Our Blinking Glimpse of New York City

From a distance, I imagined our assault into New York City, specifically Brooklyn, involving a constant barrage of horns, at least two collisions with cab doors, the running of many red lights and a blistering headache from all the logistics. This belief was created by staring at Google Maps satellite view long enough to see the urban sprawl of NYC spreading about 75 miles north of its limits. However, such a thought was miles from the truth. Turns out, there's a rail trail beginning right outside of Danbury, Connecticut and ending at the southern tip of Manhattan. Quite convenient. I'll go into rail trails more later (because they're a wonderful mixture of awesome and pure genius), but essentially they're pedestrian and bicycle paved trails created on top of abandoned railways. I want to find and hug the person who blossomed this amazingly obvious method of recycling infrastructure. Our ride from Connecticut into Manhattan was on smooth pavement, lined by lush forest. Mixed sounds of urban life and industrialization in every direction, yet visually sheltered by dense deciduous leaves. Entering the Bronx, it turned into a very narrow dirt trail and felt more like upstate New York than it did a city. Abruptly ending, we were in the real Bronx, with everything it's known for. Brick buildings stretching to every sidewalk. 

It's mayhem for a bit while traveling down Broadway, but then dropped us right onto the Hudson bikeway. Even then, we're immersed between trees and a river. Wes accidentally almost rode his bike onto the on-ramp of the freeway and a man riding a bike on the bridge above yelled at us to follow him. Reaching him, he said to me, "They would have hit you out of spite! Eight different cars would have thudded over you before they even recognized a problem!" Very kind and humble man. He rode with us for the next few miles and, although we never got his name, he told us about his life experiences with bicycles. Riding an $8,000 Specialized S-Works Tarmac which needed a lot of love and was covered in excessive chain lube, he currently races with friends in and around NYC, but has been riding bikes since the 60s. He nonchalantly slipped into the conversation how he crossed the country by bicycle in 1972, but then be emphasized the statement with a little more punctuation:

"I completed a Trans-Am bicycle tour in 1972 and I'm black. Imagine that! I encountered exactly what you'd imagine, but also redneck folks who took me in simply due to how unfathomable my trip was to them. Cannondale sponsored my trip, but it was before they made bikes. Essentially all that means I never had to wash clothes or gloves."

We parted ways with him as he was meeting a friend in Harlem. To preface this city experience, I must explain I had been very excited to arrive due to a good friend from Sandpoint now living in Brooklyn. I hadn't seen Brendan in years and was looking forward to having his ridiculous humor in my life for as long as we were welcome. Understandably, he isn't riding his bicycle across the country and therefore was at work when we arrived in the area. Speaking of which, Brendan's job entails writing about sneakers. Yes indeed, Brendan writes about all the upcoming releases, events, and milestones revolving around sneaker culture. He knows if your Nike boots are flya den da rest uh dem. I love seeing people working towards, and with, their passion. Meeting at his work, we exchange hugs, high-fives, off-topic statements, his suggestion for some nearby grub in China Town, and the keys to his place, across the river, in Brooklyn. Following his suggestion, we find ourselves at Prosperity Dumpling only a few blocks away. Best $3 I have ever spent on food here in the states! Four fried pork and chive dumplings, and a sesame pancake with roasted duck. Didn't even seem real while I was ordering it. I figured for the price it would barely mound in my stomach. In actuality, I could barely close my mouth enough to hold it all down. This was a great introduction. We pedaled across the Manhattan bridge, through the vastness of Brooklyn, to his house. Brooklyn is massive. 

Brendan doesn't live in any typical part of Brooklyn though. He lives in Bedford-Stuyvesant (Bed-Stuy). While some of these will probably only be relevant to those of you who are a bit younger, it produced individuals such as Aaliyah, Nas, Memphis Bleek, Foxy Brown, Big Daddy Kane, Mos Def, Talib Kweli, Lil' Kim, Jay Z, Norah Jones, ODB, Floyd Patterson, Chris Rock, Mike Tyson and Carl Sagan. Biggie claimed Bed-Stuy, but actually grew up across Franklin Avenue, in Clinton Hill. Growing up, I knew of Bed-Stuy only through the shark tooth statements "Bed-Stuy, do or die" and "Bedford-Stuyvesant, the livest one." It was exactly as I had envisioned it. Exactly how it had been depicted to me. Complete with the token Nikes over a power line. We arrived at Brendan's abode. One among many in a line of tall brownstone homes, each with a gate and stoop. So incredibly foreign, yet inviting, after so many nights in the woods. Meeting his roommates and walking our bikes into the back room, we explode our bags. Everything was out. Clothes to be washed, gadgets to be charged, gear to be repaired, toothbrushes to be used, and dishes to be washed. It's funny how much we let the condition of everything degrade when the guarantee of a house's utilities is within a day or two away. Nothing has been preserved and everything now needs attention. 

