Corvallis cyclist savors unique experience of Bike New York

By Allen Throop
Special to Mid-Valley Sunday

NEW YORK — The early morning sun could barely penetrate to the bottom of the big canyon we were cycling through.

Riding should have been easy because the roads were nearly abandoned and the island was flat. But, the swirling, quirky winds kept picking up the debris of yesterday's activity and throwing old newspapers and other jetsam into our faces.

Dodging the flying debris of Manhattan added some excitement to the ride as we left Penn Station behind us and started out on 42-mile ride through the five boroughs of New York City.

Long bike rides have long been a favored activity of mine. Riding 100 miles in Linn County in a day or 400 miles of unpaved roads in Montana over two weeks have been equally enjoyable.

My only requirement was that the group be small. Cycle Oregon's 2000 riders was completely out of consideration because of the size.

I wanted nothing to do with such a moving mass of cyclists and the potential accidents.

So what was I doing last May riding through the streets of New York to join Bike New York, which the organizers claim is the world's largest biking event?

Well, hypocrisy is nothing new to me. When Heather, my daughter and favorite riding partner, invited me to join her, and 30,000 of her closest friends, my strong resolve melted and I started packing.

She planned to leave Long Island within a year, so this was my first and probably last chance to see the city from my leather saddle.

The day started early at Port Jefferson near the east end of a Long Island Railroad line. On Bike New York day, numerous rules on the proper transportation of bikes on the trains are suspended.

At the start, only a few bikes appeared but at each stop more lycra-clad riders walked their bikes into the coaches and searched for places to park them.

Gradually the cars filled: two people in one row, two bikes in the next two rows, two riders, etc. Our party of three reached Penn Station before 8 a.m. a few miles from the official starting point at Battery Park on the south end of Manhattan.

In a move that, in retrospect, was brilliant, we found the bike route a few blocks away and started riding north, in front of the official ride leaders. The streets were blocked off with only a few riders in sight.

What a great experience to have the Sixth Avenue all to ourselves!

Our reverie was soon disrupted as the official pace car, the official bike racing team, and a mass of over 1000 volunteer route guides went speeding past us accompanied by blaring sirens on police cars and motorcycles.

Once into the official ride, bike density was much higher but manageable. Later we learned that the mass start left many of the 30,000 riders so crowded together that they had to walk miles to Central Park before they had room to actually ride.

I'm a small-town person who avoids Portland whenever possible. But I enjoyed the ride.

Tall buildings gave way to the greenery and rocks of Central Park. Then we came to the bridges to get us to and from The Bronx, onto freeways, up over the East River to Queens.

The weather was comfortable; riders were friendly. Only blaring horns of traffic drivers, anxious to cross our closed-off route, reminded us that the life of the city continued even if we had one street to ourselves.

In Queens we enjoyed our first food break. Heather, Aaron and I managed to reach that point while not getting separated.

We parked our bikes at a spot where we could easily regroup after trips to the food tables and restrooms.

People-watching was a great activity. Dress varied from loudly colored lycra that would fit easily into the Tour de France to tattered clothing that might hold together until the end of the ride.

Some riders looked like they could give Greg LeMond stiff competition. Others were obviously not in shape for a ride of this moderate distance.

As others arrived they quickly began a search for their friends. Some waved wildly, many pulled out cell phones or two-way radios. Others got more and more

frustrated and dejected as they realized that their riding partners had been sucked into this great mass of humanity.

After finishing our snacks, we remounted and headed down some local streets of Queens and Brooklyn.

The residents seemed not too put out by their street closures. Gas station attendants, with nothing to do, seemed to enjoy waving as much as some children. People unable to ride offered encouragement to everyone.

The diversity of the locals was even more varied than that of the riders: the elegant atmosphere that predominated in front of the Central Park residences was gone. The Hasidic Jews were easy to spot with their long coats, wide-brimmed hats, and beards. Blacks would dominate for a few blocks and then we would enter an area with only Vietnamese signs.

The cross section of humanity was wonderful.

In places, the local street surfacing was worse than anything McDonald Forest has to offer.

Potholes and cobblestones were in such abundance that I was glad that I was on a mountain bike for what I thought would be a ride on smooth city streets. Flat tires were abundant in this section.

Wide-beamed men on flashy skinny-tired racing bikes were those most often seen with patch kit and pump in hand.

Somewhere in this section we saw the last of an in-skater who we had played tag with for miles. He was planning to do the entire route and, I assume, finished well in front of the majority of riders.

While not many skaters joined in, we did see every type of bicycle imaginable: road bikes, mountain bikes, singles, tandems, triples, uprights, recumbents, and trailers. An ever-changing variety surrounded us.

