Author: The Brompton Diarist

When last seen on our very short ride in upstate New York, Basil and I had encountered this fellow:

He’s inside a marvelous arbor.  Basil posed with him, next to the structure:

There’s an impressive crown soaring skyward, with decorative bits at the corners, and a curl of metal floating in the wind.

The rail along the back, just above the elegantly-attired Mr. Goose, features a series of head sculptures.

They’re cast of metal, and feature a most distinctive phiz: a portrait of the artist, perhaps?

There’s a nod to Mr. Goose’s own kind (or his cousins) along a support beam.

Half-hidden behind the arbor is an almost-secret garden, with a clearing, places to sit, and more whimsical creations.  Not having been properly invited, we did not enter.

Over to the right were more surprises. Fancy a cup of coffee, anyone?  These appear to be coffee grinders (though I suppose they could be spice grinders . . . yuuummm . . . Indian, anyone???)

But wait! What was that rising from the scrub farther to the right?

It’s three colossal figures!

Remember those computer components you tossed? They may have found a new life in New York state, reborn as Component Homage:

Front and center is Steel Man (not to be confused with the Tin Man of Oz fame). (Steel Woman? Who am I to say?)

Farthest right is Spinning Tower (though it doesn’t spin; it’s just enticingly endowed with lots of gears and wheels):

Should anyone care to sit and contemplate these wonders, the creator has provided a bench

. . .  a  regal bench, no less.

You can just make out part of Basil’s frame, below. He and Mr. Goose visited while I snapped pictures.

Would I have spotted this most unusual garden if I hadn’t been riding my bicycle?  Perhaps . . . but then, if I’d been in a car, I would likely have been in a hurry, wouldn’t I, so it just wouldn’t have been the same, would it?

(Rochester, New York)

Not too long ago, Basil and I set out for upstate New York. We usually take a tiny car when we go, but this time traveled in the nearly ancient, but little-used, truck Mr. Diarist and I keep for special duty.

Basil just disappears into the back of the SUV.  There’s plenty of room for him, my suitcase, a kit bag, a footstool and a bunch of other junk.  (And for at least three more Brompton bicycles!)

Basil didn’t get much of a workout on this trip, as it turned out. There were thunderstorms all week — wonderful thunderstorms with marvelous loud bangs and fabulous light flashes all over the skies — and very little else, meteorologically speaking.  I do draw the line at cycling in lightening storms.

When we slipped out, it was for one of the shortest rides I’ve ever taken on Basil — just over three miles.  Storm-strewn debris was everywhere, though not as much as I had expected to see.

Unlike the theoretically sturdier trees, feathery flora seemed to have braved the storms without much difficulty — and, in the case of this example, with some flamboyance.

Usually when we are in this area, Basil and I ride the towpath next to the Erie Canal , but rain was threatening, so I decided to explore a neighborhood for the first time.  I knew this ride would be a shorter one than our twopath excursions.

This was an area that we’d driven through the day before, and was near a large intersection with which I am familiar, so it got elected.  All was serene at mid-day, the sky only slightly overcast.

Though they aren’t necessarily convenient (or, in some cases, even safe) I’m fond of the old-style narrow sidewalks of these neighborhoods, and the simple, wide streets. Asphalt has a hard life, though, and shows the wear-and-tear that northern winters wreak.

There was no cookie-cutter modern development here; homes look as if they sprang up, one by one, as land was sold. Which means, too, that trees weren’t removed, wholesale, to make identical lots, giving the landscape a much more natural, organic, feeling than developments have.

Lush summers make even the plainest home look luxuriant — though those steps are a nice touch.  (Were the double peaks original, or the result of a room added later?)

There is a bit of an alpine theme going on in places; this may be a very practical homage to Rochester’s winters, which are fierce.

Snow presumably slides off these roofs far more effectively than it does conventional ones, though I wouldn’t like to be doing maintenance on those inclines.

I love this unexpected bright blue door on the façade of an otherwise retiring house.

In the silver lining department, the demise of this tree did not mean the death of the house next to it, as the tree thoughtfully fell toward the street.

Basil did his traditional tree pose, but not beside one of the magnificent older trees that abound here; they were all in someone’s yard, and we are loathe to go tramping over other people’s property to get the shot.  Next to the sidewalk, yes, but actually in the yard?  Nope.

The wind picked up, and the rain returned, but not before we met this dapper fellow, who reigns over a most interesting world.  But more of that later . . .

