Day 4: The Bronx and Manhattan; About 53 Easy, Beautiful Downhill Miles With Sunshine!

• Jay is only 18 years old
• Both of Jay's parents won Olympic gold medals in cycling
• He didn't stop at any of the pit stops — in fact, I think I heard that the pit crews came out to the road and pushed him even faster!
• Everybody knows his ethnic group is superior at sports (thanks Mom & Pop)
• It's a RIDE not a RACE.

! Clue New York State "Parkways" are great big highways.

I stopped at one point to check my voice mail to see what word I had gotten from Charles and whether anyone else had called to schedule exciting social events in The Big City. Charles had called and confirmed that I could come on by. My ride was lifted and accelerated. I oiled my chain while I was stopped. It had finally picked up a teensy weensy squeak from yesterday's scrubbing rain.

Along the way today I spotted two or three riders running red lights, sometimes even in front of cross traffic. Such nonsense! I rode along and talked to a couple of riders, pointing out that they still had 6 hours to do less than 20 miles, and no rush was necessary.

Somewhere that morning I heard the voice of Lisa Howe approaching rapidly from behind in a replay of this year's P-town ride. She was flying along in what could have easily been mistaken for a pace line. Oh, it was so tempting. They were riding so well, and so fast. Should I ride with them, or should I speak harshly to them? Every time it looked like it was going to click into a real pace line, they broke it up. They were being ultrasafe and beautiful, so I just followed at a distance and admired them.

Pit Stop 2 was a surprise. We caught a sudden left turn and then climbed a steep hill in a residential neighborhood that looked surprisingly like a sideways version of Kansas City's Ward Parkway. The pit crew was just setting up. I chowed down on candy bars even though they told us it was but a scant seven miles to the lunch stop in The Bronx. After this, of course, there was no more open countryside. These were wealthy towns we traveled through. The density increased gradually and the road widened to a constant four lanes. Then we began to see taller and taller residential buildings as we traveled along next to the Bronx River Parkway. Until we rolled across an intersection and were greeted by "Welcome To The Bronx" painted on the street. On our right were a hundred genuine New York City officers in blue exchanging remarks over coffee and donuts. We were there!

New York City
The road got a bit wider and a bit rougher, but the route here through The Bronx was about 500,000% better than last year's route which had followed Pelham Parkway. We passed an extremely loud Spanish language church service going on in a tent. We drew little attention from the hardened citizenry on the sidewalks. We toyed a bit with some buses and double-parkers, but it was nothing. At traffic lights we would wait for a clear road, but not necessarily for the green.

We picked up last year's route when we took a right on Bedford Park Boulevard. We followed it across The Grand Concourse, then down and across a glass-infested bridge that was closed to motor vehicles. At the other end of the bridge was the lunch stop at the Bronx High School of Science, same place as last year.

After a bit of chat with new friends, I headed off. Our route diverged from last year's again. Instead of heading over to the Broadway Bridge, that great destroyer of tires and wheels, we continued to travel south in The Bronx until we caught a right onto Washington Bridge. This was the bridge that was to take across the Harlem River and into the next borough of our ride. This was a big, wide, fast road. Most of the drivers were heading for the George Washington Bridge, the one over the Hudson. They were not too eager to deal with a lot of bikers who had to grab a left turn at the end of the bridge. But deal they did. The little group I was riding with made it with no major problem. We got our left onto Amsterdam Avenue, and we were in

Manhattan
I noticed two things immediately:

• Traffic density suddenly went way up! I had cars in my armpits.
• Off on our right were some fans of ours in their lawn chairs on the sidewalk, a cooler of beverages, giving us a wave and welcome to Their Great City.

! Clue For those who are not entirely familiar with New York, yes, Manhattan's Fifth Avenue is the Fifth Avenue — and it was ours today.

The sun came out!

