Thar she blows! My shiny new bicycle. I've christened it Buttercup II, named after the original Buttercup, a Salvation Army couch Sparky and I purchased in the twilight of its life circa 1997. May Buttercup II also live a long and fruitful life (and not end up almost breaking into two pieces a la Buttercup I).
My last bike, a monstrous poo brown cruiser, I rode around Prospect Park from time to time, but I'm more serious about Buttercup II. I've even been riding it to work a couple days a week. Which necessitated buying a basket and a helmet and a trusty lock and looking at a map with bike lanes, all of which has introduced me to the weirdness that is NYC bike culture.
Bike shops are run by bike freaks and stores tend to have their own personality. One store has the pervey guy that hits on ladies, another is full of surly punk rock types that really should be working at a record store. I got my bike from a shop full of nerrrds, just the way I like them.
Biker hostility sets in almost instantaneously. Once I made the mistake of using the bike path to cross the Manhattan Bridge. Literally, every single biker snidely pointed out that the pedestrian path was on the other side of the bridge. I've been trying to suppress such sentiments, but it's trying, especially on the Brooklyn Bridge where there's an excess of particularly unsavory types: tourists who veer into the bike lane in an unpredictable manner; granted, the skyline on the bike side looks uptown and is far cooler than the peddy side.
Biker chit chat consists of strangers, with or without bikes, who want to talk to you about your bike. Several (insane) middle aged women paying their compliments, a guy in my building who jokingly asked if I would share with him, a guy on the street who asked me where I got my blinky tail light. Note that I can count the number of people in my 'hood who've made any effort to talk to me on two hands. Perhaps Buttercup II is an ambassador of goodwill who will conquer the racial divide?
1 comment:
First of all. congrats, that isa handsome bike. Secondly, this brings to mind few tales.
1. Me and Prin walked across the Brooklyn Bridge on acid back in probably 1994. We were REALLY fucked up and hysterical laughing as we walked the whole way from Washington Square Park to the bridge and getting a little paranoid as you do in such situations. Is everyone looking at us? Well, once we hit the bridge it became "Is everyone yelling at us?" as bicyclists seemed to be whizzing by shakingtheir fingerless-gloved fists at us. We reassured each other that we were just being paranoid, but more than halfway across realized that we were in the bike lane. That evening ended with a trip to Caldor in Paramus, NJ. Long story.
2. When I worked at Prospect Park, each user group of the park was obnoxious in its own special way and each truly believed the park was just forthem - e.g. the dog people, the children people, the bird watchers. It was universally agreed by park staff that the worst of these was the bike people. I would like to point out the subcultures within the bike community - the worst offenders being the serious bike enthusiasts, who despise the casual biker as much as they despise everyone else who doesn't look like they are dressed as Kevin Costner from American Flyers for Halloween.
3. I too had a bike in NYC. I got mine from that Peurto Rican dude on 8th Avenue in the South Slope who sells stoeln bikes out of his basement. We got like 3 bikes for $60 bucks and I think 2 of them got stolen back shortly thereafter.
4. Again I think it was 1994. Prin was looking after this guy's bike for him and she chained it to a medium-sized sidewalk tree on 2nd Avenue an someone cut down the tree and stole the bike.
5. Oh how I remember Buttercup I. I believe I slept drunk on Buttercup I once or twice. I recall how bittersweet it was when you guys got rid of Buttercup I and replaced her with a very grown up, un-dilapidated couch from Pottery Barn (also slept on that one drunk).
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