Eight Saturdays 'Til Piermont

2011-05-22 0 notes

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.

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Eighth Saturday

Going to Piermont was a little like going to any other place, except that it was far prettier than all the previous destinations. We rode along 9W, up hills that were (to me) more palatable than the dreadful Churchill and the semi-dreadful Walnut.

It felt like a bit of an achievement, but not so much. I was glad we arrived.

There was a group photo at the Gazebo; I missed it. I think I was in the bike shop.

The NYCC treated us to ice cream cones. I had a variation on the creamsicle, this one called Orange Blossom.

It was an easy ride home.

I think it’s nicest when there are small rolling hills.

2011-05-07 0 notes

Seventh Saturday

Another missed Saturday. An injury.

To make up for the disappointment, I went to Sotheby’s to view the contemporary art exhibit that was going up for auction this evening. The exhibit seemed lifted from the Abstract Expressionism one MoMA just dismantled. Bourgeois, Calder, Frankenthaler, Fred Samback, Sam Francis, and a sculpture of a woman c. 1972, by an artist whose name I can’t remember. I took a phone photo of the Francis.

So next Saturday is Piermont.

There’s now a make-up ride the following Saturday, which seems fitting. Clearly there is life after Piermont.

2011-05-01 0 notes

Sixth Saturday

This was the missed Saturday. I was at a baby shower where I had the opportunity to do an elephant on the tummy of a nine-month old boy.

On my way to the subway, I passed a lot of snazzily outfitted bikers and felt a little wistful.

I missed a ride to a place near Tappan called Pascack Park. For a while, it looked as though everybody was going to Piermont—but no! Piermont is going to be the graduation ride.

Apparently everybody got up Churchill, which is quite a feat. Now that I have the gluteus maximus connection in mind when it comes to hills, the dread factor has decreased significantly. Centerboard strength is a good thing.

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Fifth Saturday Turned Sunday

I’m finding this blog to be boring. Unlike my spirally Y Blog, it’s quite linear—it’s too linear. Today we did this, then we did this, then this. There is a way to write about this in a squiggly way but I’m not captivated enough to do do.

The highpoints of the Sunday ride, for me, were:

1) Biking all the way up Walnut (no walking), a somewhat long hill climb for a beginner, thanks to the guidance of the group leader

2) Being told by the group leader that some people like biking up hills for the gluteus maximus workout (which brought to mind my half-friend, a man who had spoken of biking’s capacity for developing in women a “pear-shaped ass” )

3) The whole wheat pancakes at the (once again) Closter Diner—the perfect sheen on them

4) Beginning to have a kind of broken-in-club chair familiarity with my clips

What I’m finding out, really, is that the success of the day depends in large part on the preparation for the day. This means more than checking the tires. It means getting (having?) the clothes, accessories, foodstuffs. Beyond this, the day depends on the weather.

After the ride, what I knew for certain (especially after buying a bottle of Poland Spring at a West Side bike shop—I was trying to find new gloves—and adding in chemical “recovery” powder was that I need two water bottles. I have been trying to clear the mold from the Camel Bak water pouch tube; not working. Bleach and lemon juice and many squeeze throughs: not working. Until I figure out that problem, I need another bottle.

I sent away for Elite cage ties, the same ones I found at the Giant shop in Shanghai last summer. Ordered them online from a bike shop called Lickton’s. Wish I had another Giant cage. I don’t think it’s easy to find in New York, and I see no good reason to go on a quest. I saw a silver cage with little red gripping lozenges I like…maybe that will be cage number two.

It’s easy to see how biking can become an expensive habit.

2011-04-23 0 notes

Fifth Saturday

It’s raining.

We’re to ride tomorrow. Because tomorrow is Easter Sunday, and because the weather calls for rain again, it’s unlikely it will be much of a group ride. We shall see.

I have to miss Sixth Saturday for a friend’s party, so if there’s no ride tomorrow, I’ll have sustained a bicycling hiatus, which won’t feel good. Practicing rpm on a recumbent bike with a video course just isn’t the same.

