As I rushed around the house, I felt nervous and excited, the way I do (or used to do) when I’m preparing to leave for a a few days or longer, even though I was just going to the office. Our office remained officially closed, but management was allowing employees to go in for thirty minutes and I wanted to pick up my headphones and reading glasses. After learning that the building had recently installed a storage room in the basement for bikes, I decided to bike in. It took me around fifty minutes, which is about how long the A-Train takes. If we had better bike lanes, I would use my bike all the time (assuming there’s a scenario where I return to the office).
Here’s a very nice protected bike lane — maybe the nicest one in the city? — on Church Street. Unfortunately, if this one rates ten stars, most of them are zero to one stars. (Keep reading for more examples, which I documented on my trip home.)
After I picked up my things, I left the office and walked to Battery Park City, which was pleasantly uncrowded. On the way there, I passed the Irish Hunger Memorial, which (according to Wikipedia) is ‘dedicated to raising awareness of the Great Irish Hunger … in which over one million starved to death between 1845 and 1852 as a result of British policies that prioritized the exportation of profitable foods as most of the potato crop was wiped out by a fungus-like organism called Phytophthora infestans (or P. infestans).’ In a few years, I thought, they’ll be building a memorial to raise awareness of the Republican (and neoliberal) policies that prioritized lining the pockets of a tiny minority of billionaires over the lives of millions of Americans. (In a show of contrition, the memorial will be paid for by one of the billionaires.)
I tried not to think about politics as I enjoyed having to myself an entire bay of park benches. In the pre-Covid era, these benches would have been packed with office workers and tourists. As with so much from the pre-Covid era, I missed these people and I didn’t miss them.
A few locals (I assume) were out jogging and lounging.
As I biked home, I noted how the bike path is now cluttered with dangerous obstacles. It wasn’t like this a few years ago, when I was running on this path regularly (via going to the gym near my old office in Tribeca).
Even when the police are absent, their NYPD-branded barricades are menacing.
Who decided it was a good idea to install these Jersey barriers at every intersection? This is the busiest bike path in the city and someone was like, ‘hmmm … this needs to be a dangerous obstacle course … can we install Jersey barriers everywhere?’ and everyone else in the room was like ‘damn, why didn’t I think of that?’
There are still a few blessedly open stretches of path. I dreamed about the city creating a network of similar (unobstructed) paths covering the five boroughs. There are already plans to do this, but it’s hard to be optimistic about implementation given the bone-headed intransigence of our local leadership (and to be fair to the leadership, many of their equally bone-headed constituents).
A little farther north, I passed ‘The Pier 55 project,’ which according to Google ‘is being funded by billionaire Barry Diller and overseen by the Hudson River Park Trust … and includes over two acres of public green space across a wave-shaped structure near West 13th Street in the Meatpacking District.’ Not for the first time, it occurred to me that if we taxed billionaires, we wouldn’t have to rely on their largesse (or maybe better: ‘largesse’).
I remembered how, when I was young and social, I used to go to record-release parties on the Frying Pan, which is creaky old boat filled with strange jars and the spirits of dead sailors. It’s a lot bigger on the inside than it looks from the outside.
Q: ‘How many bollards can we pack into this curving path to make it as dangerous as possible?’ A: ‘Maybe six, but just be sure when you’re installing them to inch them out as far as possible from the edge to increase the likelihood of a biker smashing into it or [lols] each other.’
At 72nd Street, I negotiated the infamous ‘bypass’ — installed just last year — which is another dangerous and confusing obstacle course designed to torture bikers.
I’m pretty sure that I’m supposed to be on the right-hand side of the left portion of the path here, but who knows?
Since I’m here to complain: people who ride motorcycles on the bike path ruin the vibe and should be told to stop. (At least the driver has a mask on though?)
Still, I welcomed the sight of the GWB on this very beautiful stretch of path that was built not too long ago out onto the river.
Here’s a (not very good) picture of (another) one of my least-favorite things, which — and you have to look toward the back of the shot to see it — is an NYPD car slowly cruising up the middle of a narrow path that — unlike 99 percent of the asphalt in NYC — is not meant for cars. Why do they do this? So much of policing these days seems to involve antagonizing the community for no reason.
At 96th Street, the path is not obstructed by bollards, but — unlike the pristine highway five feet away — is buckled and cracked. I felt like I was skiing moguls (badly).
Someone had outlined the worst bumps for reasons I can only imagine.
Dear Mayor: I’m sending you this message by way of the oldest form of communication, which is a slab of rock. The message is ‘repave.’ I have helpfully outlined many of the worst bumps in green spray paint. Yours truly, a concerned citizen.
I put my camera away and pedaled north. The path of most resistance stretched on, and I looked forward to seeing more.
