Well, the weekend is nigh, but before you go forth into it I must remind you to ALWAYS WEAR YOUR HELMET:
I mean it, too–I always wear a helmet when I ride, especially in New York City traffic while talking distractedly into a camera:
I should also remind you that when you ride a bike there’s always something “new” to “discover,” even in your own backyard:
That is the last remaining natural forest on the island of Manhattan, at its very northernmost tip. Recently I’ve been riding through it even though you’re not supposed to (I AM A BAD PERSON) and to do so is to feel engulfed by something primal–until you pop out by the intersection of Seaman and Cumming, of course, at which point you just start giggling:
Today I continued over the George Washington bridge and onto the stretch colloquially referred to as “River Road,” riding my Vintage Titanium Fred Sled:
As I began the so-called “Ranger Station climb,” I could hear the sound of a pile driver from across the Hudson in downtown Yonkers, which is in a constant state of development in a quixotic attempt to gentrify it. I knew exactly the construction site from whence it came, as I ride past it regularly. When you’re in close proximity to it, it’s stressful and irritating. However, on the other side of the river, it was simply a dull “BONG,” and it sounded not like something being driven violently into the earth, but like a monk ringing a bell in some Himalayan monastery. “BONG…BONG…BONG…” it rang rhythmically as I climbed, and as I looked out onto this prehistoric valley I considered how lucky I was to be here at this moment. I also thought about how much climbing on your bike is like life: it takes effort, and you do have to keep working at it, but as long as you remember not to work too hard it can be at least as enjoyable as it is arduous. By the time I got to the top of the climb I felt so good about the universe that I was beaming like an idiot, at which point I stopped by the side of the road and relieved myself, which is when I took the photo above.
Further along, I stopped at the café in Piermont, which quaintly is still only letting people in three at a time:
And which still quaintly displays a photo from the time when That Guy stopped in during a ride:
I remember when that happened:
Because he’d been riding with some local doofus a few days before:
Speaking of quaint, Piermont is nothing but, right down to the banner asking cyclists to please stop for red lights:
It’s enough to make you want to live there, though if the real estate’s too dear for you here’s the next best thing:
Granted, I saw this in Yonkers, but there’s nothing stopping you from moving it to Piermont. A little small, sure, but the price is certainly right.