Nyack

Nothing is doable until you do it.

I get an email from L noting better weather on the horizon, suggesting we make a trip to Nyack on the weekend. Sure, I say. But inside I am quaking. This is a 62 mile round trip; I’ve never done anything like it. The last time I did 50 miles in Annandale, I was pedaling on fumes for the last 10 miles. What if I can’t do this? What if my exhaustion and incompetence strands us both in the middle of nowhere?

Subconsciously I try to make friends with my fear, which comes up in the middle of movies (the scary parts), and haunts me at 4am, zinging me awake. Normally, I’d do a dry run on my own ahead of time to soothe my fears. But the weather is too cold. And anyway I don’t want to make a trip like this alone.

Hoping to boost my stamina in preparation, I take a ride to the GWB in the freezing cold, and am mortified when I find I can’t make it up that last hill at the end of the Greenway.

That’s it. I’m sunk. I’ll go, but I'll make such a hash of it, L will never ride with me again.

I figure she will probably want to take Route 9W up, which I’ve been told is a “straight shot” to Nyack - but that doesn’t make me feel any better. I have a friend who had a bad experience on the narrow shoulder of this road, returned from Nyack, sold her bike and never rode again. I google the route and look at the shoulder. It’s not comforting.

The "Morning Of," we meet on the Greenway at 23rd (L has already made the trip from Brooklyn) and pedal on up to the GWB, L reassuring me en route that if we’re done-in on the return, we can take a subway from 180th home. That of course is the least of my concerns, as I have doubts of returning at all. However, I take heart when I make it up both hills at the end of the Greenway with good grace. 

From there I’m proud to be able to lead the way to the GWB, a path which L has never traveled (she usually goes via Riverside), and although we agree it’s a little bit of a detour, it’s pretty. And it has a plus that no other route will give you: Porta-Potties, which come in handy when you have a long ride ahead.

From there, we hit the GWB, joined by every cyclist in NYC who has not left the City for the Thanksgiving Holiday. This is the first good day we’ve had in awhile and everyone has taken notice. 

When we get to the other side we confer about our route. Expecting directions to 9W, I look at L with widening eyes as she says we’re taking the Palisades first, then joining Route 9. Great. Hilly. And at the end of it, the mile-long ascent of The Beast. So before I even get to 9W I am likely to be spent – forget Nyack. But everything about cycling for me has been about staring down my fears. The more I run from them, the bigger they get. Better to get the whole thing it over with.

We ride into the Palisades. We must be about half way through when L turns to me and says, “I don’t remember it being quite this hilly.” You mean like this?

The uphills are taxing, but more disturbing to me is the degree to which I fall behind on the downhills – even if I pedal. And the effect is cumulative. So that by the time I’m tackling the next uphill, L has receded into the distance leaving me virtually by myself.

I love Janet, but she is turning out to be completely un-aerodynamic. And she’s 5lbs heavier than L’s Trek, which adds up on a trip like this. Hmmmm.

We finally hit The Beast. L decides to  “tack” her way up (I’ve always found this an amusing technique).

My approach is simpler; I huff it. The Palisades are a beautiful setting, but the view from Janet looks like this:

So I’m heartened by the road marker telling us only half a mile to go (I can't miss it).

We finally make it to the Ranger Station, where we'll be joining Route 9.

At this point I turn off the helmet camera and am too oxygen-deprived to remember to turn it back on. But the shoulder on Route 9 is not bad. There are times we have an entire lane, times where it narrows down a lot (but not much traffic). I don’t like all the tiny splinters of glass along the side, but I have new tires. I try not to think about it. And the route is largely flat and downhill.

Which can only mean one thing: coming back will be hell. I put this thought out of my mind and eventually we glide into Nyack - and the Runcible Spoon.

This is a well-known bakery where cyclists gather to celebrate their journey and refuel. I’ve googled it, and they serve nothing gluten free, but the place is worth checking out anyway, if only because it’s such a scene. There is actually a wait for bike rack parking. And the same people who carry two locks in the City, don't bother with one here: no one wants to carry the weight on such a trip.

The place is jammed with cyclists, sitting at the tables - and more standing in line.

I’ve brought my usual supplies with me just in case: hard boiled eggs, PB&J, salted almonds. But these are my fall-back (and I’m sick and tired of them). The night before though, I went on the web and found a gluten free bakery in Nyack. We head over there, just a couple of blocks away.

Good call! L and I are the only cyclists - but not the only customers - there.

There's a constant stream of locals who patronize the place. It's easy to see why:

We’re told they also sell at Fairway and Whole Foods. Good to know.

L and I order a mushroom empanada and a large piece of spinach quiche.

We dawdle over hot coffee and tea for 45 minutes. We can’t stay too long – the light begins to fade at 3:30 these days and it’s noon by the time we’re ready to go again.

Thus fortified, we start our return trip.