Back before the 5 Boro Bike Tour, Argyll and I went to New York. Subsequently, various events and circumstances overwhelmed the schedule, and I lost track of his adventures.
I did manage to chronicle the trip back to New York, but not our gadding about while there. In order to avoid giving Argyll short shrift, I’m backtracking a bit here, and recording our flitting about on that trip.
Once we were settled in at the Manhattanites’s in Washington Heights, we hopped the cross town bus, due to my reluctance to ride certain segments of upper Manhattan streets in rain, and headed to NYCeWheels.
That white beast appears to be a Pacific Cycles IF Mode, a full-size folding bike. I think it’s easily twice the size of a Brompton. Maybe three times.
Once we were in, Steve put Argyll up on the stand behind the counter. All that inventory is distracting, but it’s pretty cool to see a beautiful little Brompton suspended in mid-air. I wonder if Dr. Diarist would go for this look in our living room?
I paused to admire the fold of yellow Bromptons NYCeWheels uses for their free tours, and for loans to Brommie Yummie. Riding Brompton 1 of this fleet is what convinced me that a Brompton was the right bicycle for me.
That yellow imprinted, of course, and that’s the color of Basil’s frame. (Visibility, folks, that’s where it is for me!), but just about any Brompton color evokes a little frisson of glee. Look at that Arctic Blue! And that Apple Green!
I took a walk and got some coffee while Steve looked over Argyll. It was a beautiful day; the Upper East Side felt fresh and new in the rain.
I found goodies to take back to the Manhattanites, but they got saved for later. The Manhattanites got consecutively ill during our visit, which put a damper on enticing meals. Inside the container? Fairway’s incredible roasted artichoke hearts.
Less incredible were my blue fingers. How did that happen? Weeellll, it turned out that Fairway’s plastic bag bled.
Messy, and most surprising, since what goes inside a Fairway bag is almost universally excellent.
We cycled just a few familiar blocks, in spite of damp streets, and then returned on the subway. I was reading a Travis McGee mystery — a pulp paperback from the early 1960s; they’re a perfect size to stuff in a pocket.