(Rochester, New York)

When in New York, I stay with The Manhattanites in Washington Heights, in  northwest Manhattan.  The neighborhood was originally mostly Dominican, culturally speaking, but it has been gradually gentrifying.  Starbucks arrived a few years ago, in the area where The Manhattanites live, when things began to change.

North of their apartment, though, the area still retains an aggressively ethnic flavor.   I like that; I’ll be sorry when it’s all gone bland and become not-distinctive-anything, and the only food available is chi-chi, and the only shops mainstream.

At the moment, though, store fronts still spill out onto the sidewalk, and street vendors abound, selling anything and everything.

Fresh fruit and produce are trucked in and sold in the open air, set out in the crates in which they arrived.

Most, if not all, of the businesses are hole-in-the wall mom-and-pop affairs, and the offerings aren’t what you’ll find at your local chain.  Chocolate con 1 rolo?  Oh, yeah!

Floridita Broadway Bakery specializes in Dominican cakes — if I were a carb eater, I’d be working the shops all up and down the street!

On hot summer days, helados (icy treats — could be ice cream,  fruit pops, or anything similar) are available from push carts.

There’s some ethnic gentrification going on too.  This is a rather fancy market selling Latin foods and ingredients notably not available at the ubiquitous Gristedes groceries.

Inside, the appearance of the street stands has been recreated, with notably carefully selected goods — offered at much higher prices. That’s not surprising, though, as there’s rent to pay and utilities to fund.

El Tren de la Slaud offers productos naturales y organicos. Does that engine look like the Acela?  Not sure that’s the best illustration; Amtrak’s Acela engines can go super fast, but track and traffic limitations keep it in the slow lane.

Victor’s Bicycle is a large, old school, bike shop on Broadway  at west 174th, not far from Manny Bicycle on Bennett bet Broadway and Fort Washington. They’ve both been around a while, so it’s probably safe to say that there’s been “bike culture” of some sort in Washington Heights a long time before Adeline Adeline arrived in lower Manhattan.

There are a  lot of working bicycles in the neighbourhood; food delivery is a big deal in Manhattan, where kitchens are small or virtually non-existent, and good food is only a phone call (or a computer screen) away.

Some things will never change, though. An RV caught on fire in the George Washington Bridge Bus Station when I was at Manny Bicycle, which shut the terminal down for hours, and resulted in the scene below. (And shut down most of the George Washington Bridge for hours.)

Outside the station doors, emergency workers were dealing with angry and incredulous New Yorkers who just could not believe that they were not allowed to enter the smoke-filled  terminal (which incidentally also smelled of burnt rubber and fried electricity).

Don’t ever tell  New Yorkers what they can’t do.  They don’t like it, and they know you’re wrong, even if most of the fire-fighting power of upper Manhattan is called out to deal with the crisis.

Also, it’s a New Yorker’s god-given right to use his phone whenever and wherever he pleases.  Neighborhoods may come and go, but New Yorkers will stand their ground forever.  Ya gotta be tough to survive in the big city.

The bike shop fellow Bromptonaut Hugo mentioned to me is in Washington Heights, on Bennett Street, between Broadway and Fort Washington. I knew of a larger shop on Broadway (see below), but had no idea that Manny Bicycle Shop existed.  It’s tucked on a small side street.

There’s no website, but this profile in New York Magazine seems just about right to me.  Here’s a squib from their article:

 . . . he [the owner, Eduardo Fernandez]  runs the one-man operation like his own garage, tinkering with the latest drop-off in the back while brushing off neighborhood kids, fleets of whom occasionally skid up to haggle over a brake-tightening or ogle the skull-and-crossbones valve caps. As to the diversified phalanx of bikes that hang overhead, there’s everything from Mongoose BMXs for youngsters to racing and mountain bikes for commuters.

This is a nitty-gritty bike shop, meaning that it’s not a retail store (though it does sell bicycles, too).  It’s a place where tinkering is done, and serious mechanical stuff.  I would have guessed that my chances of finding Ergon grips there were slim, but Hugo had gotten his there, and he said that they had one more pair.

I liked the idea of buying the grips at an LBS, even if it wasn’t at my LBS, so I stopped in. Sure enough, among a lot more basic gear there was one more package of Ergon GP1-S grips.  I bought them, stuffed them into Basil’s S bag for the trip home, and installed them on my Brompton at the first opportunity.  Bike shops can be amazing places — and you never know what you’ll find at an independent one unless you stop in.