When I come home, I can tell Lucille has missed me, her deflated tires a spiritual indication of her inner state. Thinking we might go out for a simple spin the morning after my return, I attempt to use the little pump that she carries around for emergencies. In my inexperience, I only succeed in letting the rest of the air out. Her tires hiss her impatience, and I echo with a sigh of my own: BFold won’t be open for a few hours. I use that time to unpack and do laundry. As soon as the clock strikes noon, we are in a taxi across town to BFold. They are out of the kind of bicycle pump I want, but they put air in Lucille’s tires and in 20 minutes we are ready to ride.
Right off, I notice my street chops are down; I take to the sidewalk more than once. The Loire Valley can spoil a person for traffic, and I’ve gotten used to not having to pay so much attention to safety. But in a couple of days, it all comes back as I ride the familiar routes to the Upper West, and up to the Promenades, making stops in City streets along the way.
Soon too, I am back to the routines of my life – the ones I’d gone on vacation to forget about: probate, renovation, health. Ugh.
Today is a day spent in Surrogate’s Court – a dry run for Probate. Back home, I slog through mind-numbing forms as best I can. By 6, I’ve had enough and need a ride to keep my sanity.
Since I’ve been back, not surprisingly I’ve felt constrained by my neighborhood rides. It has been great to really stretch out in France, see brand new places (and what places!), ride unfamiliar roads and never know what’s around the corner. No impatience with Lucille – she’s responsive and eager – but feeling just a little hemmed in geographically. And then today, I am reminded just why I love to ride in New York.
I take the Hudson Greenway down towards the Battery. This is not a new ride for me, though the route is one you have to learn because it’s not laid out in a linear fashion; at a certain point in Battery Park City, the official bike path just disappears, and you have to know how and where to pick it up. But this time – maybe it’s the fresh perspective that a vacation brings – I stumble across something I’ve been too busy navigating to notice, though I must have passed it countless times (and it’s been there since 2002): The Irish Hunger Memorial. Dedicated to the over 1 million people who starved to death in the Irish potato famine (1845-1852).
It's on Vesey and North End Streets - easy to miss if you don't know what to look for.
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Irish_Hunger_Memorial
Right off, I notice my street chops are down; I take to the sidewalk more than once. The Loire Valley can spoil a person for traffic, and I’ve gotten used to not having to pay so much attention to safety. But in a couple of days, it all comes back as I ride the familiar routes to the Upper West, and up to the Promenades, making stops in City streets along the way.
Soon too, I am back to the routines of my life – the ones I’d gone on vacation to forget about: probate, renovation, health. Ugh.
Today is a day spent in Surrogate’s Court – a dry run for Probate. Back home, I slog through mind-numbing forms as best I can. By 6, I’ve had enough and need a ride to keep my sanity.
Since I’ve been back, not surprisingly I’ve felt constrained by my neighborhood rides. It has been great to really stretch out in France, see brand new places (and what places!), ride unfamiliar roads and never know what’s around the corner. No impatience with Lucille – she’s responsive and eager – but feeling just a little hemmed in geographically. And then today, I am reminded just why I love to ride in New York.
I take the Hudson Greenway down towards the Battery. This is not a new ride for me, though the route is one you have to learn because it’s not laid out in a linear fashion; at a certain point in Battery Park City, the official bike path just disappears, and you have to know how and where to pick it up. But this time – maybe it’s the fresh perspective that a vacation brings – I stumble across something I’ve been too busy navigating to notice, though I must have passed it countless times (and it’s been there since 2002): The Irish Hunger Memorial. Dedicated to the over 1 million people who starved to death in the Irish potato famine (1845-1852).
It's on Vesey and North End Streets - easy to miss if you don't know what to look for.
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Irish_Hunger_Memorial
Finding the entrance is a little counter intuitive.
But as I circle, I see the walls are striped with newspaper headlines, personal quotes, editorials and historical description.
I walk through a hallway into the ruins of a stone house…
And then up a twisty path that looks over the Hudson. The River and City views - and the views of the Memorial itself - are stunning
But the experience of the view is drowned out by impact of the quotes I have just read (paraphrasing):
Headline: potato plague in United States. Unlikely to spread to Ireland.
Headline: potato plague found in Ireland.
Personal Description: of parents watching their house burn, knowing they have four children to take care of.
Personal Description: the heroism of so many giving to others even when they have so little.
And most horrifically:
Opinion excerpt: Ireland is too overpopulated anyway and needs to be culled.
Headline: potato plague in United States. Unlikely to spread to Ireland.
Headline: potato plague found in Ireland.
Personal Description: of parents watching their house burn, knowing they have four children to take care of.
Personal Description: the heroism of so many giving to others even when they have so little.
And most horrifically:
Opinion excerpt: Ireland is too overpopulated anyway and needs to be culled.
All direct historical quotes. Which brings to mind a book I read shortly after I left the Loire Valley: Suite Francaise, by Irene Nemerova, a Russian émigré who died in Auschwitz, written in some of the very towns I have just ridden through in the Loire.
She truly showed her French countrymen with all of their foibles: their pettiness and snobbism, their fear as well as their bravery. As I recall the Irish quotes, and with her book fresh in my mind, I can only wonder at both the scope and commonality in all of us, no matter who or where we are: the meanness and greed, the kindness and generosity. I don’t suppose this is an original thought. But I had only gone for a bike ride – and here I am contemplating the human condition. That’s why riding in New York is so great.
Fueled with such wonder, I ride around the Battery in spite of myself. The riding there is often dark, uneven and bumpy, so I don’t generally take this path. But today it is like rediscovering the South Street Seaport, the Brooklyn and Manhattan bridges all over again.
She truly showed her French countrymen with all of their foibles: their pettiness and snobbism, their fear as well as their bravery. As I recall the Irish quotes, and with her book fresh in my mind, I can only wonder at both the scope and commonality in all of us, no matter who or where we are: the meanness and greed, the kindness and generosity. I don’t suppose this is an original thought. But I had only gone for a bike ride – and here I am contemplating the human condition. That’s why riding in New York is so great.
Fueled with such wonder, I ride around the Battery in spite of myself. The riding there is often dark, uneven and bumpy, so I don’t generally take this path. But today it is like rediscovering the South Street Seaport, the Brooklyn and Manhattan bridges all over again.
Oh, how could you not love this crazy, cruel and magnificent place? I have to literally force myself to turn back before I reach the Williamsburg Bridge because the draw to ride it over Brooklyn, in spite of the fading light, is so strong.
On the way back, I see this wacky exercise area built beneath the FDR (every inch of Manhattan Island is eligible for use).
On the way back, I see this wacky exercise area built beneath the FDR (every inch of Manhattan Island is eligible for use).
And some sunflowers which look positively pathetic compared to their Loire relatives.
If you ride in New York, you will never get France. But I will go back to France. Meanwhile, I’ll be riding in New York – and that could take me anywhere.
If you ride in New York, you will never get France. But I will go back to France. Meanwhile, I’ll be riding in New York – and that could take me anywhere.