going west are forced onto 23rd Street

21st Street 1st Avenue
First Avenue bike lane only goes north forcing southbound cyclists to ride to 2nd Ave.

23rd Street 2nd Avenue
Parking Protected Bike Lane on 2nd Ave

21st Street 2nd Ave-3rd Ave
Street too narrow to accommodate bike lane

21st Street Grammercy Park South

Crossing Park Ave South
No LPI

21st St Park Ave South-Bway

21st Broadway Intersection
No LPI

21st Street Broadway-5th Ave

21st Street 5th-6th Aves

21st Street 6th-7th Aves

21st Street 7th-8th Aves

21st Street 8th-9th Aves

21st Street 9th-10th Aves

Crossing 10th Ave
Bike lane disappears, forcing cyclists to ride 10th Ave in traffic to 22nd St.

22nd Street 10th Ave-Hudson Greenway

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Crosstown 20th Street West to East

9/22/2017

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20th Street 11th-10th Aves
No bike lane coming off Hudson Greenway, forcing cyclists to "salmon" up 20th which runs in reverse on that block.

20th Street 10th-9th Aves

20th Street 9th-8th Aves

20th Street 8th-7th Aves
Bike lane disappears

CitiBike dock forces cyclists to right, where cars are also turning right onto 7th Ave (no LPI); bike lane up ahead starts on the left.

20th Street 7th-6th Aves

20th Street 6th-5th Aves

20th Street 5th-Bway

20th Street Bway-Park Ave

Crossing Park Avenue: No LPI

20th Street Park Ave-Grammercy Park South

Narrow street forces cars to intrude into bike lane

20th Street 3rd Ave
Bike lane changes sides without notice

20th Street 3rd-2nd Ave
Cars take bike lane, cyclists fend for themselves

20th Street 2nd-1st Aves
Bike lane reverts to left

20th Street at Stuy Town

20th Street at Stuy Town to Loop Exit

20th Street at Stuy Town at Loop Entrance

20th Street to East River

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Blind Spots

9/26/2016

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Since I’ve returned to cycling, I notice a reluctance to take my eyes off the road and check if someone’s coming up behind me. It’s a question of confidence: after being off the bike for 6 months, I’m still getting my riding legs back. But this negligence has led to some near misses. Not good.

The fact is, even when I do take that moment to check, cycling takes place over time: what was absent when I first glanced, may be suddenly present by the time I make my move.

So I bought a helmet mirror. They’re called “rear view mirrors,” but in fact they tell the future. Without a mirror, one false move can trigger a series of others whose consequences escalate in geometric progression. With a mirror, there is more information about what lies ahead (based on what's behind); it buys some time to make safer choices.

If only we had such mirrors to guide us in life.

Last year, I went on a ride of the Katy Trail with L and 4 of her long-time friends. I haven’t seen any of them since.

I bring this up because cycling is often done in groups, and fitting into a group dynamic is a skill just as important as knowing how to follow a route map. Musicians are chosen for their chops, but often just as important, is how tolerable their personalities are; because you spend more time traveling together than you ever do on stage. As a musician, I passed this test. As a cyclist, I flunked: I lacked the rear-view mirror that showed dangers creeping up from behind; I was completely out of my depth in a group of people who’d known each other for 40+ years (and pretty much shared the same rear-view mirror). And even if I’d had such a mirror, we all have blind spots.

It’s humiliating to consider that that many people agreed I was not a suitable traveling companion (not that I’m arguing). But the hardest part has been losing L as a riding partner. She was a cycling “mother” if you will. She took me from a Brompton to a road bike with clips; she taught me the value of training, repeat hills and maintenance. She really got me started.

Will I ever join a group cycling trip again? It’s certainly easier (though pricier) to go with the big names: Back Roads, VBT, Butterfield. The rules are clear; the responsibility lies with the company. It’s a little lonely if you’re single, but the trade off is that the personal stakes are low.

As for my trip on The Katy Trail, today I can look back and see where I made the first bad choice which started the unraveling of trust (the fault is not only mine), but I can’t go back and change it. All I can do is learn from my mistakes, and not be too hard on myself for having made them.

Hindsight after all, is 20/20.

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A Good Friend

9/22/2016

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In an effort to get back into shape, I’ve gone into training doing the Central Park Loop a couple of times a week. I’ve worked up to riding the Loop twice, with two hill repeats (a total of three ascents), the last one standing on the pedals. Other than my quads being a little “noodley” after that last ascent, I’m feeling pretty good about my come back.

Until I run into this guy:

I’ve just done two hill-repeats and am headed around the loop for the last killer ascent, when he draws up next to me.

“Did you know you’re not sitting straight in the saddle?” He asks.

“Um, no,” I reply, “How’m I sitting?”

“You’re veering off to the right”

“Interesting,” I say trying to defend myself against this unexpected criticism while at the same time making sense of it.

He rides off.

That’s the thing about New York. Everyone has an opinion.

I confess to feeling slightly deflated. Who is this guy anyway? And what business is it of his how I ride? He wouldn’t have said anything if I’d been a man.

But after blaming the messenger for awhile, I decide to evaluate whether his comment has merit.

The fact is, I’m still making a come back from a Tibial Plateau injury. My right leg, while adequate for walking, is still not as strong as the left. Is it possible my body is compensating?

I continue around the Loop and make my final standing-on-the-pedals ascent.

But my heart isn’t in it. I get back on the saddle ¾ of the way up…

Notice something? No, not the pot holes.

The photo is not level – none of them are level. My camera has slid way over to the right.

Now that I think about it, it’s been doing that almost since I began using it – way before my injury. I used to think it was a problem with my helmet, and even got a new one, but that didn’t change anything; my footage often came out right-slanted, forcing me to edit it back to level. Since then, I’ve worn my helmet tighter, but still this keeps happening. If my riding posture is the cause (and I’m forced to admit that’s the most likely culprit), maybe this is a more intractable problem than I realized.

And a more dangerous one. When I had my fall in LA, I was turning left but I fell right. I’ll never know exactly how it happened, but wouldn’t be surprised if my right-slanted posture had something to do with it.

And now an invasive New Yorker has pointed out the problem.

In Buddhism, this guy would be known as “A Good Friend.” A Good Friend can be someone who’s kind and supportive. It can also be someone who acts as a mirror or catalyst for actualizing our higher self. It’s not always pleasant. It wasn’t pleasant for The Buddha* and it’s not pleasant for me. But correct cycling posture is a vital component to riding.

Friends come in all shapes and sizes. Some are kind and some are cruel. All of them are useful.

*http://sokaspirit.org/1354

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Haarlem

AMSTERDAM

Couples Counseling

Painkillers

Unrequited Love

What I Didn't Know (part 1)

Crosstown 21st Street East to West

Crosstown 20th Street West to East

Blind Spots

A Good Friend

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