Biking in NYC: Springtime Is Upon Us

New York, NY - Peter - Tuesday, April 15th, 2003 : goo

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Now that the comparatively balmy weather of spring is upon us, I've been riding my sleekly fast roadbike to work. You see, when I do the train/crosstown-bus combo, my commute takes damn near an hour. When I walk, it takes about 30-40 minutes, depending on the walk/don't-walk luck and the traffic. But today on the bike... 108th street and Broadway, across Amsterdam Ave, Columbus, Manhattan, down Central Park West, across Central Park at the 72nd Street transverse, 5th Avenue, Madison, Park, Lexington, 3rd, 2nd, 1st, York Avenue... eleven minutes. Thats right, mere moments of commuting bliss, unencumbered by traffic laws or slow walkers on thin sidewalks. Biking is truly the most expedient, civilized, sound method of citybound travel.

On my way out of work, I went to get paper towels from the bathroom to wipe some grit off the bike-chain. Instead of standing in a very pedestrian part of a very professional hospital wing wiping down the chain, I wheeled the bike into the bathroom with me and locked the door (its a one-person bathroom). Moments later, someone- and this often happens when I'm in that bathroom, for some random reason- began frantically banging on the door. Usually I ignore them, but funnyman that I am at heart, I summoned my most lasciviously sultry, velvety Barry-White-esque voice and beckoned "...come in!", thinking that would cause them to think twice before banging down the bathroom door. But no. Whomever was knocking actually jiggled the doorknob, apparently trying to enter. Hmm. I waited a nice long time before exiting, and thankfully they had left.

Riding back home, I stopped for a redlight at the transverse. Next to me pulled up a true hardcore NYC bike-messenger; you know, perched atop a minimally utilitarian Litespeed fixed-gear frame, portage slung over his left shoulder, chain wrapped around his waist along with cell and radio, clipboard, Oakleys and dreds. We gave each other the eye, and took off like rockets when the light changed.

Surprisingly, I stayed ahead for the first several blocks thanks to the extra downhill horsepower I could transfer to the road thanks to having gears. But in the flat straightaway behind the Met, he caught up, and we stayed within an arm's reach for the next mile, each gaining and subsequently falling behind, alternating. As we approached 100th street, I made a final sprint... as did he, so hard in fact that he was doing little wheelies every time he pedaled. Needless to say, he squarely kicked my ass up the hill near 110th street, giving me a smile and a pedagogical wave as I peeled off to head up Central Park West, hauling my sweaty self homebound.

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Peter: thanks :)

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