On my right was Central Park, where I had ridden just two weeks earlier, and on my left the residential buildings that line the east side of Central Park. I passed the Guggenheim. I passed a gang of fans with signs cheering us on. I passed south of Central Park into the great retail stretch of Fifth Avenue and past the Empire State Building. Traffic was solid from side to side. Buses filled the right hand lane, so I had to negotiate my way on their left sandwiched next to taxis trying to turn right. I learned quickly that I couldn't intimidate a New York cabby as easily as a Bostonian, but I felt secure relying on their skills. I'd never ridden so close to moving cars before. Just scant inches separated us, but I never got touched. Traffic crept, and I didn't trust my instincts enough to try to travel the white lines. Be aware that this was still Sunday morning. Those New Yorkers are a church-going lot, I guess.

Chelsea
Finally, down at 25th Street here were arrows directing me to the right and over to the west side of the island. I was in Chelsea now. A couple of small turns, across the West Side Highway and I was in the Chelsea Piers (#63, if you're keeping track), where the ride ended. Well, no, it only began to end. Because if it really ended there you wouldn't still have all those pages ahead of you to read, now would you?

These piers were an ideal place to have us end up. Open on all sides for fresh air, but covered in case of rain. The concrete roof over us also served to echo back all the screams and cheers of the many hundreds of supporters that were hanging out here for us. Oh, this was lots better than last year's ending point. I rolled along the pier as directed and came up on the fabulous t-shirt table. Here I obtained my fabulous, rare and otherwise unattainable "victory" t-shirt. I selected yellow, since I already had a red one. One of my bracelets was marked to assure that I only took one t-shirt.

The security area was organized by t-shirt color, so that we could ride in rainbow order in the closing ceremonies. I had arrived before the security sawhorses, so I had to lean the Bridgestone against a supporting column. Not many riders were in yet.

I took a quick glance around the place. On one side was the yacht belonging to Steve Forbes. On the other was a driving range. No, now catch yourself. Don't just read "driving range" and visualize those driving ranges that you're familiar with — great huge grassy areas, trees in the distance. This is Manhattan, remember! The city has a monopoly on great huge grassy areas, and they aren't in Chelsea. This driving range was a pier surrounded by fences three or four storeys high. I neither lie nor exaggerate. And way beyond the driving range (from our point of view) was not a line of trees, but the World Trade Center (what! in New York, too?!) and the Statue of Liberty and all those other great icons of America that we see in so many movies.

And then I left. Grabbed a cab to take me over to Charles' in the nearby Village. the only catch was that the cabby thought I was a Japanese tourist he had picked up at LaGuardia. After a couple of minutes wasteful touring of the Village, I hopped out, having lost only about 75¢. Thank goodness again that I was wearing the all purpose Hollywood SPDs. I walked to Charles' place where he gave me the grand welcome to his grand city, allowing me the comfort of real lemonade, a real shower, real furniture and other real supportive activities — like literature, we discussed literature, yeah that's it! We did! But eventually real time returned. I had to be back at the pier by 2:00 PM. I slipped my glowing yellow t-shirt on my newly clean body, left Charles with my irreplaceable $9.95 Woolworth watch (once you get the alarm set for 4:15 AM, it's never good for anything else) and dragged myself out to the streets.

The sun was beating down and I wondered at this miracle. Last year the sun appeared in mighty force just in time for the closing ceremonies, and it was doing it again this year. Did you see the video (please, allow me to re-enact it for you) where the rider asks "Who gave us this sun?" It's the AIDS Ride, apparently. We need sun, we get sun, I think, quite self-satisfied.

Back at the pier one of the first faces to float up out of the now very, very huge crowd was young Jason. Jason missed being the youngest rider in 1995 by only a couple of days. I had met him on my training rides, but had not seen him at all this year. How had he escaped my notice all this time?! Greetings exchanged, I moved on to admire the long line for the porta-potties. Here I found Bill Murphy and David Kohn in the greatest of AIDS Ride rituals: standing in line.

Further along, tables were set up for food and water for us. Still no sign of Michael. Nor were Dennis and Robert, also of Manhattan to be found. But what a crowd! There were almost all of us riders, plus at least two New Yorkers for each of us. What handfuls! Outside the riders were lined up and walking just to get into the pier. Inside, the scream and roar was deafening. I ran into Paul from JP and suddenly along came John, his partner, who had ridden. There were balloons, water fights, lots of silliness in preparation for the frenzy ahead.