2011-04-21 0 notes

Fourth Saturday

It was so windy, I almost blew over, before we reached the bus terminal. Because of this, I opted not to go over (and possibly off) the bridge and continue to Northvale.

So I turned back with three others, and we used the 2011 NYC Cycling Map to navigate our way back to the Park. Unfortunately, the city does not publish a map that also indicates road conditions. An unprotected lane is one thing; an unprotected lane full of rips, seams, and holes is another.

This Saturday, weather permitting, we’ll ride to Piermont. It’s here so soon. I wasn’t ready for it to be here already.

I’ve been practicing on a recumbent bike keeping my rpm in the 80s. It’s a little strange. My computer does not, it seems, display rpm, only mph.

Tonight at Fairway, I found a rival coconut water with pulp, and on Saturday will do a taste test. Also bought some Streit’s macaroons in a canister; no comparison to the superior Whole Foods macaroons (and of course neither compare to Glaser’s macaroons).

Our excellent ride leader has become injured and so we’ll have a mystery leader this Saturday. Major bummer.

2011-04-12 0 notes

Third Saturday: The Switch

I showed up in the Boathouse parking lot on Saturday morning to ride with Group 2. What prompted the switch was a feeling that Group 3 was more athletic- and racing-minded than I, with my Victrola-esque touring mentality.

Before taking off at 9:30 (somewhat late, due to mechanical issues), the leader announced that a member riding the previous weekend had, oh, gone to the hospital in an ambulance after hitting that pothole, and would be recovering until mid-summer or so. Maybe it was his broken spoke, or maybe it was something else.

This was not what I wanted to hear before heading out, especially two days after attending the first aid seminar on the Thursday evening. Indeed, after that presentation, I was not even looking forward to the ride. (If one has children, is one more frightened of getting hurt, less frightened, or simply determined to remain intact no matter what?) Dr. Fishkin showed X-rays of an arm bone that had gone through a shoulder bone, a fractured rib, spiral fractures (from being stuck in the clips), and a cavity filled with blood. He also described how when a raw egg in an egg cup falls head-first, the egg cup (helmet) stops upon impact, but the egg (one’s head) smashes all the way to the rim of the egg cup.

What we learned, mostly, was how to perform group first aid (who directs traffic, who makes a phone call, who stabilizes the rider’s head). We were also told that appearances can be deceiving when a fallen rider rises from the ground and declares everything to be fine. Such seemingly instant recovery doesn’t mean that a serious injury hasn’t been sustained.

I began taking notes in earnest when we arrived at the subject of heat exhaustion and heat stroke because humidity has never been a good friend. I also learned a few things about tending to road rash.

Our ride to Closter saw no troubling excitement, and our leader demonstrated her avid interest in safe cycling. She cued us at various intervals to drink water. She blocked traffic for our line to turn onto a busy road. She rode up and down the line periodically.

In a couple of weeks, we’re boarding Metro North and going up to Westchester, where it might be prettier. I hope so. There was one flowering tree and a spray of yellow.

The biggest difference on this ride, aside from enjoying a high level of leadership and group communication, was my food intake. Being passenger, driver, and fuel tank has its responsibilities.

At Fairway, I had found tall cans of Thai coconut water with coconut pieces. Better than the Vico waters—more flavor. So that was my water on the way to New Jersey.

My food baggies contained apple slices, peanuts, dried cherries, and plain macaroons. By lunchtime, I’d eaten almost everything. At the Closter Diner (good iced tea), I ate a turkey burger but wished I’d ordered two orders of hash browns. Still, in spite of what people say about protein, everything was fine on the way back. If one were following a traditional Japanese diet, I wonder what would the biking fare would look like.

The precision high of the trip came at lunch, when the former coach who is riding with our group gave us the formula for knowing one’s proper bike frame: inseam measurement x .67, when legs are six inches apart.

