Brooklyn's Newest Two-Wheeled Menace
It's barely noon and already today I have had two very distinctly "only in New York" moments.
This morning, I was up at the butt-crack of dawn to have breakfast up by Columbia University with two dear friends, D. and K., who are sadly leaving Metropolis in favor of Smallville this week. (You can read about their new adventures in home ownership and renovation at their co-blog, Revivalized.) While it was good to have one last hurrah with the two of them and say our goodbyes, the main purpose of the breakfast meeting was so that I could purchase and fetch D.'s bike, a lovely 18-speed mountain dealy with all sorts of gears and knobs that neither of us can identify or operate.
"Only in New York" moment #1 happened when we hit the bike shop on 96th and Broadway to air up the tires and pick up some necessary bicycle accoutrements. I now own a Kryptonite bike lock that cost me twice the price I paid for the bike itself. It's a sad fact, though, that this is a necessity in the city. Bike thieves can pretty much get around any other lock in existence. (Also, having carted the thing home in my backpack, I think the lock actually weighs more than the bike itself. My lower back is not happy with me right now.)
Suitably helmeted and aired-up, I wished D. and K. all the best and headed for home via the wonderfully well-kept and scenic Hudson River Park bike paths. And it was everything I hoped it would be, though I'm going to have to enlist the help of my favorite bike nerd to show me how all these different gears and levers work so as to make the ride smoother. All was wonderful until right around the Javits Center, when I realized that I was a) not carrying any water, b) not wearing any sunscreen, and c) not in very good shape.
I stopped off at Chelsea Piers, still revelling in the newfound joys of bike ownership, and parked the bike outside their cafe. Unsure of how to work my schmancy new Kryptonite lock, I asked a woman sitting nearby with her toddler if she'd watch my bike for a moment while I went inside to get some water. Once hydrated, I thanked her profusely, got back on the bike, and pedalled off in a reverie of exhaustion and bike-love. I had gone about three blocks when it hit me why I immediately trusted her. No, it wasn't because she was well-dressed and had a kid with her. It was because she looked familiar, and this familiarity translated into "I know her, therefore she won't run off with my bike."
See, here's where "Only in New York" moment #2 comes in. I'm about 90% certain the woman I asked to watch my bike was Molly Shannon, of Saturday Night Live fame. Only in New York does one pass and interact with celebrities on a fairly regular basis without noticing or reacting. We just get an odd sense of deja vu until a few minutes afterward, when we realize we know them from television, then we shrug and go about our business.
I made it about halfway home - and hey, 6 miles is nothing to sneeze at - and caught the Q the rest of the way. I am now sunburned, achy, and strangely energized. I think the bike will prove to be a good investment - not only does it make travel within Brooklyn much more convenient, I just think of how great my ass will look after weeks of biking and it tickles me to no end.
Does the fact that a car has just cruised by my apartment with huge, tricked-out, megabassed stereo speakers blasting that well-known thug anthem, Paul McCartney's "Maybe I'm Amazed," count as "only in New York" moment #3?
This morning, I was up at the butt-crack of dawn to have breakfast up by Columbia University with two dear friends, D. and K., who are sadly leaving Metropolis in favor of Smallville this week. (You can read about their new adventures in home ownership and renovation at their co-blog, Revivalized.) While it was good to have one last hurrah with the two of them and say our goodbyes, the main purpose of the breakfast meeting was so that I could purchase and fetch D.'s bike, a lovely 18-speed mountain dealy with all sorts of gears and knobs that neither of us can identify or operate.
"Only in New York" moment #1 happened when we hit the bike shop on 96th and Broadway to air up the tires and pick up some necessary bicycle accoutrements. I now own a Kryptonite bike lock that cost me twice the price I paid for the bike itself. It's a sad fact, though, that this is a necessity in the city. Bike thieves can pretty much get around any other lock in existence. (Also, having carted the thing home in my backpack, I think the lock actually weighs more than the bike itself. My lower back is not happy with me right now.)
Suitably helmeted and aired-up, I wished D. and K. all the best and headed for home via the wonderfully well-kept and scenic Hudson River Park bike paths. And it was everything I hoped it would be, though I'm going to have to enlist the help of my favorite bike nerd to show me how all these different gears and levers work so as to make the ride smoother. All was wonderful until right around the Javits Center, when I realized that I was a) not carrying any water, b) not wearing any sunscreen, and c) not in very good shape.
I stopped off at Chelsea Piers, still revelling in the newfound joys of bike ownership, and parked the bike outside their cafe. Unsure of how to work my schmancy new Kryptonite lock, I asked a woman sitting nearby with her toddler if she'd watch my bike for a moment while I went inside to get some water. Once hydrated, I thanked her profusely, got back on the bike, and pedalled off in a reverie of exhaustion and bike-love. I had gone about three blocks when it hit me why I immediately trusted her. No, it wasn't because she was well-dressed and had a kid with her. It was because she looked familiar, and this familiarity translated into "I know her, therefore she won't run off with my bike."
See, here's where "Only in New York" moment #2 comes in. I'm about 90% certain the woman I asked to watch my bike was Molly Shannon, of Saturday Night Live fame. Only in New York does one pass and interact with celebrities on a fairly regular basis without noticing or reacting. We just get an odd sense of deja vu until a few minutes afterward, when we realize we know them from television, then we shrug and go about our business.
I made it about halfway home - and hey, 6 miles is nothing to sneeze at - and caught the Q the rest of the way. I am now sunburned, achy, and strangely energized. I think the bike will prove to be a good investment - not only does it make travel within Brooklyn much more convenient, I just think of how great my ass will look after weeks of biking and it tickles me to no end.
Does the fact that a car has just cruised by my apartment with huge, tricked-out, megabassed stereo speakers blasting that well-known thug anthem, Paul McCartney's "Maybe I'm Amazed," count as "only in New York" moment #3?
3 Comments:
The bike shop at 96th Street! That's right by my church. There's also a great thrift shop in the basement and a huge Plant Shed next door. :-)
i hope that the bike serves you as well as it served me, either in the two years i used it heavily or in the three it has sat in my apartment untouched!
you have to wear the lock around your waist like a medieval belt. trust me.
what color is your bike? i'm an official member of the RBC now (red bike club)!
let's bike this weekend. or maybe after work one day...
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