145 Miles to Montauk

This past weekend was something of an odyssey; from California to New York on Saturday and New York City to Montauk on Sunday, I was truly all over the place. Saturday’s journey was defined by overhead monotone announcements informing half-awake travelers of delayed flights. While Sunday’s adventure was an amazing trek that challenged me both mentally and physically. It was definitely a weekend like no other.

Having arrived in New York about 4 hours after the scheduled time, I was slightly frazzled and out of sorts upon landing. Thankfully I hadn’t checked any baggage so I went straight to the AirTrain, eventually deciding upon spending the extra $5 to take the Long Island Rail Road as opposed to the Subway back into NYC. Despite my mental decision, I took the AirTrain to Howard Beach rather than Jamaica so I ended up saving a few bucks and losing some more time by taking the Subway.

I didn’t arrive home until about 11pm or so, and I didn’t start packing for the ride to Montauk until midnight… I finally fell asleep around 2am which only allowed for about an hour of sleep before I had to wake for the Montauk Century– granted, had I arrived home “on time” I would have had about 5 hours of sleep. In any case, I was in complete denial of the day ahead.

At 3am, I woke to my alarm, floundered about my room in darkness and donned my bike gear that I had laid out just an hour ago. My brain was still sleeping even though the alarm jump started my body into motion. Had I not carefully laid out my clothes and backpack I definitely would have had trouble finding and sorting gear for the day.

I checked in to the event at Penn Station among a handful of avid cyclists, some in groups with matching jerseys, while other solo cyclists like myself lingered on the outskirts of the activity. I received my cue sheet; and after giving it a quick glance, I took off down 8th Avenue just after 5am.

It was surreal crossing the East River into Brooklyn. The sun rose as I made my way across the Williamsburg Bridge, pacing myself behind someone far more awesome than I could ever imagine: a young woman who was completing the 145 miles in flip flops. Her amazing-ness coupled with the beautiful sunrise and my adrenaline set the day off on a wonderful note.

The first rest stop was in Queens, though I didn’t tarry long nor did I stock up on foodstuffs (I regretted this trend later on). The second stop was in Babylon where I stopped long enough to snap a photo. Unfortunately, I lost the cue sheet while riding from the finish line, so I can’t quite recall the remaining rest stops other than the very last one, at Water Mill, where I actually stopped to eat 2 bananas and an apple as I’m quite certain I had depleted all glucose stores in my muscles. Had I actually utilized the rest stops to rest and replenish sugar levels and whatnot, maybe the ride wouldn’t have been as… interesting.

I discovered my physical threshold around 90 miles into the ride. That’s when all sorts of interesting things happened. My leg muscles began to feel like they were constantly contracted, as if at any moment they’d implode. My lungs had that same sensation as I would have had after the last 100 meters of running a mile- except instead of being sharp and lasting a minute or so, the feeling was somewhat subdued and lasted for the remaining hours of the ride. To keep myself going, I remembered the people who believed in me and donated to the Bike & Build Fund as well as thinking of all the pain that people go through who can’t afford housing. It was an excruciating mental and physical exercise.

Thankfully, I found a friend to pace to, or rather, he found me- thanks to my Bike & Build jersey. Matt noticed my super snazzy gear as he was passing by and cycled alongside me for a good amount of the second half of the trek. I did my best to keep pace with him, which ironically increased my average speed for the last bit of the journey. Matt also gave me invaluable tips on shifting gears and tackling hills, which completely altered my hill strategy- okay fine! I didn’t have any strategy for hills before Sunday. Needless to say, Matt was a lifesaver.

I rolled through the finish line around 4pm – 11 hours after starting and completely spent. It was incredible. After parking my bike on the lawn, I took a shower and sat in the shade of a truck to munch on some turkey jerky and reflect on the journey. Everything was great. The shower, the jerky, the lawn… I was riding a wave of endorphins. It was a beautiful experience on so many levels; it was an incredible journey in so many ways. A perfect primer for the awesomeness that is Bike & Build.

NYC to Montauk

Long Island Ride

In preparation for the Montauk Century, I went for a weekend ride to Medford, Long Island this past Saturday/Sunday. The idea was to familiarize myself with the lay of the land, as I’ve not invested enough time exploring “the island” for an all out trek across it. So with that mindset, a deviously roundabout route was created to get from NYC to Medford: cutting through Brooklyn, and following the South Shore eastward. With this routing, what should have been about 60 miles transformed into a nice little 85 mile day trip (plus the miles added on from “creative” “improvisations” to the route).