Yes we were in NYC, but we were there in different circumstances than others who save up for, plan and execute their trip to the Big Apple with an agenda and checklist. We were on a bike trip, with nearly no time constraint, and accustomed to sleeping where we could in state parks or down narrow side roads along our route. Therefore, our days typically involved waking up late in the morning (10-11am for me), leaving his house at around noon, exploring various digs of Manhattan until Brendan temporarily retired his sneaker conquest at 7pm, met up with him for some food, and then headed to his home for a night of conversation and relaxing. Days in the city on your feet all day are taxing, even for those who ride their bikes all day, every day. 

I believe a large part of experiencing NYC occurs while simply walking up and down its never-ending streets. Inevitably you'll walk into a place, sight or experience with an individual in which you probably wouldn't encounter in any other city. It's a magnet for the strange, enlightened, average, diverse, frightening and funky. It seems as if every scene, language, fashion, smell and body is represented within it. Surveys show that 49% of New Yorkers don't speak English in the home. Spanish, Chinese, French, Russian, Hebrew, Arabic, Indic, Polish, Urdu, Greek, Yiddish, Brooklyn, etc... Yup, even areas of Brooklyn seem to have their own language that was hard for me to follow. I ended up saying "huh?" a lot after a guy called me a white boy after saying "pardon?" Back to what I was saying, NYC contains an undefined mass of everything you could imagine. Name an item, any item, and you likely would find no trouble attaining it there. Any food, go for it. Anything, it's there. It simply comes with the small requirement that you place yourself within the most dense city in the United States. 

One day we went to the Museum of Modern Art (MoMA). Brendan is a member, which made it very affordable and awesome for us. Back up...we first chowed down at a food truck called Halal Guys right outside. Most deliciously spicy gyro wrap I've ever had. By the end of this post, you'll realize my love for cheaply delicious food, preferably served on the street. Back to before you backed up...the MoMA is an exquisite experience. Never before have I seen such a vast collection of classic art. Monet's lilies are massive in person. So much more expansive than any art history book ever told me. Turns out he ended up painting on such a massive scale because he had cataracts which clouded his more precise vision. Only made famous once Pollock began splattering his monstrous canvases, which were also there. Matisse's depth drew me in closer. Picasso beautified the mundane. My favorite painting of his, Three Women at the Spring, was a few feet in front of me. Completely exposed. Van Gogh needs no explanation. It was amazing seeing it all within a few rooms of each other. Possibly the most breathtaking experience I have ever enjoyed indoors. There were also audio/visual installations. 1,500 speakers lined up down a wall, each producing a different tone from the others. It created an interactive jungle of sounds as one moved up and down, side to side. Audio seismographs in water tanks and old school microphones lit up to show their shadows on a wall.

There was of course, numerous rooms of art in which I didn't understand or desire. My views on art have always been mixed. Maybe it simply takes a greater understanding to appreciate them all. At least that's how my misunderstanding has always been explained to me. Upon leaving the museum, we turned a corner and unknowingly stumbled into Times Square. For me personally, it didn't do much. I'm sure there's a lot more to it for others, but for me personally, it was nothing more than lights, colors, and an excess of advertising. That being said, one of the strangest things I've ever seen took place at Times Square. For a reason unknown to me, and seemingly most others, there was a group of around twenty painted people walking around in a complete absence of clothing. I wouldn't say nude, because it's amazing how much a layer of paint covers and cloaks the body. Although, nude is still probably the correct term. Either way, it was strange, intriguing, and probably only likely to happen in New York. 

