Mother Goose Stories

In my last post I mentioned both landscape painters:

And birds, both of which I’ve encountered since:

I’m not a Bird Fred but I believe that’s some kind of crane, and the bicycle counterpart of the long-necked waterfowl is of course the Rivendell–owing, of course, to its tall quill stem gullet:

Most Rivendells look like they could easily down an entire live fish without chewing.

I also saw some goslings:

The scene may appear tranquil and placid, but Mother Goose was hissing at me like a cat who just saw a cucumber:

Incidentally, this was my first time back on the Homer after a solid week of Platypussing:

So how do they compare? Well, they’re both equally smooth and comfortable, but the Homer feels much “racier” in comparison due to its more compact nature, smaller wheels, and flatter cockpit. It’s hard to say exactly at what point one becomes fully indoctrinated into the Cult of Rivendell, but it’s safe to say that when you’re describing your A. Homer Hilsen as “racy” there’s no going back.

Oh, and today I discovered an auxiliary benefit of the Grip Monarch pedals, which is that they snug right up against a New York City bike rack:

When locking my bike to a rack or pole I always position either the pedal or the crankarm in such a way as to prevent the frame from making contact with said rack or pole should someone or something knock it over, so this was a happy discovery.

ANYWAY, speaking of cults, and the Platypus…

…I was riding on the Ol’ Croton Aqueduct recently:

When I passed Untermyer Gardens:

I learn a lot from reading my own blog. For example, it was a commenter who first informed me that this spot was apparently where David “Son of Sam” Berkowitz and his cadré of Satan Freds used to hold their rituals and stuff. Furthermore, the other day, another commenter (or maybe the same one, I’m not sure) mentioned the new “Sons of Sam” documentary series on Netflix, which until that moment I had not been aware of:

Most importantly, I had absolutely no idea that he was called “Son of Sam” because he was obsessed with Sam the Butcher from “The Brady Bunch:”

Just kidding!

But I’m not kidding aout the other stuff.

Anyway, since I first learned about the dark history of this particular spot, it’s gotten a lot less creepy. It used to look like this, and was creepy even if you were totally ignorant about it like I was:

But they’ve since cleaned it up and now it’s only marginally creepy:

The gate that grants you access to this tableau has been locked since the early days of The Pando (RIP), but on this particular occasion I found that it was finally open again. Note the “No Dogs Allowed” sign, which if you know anything about the Son of Sam killings is rather ironic:

I’ve been watching and enjoying “The Sons of Sam” (thanks to whoever mentioned it, by the way) so I figured I’d poke around for a bit. If it looks spooky at all, consider there were also two women in fancy clothes leaning against the statues and taking glamor shots of themselves with selfie sticks, which instantly dispelled even the slightest suggestion of morbidity. Nevertheless, since I haven’t included them in any of my photos, you can pretend it was totally eerie. For example, here is where the cult members planted a whimsical garden:

And here’s an errant sunbeam shining directly on the words “…of Sam:”

That’s right…OF SAM!!!

KILL… KILL… KILL…

Sorry.

Anyway, it was all quite lovely, and in a way I feel bad about focusing on the sensational Son of Sam stuff when it’s really just a beautiful public garden that’s well worth a visit:

Though I will say the deer did seem a little more menacing than usual:

They’re up to something, I just know it.

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