Indeed, after Monday's post I was worried about having to dodge gamers in the bike lane when I set out for an "epic" round-trip commute to Brooklyn recently that would span three (3) boroughs. I was also worried about falling victim to the latest bike crackdown, since as I understand it once you go below 96th street you're fair game. So to that end, I made sure to ride a bike with a bell on it:
As it turned out I was spared, though I can only speculate as to how things might have turned out if I'd been riding this:
I also wonder if the NYPD includes ElliptiGOs in their dragnet when they're doing a bike crackdown:
Because I see a helmet and a handlebar bag, but I don't see a bell:
Just think how much time Froome would have put into his rivals if only someone had passed him an ElliptiGO.
There are various bike lanes and greenways to choose from between my home and Central Park, but once you get below 59th Street the options for getting through the commercial thicket of Midtown are a bit more limited. While you can opt to circumvent it altogether by heading to the extreme east or west sides, I generally opt to whip out the machete and charge straight down Fifth Avenue:
Before long I'd dispatched with Manhattan and was on the bridge to Brooklyn:
By the way, we can debate the efficacy of bike helmets until our faces are Citi Bike blue, but I think we can all agree there's no difference between wearing a helmet in the manner pictured above and not wearing one at all. (In fact it's probably much safer not to wear the helmet, since that thing's liable to choke you.)
Sometime over the last ten years someone must have discovered a cache of vintage Cannondales and brought it to Brooklyn because they're absolutely everywhere:
Apart from the helmet right at dog leg-lifting level I give this locking job high marks--though I can't say the same for this bike locked by the front wheel only:
If I knew where the owner worked I'd show up with their bicycle as well as a copy of my book.
Speaking of bike security, this green bike caught my eye:
As far as I can tell, this is a Breeze bike share bike:
Which is odd, since Breeze appears to be the bike share system for Santa Monica.
So if anyone's got an explanation as to what this one's doing in Brooklyn I'd love to hear it.
Anyway, after my eight-hour spa treatment I headed back towards home by way of the Manhattan Bridge, where as usual the outbound Cat 6-ing was at a fever pitch:
Though the most crushing instance was when this rider rang her bell at me like she was attempting to summon a recalcitrant butler and then, when I didn't move over fast enough (or, to be honest, at all), flew right by me on her Free Spirit:
It was rather humbling, if not downright formidable:
I reached Manhattan with my head hung low and made my way uptown, only to find the NYPD had commandeered pretty much the entire 4th Avenue bike lane:
I'm not sure if they were assembling in anticipation of some protest or else just honing their bike lane-blocking technique, but either way it was an impressive show of force:
It was also an impressive show of irony given the sign I soon came upon in Central Park:
As you know, I love to be admonished by signs while riding in parks, and this one did not disappoint:
I particularly appreciated this order:
How many Central Park cyclists are traveling significantly faster than 20mph for a sustained period? Even the most enthusiastic Fred or Tridork is really only doing that on the downhills. Meanwhile, a car won't even trip one of the very few school zone speed cameras Albany lets the city install unless it's traveling more than 10mph over the limit. Then again, I didn't have a radar gun to clock this pair:
As for me, I stayed well shy of the speed limit, and I'm pleased to report I made it to the northern tip of Manhattan without incident:
And once over the bridge I made a point of stopping and treating myself to a recovery beverage:
Which I of course shared with the trusty Son of Scattante, née the Ironic Orange Julius Bike:
Riding here can be fraught, but when it all comes together you can almost be forgiven for thinking you live in the best city in the world.