On Saturday afternoon I was feeling a bit restless. The house was kind of a mess, but it was nice out! The perfect day for a ride. But there was just one problem: traffic on the bike paths. I've only been out a handful of times and don't feel ready for the weekend warriors. From the kitchen we can see a serious uptick of riders on the Williamsburg Bridge once Saturday rolls around. Would the East River path be the biking equivalent of the Cross Bronx Expressway on a Friday afternoon?
As I was mulling this over John and I drove down the east side to drop stuff off at the storage space, and we didn't really see that much bike traffic on the path! So John encouraged me to go, as he was heading off to Brooklyn for a few hours anyway. So I suited up in my Saturday best: leggings and t-shirt and track jacket and windbreaker and sneaky sneaks and, of course, helmet. The helmet, as well as the bike, belong to John. He also has leather riding gloves, but they're too big so I don't bother with them. In my backpack I put house keys and water bottle and wallet.
When I get the bike out it's a bit of a procedure, as I have to roll it around the boxes of books on the floor awating rearranging and then across the apartment and into the vestibule, and then press the elevator button and wait for the elevator which is an extra-long wait on Saturdays because of the Sabbath, and once the elevator comes it is sagaciously slow, and once the digital numbers count from 12 to B and the car touches down I roll the bike through the gray-painted cinder block hallways and out the door into the sunlight. And we're off.
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