Oh sure, urban riding comes with its fair share of frustrations:
But it also has a lot going for it, especially at this time of year. See, if you leave the city in the fall you've got all that foliage to gawk at:
And in the springtime everything's all lush and verdant:
But in the winter it's just a bunch of dead trees and shit and the urban backdrop can be considerably more inspiring:
Also, sometimes I'll even take a skateboard with me and mess around if there's nobody else in the skatepark to see how stupid I look.
Of course, when it comes to recreational city riding, some times are better than others. At this point in my life I no longer derive pleasure from doing battle with automobile traffic, so my very most favoritest time to ride for pleasure inside the city limits is early on a Sunday morning. If I string together the parks and greenways just right I can get a nice rolling ride in with minimal unclipping and motor-vehicular interference whilst still drawing inspiration from the charged atmosphere of this mighty and vibrant metropolis.
Another interesting aspect of an early Sunday intracity ride is the perspective it gives you on your fellow cyclists. See, by the time I reach Central Park I'm already well into my ride, while all the other Freds are just rolling out for theirs, and its simultaneously amusing and intimidating to watch the Forces of Fred-dom amassing in preparation for their weekly assault on the roads of suburbia. The pointed chatter, the matchy-matchy clothes, the double pace line formation... It's like watching the Huns ready themselves for their attack, only there's no Attila to lead them, just the Garmins and Wahoos that dictate their efforts and record their every pedal stroke.
Then there's me on my wooden bicycle, getting passed like a fibrous meal after a laxative. I can generally count on at least one person per ride asking me about the Renovo, and this past Sunday it was the rider in shiny head-to-toe Rapha who rolled up on me from behind and demanded more than asked, "Is that bike wood."
"Yep!," I replied, ready to entertain further inquiry.
He then spat in a desultory fashion and spun away towards the GWB without further utterance: no "Cool," no "wow," no "huh," no nothing. Even a skeptical, "Why?" would have been better than a loogie. From this sort of behavior its easy to see why the cycle-curious find the whole thing so off-putting. If I weren't already a world-famous bike blogger with decades of riding experience stuffed down my chamois I might even have been discouraged. Contrast that to the skateboarder who stuck out his hand and introduced himself to me with a big smile on my face when he entered the park where I was awkwardly attempting to find my footing again (to the extent that I ever had it) after my most recent sprain. I mean sure, I was embarrassed and left anyway, but the day a seasoned roadie greets an awkward cyclist with such an endearing lack of guile is the day I lace up my ice skates and do double axels in Hell.
I mean it probably helps that the skater was most likely baked out of his mind whereas the typical roadie is full of caffeine and some quasi-legal supplement, but the point still stands.
Speaking of doping, the big news is of course a 90 year-old masters racer has failed a drug test, and I have only one thing to say about that:
Sorry, but at 90 years old you should be able to take whatever the fuck you want.https://t.co/euHPz3mNTH— Bike Snob NYC (@bikesnobnyc) January 8, 2019
I mean come on.
from Bike Snob NYC http://bit.ly/2RGBff2
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