A Moment in Time

 

The excitement was building as cyclists as far as the eye could see had invaded Church Street. Blocks ahead the early risers were mixed in with the elite cyclists at the forefront of the Five Borough Bike Tour, while far behind the procrastinators filed into the ever lengthening line snaking down to the World Trade Center. Gears were lubricated, helmets adjusted and energy bars consumed with coffee as the hoard of cyclists prepared for the annual trek through the five boroughs of N.Y.C. on their trusty steeds. Groups from out of town, other states and even other countries had invented various props to stay together in the massive crowd of 32,000 riders. All sorts of crazy horns, flags, balloons and contraptions were secured to the tops of each member’s helmet all identical within each group and towering above helmeted riders to be spotted in the massive crowds. Hundreds of volunteers were ready to man the rest stops along the way, handing out countless bottles of water, energy bars, apples, oranges and mountains of peanut butter sandwiches to be washed down with a river of energy drinks. Everyone was ready for a great ride on a beautiful May morning.

A horn was blown and minutes later the chain reaction of movement reached my section as we started to roll down the street. Crowds of spectators cheered from the sidelines as we passed Mayor Bloomberg accompanied by the boisterous Cousin Brucie of radio fame, yelling and waving to the crowd. Church Street turned into Sixth Avenue and we came to a halt at 56^th Street to allow the Israeli Day Parade cross our path. After a little while we entered Central Park, that green oasis of wonderfulness sandwiched between the skyscrapers of Manhattan like lettuce and tuna on a New York bagel. Now we made good time as the park was blocked off from cars for the duration of the tour. Some impatient riders snaked dangerously through the crowd, cutting other riders off and taking unnecessary chances as if they were in the Tour de France. Most people were there to check an event off their bucket list and were respectful of their fellow riders. After passing the Harlem Meer we exited the park onto Adam Clayton Powell Boulevard heading north to make a right onto 125^th Street. Again, we were greeted by cheering crowds. Next, we headed over the Willis Avenue Bridge and into the Bronx, where we were greeted warmly. After a quick sprint through a few streets in the Bronx we ascended the Third Avenue Bridge returning to Manhattan via the F.D.R. Drive, also blocked from automobiles. Down the Drive we flew avoiding any potholes that the repair crews had missed in preparation for our ride. Yelling like school children we screamed as we plunged into tunnels from overpasses that arched over the F.D.R. listening to our echoes and exiting finally onto 60^th Street headed west to make a left turn on Second Avenue. Now the horde of pedalers moved onto the Queensboro Bridge and crossed its expanse into the borough of Queens, landing in Long Island City on our way to Astoria.

I had skipped the rest stop in Harlem on Pleasant Avenue by Rao’s but by now I was getting hungry and headed to the Astoria Park Stop for some refreshments. Energy bars brimming with nuts and honey, crisp red apples and succulent oranges were consumed ravenously while pockets were stuffed with goodies for the long ride till the next stop. Peanut Butter and Jelly had metamorphosed into a delectable delicacy.  There were stations for bike repairs and medical personnel for those who had been injured or hadn’t trained sufficiently for the event. Back in Long Island City, a rest stop at the Big Alice power plant cooked hamburgers and frankfurters, but I sped past this stop heading for the Pulaski Bridge and into Greenpoint, Brooklyn. The crowds were massive here and very enthusiastic, cheering on the riders who had started to feel fatigued by the long ride. We snaked through the narrow crowded streets encouraged by the crowd.

Our next highway ride was the Brooklyn Queens Expressway West which had also been cordoned off for our use. The pace picked up as we flew past Red Hook and on our way to Bay Ridge and our final rest stop in Cannon Ball Park. As the participants rested and nourished themselves, they stared at the massive Verrazano Bridge before them, the longest suspension bridge at that time. Gathering our courage and remaining strength, off we went, climbing the massive structure for an unforgettable view of the harbor, far superior to that seen while speeding across in a car. At the center of the span we rode across the highest part of the bridge, and plummeted down the far side , the strong winds pushing us along as we coasted into Fort Wadsworth, Staten Island for the conclusion of our adventure. The old fort had been invaded by thousands of cyclists. Many of the companies whom had sponsored the event were present, giving away company labeled swag. Food trucks were available to purchase meals, first aid stations were busy giving medical aid; massages were available and a tented area served beer and soft drinks. Thankfully I had parked my car on a residential street in the neighborhood the night before, warned by a friend whom had ridden the tour previously that the ride on the ferry and subway would be arduous after the long day. It was a great day, a moment in time that I didn’t wish to end and would have enjoyed repeating over and over again.

 

Jim

March, 2021