Day 3, 65 miles, Mamaroneck, NY, to Middlesex, NJ
Day 2, 55 miles, Milford, CT, to Mamaroneck, NY
One of the reasons I started this blog, about adventure and adventurism, is that I believe every day is an adventure, and should be celebrated as such. Adventure, to me, is where life is lived. It’s experiencing the 2s and 3s, yes, but also the 8s and 9s. Sitting in front of my desk at home yields days full of 4s, 5s, 6s, sometimes 7s.
Today, Day 3 of my 70-day xUS bike trip, defined my philosophy. It was an adventure in every sense. The highs, the lows, the drudgery of challenge, the ecstasy of triumph.
Riding a bike into and through New York City is always an adventure. Doing it with 35 pounds of stuff attached to the bike only accentuates the thrill of the unknown.
Today’s ride began with four miles on Route 1 in Mamaroneck. It’s a quick wakeup call when Monday morning traffic is squeezing you off the road. One good thing about New York City riding is that the bike culture is prevalent and seems accepted. Bikes weave in and through traffic as needed, treating red lights as reason only to slow down and make sure traffic isn’t coming before riding through.
Riding the Grand Concourse in the Bronx was an adventure in itself. Construction, cars pulling in and out of the parking lane, weaving through backed up traffic at the never-ending stoplights, negotiating the sizable potholes and bumpy asphalt patches, constantly on the lookout for an SUV veering in front of you.
And yet…I love riding in NYC, just as I love driving there. It keeps you on your toes, on high alert. It’s exciting, non-stop, adrelanine-pumping adventure.
From the Bronx, navigation led me to the High Bridge, which I’d never taken. A gorgeous, old bridge, the oldest in New York, towering a couple hundred feet over the Harlem River with a view of the New York skyline in the distance (foggy on this day), and ushering me into Manhattan. From there, across Manhattan to the Hudson River Greenway.
I crossed the Hudson via ferry from Battery Pier over to Liberty Park, Jersey City, not a pretty town. Nor, for that matter, is Newark, though it did present me with some of the most intense and harrowing traffic so far, including some bridge crossings and a highway crossing that I at first thought was simply impossible (I took a breath and went for it, and lived. Enough said.).
At one point I hit a road rut so big that my 14-lb. pannier flew off my bike and landed, forlornly, in the shoulder. A group of construction workers leered as I retrieved it and refastened it to the bike.
It’s a circumstance I’m getting used to, being leered at. Bikes aren’t typically decked out with every available space being used to carry something. It’s cool. It reminds me of my travels in China in the early 1990s – being openly stared at.
Following Newark, my day of adventure mellowed into the calm, reasonable ultra-suburbs of Perth Amboy and towns south, with modest houses in peaceful neighborhoods, smooth, untrammeled streets, smells of barbecue and families tossing balls in the yard. I love the suburbs, for bike trips anyway.
But, then the rain started coming down. It was a fitting end to a harrowing, but ultimately electrifying, day.
On to Philly.