So much did I enjoy myself yesterday, that I decided to ride to work again today. Stepping out into the brisk, moist air, it was noticeably darker than yesterday morning. Though I stood on the same patch of sidewalk, in front of my building, looking east, exactly 24 hours ago, I was not greeted by the same awe-inspiring, golden sunrise. Instead, I stood immersed in a foggy, dismally, dank scene, barely able to make out the desaturated cityscape. The brick buildings; devoid of any contrast against the sky with their tops disappearing into heavy grey clouds. Muted streetlights, nearing the end of their shift, gave off a hazy, tired glow. While standing there, I felt the fine mist that hung in the air on my face and exposed calves and made my first decision of the day, not to go back inside for my fender. The streets were wet from the fierce storm that rumbled through in the night and were littered with small limbs and fresh, green leaves. The rich color in the leaves punched through the monochromatic, dream-like ambiance. Pedaling smoothly through the darkness, my tires made a hissing sound on the greasy wet pavement and left a momentary line on the road that would fade over time. The fading line; the only evidence that I had traveled the route. I hissed along through Fort Tryon, down to Broadway and found more people beginning their days. Carrying my hiss north, I crossed the Broadway Bridge into the Bronx, unable to see the canal below through the metal grid work. Peering down at the canal is one of the comfortable familiarities I look forward to when I ride to work. Today I would have to go without. Seven miles later I arrived at work, a bit damp, but energized from the ritual and anticipating an equally satisfying ride home in the evening.
Above: Arriving at the office, getting ready for a day of work.
