You Can Never Be Late

I assumed a philosophy a few years back that ensured that I could never be late. Here it is: “Wherever you are is where you are supposed to be.”

We’ve all heard those stories of the people who missed the plane that crashed because they got stuck in traffic, etc. This philosophy is part that and transcends it. Here is why.

What is the hurry? Why are we always in a rush to get to where we are going? When you get there, are you calm, relaxed, reflective and feeling a oneness with the universe?

I suspect not. You are probably anxious about where you need to be next. How can you be in the moment if you are always in a rush to be in the next moment?

A few years back I was sitting next to a beautiful river with a dear friend. Two dragonflies flitted about and both came to rest on my knee.
I never forgot the moment because it was so tranquil. The entire universe stopped for just that beauteous moment.

I think of that moment when I get my knickers in a twist to rush somewhere.

Where I am off to in such a rush? What will be there? Will I be happier or more satisfied because I got there in a precise manner? Is where I am going so important that I need to be stressed out?

Relish the now. Wherever you are is where you are supposed to be at that very moment. So you can never be late.

And relish the people you are with in that now. It will never come again.

And so it is on a bicycle in NYC. The world screams by in a rush. On two wheels, you can slow it down and savor the moment.

Happy holidays.

My High School Sweetheart

Tender would not be an age to describe me. Hardened, crusty, fossilized - they are more accurate adjectives.
All of us have our internal filters that fool the mirror except when there is that occasional glance that is unprotected and a surprise.
For bicycle riders of a certain age it means you buy certain outfits that fit more generously (as an aside, there is a market opportunity here.)
But I digress.
My first "real ride" (Reynolds 531 all Campy) was purchased from my high school sweetheart's younger brother.
It was my introduction to what riding is meant to be: effortless, joyful, transformative.
I still have it, restored and hanging on a rack. It is eye candy now. I look at it every day before I go ride on one of four other rides (a one speed, a two speed, a three speed and a twenty speed). Occasionally I take it out for a ride and wonder and wander.
So not a day goes by when I do not see and feel 16 years old and everything then.
I think that is good.
New York Tendaberry.

Somali Pirates In The Bronx Return BBUD

I am not sure which is more abhorrent. The fact that my ride was stolen or that I paid a ransom to get it back. After BBUD was stolen I posted on Craigslist that a reward would be offered for its return. Don't you know my cell phone rang and I was informed that BBUD had "been turned in" to a young person in the Bronx who paid money for it. This young person, being a responsible citizen, called me to let me know I could get it back for what they paid for it.
Ransom, terrorism, theft, thugdom. The label is irrelevant.
I paid the fee. I felt awful on so many levels. What would you have done?

BBUD Is Gone. I am so Sad

I guess it had to happen. Someone stole BBUD. Weh.

Walmart vs. Target; Class Differences

You can tell a true commuter bicyclist in NYC with a few glances. Is their skin leatherized (I wear a scarf or mask to prevent this)?. Are they wearing a helmet (only complete idiots leave the helmet home and if your noggin' has ever hit the asphalt and it still works than you know why)? Do they have a plastic bag tucked under the seat?
It's this last phenom that is the real give away. This morning on the way to work a facially leatherized woman passed me on Park Avenue. I always give people nicknames (mental amusement) and some people give me names. Some people call me names but I do not want to be profane. One messenger who I see all the time calls me Armani; I felt honored. I gave the name Pumpkin to the woman who passed me based on her orange coat. Upon closer exam and seeing a Vantage Seltzer bottle where her water bottle would go I decided she should be dubbed Seltzer Pumpkin and then Bubbly Pumpkin. But the true give away to her commuter status was the plastic bag tucked under the seat.

If you commute and leave your ride outside your office, there are days when it is going to rain (like today). So the wise and wizened of us tuck a plastic bag under the seat which we then use to cover said seat while we are inside.

Bubbly Pumpkin had a Target bag under there. I use a Walmart bag. We obviously have serious class differences.

Cheers and keep the rubber on the road.

A Sea Change of Frowns - Please Smile

Showing a dour face while commuting has always been a mainstay of the NYC commuter. After all, you want to appear tough and fearless in the face of the homeless looking for money and invisible to the potential slasher. I have been observing this frown parade for decades and have never thought much of it - - a self protective mechanism at worst.
Lately however I have felt distressed at the grittier, more ingrained frown I observe as I commute on two wheels every day. Bicycling gives you a purview of town you don't get any other way. You literally pass thousands of people and see them up close - one of the beautiful luxuries being on a bike affords you. And here is what I see.
People don't seem too happy. The frown is becoming the cultural norm. It does not seem to want to crest upwards into a smile. There seems to be little joy in the expressions of all the commuters I see them hustling to their offices. They seem to be shuffling along, determined to go to their cubicle and put on the ball and chain until they can turn around and go back home.
This does not seem to be the key to a happy life. If you don't like what you do every day - - change it.
My tonic: ride a bicycle as often as possible. The world becomes a new oasis of possibility and joy with every ride.
PS: Kudos to Janette Sadik-Khan for handing out lights on the west side bike path. I nominate her as Chief Engineer of the Galaxy.
And remember: It's Your Lane! Do something with it.

The Best Analgesic

Last night I gorged in an eating frenzy. It wasn't my fault. American Express sent me a gift certificate to the gourmand capital of American eating: The Capital Grille. It was all delicious, and they told me there was a hoist in the back should I need to be lifted out of my booth (and I think they may have been serious).

Despite the fact that Jeanne and I actually split a entree, the portions are so gargantuan I do not understand how people can eat that much. But it does provide an understanding of why so many of us have so many extra avoirdupois.

I went to bed feeling awful. There were joint and bone pains I never had before. It was not food poisoning - - just overindulgence and I think the body screams at you in its own way.

So I got on my trusty ride and pushed it (now up to 8990 miles!). It hurt. It screamed. But after 45 minutes all the pain seemed to evaporate. My fears of a femur breaking and poking through my flesh on its own accord evaporated. I actually began to feel normal again. (A treatise on what is normal will follow sometime in the next decade.)

So.....next time you feel awful from overindulgence, get out on your bike!

By the way, the new Willis Avenue Bridge is now open. It's ugly but smooth.