Instruction came (how did it come? we couldn't hear? I don't remember?) to get ourselves lined up. I grabbed the faithful Bridgestone and squished myself among my fellow yellows. Someone passed out party hats. It was approaching 3:00 PM now and we had to get to those closing ceremonies. Very gradually we began riding out, even as riders were still coming in. First the reds, then the yellows. We emerged into the hot sun and crossed the West Side Highway and turned left (northwards). Turned right into 21st Street and came to a halt. We had the entire street. We could see riders ahead of us for a couple of blocks. This was a narrow residential street lined with brick three-storey buildings. Local residents came out to watch us, to display their rainbow flags, to play their music for us.

We were not too far from the West Side Highway here. When I turned to look back I could see New Jersey. I could see New Jersey and over it I could see a mean, ugly, black cloud. And it was coming to New York. Our sun went. The sky grayed and then blackened and then it opened up. The rain pelted us. But this wasn't like the rain we had the day before. No that was from a West Virginia tropical depression. This rain today was cold and we were standing in it.

Okay, now here totally waterproof plastic rainjackets would have helped. I'd never been on a bike ride when we've been trapped standing in the rain. But stood we must, and stood we did. Surely the rain would pass in a minute. Surely they'd let us ride anyway. But we stood. And there was wind to remind us that the rain was cold. But ya know, it was still fun. People had beach balls with them! We tried the wave (didn't work). After 20 minutes, the rain stopped.

But still we stood. Then I saw Michael not far behind me at the front of the greens! I wiggled back through the crowd and stood as near as possible while still maintaining my yellow identity.

After some more standing and waiting, the rain came again! This time it became demoralizing. A few riders did leave. If I had known where my luggage was and where to check my bike I might have skipped out too. It was just cold and wet. But 99% of us stayed. Just as at the end of the California ride I whipped out one of my Power Bars for sustenance.

[Note for future AIDS Ride - hand out a Power Bar with every Victory t-shirt so riders can last through the closing ceremony.]

Michael (who is also an SPD man) was the first person with the nerve to go up to some of the fun people living along the street and ask to use a bathroom. The New Yorkers, always the welcoming hosts, invited him in. Other riders began one by one to go up to these Manhattanites and beg please to use their bathroom. None were denied. Even those in Look^® cleats were allowed in. It was no different than RAGBRAI riders stopping in at a farmhouse.

! Clue Don't let people wearing Look® cleats use your bathroom, unless you have plain concrete floors.

Finally, the rain stopped, as it is wont to do. And it stayed stopped. Way ahead of us we could see the wiggling and waggling to helmeted heads that meant we were absolutely definitely on the move again! After an hour or more of standing in the cold rain, we were a bit stiff, but we had only scant blocks to go. I think the sun was coming out.

Eighth Avenue
We rolled the couple of blocks to Eighth, took a right and rode into the huge crowd that was still waiting for us. Crazed people. We had to be there. But they could've headed home on a dry subway. We had all of Eighth Avenue from 14th Street up to 23rd.

The closing ceremony is supposed to be an exciting, tearjerking, last few minutes together. And it has been exactly that in the past. But we were cold and wet and couldn't even feel our feet. There were the speeches, there was the ubiquitous Enya music, there was the giant fake check for $6.3 million, but there were more of us asking "Where's our luggage?" "Where do we drop off our bikes?" "How will I ever catch my flight/train/ride?" Heartwarming basking in the glow of our wonderfulness it was not. They finally announced where our luggage was and where the bike drop off was. the information was partly incorrect and confusing, but the general departure began anyway.

Just then Pam appeared Madonna-like (not the singer) out of the crowd. She came over and made all clear to me and Michael. Luggage over there. Bike drop off over here. Ceremony delayed because storm damaged stage. Information and clarity cause joy once again.

Not exactly Madonna-like Jason re-appeared over Pam's shoulder (well, I mean I was looking over her shoulder).

With the chaos of thousands of cyclists going every direction, we made our way to the bike drop off. Many of the intersecting streets had been closed for our baggage and for this drop off. We stood at the end of the long line that trailed along the entire block, doubled back and came half way back to its starting point. We met the people around us. Michael went food shopping while we held his bike. Some people actually gathered up wet rider's clothing and carried it over to a convenient laundromat. Before the day was over we had our bikes in the little fenced-in playground. From there they would be loaded onto semis for their trip back to Boston.

