The route I followed more or less described that of last year's BSNYC Pre-Fondon't-Turned-Actual-Fondon't. By the way, if you're wondering whether or not there will be a Fondon't this year (pre- or otherwise), the answer is an emphatic "Dunno."
So there you have it.
Anyway, as I stood in the spot where I took that photo a gentleman out perambulating with his dog stopped to offer his opinion on my bicycle and on bike routes in general. More specifically, he felt that even with the new bike path opening on the Tappan Zee soon that Route 9 should not be upgraded to include a bike lane. He felt his views on these matters carried great weight because he "used to be a cyclist," and I've noticed that when I'm riding up in the suburbs I encounter a lot of these used-to-ride types who get transported into a sort of reverie by the sight of my bike. I then find myself wondering why they no longer ride since they live in an area where opportunities to do so abound, but then I remember two things: 1) Not everybody is a semi-professional bike blogger who can fuck off for a ride on a semi-regular basis; and 2) I don't really care that much.
Finishing my snack and my conversation I then remounted and headed over to the Old Croton Aqueduct, which serves as the trunk route for most of my rides:
The OCA is a state park, and of course motor vehicles are emphatically not allowed on it--not that it stops people necessarily. For example, here's a fuckwit from a few months ago who apparently got stuck in the mud and decided to leave his car there for a few days:
I'm sure he was up to important park business for the city of Yonkers:
The tracks, by the way, are still there--deep gashes in the trail--and as I approached that very same section this past Sunday I was deeply perturbed to find someone engaged in the act of driving on it:
The driver was creeping along slowly, and in front of the car was a woman dressed as though she'd just gotten out of bed, shuffling along like an extra from "One Flew Over The Cuckoo's Nest."
Baffled and angry at the same time, I beseeched the driver open his window then informed him that this was a state park and he was not allowed to be driving here. Robotically, he replied that he knew. I then asked if there was a reason he was driving here. Robotically, he replied that there was, but it was none of my concern. I then looked at the woman shuffling in front of the car and second-guessed myself: maybe she was mentally ill and I'd happened upon some some sort of intense personal drama. Maybe she'd threatened to kill herself, plodded off into the woods, and he was tailing her until the police arrived. So I asked him if there was a problem and if he needed any help. Robotically he informed me that he did not. So I told him I'd be making a call and asked if he minded if I took a picture. Robotically he replied, "Yes, I do," to which I replied "Tough" and took the photo above.
Armed with the plate number, I then headed to the nearest intersection with a road to call 911, and as I was riding away the woman returned to the car and made the following ebullient announcement to the driver:
"I found them! I found my keys!"
Holy fucking shit, it all made sense now. Cuckoo's Nest had been looking for her keys and Douchebag Arigato Mister Roboto was her escort. Here she is getting back in the car just after making the announcement:
Like any human being I have my share of regrets. I try not to dwell on them, but it's impossible not to think about the opportunities that have slipped through my fingers over the years. For example, I wish I'd gotten in on the Google IPO. I wish I hadn't laughed off the price of Manhattan real estate in the '90s. I wish I'd worn earplugs to the shows and concerts I attended as a teenager.
However, my biggest regret by far is not having immediately returned to that car, yanked the keys out of her hand, and thrown them as hard as I could into the fucking woods.
Instead, I called 911, and I continued my ride because 1) I had to get home; and B) I knew there would be no satisfactory outcome, so at least if I left I could fantasize that the police actually showed up and ticketed this asshole.
By the way, if I'm not doing a good job of conveying how lazy and inconsiderate these people are to be driving on a state park, consider how close they were to the nearest road:
These assholes couldn't have parked the fucking car and walked?!? I mean presumably she was walking when she lost the keys in the first place.
Alas, the coyote scare 'round these parts may be over, but I don't think it's insensitive to hope that the next time these two visit the OCA wild dogs latch onto their genitals and don't let go.
It's only fair.
from Bike Snob NYC https://ift.tt/2GebEFC
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