10 September 2006, 5:15 A.M. We descend mostly by feel in the pre-dawn
gloom, with no illumination save for the tiny Mag-lite I clutch to my
handlebar and the twin strings of lights running along the cables of
the George Washington Bridge, which looms enormous overhead. We are
alone on the narrow, dark path which switches back down the steep
hillside below the bridge. This is really stupid. I'm convinced that
any second, some smelly lunatic is going to leap out of the trees and
try to tackle me. Either that, or I'm going to endo on some invisible
pothole and break my collarbone two miles into the ride. We complete
the descent to the Hudson River, and cruise along the darkened
riverside path. The smelly lunatics are there -- I can see them once in
a while, dark shapes off to the side, asleep, or just finishing off the
last of their forties before the sun comes up. We douse the lights
entirely and glide silently past on the fixies, making no sound but the
subtle whir of rubber on asphalt. Two men stand smoking beside a car in
the deserted parking lot behind the Harlem sewage treatment plant.
New York, baby.
Sixty blocks downtown, we emerge from the gloom of the woods and cruise
east on 110th Street. The tribe is gathering, and we fall in with an
increasingly dense flow of roadies headed toward the Central Park North
entrance at 110th Street and Lenox Ave. It's a party atmosphere as the
first light of dawn hits the clear sky and we roll, hundreds of us,
north on Lenox for the start of the New York City Century.
What is there to say about riding 100 miles in NYC on a fixed-gear
bike? Like the city itself, the experience is a mess of contradictions.
The ride thorougly reaffirms my perception that roadies are, by and
large, a bunch of total [censored]. But, like New York, you must adapt to
it, because it will never adapt to you. This is the first thing to get
used to. And the scene is too cool and festive to ruin with a bad mood.
The ride is impeccably organized by Transportation Alternatives, a city
cycling/pedestrian advocacy group. The rest stops overflow with bananas
and Krispy Kreme donuts and good cheer. The fixies feel magnificent as
we spin along the Brooklyn seaside, the Manhattan leg of the ride and
the Brooklyn bridge behind us, starting to warm up as we hit the
30-mile mark. We hook up with Gordo at the second rest stop, catch up
and separate many times over the next few hours as we all make our way
through Brooklyn and Queens. The ride is a long, monotonous blur of
pain and frustration and amazement and delight. There is no narrative.
We speak very little and we think even less.
Highlights of the ride:
* Brooklyn Bridge
* Prospect Park Zoo
* Coney Island
* Rockaway Beach
* JFK airport
* Worlds Fairgrounds
* A couple of laps on the Kissena velodrome
* La Guardia Airport, right under the runway approach, so we get buzzed
by a 737 on approach.
* Triboro Bridge
The official route takes us up into a big loop in the Bronx, and J. and
I decide we're not into the final loop, so we say so long to Gordo and
cut back directly from Randalls Island to Central Park. We do a lap on
the park road, pick up our T-shirts, and then make our way back up to
Washington Heights, half dead.
We have missed a century my a single mile: my odometer reads 99. One
gear, no coasting. Hennepin Ale and Chinese cigarettes and a jacuzzi
await inside. We punch the "up" button on the elevator. J. and I look
at each other, and smile. This city will always belong to us, and we to
it, always.
Peace.
CC