Ninth Saturday: Piermont at Last
To explain how life works actually (as opposed to theoretically), I often quote lines from Stephin Merritt’s song “I Think I Need a New Heart”:
Cause I always say I love you,
When I mean turn out the light
And I say “let’s run away”
When I just mean “stay the night” … .
To conclude this little bloglette, I can now report that on the Ninth (makeup ride) Saturday of the C-SIG training course, I finally reached Piermont. However, it was (technically speaking) not Piermont. It was a village called Nyack.
Apparently Nyack is one of five villages and hamlets known as The Nyacks.
What was I after in wanting to reach Piermont? On Base Level 1, I suppose I thought that I was going to reach the place that my half-friend use to ride to, away from us and into him-dom. I was going to see with my own eyes the place I was not invited to share.
When I reached Piermont last weekend, though, I felt nothing of the kind. I didn’t feel as if I had reached a destination, didn’t feel an iota of quasi-triumphant anything. No satiation whatsoever. I felt that I had arrived with my group at yet another destination on a cue sheet.
But yesterday when we rode—and there were only three of us who continued on from the official Police Station end point—into Nyack, I experienced that kind of “I’ll know it when I see it, and I see it!” feeling. To my surprise, I had arrived at what must be, for lack of better phrasing, My Piermont.
So, then: My Piermont is Nyack, a beautiful, who-would-think-this-exists-so-close-to-New York City? waystation. It’s near the Tappan Zee bridge, and it’s a pleasure to ride through.
(Generally speaking, riding up beautiful hills is much easier for me than riding up ugly ones. [This does not mean I could make it up and over the Corsican hills.] Waterfalls and trees are better forms of encouragement than unsightly suburban houses. Likewise, beautiful homes and gardens—cliché though it may be—speak to the striving cyclist in a way that paltry ones do not.)
One brick house was set high on a cliffy hill, and was like something out of the Arts & Crafts movement. Another house had a waterfall coming down its front steps. There was plenty of stone and brick and thickset trees.
The biggest compliment I can pay Nyack is to say that I saw a house on the water side, with a deep-red picket fence and a brightly painted house, where I could imagine playing house.
I didn’t know that I was after My Piermont, but it makes sense, doesn’t it? My half-friend can have his Piermont. I now have mine.
P.S. I forgot to talk about the mounting of the second water bottle. I bought a super-ecological one at Enoch’s bike shop after a rehearsal of the choral music group I work for. Attached it with Elite ties I’d sent away for. Two bottles of coconut water (with pulp) are much better than one, and same goes for the refilling at the tap for the ride home.