All told, we rode 22 miles from the Boathouse to the diner and 16 on the return to the Boathouse. A splinter group of us took the Greenway back down—much nicer than the streets. Our average on the flats was 12.5 to 13 m.p.h., fast enough for me.

2011-04-04 0 notes

Second Saturday

When I biked to Montreal that high school summer long ago, we passed so many pretty sights, so many pretty fields and towns. If a landscape is going to be ugly (think of a German Expressionist poster you don’t like), it’s best if it’s interesting. Ugly beautiful is acceptable. What if it’s just plain ugly, or two parts ugly and one part mediocre?

My group rode 35 miles, and between paying attention to the bike clips, traveling unfamiliar terrain, and trying to keep in a tight enough line while biking into the wind, it took more concentration than simply circling Central Park.

There were three main points of interest:

1.) Magnolia Avenue

2.) Crêpes

3.) Churchill Road

Magnolia Avenue was the first streetscape since Morningside Drive to give me the feeling that I was on a bike ride, out of the city and somewhere pretty. It appeared slowly, not like the jagged tear in a Clyfford Still painting. We had been riding in air that was clear, cold, and marred by red brick houses with reflective windows that looked out upon small lawns. Tenafly seemed a ghost town of sorts, though one could sense upholstery life somewhere beyond the ramparts. Then came Magnolia Avenue, with a house that in passing seemed Victorian Gothic or Eastlake. It’s easier to breathe (we rode 14 m.p.h. on the flats and 10 m.p.h. on average) when traveling a pretty street on foot or bicycle.

We broke for lunch two and a half hours from the city at (as predicted) Café L’Amour. I had what turned out to be a perfect cycling lunch for a chilly day: beef stew (served in a variation on the traditional onion soup pot—one person asked if it was French onion soup I was eating) followed by a crêpe with butter and sugar. The place had decent enough batter. (The best batter I ever had was made by a Reuters reporter, many years ago.)

Churchill Road. Churchill Road was so difficult to cycle up—was it the hill, or can I attribute my failed ascent to a 12 speed bicycle which couldn’t downshift to a low enough gear?—it should be called Chirchill Road, since not all of us made it up without dismounting. I made it about a quarter of the way (our leader said it was about a half-mile long), dismounted, walked, and then rode for the last sixteenth or so—for the final rise. Our leader had forewarned us, saying that cyclists who had biked the Rockies would frown at the thought of going up Churchill. So we should do whatever we do, and do it however we do it.

It was quite a hill. It made Heartbreak Hill look seem like a bunny slope hill. Our leader told us that we would have maybe one other like it in the weeks ahead.

After some NYCC cycling exercises in a school parking lot about a mile from the bridge (this included my falling, courtesy of my clips—far less exciting than my close call in traffic at a stoplight back in Washington Heights), some A-SIG riders passed on our left (the Colnago with the Gazzetta among them) as we rode into the parking lot of a popular bike shop called Strictly Bicycles.

There I discovered a stroopwafel mortared with honey. This was a cousin of the organic honey “energy chews” (whose stained glass coloring relies less, I wager, on petroleum than on black carrot juice concentrate and annatto) I’d been chewing on at breaks.

By the time I arrived home, at 4:45 p.m., and began to stretch, I could have eaten two bowls of fettuccine Alfredo and a small mastodon. Instead, I commenced with a creamy herb cheese and crackers and sherry and water, and then moved on to pasta with lamb sausage and a hummus and a little crudité plate. Eventually came milk and butter cookies. Next week I will know to have food prepared ahead of time—perhaps a large potato casserole with ham, mushrooms, and cheese.

One thing is clear: I’m going to be eating a lot more food.

2011-04-02 0 notes

Cold Enough

Temperatures are supposed to reach the low 50s° s by 3 p.m.; for now, it’s 39° with a wind chill factor of 31°.

I actually bought warming cream, which racing athletes use. It does not compare well with the Green Oil products.

Oatmeal with banana and honey, and coffee.