Days were continually spent walking around. Eating candied peanuts from street carts and occasionally stepping in front of an angry cab driver. We managed to stumble into the Metropolitan Museum at 3:45pm one of the days. Looking at it's interior map, we realized we had entered a labyrinth. Neither of us remembered yarn, but we entered regardless and instantly found a whole Egyptian tomb, transported in it's entirety. An entire wing of the museum was about Egypt. I knew Egyptians were crafty, but I never knew their coffins usually contained three cases within each other. Nesting dolls of death and decay. Next, we found ourselves in the armor and weapons exhibit. The armor and weapons exhibit!!! Possibly the neatest thing I've ever seen in a museum. It showed the rougher side of history. The side that formed nations and determined policy (unfortunately). Everything from complete knight armor, jousts and shields, to lightweight chain-mail covered in noble garb. My favorite part of the museum was contained in a room around 100 by 40 feet in size. Samurai armor and blades. Right as I enter the room: "The museum will be closing in five minutes." an overly anxious museum worker informs us with only a few minutes remaining until 5pm. WHAT!? I began racing through and reading all I could. Admiring every intricate detail put into the garbs and blades. The fainting wavy sheen of samurai blades. The lady working had to practically herd me towards the exit doors. I'm fine with feeling cowish in exchange for a few more facts about these works of design. 

Central Park is gigantic. Without GPS (yes I really used it each time I went into the park), I would have been lost. Not in the sense of losing my location, but in the sense of finding anything. I went alone one day and enjoyed a period of reading near the "great lawn." It had been drizzling a bit and therefore the park was empty. Crossing it, I saw five people, which is quite the contrast from the thousand or more every other day. Turns out it has very little covered seating in the park. I asked a person about it and they said it was so the homeless people don't loiter as much. I replied:

"I would have a place to read my book and they would have a place to stay dry. Win-win." I guess that's not the most reasoned response though. 

Speaking of which, we watched the documentary Dark Days while in Brooklyn. It's about a community of homeless people who lived in the underground metro tunnels. Even routed power to their makeshift homes. I won't go into detail, but everybody should check it out. Netflix. 

One day we decided to simply relax and check out the East Village. Neat little coffee shops, huge 99¢ cheese pizza slices, funky book stores to dwell in while it's raining, all kinds of counter-culture establishments, and a worth-mentioning place called Japadog. All beef hot dog on an average bun, covered in Japanese mayonnaise, some onions, and a bunch of nori (dried seaweed for those of you who don't dwell into such cuisine) stacked on top. I chased it down with their delicious black sesame ice cream on a deep fried hot dog bun. Fan-freakin-tastic is an understatement. 

Saturday hits and Brendan doesn't have work. Therefore it's time to see something new for each of us. The 9/11 Memorial is such the site. Once we get through the four full city blocks of funneling and security checks to arrive at it, each of us are taken back by its greatness. Where each of the towers (10 million square feet of office space) stood, there is now a memorial built in the form of an inward depression into the ground in which the largest man-made waterfalls in North America fall into. All cascading into a final infinity pit in the center. Two of them; each to signify one of the towers. Groved in with lines of gorgeous oak trees, which will canopy over in 50 years. It's a beautiful way to memorialize the nearly 3,000 lives lost. The newly built Freedom Tower nudges up to the memorial. At 1,776' (signifying the year of the Declaration of Independence), it's now the tallest building in NYC. Mankind has created some amazing structures and this is one of them. 

All week, I was dealing with a determined outbreak of poison ivy rashes. Surely not the best way to experience a city, but much better than dealing with it in the woods. I wash showering twice a day, applying prescription steroids to combat spreading, and lathering calamine lotion everywhere it was needed. Each day I would wake up with it in new places and wonder how it arrived there. I would apply medication and air out on the couch before starting our day. Finishing each day with the same process. All my appendages, stomach, back, and neck ended up being affected. Poison ivy rashes are an allergic reaction to an oil called urushiol. Through further research, I discovered severe reactions will travel in the blood and systemically show up randomly on the body. Residing in the West where poison ivy is nonexistent in most areas, I hadn't experienced their rashes in over ten years. This may be why my reaction to it was so severe. The one thing I'm sure of is that it itches more than I can explain. So incredibly itchy. Only a forcefully applied nail in a repetitive motion satisfies a poison ivy rash. Once scratched, it begs for another within a minute. Luckily, no matter what anybody says, you cannot spread a poison ivy rash once you've washed off all the urushiol oil. I fought the urges in the beginning, but slowly began to indulge in every level of urge. Refraining is no longer an option. So, although not related to NYC at all, it was a large part of my experience there. Worth mentioning. 