Day 1: Saturday morning was brisk and cool, the skies murky with clouds that shook showers, but I was prepared for the weather, wearing leg warmers over the tights underneath my cycling shorts and a rain jacket on top of the arm warmers over the thermal underarmor beneath my Bike & Build jersey… Yes, I do enjoy layering. I find it fun- and useful, for though it was cold for the first half of the day, by the afternoon the clouds had scattered and it was a warm spring day.

I followed the Hudson River Park Greenway and crossed the Brooklyn Bridge over the East River- familiar territory. Once in Brooklyn, I made my way southeast and wound up at Prospect Park and just HAD to ride around it- but in doing so, I somehow lost Flatbush Avenue… which is quite ridiculous if you look at the map. Looking back, I’ve no idea how this occured, but it did. And for the next hour and some, I was drifting about Brooklyn’s roads: Church, Kings Highway, Bay Parkway, Ocean Parkway- had I known how the grids were laid out, I may have been able to pull off the improvisation, but in the end, I asked a few people how to get back on track.

Finally following Flatbush Avenue, I skimmed the edge of the Jamaica Bay National Recreation Area and crossed the Gil Hodges Memorial Bridge. The bridge is a pedestrian bridge and there were signs which stated that cyclists were to dismount and walk bikes across. I complied for the first half of the way, but seeing as I was the sole person using the bridge that morning, I decided to ride the rest of the way. No one seemed to mind as there was no one to notice.

Once across, I made my way to the Boardwalk and rode down it a ways before stopping for a late morning break. The boardwalk stretched for miles, the beach was deserted but looked inviting, and I was content snacking away, reading warning signs in Spanish, and enjoying the sound of the waves in their never-ending concert with the shore. It was a welcome contrast to the morning’s madness through Brooklyn.

The rest of the ride was, for the most part, uneventful. I followed my directions with little incident and found my way to Medford in no time at all. Long Island’s South Shore is quite flat, so the ride wasn’t too challenging in and of itself. It was quite interesting riding through the towns and hamlets, the incorporated villages and whatnots- it made me wonder what sort of governing system all these places have and how it relates to the overall state… yes, as the wheels on the road turned, the wheels in my head mused over government and local politics.

Day 2: For the ride from Medford, I opted to go more or less straight across Long Island’s mid-section so that I could cross the Triborough Bridge and visit Randall’s Island for the first time. While slightly shorter in distance, this ride was a bit more challenging, but no less enjoyable, due to the rolling hills.

Still a bit fazed from yesterday’s Brooklyn adventure, I clipped directions to my brake cables- an ingenious idea from my Bike & Build hero, Sonya. As enjoyable as it always is, I was determined not to get (too) lost- and for the most part, I succeeded. I followed the directions to a ‘T’. I was good. I was on top of the world. And about a third of the way back, I found myself on G Road just as the directions stated- except G road became dirt road became muddy state park fire road…

I doubted myself, turned the directions upside-down and sideways, and cursed at myself for not printing a visual map. But I continued on, taking a break to collect myself and to take a picture of an abandoned vehicle that seemed a manifestation of my darkest thoughts: “It’s over man! Bail out!” Still, the hum of a main road, what I hoped was “Old Commack”, was just barely audible- so I kept on, keeping on the so called ‘G Road’. After more than a few WTF moments, I emerged from the underbrush and was indeed at the “intersection” of G Road and Old Commack. I muttered a few unsayables, thanked my lucky stars, and continued on without any other mishaps.

I stopped at a little church to admire the spring blossoms, and by mid-afternoon I was crossing the Triborough Bridge back into the city. I rode around Randall’s Island a bit, and then took the Bronx Kill’s Crossing north since I could not find the Harlem pedestrian walkway. This slight deviation was much more manageable as the terrain is more familiar and I found the 145th street bridge with ease. Officially back in the city, I went straight home, promptly cleaned up, and then passed out after another interesting cycling adventure.

does that make me crazy? probably

It’s not my fault. The button on the website said “click here” so I did. Now I’m registered for the Montauk Century Ride– and not the 60 or 100 mile ride either, mind you… I’ve gone and done myself in with the 145 mile ride.

So now what? Well, I’m going to take this one sitting down, thank you. Over the weekend, I’ll be riding to Patchogue, Long Island via the Gateway National Recreation Area, skirting the southern borders of Jamaica Bay Wildlife Refuge and following the South Shore eastward.All in all, it’ll be about 160 miles over two days, give or take a few extra miles due to the inevitable deviations along the way.

