#1
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RR: 99-cent
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 pricks. 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 |
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#2
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RR: 99-cent
Corvus Corvax wrote: 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 pricks. 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 "The ride thorougly reaffirms my perception that roadies are, by and large, a bunch of total pricks." Hey! I resemble that remark! "I'm convinced that any second, some smelly lunatic is going to leap out of the trees and try to tackle me." Hmm... that one too. /s |
#3
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RR: 99-cent
Scott Gordo wrote: "The ride thorougly reaffirms my perception that roadies are, by and large, a bunch of total pricks." Hey! I resemble that remark! You were usually too far out in front of me for me to be able to tell... The smelly lunatic thing I can vouch for, however. CC |
#4
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99-cent
"Corvus Corvax" wrote in message
oups.com... snip New York, baby. Nuthin' like it in the world. snip 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 As usual, nice RR, CC. - CA-G Can-Am Girls Kick Ass! |
#5
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RR: 99-cent
On Tue, 12 Sep 2006 09:56:38 -0700, Corvus Corvax wrote:
What is there to say about riding 100 miles in NYC on a fixed-gear bike? How about "ouch"? The ride thorougly reaffirms my perception that roadies are, by and large, a bunch of total pricks. Word. gabrielle |
#6
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RR: 99-cent
Corvus Corvax wrote: Scott Gordo wrote: "The ride thorougly reaffirms my perception that roadies are, by and large, a bunch of total pricks." Hey! I resemble that remark! You were usually too far out in front of me for me to be able to tell... The smelly lunatic thing I can vouch for, however. CC Sorry if I seemed less than sociable. I was in a weird position where I wanted to ride with Jeremy (who was in a bit of a rush) and you guys (who obviously didn't have the kind of gearing for fast starts/stops and had to be more tempered with momentum). I wanted to hang out with all of you, and wound up riding in a no-man's land in between. Funny how that worked out. /s |
#7
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99-cent
"Corvus Corvax" wrote in message
snip 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. I just spent a week in New York and would've ridden 100+ miles on my fixie but it was over a few days. It was a pretty amazing experience, that city is BIG. |
#8
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RR: 99-cent
Scott Gordo wrote: Sorry if I seemed less than sociable. Hardly. The "prick roadie" thing was most definitely not aimed at you and Jeremy. It was a wonderful ride, but the one thing that really got up my nose was the obnoxious sense of entitlement that a lot of the riders displayed. J. hit it right on the head when she commented that the whole raison d'etre of the ride is coexistence on the streets. Otherwise, it would be the 5-Borough Bike Tour with the route all closed off and patrolled, or a deliberately outlaw event like Critical Mass. With that in mind, it was very disappointing to see packs of riders just being jerks to everybody else out there who was simply trying to go about their Sunday afternoon. Including pedestrians and other cyclists. We had to shout at people to let little old ladies cross the street _with the light_. I mean, what the ****? I was in a weird position where I wanted to ride with Jeremy (who was in a bit of a rush) and you guys (who obviously didn't have the kind of gearing for fast starts/stops and had to be more tempered with momentum). I wanted to hang out with all of you, and wound up riding in a no-man's land in between. I don't ride often in packs -- being in a school of fish gives me the creeps, unless I really know and trust the people involved. J. and I run fixies with identical gearing, so it's practically like we're on a tandem when we ride together, and we typically ride one-up. But it's amazing the difference in rhythm between fixies and gearies. We're 180-degrees out of phase: they speed up just when we throttle back, and they slow to a crawl just when we need to hammer. I noticed that we were riding a way bigger gear than almost all of the other fixie riders I saw. Part of that is that we could get away with it because we were running with (squeaky, in my case) brakes. The slow pace of a lot of the traffic was just torture for us, because the comfortable cruising speed on those bikes is around 18 mph. Part of the challenge, I guess. Misantrophically yours, CC |
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