We returned to Eighth Avenue, traveled a couple blocks down and turned onto one of the side streets to find baggage crew "D" for our farewell. All of our things were secure with snarling Dave closely guarding his temporary fencing.

From here Michael got onto the subway to head up to Vance's place where he would be staying. David Kohn went farther up the island to stay with friends. I was to be staying with Josh and Jay who lived quite conveniently on 21st, just a few doors from Eighth Avenue. I had only a few feet to walk.

But Josh and Jay had spent their weekend out on Long Island, and were not home yet. Yes, I am as aghast as you. These guys with a home right in the middle of the closing ceremonies, chose to be elsewhere. I gave a call to their cell phone and they were even then rushing home to be gracious hosts, but until that magic moment arrived I had about an hour to wait. Josh, always sensitive to my social needs suggested I "work" (I'm sure that was his exact choice of wording) The Big Cup, a popular coffee shop on Eighth Avenue. I didn't think I really wanted to spend time on the phone telling Josh that I was soaked to the skin, my shoes squished, and that everything about me smelled like old things from a damp basement.

I Savor Manhattan
So I decided to lower their property values by simply plopping my wet, nasty self on the steps of their townhouse. I did at least change my sopping wet Hollywood SPD shoes for sandals (not the fabulous SPD sandals). I thought about trying to change more articles of clothing, thinking that probably my gorgeous yellow AIDS Ride Victory t-shirt might keep me from being arrested. But instead I just sat and watched the neighbors pass back and forth. Over on Eighth Avenue I could see bikers and their friends still milling about. The sun had returned and was glowing gold-orange as it dropped towards the Hudson.

I Make A Friend
From my warm, relaxed revery I was suddenly jerked by a voice. Here at the bottom of the steps on which I sat was a young man introducing himself. Admiring my t-shirt, he asked if I rode the Ride. I affirmed that I had and asked if he had caught some of the closing ceremonies. No, he said, he had been taking a nap when a sudden clap of thunder woke him. By the time he got out onto the street we had begun to disperse. More small talk ensued. His name was Michael. Suddenly this quite charming Manhattanite slapped his forehead and observed that I must be still soaking wet. I admitted as much, but said I thought my friends would be home soon. Michael said that I was welcome to come use his place to change into dry things, and that he lived just a few doors away. My friends know that I could never say no to such a generous offer. I picked up my bag and we were away.

Yes, consider the open, warm, welcoming attitudes that I have always found in all New Yorkers. New York is not the cold, dangerous place a lot of people would have you think it is. Imagine how long you could sit in wet clothes on the streets of Kansas City, Des Moines or Los Angeles before anyone would invite you in.

Later in my dry clothes we discussed the art show he was working, the place in Chatham where he would shortly be vacationing, and some interesting observations a friend of his had made on Social Security enumeration. That's not a joke. Before long I gave a call to Josh and Jay, who had gotten home by then. I picked up my bag (now filled with wet clothes) and trundled the few feet to their door.

I Dry Out
There at Josh and Jay's I could finally relax into real furniture, real plumbing, no dirt, no lines, warm dry air, warm dry friends. I took five (maybe six) minutes to summarize everything I've told you here. Wrote a heartfelt and thoughtful postcard to my favorite supporter to say how things had gone. Then we popped around the corner for dinner. Here we revelled in exchanging gossip until Dennis and Robert showed up to join us for dessert. We still revelled in gossip, but it probably changed. Oh, one of the great joys of any long bike ride is the ending, when you can be comfortable, clean and lazy again.

It was getting late for a school night at this point, so Josh and Jay decided it was time to retire. Dennis, Robert and I were still going to head over to The Palladium for the official Tanqueray closing party. Jay walked me through the steps of setting their alarm system. I studied it well so that I could negotiate the process, even if I came home stinking of Tanqueray martinis. I didn't want to repeat the terror of the Sherman Oaks Police last year.