Arriving at Brendan's house on Monday, we had explored the city and decided to stay through the weekend in order to see how lively the city would get on the weekend. During the weekend, we heard about the West Indies Parade, taking place on the upcoming Monday. It was decided we had to stay for it too, but would be pedaling out of Brooklyn before it ended. The West Indies parade is the largest parade in the United States. Three million - yes, three million - people participate in the parade every year. It's absolutely massive. Walking about half the distance of it consumed at least 45 minutes. Vendors selling food at many stands per block, various genres of music blasting from speakers at most of the stands, and flags of each participating country flying everywhere. Flags being used in every way possible, everywhere one looked. Trinidad, Tobago, Barbados (Wes' favorite flag), Jamaica,  Grenada, Dominica, etc. Each with their own flavor of cuisine, dance, music, and style. I ate some of the most delicious jerk chicken I've ever encountered and chased it with a bucket of pink lemonade while we waited for the parade to start. Wes and I came to the realization that we eventually had to get started on the riding portion of our day. We said our goodbyes to Brendan and his girlfriend Erin, then started to walk back as we watched the parade unfold. The Islands of the Caribbean produce people who absolutely love to dress up, dance and party. People full of life and culture. Some of the women spend months creating their feathered outfits and headdresses. The detailed and precise placement of all the feathers is astounding. Other men and women in the parade seem to do the exact opposite and find their costume to simply be whatever covers them the least. While some outfits seem traditionally beautiful and cultural, others are seem to simply be looking to show the most amount of skin. All that aside, the participants all shared the desire to dance, jump around, sing and thoroughly be happy. It was a refreshing sight. Jamaica seemed to have the largest presence there and it was apparent every time a Jamaican float went by. They were always louder than the rest and dancing the hardest. You could tell a Jamaican float was coming by looking at the audience ahead and seeing their reaction.

Strangely, the most memorable sight of my day was of Anthony Weiner (seems as if a few others can say that too). He was atop his float, wearing a white button up drenched in sweat, standing in front of a DJ blasting reggae, doing an awkward dance that didn't involve moving his neck, and acting as hood as possible. It was quite the sight. I almost couldn't breathe due to laughter and nor could anybody else watching. I have no doubt in my mind that within that single day, he had tens of thousands of people pointing at him, jumping up and down, and laughing at him. It was one of those moments where it's kinda painful to watch and you want to help the person out. In this case, he was getting no help and everybody was egging him on. I will never forget it. 

At this point, we were a few hours behind schedule and had to get a move on. We packed up our bikes, walked around Brendan's place until we were sure we had everything (turns out I overlooked my gloves), and pedaled away from a room in which we may have gotten overly comfortable throughout the last week. Neither of us had been so antsy to get out of a place. We loved our time in NYC, but we had become far to stir-crazy. We were needing to be amongst ourselves and away from people, buildings and, more specifically, the repetitive sound of ice cream trucks that post up on blocks in Brooklyn. It began raining, but we weren't going to let anything get in our way of finding solitude in some wooded area that evening. We made it, ten whole blocks! I hadn't dealt with a flat tire during the entire trip and this was when it decided to spring upon me. Thinking back, it was the first flat ever on my Surly. The first one decided to show its face right off of Malcolm X Boulevard in Brooklyn.

I immediately started the process of replacing a tube on a fully loaded touring bike. It would be much easier after removing all the panniers from the bike, but that seems to take longer than fighting the bike with everything on it. It makes a process than is normally very simple and completed within five minutes, and adds an much greater amount of frustration and time. I changed the tube, mounted it, finished pumping it up, and then the valve stem blew where it meets the tube. So frustrated. It's still raining. I wanted to be out of Brooklyn. I took it apart again, inserted a new tube, inflated it, and realized the tube was defective from the manufacturer (happens, but rarely). This was even more frustrating. Third tube went in, I pumped it up, it held, I mounted it with a little excessive fight, and packed the three painful tubes into my pannier for dealing with later.

It was 3pm and we were finally on our way to try and escape the expansive sprawl before nightfall. It was an impossible goal. We still had Brooklyn, it's famous bridge, Manhattan, the Hudson River, Jersey City, Newark, and the remainder of urban New Jersey to get out of. In the end, with the help of headlights and a few hours of riding in darkness, we found ourselves in our own grove of massive trees with ferns covering the ground. Such a scene could have been a setting for Jurassic Park. Trees standing over a hundred feet tall, in which Hueso and I couldn't have reached around with both our arm spans combined. We slipped into our hammocks and lay in peace. Fully relaxed. The Big Apple checked off our itinerary.