Ollie the Weatherman says, “IT GON’ RAIN!” Perfect for testing out my weatherproof camera and the staying power of sharpie directions on my arm. Hopefully the weather will deter the fair-weather outdoors-men and women from traveling, leaving the roads traffic free! We shall see…

of god and tartans

This past weekend was the 12th annual blessing of the bikes at at the Cathedral Church of St. John the Divine in New York city. Considering my recent close encounter of the automobile kind, I figured a little divine help was a good idea. So, I woke up early Saturday morning and hopped into my super fabulous bike shorts and bike & build jersey, put on my gloves and shoes, and strapped on my helmet for the quick morning ride.

Despite the sunshine, the morning was crisp and cool. A few clouds speckled the pale blue sky, hinting at another beautiful spring day. It was perfect riding weather; though as I picked up speed on Riverside, I wished I had worn a jacket.

I arrived at the church early, event information warned to be on-time or risk missing the blessing altogether. I spent the down time watching cyclists arrive, some brought fancy road bikes, others brought mountain bikes, frames… a man mused that he might just bring his derailer next year, as a man walked in with a wheel.

I wasn’t keeping track of the time, but it must have been 9:30 when people began forming two lines down the main space of the cathedral. Reverend Tom (or more properly, Reverend Canon Thomas P. Miller) led a short service at the front of the cyclist columns, pausing now and again for praise in the form of bicycle bells- my usual aversion to the sound (or rather the aggressive cyclist) was calmed by the space and its acoustics.

After the blessing, Reverend Tom invited the cyclists to do a circuit around the cathedral’s interior. I obliged and followed the cyclists once around before heading out and back home for a quick nap.

Blessed and refreshed, I made my way to the Tartan Day Parade. Early, again, I meandered up and down 6th Avenue, collecting swag, talking to kilted folk, and taking pictures. By 2 PM, I was fully tartanized (minus the kilt). I donned a white Scotland cap and tucked a small Scottish flag into my “utility” belt. Flowing heroically in the light spring breeze, my cape, a Scottish flag, was kept MacGyvered into place by the handle of a small American flag, allowing both hands free to take pictures!

Never in my wildest dreams would I have thought I’d enjoy the sound of bagpipes as much as I did on Saturday. There were hundreds of players, and I never thought I’d say this, but I think the more bagpipes the better. It was simply wonderful- and the drummers! I was absolutely entranced by their twirling batons, it looked incredibly fun to do, but must take a good deal of hand-eye coordination to pull off in time while marching. Maybe the kilts help.

The parade lasted for about an hour, with various groups and associations displaying their pride and showcasing their talents. One of my favorites was the Scottish Terrier owners. While I’m usually not a fan of dressing up animals… this kilted pup got two thumbs up for being super awesome. This Terrier is captaining her wheeled ship down the street. Look closely and you’ll see there’s a pirate skull on the back. This is one cool dog with an outfit that works.

J&J – Arrival: 2.1

Jack & Jill have arrived in NYC

Christmastime at 157th

It’s been a harrowing few weeks here. All sorts of madness and mayhem, riots and the like- just my kind of tea party. I’ve had an incredible stroke of good fortune hand in hand with a myriad of low blows and downright downers. Why, just the other night my apartment was burglarized.

It was Saturday and I spent it like any other day – working. I left the apartment around 1pm to go to the library with hopes of focusing my energy. 10 hours later, I had accomplished less than I had hoped, but more than I had expected- considering the fact that I’d been burning the candle at both ends for a while and was both mentally and physically fatigued. I packed up my things and opted to take the subway home, coming to terms with my state of being and realizing the usual walk home would be a nail in the coffin, so to speak.

Most nights, Stephanie or Hans is home before I arrive. The usual routine is for me to stumble into the apartment and spend my last stores of energy catching up with the roommates before passing out from exhaustion or catching a second wind and working ’til dark-thirty in the morning. Had Saturday been like most nights, I’d have placed money on the former, all things considered. But it was unlike any other night I’ve experienced yet.

I walked the 6 flights of stairs in defiance, muttering deliriously to myself that my knee better heal itself (I ran to work last week, shouldering a laptop+accessories without stretching… my knee has yet to forgive me). I reached the top and my body immediately began shutting down. I was home. I’d say hello to Stephanie or Hans- whoever was there- and I’d be in bed in less than a minute, asleep in 5. But all this was fantasy.

