My local ride fell through, but it was too beautiful to stay home. Thought I’d take Lucille out for a spin on the East Side. We left at 3:30, took 20th over and searched for the bike path there. I asked a fellow biker I met where the bike path was by the River, and he seemed not to know about it. I should have taken that as a sign. Yes, there is a path. It stops and starts and ultimately dumped me out at 39th St into traffic hell bent for the 59th St Bridge. Frantic! Obama in town? Yes, there was a bike lane. That the cars used. That they sat in. That they jumped curbs from, came zinging out of nowhere into. I found myself doing things I swore I would never do (and don’t plan to do again). Situations like this will turn you into a hot dogger, or a ninny. As soon as I had a chance, I took the ninny’s route and ended up walking from 50th-59th on York Ave, where according to the map, there was a great bike path along the river.
At which point I thought I’d take a quick detour to the first place I ever lived with my mother in New York. Here it is, 430 East 63rd. The canopy was originally navy blue.
At which point I thought I’d take a quick detour to the first place I ever lived with my mother in New York. Here it is, 430 East 63rd. The canopy was originally navy blue.
I think we were apt #5B. The place was a small rectangle with a terrace (like these):
My mother came to New York as a fearful single Mom. Me, terrified of the City, bullied on the school bus, and then at school, I remember Sutton Terrace as a place where all we had was each other. Totally immersed right now in Donna Tartt’s novel (The Goldfinch) which describes the emotional landscape we shared better than I could, I found this visit more poignant than I can describe. Since leaving in 1959, this is the first time I’ve been back. I lingered over the garden, as beautiful as I remembered:
And then it was back to my search for a bike path via 59th St. I found a route along the River, first coming upon where the river and ocean currents constantly battle for dominance – Wow!! Is this Hell’s Gate?
As for the path itself, on the East Side, the pavement along the river is buckled hexagonal tile that has long since seen better days.
After enduring it for 15 blocks or so, I came to this. Sigh...
I suppose I could have huffed Lucille up because – according to the map, there’s a great path all along the River. And a Brooklyn Bridge for sale…
So - back to York Avenue, which by then has a nice, green bike lane in good shape – no one’s bent on getting to a bridge – turned west on 91st and began wending my way home towards the Park. The day was still beautiful, but by this time, I was in no mood for Fiend’s Hill a second time, and found a cut through which brought me back down along the familiar West Side. As I approached Riverside Drive, the street was blocked off for a cool Greek Celebration, complete with music, lots of food – and dancing!
So - back to York Avenue, which by then has a nice, green bike lane in good shape – no one’s bent on getting to a bridge – turned west on 91st and began wending my way home towards the Park. The day was still beautiful, but by this time, I was in no mood for Fiend’s Hill a second time, and found a cut through which brought me back down along the familiar West Side. As I approached Riverside Drive, the street was blocked off for a cool Greek Celebration, complete with music, lots of food – and dancing!
Took awhile to get to the River, but I’m getting better at knowing how. Three hours later, Lucille and I trundled home. The breathing. I feel as though I haven’t breathed for 30 years, and now at last I am. What a great new passion.