May 4, 2008:
Under grey skies and the threat of rain -- but promise, according to the weather channel, of sun later -- I arrived in NYC with my fixed gear bicycle, a Schwinn Tempo running 43/17 gear. I was not sure if it was to rain or not, so I left the fender on.
My gear included two spare tubes, tire levers, an allen wrench, a 15mm wrench for the rear track wheel, a tiny pocket knife, a padlock and cable, keys, cell phone, 3 powerbars, 3 bottles of water, a light jacket, and a cycling cap witht he name of the local shop "The Bike Stand" -- under my helmet. I also had two cameras, one of which ended up squished on the road (more on that later).
When I emerged from the train onto the street by Ground Zero, I was shocked at the crowd: It was so much smaller than I remembered. Then I recalled how the forcast insisted up until the day before that it was supposed to rain all day -- and that there were limits posted on the ride, for the first time ever: No more than 30,000 riders.
It also dawned on me that perhaps I got there early, although my initial fear was that I had gotten there too late: Path trains were supposed to be running extra as they did every other year. This year they didn't, and I waited at Newark Penn Station for about half an hour. By the time my projected time of arrival of 7:30 had arrived, I had not even made it to the previous stop of Exchange Place.
When the train finally got there, there was no where to go to the bathroom; we left the train platform and ascended right out into the street. There was no terminal, just a large landing before the huge moving staircase to the street, berift of all except a solitary machine for selling something... probably tickets. I arrived at street level, bike on the good shoulder (my right one had been dislocated a little over a week previous in a tumble down the stairs) and helmet on my head, asking people in the street where I might find a toilet. They must have been amused but one said he'd seen portable toilets "over there" and pointed towards the crowd along the street.
I rode through a throng of people walking bikes on my right and pedestrians walking towrds me on my left, down a narrow passage -- an alley really -- and out to the street. It was filled with the crowd, which didn't seem as dense as previous years. Behind a large fence was the toilet. I could not get to it. I tried a store; there was a line of riders waiting eagerly. I went outside and heard someone say way back at the end of the line was a series of portapotties. But then I'd be at the end of the line. No thanks.
I looked around. There appeared to be a park that went from where i was to Chruch St. Or was I on Chruch Street? That appeared to be Broadway... I walked along the fence until I found an opening, and was about to seriously consider doing my business when I realized that it wasn't a park, it was a graveyard in an old church. There was something seriously wrong with this, I decide, and don't do it.
Finally, I found a portable toilet behind a waist high construction barrier and hopped it. I came out, got my bike, and headed back around the block to the crowd. I could see riders heading down the street, moving easily, clearly experienced cyclists; I saw a handful who didn't appear to know what they were doing. All had helmets thankfully. It warmed my heart to see a throng of them overtake and pass a humvee opposite the intersection with the old chruch.
Waiting for the start, I see a policeman on a motorscooter head off, helmet dangling on his handlebars. Dueschbag. Maybe we should give him a ticket?
Then the ride organizers let us go, and we're off. "This ain't the Giro!" I holler to a dude on a carbon-fibre bike who smokes me fromt he start. But I'm moving after standing for almost 40-odd minutes and it's fun.
We wait up the street, they have a ribbon across the way. I'm at the front. I can see a cute little bike rider chick of maybe thirtyish, about 5 feet nothing in a yellow jacket and blue bandanna and a dude with red lensed Oakleys who looks like he could ride with just about anyone and keep up. They tell us to wait and I notice my front tire is low so I take out my compact pump and rotate the wheel til so the valve is at the top just forward of the fork. I inflate it while sitting on the bike. The dude next to me -- on the carbon bike, which turns out to be a Bottechia -- and I chat whilst Cousin Brucey, of 101.1FM radio fame, reads his speal. Some lady with pretty red hair and a voice like an angel sings "god bless America" although she does go in a bit much for the high note at the end. I take my helmet off while she sings. No one else does. Slackers.
Then we're off, as I shout "Yo, Cousin Brucey" to the DJ and the folks on the stands. On down the street, over bumps, talking with the dude on the Bottechia. Moving quick. He's from England and plans to bring the bike back with him -- maybe to sell. We talk about congestion pricing -- planner for NYC although controversial, which I mention has been done in London, right? He says yeah, and it has encouraged mass transit, but mainly it just shifted the traffic elsewhere. I see a lot of cool bikes, some old some new: Old lugged Raleighs, a Swobo, an IRO track frame. Some dude on a Surly singlespeed. A polished aluminum track bike -- maybe Cannondale, judging by the oversize tubes -- flashes past.
We roll past radio city music hall, past buildings, crowds of pedestrians. Like previous 5 Boro rides, the pedestrians jump out in front of us and the traffic cops on the side of the road do nothing. They sit and watch them jump into the path of 30,000 moving bicycles... smart. After a while it gets annoying, I say so to the dude on the Bottechia. Finally after the third time, I call out "dead man jaywalking".
We slow up and wait a little while later, a long wait that was prompted -- so word had it -- by a need to close the road up ahead -- or, as someone else said, to maybe remove the closing to let some backed up car traffic through? The dude on the Bottechia wasn't around. I conversed with a dude on a Swobo track bike, and a couple on mountainbikes, his a Trek, hers a Fuji -- with the quick release levers on backwards (shudder). Nice people, all the same. There was a dude who came from Newark Delaware on a Cannondale road frame with a red white and blue paintjob. To my right I can see people walking their bikes on the sidewalk; to my left, a hot-dog stand is doing a land-office business at the expense of what is, literally, a captive audience.
We finally got moving again and .....
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