As L and I begin the first ascent out of Nyack, we both remark that the food in our bellies has not yet reached our legs. But the first hill out of Nyack isn’t waiting around: it’s out for blood.
L laments her heavy lunch, but pedals determinedly through. I don’t fare so well. One quarter of the way up, breathless and humiliated, I stop to rest. Damn! As I’m catching my breath, I meet this cheery resident walking down the hill towards me:
“Remind me again why I thought this was such a good idea?” I ask her.
She laughs and encourages me to walk my bike up, be happy, enjoy the day.
That seems like sensible advice. And I have to say, walking feels much more natural after such a hearty meal. As I push Janet doggedly uphill, I rather wish we’d taken a little time to do this before starting up at full speed. Eventually, I get back on the bike, and soldier forward.
Did I say forward? I mean upwards.
Because after this, the rest of the ride on 9W is – as I suspected - a succession of ascents.
She laughs and encourages me to walk my bike up, be happy, enjoy the day.
That seems like sensible advice. And I have to say, walking feels much more natural after such a hearty meal. As I push Janet doggedly uphill, I rather wish we’d taken a little time to do this before starting up at full speed. Eventually, I get back on the bike, and soldier forward.
Did I say forward? I mean upwards.
Because after this, the rest of the ride on 9W is – as I suspected - a succession of ascents.
You get the picture.
A couple of times L stops to wait for me (embarrassing but kind), and we take off together for awhile, until she once again fades into the distance.
Lately, I’ve been immersing myself in biking literature (yes, there is such a thing), and am on my 2nd book about cycling across the country. It’s something I fantasize about doing in the next two years. But as I struggle up one hill after another on Route 9 I think, Who am I kidding? I can’t even make it back from Nyack to Manhattan. How would I ever make it across the country? I hear there are hills…
I’m about half-way through, grinding up yet another incline on my own, when I spot L waiting for me on a park bench – we’re both ready for a rest.
A couple of times L stops to wait for me (embarrassing but kind), and we take off together for awhile, until she once again fades into the distance.
Lately, I’ve been immersing myself in biking literature (yes, there is such a thing), and am on my 2nd book about cycling across the country. It’s something I fantasize about doing in the next two years. But as I struggle up one hill after another on Route 9 I think, Who am I kidding? I can’t even make it back from Nyack to Manhattan. How would I ever make it across the country? I hear there are hills…
I’m about half-way through, grinding up yet another incline on my own, when I spot L waiting for me on a park bench – we’re both ready for a rest.
We compare notes on our return. I say it’s all climbs. L thinks there were only 2 or 3. Which tells you something about our different experiences. Because while L has been admirably holding her own (and I gamely bring up the rear), I am all too often passed by guys like this, riding effortlessly by. This happens in Central Park all the time too.
Hey, what’s up with that? And what kind of bike can he possibly be riding that he charges uphill that way? My thoughts go to those two little words whispered sotto voce in the back of my mind: carbon fiber. And I begin to wonder if there isn’t more than just snobbish appeal to these bikes.
As L and I compare notes on our return, I get a familiar sinking feeling. Because I’m realizing that on sustained rides like this, I need all the help I can get; and Janet simply doesn’t have the chops, on the uphills - or the downhills. A huge improvement over Lucille who was built for folding and convenience. Pretty and with great brakes. But what good are brakes without the get up and go?
Nothing like a bike ride to bring things into sharp focus. Because I can see it clearly now: I made a mistake with Janet. Ouch.
My first reaction is to shift the blame. How could they sell me a bike like this in the first place when I told them what I needed? But then I have to be fair. I wasn’t ready to commit to the carbon fiber bike – or the carbon fiber budget. And one of the things I really like about my local bike store, Zen Bikes, is that they don’t try to sell you on something expensive just to make a sale.
Pedaling Route 9 helps me process all of this (and alleviate the shame of my prior decision). Fortunately we are past the worst inclines and can pedal at a more leisurely pace, allowing for thought that goes beyond just making it up the next hill.
L and I and hit the GWB with daylight to spare.
As L and I compare notes on our return, I get a familiar sinking feeling. Because I’m realizing that on sustained rides like this, I need all the help I can get; and Janet simply doesn’t have the chops, on the uphills - or the downhills. A huge improvement over Lucille who was built for folding and convenience. Pretty and with great brakes. But what good are brakes without the get up and go?
Nothing like a bike ride to bring things into sharp focus. Because I can see it clearly now: I made a mistake with Janet. Ouch.
My first reaction is to shift the blame. How could they sell me a bike like this in the first place when I told them what I needed? But then I have to be fair. I wasn’t ready to commit to the carbon fiber bike – or the carbon fiber budget. And one of the things I really like about my local bike store, Zen Bikes, is that they don’t try to sell you on something expensive just to make a sale.
Pedaling Route 9 helps me process all of this (and alleviate the shame of my prior decision). Fortunately we are past the worst inclines and can pedal at a more leisurely pace, allowing for thought that goes beyond just making it up the next hill.
L and I and hit the GWB with daylight to spare.
Dodging bicycle clubs trying to make up for a late start, giving no quarter in their hive mentality.
They almost knock me into a support pole. Jerks.
As we exit the Bridge, I show L how to access the ramp to the Greenway (I’m very proud of this discovery), and down we go – no subway for us. And no Porta-Potties either; we've sweated out all our liquids.
We part at 23rd Street, L to head for home back over the Williamsburg Bridge (god love her); me to Zen Bikes.
We part at 23rd Street, L to head for home back over the Williamsburg Bridge (god love her); me to Zen Bikes.
Because from the moment I decided to do this ride, my intent has been to report in afterwards (providing I survived) to my friend J at Zen. He’s been very encouraging and suggested after I rode The Palisades, I try the next rite of passage: a trip to Piermont. But Piermont was a blip on the radar for L and me – we zipped by it in both directions (I’ve skipped a rite!). So I’m really looking forward to sailing triumphantly into Zen and telling J I made it all the way to Nyack – and more importantly, I made it back.
And while I’m at Zen, I may as well look around. A girl can always look…
And while I’m at Zen, I may as well look around. A girl can always look…
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