After our second refreshment stop, we got onto the Queens-Brooklyn Expressway and the speed picked up since the road was wider and without sharp corners. The views across the water to Manhattan were fantastic.

Of course, we had no inkling that the skyline would change dramatically in a few months.

Eventually we turned away from the shore and headed for the on-ramp to the Verrazano Narrows Bridge, the highest point of the trip and the final leg into the last borough n Staten Island. Up and up we rode first on the approach and then on the lower level of the bridge. Unfortunately the guardrails are designed so neither car drivers nor cyclists can gawk while crossing this famous sea entrance to New York City.

As we climbed, we were passed by a few speedy hill climbers and passed many people who were not up to the long steep grade. Although we were hundreds of feet above the water, we could just have well been in a tunnel since the upper deck covered the sky and the rails prevented any outward view.

Eventually we passed the bridge's halfway point and started to drop on a grade equal to that we had just climbed up. Flashing lights, yelling volunteers in orange vests, and gruff police officers with megaphones all extorted the riders to slow down.

The reason was clear to the traffic control cadre enjoying the downhill run but not to the cyclists.

Immediately upon reaching Staten Island, the ride left the parkway via a very sharp-cornered exit into Fort Wadsworth Park, the official end of the ride. The crowds were larger here than at the in-route food stops but we set out with the best intentions of getting our final handout of energy bars and sports drink.

After discovering that free quick-energy food had given way to very expensive, very greasy fast food, we decided that we could do better back in Manhattan. So once more we got on our bikes for the leg to Manhattan.

Riding the final leg seemed easy.

Some riders did not return to Manhattan so the crowds were thinner. We had yet more views of city's skyline. This time the World Trade Center towers were vying with the Statute of Liberty to be the dominant elements.

After a few miles of easy biking, we came to the Staten Island ferry terminal. The line of cyclists must have been over one quarter of a mile long. When a ferry did arrived, I announced, in all my wisdom, that we would be lucky to get on the next ferry.

But soon the jaws of the ferry opened and

began to consume the huge number of cyclists effortlessly. In a few minutes we were sitting comfortably in the ferry. When it left the moorings, the capacity of the vessel had not been challenged.

As we sailed north toward Manhattan we got good views of the expressway in Brooklyn, which still had a steady stream of cyclists that looked much thicker that when we had ridden that section an hour earlier. The parade seemed endless although we knew that later in the afternoon busses would pick up those not able to complete the trip, the barricades would be removed and once more the automobile would be king.

After being disgorged by the ferry at the south end of Manhattan, we got our lunch and then pondered our return to Penn Station. Aaron and Heather voted for going underground, lifting our bikes over the turnstiles, and heading north in the subway. But the naive outsider pushed for finishing the loop.

Why not ride back on the surface streets? Sure they were open to traffic now, but the traffic was light at 8 AM on this beautiful Sunday. How much worse could it be now?

They deferred to me and we learned how bad it can get. I have startled moose in Montana, yelled at bears in Alaska, and heard more than my share of rattlesnakes in Eastern Oregon, but I was not ready for the hazards of dealing with the two-footed and four-wheeled creatures that we encountered in the next few miles.

Pedestrians demanded their part of the pavement and vehicles took the rest. Busses, delivery trucks, private cars, and taxis came from all directions. Storm sewer grates seemed designed to consume cyclists. All the lights turned red as we approached.

I started to dream about the safe and quiet time I would have in a few days riding on Ninth Street if I got back to Corvallis.

I can attest that New York City does have at least one block with a bike lane. It is in front of Penn Station. What the purpose of that sole bike lane is will forever be a mystery to me but I was glad to use it for the last few hundred feet of a memorable ride. I was equally glad to carry my bike down the steps and wait for the train back to Long Island.

Near the start of this last section we circled around the World Trade Center, looking for a less-busy north-bound street. With our focus on the traffic and obstacles, we had no reason to stop and study landmarks that would soon disappear.

The tour this year will undoubtedly be changed to avoid that area. The Manhattan skyline that we watched from Brooklyn and Staten Island has been changed forever but New York City and the Bike New York event will continue.

For me the ride was memorable because of the beautiful day that I got to spend biking with my daughter and Aaron, the varied parts of a great city that I saw, my realization of the efforts that goes into scheduling such an event, and my memory of the people who made it all possible. We must have passed thousands of police officers standing idly at closed intersection and hundreds of EMTs waiting patiently for a call to swing into action. Over 1500 volunteers directing us at corners and handing out food had given up a great spring day to help us enjoy the ride. Unknown riders would accompany us for a few blocks, exchange a few pleasantries and then disappear as they dropped behind on a hill and sped up to catch their companions.

I doubt that the opportunity will come again for me to join Bike New York. But if you are looking for a 42-mile ride through a geography like no place else, consider Bike New York as your next challenge.

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