The door opened a few inches before being stopped abruptly by the chain. From the opening I could see Angel’s television boxed up and sitting beside the couch. My hiking backpack was in the hallway. All the lights were on. I heard shuffling inside, then silence. Neither Stephanie or Hans had told me they’d be going out and I hadn’t seen or heard from either all day- so in my stupor I assumed that one or both of them were playing a prank on me. Confused, I closed the door and sent them both text messages: “who is home right now?…”

The little hour-glass was turning perpetually in my head, or for those apple aficionados: the spiral of doom, nothing was processing. I was perplexed and totally unprepared to deal with the situation at hand. Waiting for response from my roommates I opened the door again and sat there yelling into the apartment something along the lines of ninja kicking a person’s face or some such nonsense. Expecting one of my roommates to burst into view laughing at my helplessness, I kept my vigil at the door, still completely unaware that anything was out of sorts. Then Stephanie’s texts arrived: “I’m not home”, “I’m pretty sure Hans isn’t home”…

Stephanie was the first to get back and it wasn’t until then that I realized what had transpired: I had come home while someone was in the middle of ransacking our apartment. Stephanie called the cops who promptly kicked in our door and made a sweep of the premises. Not long after they arrived, Hans came home and we all made a list of missing items from our visual analysis of the apartment, we had to be careful not to touch anything because CSI was on its way. The compiled list was an extensive array of electronics and valuables: laptops, a monitor, jewelry, Christmas presents, a Columbia ski jacket, digital cameras, debit cards…

CSI arrived, focusing on my room, where the individual entered and exited through the fire-escape window, and the boxed up television. After finishing up in my room and checking the television for fingerprints, the police allowed us to start sorting through the mayhem to see if we could find any of our missing items. Stephanie’s laundry bag was bulging and propped up in the middle of the common area. Inside, most of our missing items were recovered! Unfortunately, at the end of our clean up, the digital cameras, a laptop, debit cards, jewelry, and a backpack were still missing… and I was still only half aware of what was going on around me.

Satisfied with the evidence collected, CSI and the police called it a night. Not long after they left, Angel came by and helped us clean up our apartment. By 3 am, it looked like nothing had happened- save for the plank of wood missing from the door frame and some half-opened Christmas presents beneath the tree. Had I been in my full self and known that neither of my roommates was home, it is very likely that I would have done something extremely rash and dangerous… luckily, I walked in on the heist and no one was hurt. My window has since been fortified. Huzzah.

Spryo Gyra “A Night Before Christmas”

Spyro Gyra, the veteran New York based jazz, presents a musical gem this holiday season with A Night Before Christmas. It’s sure to be a holiday favorite for new and old fans alike as it delivers sophisticated yet accessible, complex yet melodic jazz renditions of traditional holiday favorites.

“O Tannenbaum” opens with a short, but compelling layered intro. Jay Beckenstein introduces the melody on saxophone in his distinctive style and Tom Schuman answers on piano. Together they develop a musical conversation that is carried on by Julio Fernandez’s acoustic guitar solo. The energy builds quickly as Tom Schuman riffs up and down the piano, but just as quickly and expertly, we are brought back to the beginning where Beckenstein maintains the melody through to the end. There are some truly beautiful moments in this piece.

An original holiday tune, “It Won’t Feel Like Christmas”, is performed with suave sophistication by Tony Award winning vocalist Christine Ebersole. However, its performance falls a bit short of expectation, as Ebersole plays it safe in her delivery. In contrast the energy and performance of Janis Siegel and Bonny B in “Baby It’s Cold Outside” have a sense of dimension and character which brings this song to life.

Spyro Gyra puts a their own twist on evoking the sound of holiday bells with Dave Samuels on the vibes for “Winter Wonderland” and “Carol of the Bells”. The interplay between Samuels and Schuman creates a unique and much appreciated atmosphere. Schuman leads “Silent Night” off with a lush intro that hangs in the air like the snow almost out of time but grounded by the bass. Shifting the rhythmic accents in “This Christmas” Spyro Gyra, delivers a mesmerizing version of this traditional piece and Berkenstein’s does a fine job of captivating you with his melody line.

A Night Before Christmas is an expertly performed holiday album that conveys the holiday spirit resonating with pure jazz vibes. Its quality mix of instrumental and vocal tracks will provide the season with entertainment for years to come.

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