Party Time!
The three of us walked the few blocks to The Palladium, just barely getting in before my free admission expired. And who should pop up right behind us in the line but David Kohn and his charming partner Rick. Manhattan and the AIDS Ride are such small towns! We all scurried in. We shoved through the crowds to get our free martinis. We paid $6 for a fine rice beverage from St. Louis, Missouri, to wash that nasty martini taste out of our mouth. We enjoyed the lights, the dancers, the general mayhem and crowd. Across the way we spotted Dan, still being the Man. Robert, being the responsible citizen of this fine city, left so he could get his rest. Dennis, on the other hand, is an attorney and stayed. Finally, the Tanqueray made its way up to my ride-worn, Manhattan-bedazzled brain and I went out on the dance floor with Dennis and did things. Best left unsaid.

Of course, Dennis and I eventually found ourselves out in the fresh air of New York (washed clean that very day!), walking home. We stopped in one of those wonderful, ubiquitous Korean groceries to get water. Who should pop up right behind us looking for chocolate but David Kohn and his charming partner Rick. See reference above to smallness of city, etc. Dennis caught a subway, I negotiated the system of locks at Josh and Jay's, successfully put the alarm system in its state of armed readiness, found a bed, fell in it. It was mine.

Monday morning was all bright and clear and work. Saw Josh off to work. Ran to Woolworth's to select a few postcards for my other supporters. Bade adieu to Jay. Headed uptown to Penn Station, running into fellow AIDS Riders along the way. Met up with Bill Murphy and Michael Cady at Penn Station, where we exchanged lies, gossip, tall tales and dirt about every single thing and person we had encountered in the last day or so. Other Bostonians gradually collected around us, until the AIDS Ride Express pulled in. We swarmed aboard. Re-visited Connecticut in our sleep and did not come fully conscious again until we came back within the magic circle of Route 128.

My Bridgestone and I were re-united a week later when I got it out of a warehouse in South Boston. I rode the bone-tired steed directly to Bicycle Bill's so they could apply their magic liniments and shake all the water out of it to make it ride like new.

Back to Q & A

Q: Well Ron, I guess you won't be needing any more of my money, huh?

A: Ha!

End Of Day 4

Go back to Day 3

• Prelude
• Day 1
• Day 2
• Day 3
• Day 4

• We approached The Bronx on the Bronx River Parkway in Yonkers, which
• Became Webster Avenue in The Bronx
• Right on Bedford Park Boulevard
• Lunch stop at Bronx High School of Science
• Left onto Goulden Avenue
• Ahead onto Reservoir Avenue
• Right onto West Kingsbridge Road
• Immediate left onto University Avenue
• Right onto Washington Bridge [this is not the George Washington Bridge, as it only crosses the Harlem River — I've ridden the George Washington Bridge]
• Left onto Amsterdam Avenue
• Left onto 155th Street
• Right onto St. Nicholas Avenue
• Follow St. Nicholas as it bears left
• Left onto 116th Street
• Right onto Fifth Avenue
• Right onto West 25th Street
• Left onto 11th Avenue
• Right onto West 23rd Street
• Cross 12th Avenue/West Side Highway into Chelsea Piers
• Grab your t-shirt!

Cub Scout's Honor
I stopped at Steuben and bought very expensive gifts for all my contributors, but when I got out to the street I realized with some embarrassment that since I was riding the Bridgestone (and not the Cannondale) there was absolutely no way I could carry everything. I had to return it all, but the employees were quite gracious about it.

Things that if you thought your contribution was used to help pay for, you're wrong

• the postage for sending out the pledge requests
• photocopying pledge request letters
• postage for you to send me your contribution
• phone calls, postage, cards and e-mail messages to thank you for your contribution
• phone calls, postage, paper, videotape copies and e-mail messages to follow up with those who dragged their feet (tires?)
• postage for this thing you're reading
• photocopying of this thing
• gu^®
• those postcards from NYC (and their postage)
• my food and housing in NYC
• my trip home from NYC
• bike repairs
• t-shirts
• the cover charge at the Palladium
• Tanqueray gin
• ibuprofen
• hills and scenery of Connecticut, New York and Massachusetts

Some Statistics I Made Up

• 90% of the people reading this are physically capable of training for and completing the AIDS Ride
• 99% of you are capable of raising the money
• 50% of you might really enjoy it
• 100% of you would never be bored by it all.