The Hidden Beach at Jacob Ris

Cliff called. He said there was a ride today. He said I would not be alone. He said he had a mess of papers he had to sort out. He said he was up till three in the morning working on some data file. He said Dome Lady and Manray would be there.

I said OK. I would be there at 11:30AM. I said I would make some breakfast first. I didn't even chop the garlic. I just smashed it with the knife. The garlic went in a hot pan of olive oil. The smell filled the apartment. It was almost enough.

It was a quarter to 11:00AM. It was ten till 11:00AM. It was five till 11:00AM. It was going to be alright. I took the Panasonic down. It is a fast bike. It had a flat. I put the Panasonic back. I would settle for the Fuji Touring Series Four IV. Nobody is losing sleep over this bike but I like it.

I moved through the traffic on autopilot. Greenpoint Avenue past the water plant. The water plant smelled like shit. I weaved through Mini-van mitzvah tanks on Kent Ave. Flushing was nothing. I was water. I was there, it was 11:18AM. I was a God.

Cliff said come in. I sat on the couch. Cliff got a call. Cliff moved some data. Cliff made some coffee. Cliff gave me a cup. Cliff is a good person.

Another call. Later another call. It was Dome Lady. They were at the Park and ready to ride. It was Noon. Cliff was not ready. Cliff sent me to stall.

We said hello. I was lost in my Godliness. No one must know I am a God. Manray said he impregnated three women that morning. I said good job. I moved away. Manray said with his eyes. I moved away again.

I looked at their bicycles. Dome lady on a Panasoic DX-3000, Manray on a Surly Cross-check, I talked about bicycles. I know nothing about bicycles. We talked about helmets. My helmet is cool.

Cliff arrived. We discussed directions. Manray had the map. I decided Manray was Mapray and I would follow him. GPS Lady is not around. She got dumped. We went through the park. I talked more about bicycles. I still know nothing about bicycles.

We stopped at a light. Cliff was a Jack Rabbit.

We headed East. Past Canarsie Jack Rabbit thought we were going the wrong way. I got turned around. North was South, East was West. The Manhattan skyline was on the left. Mapray knew where to go. He was a fucking landshark.

We stopped somewhere. Jack Rabbit got me Orbitz. A bird shat on Dome Lady's head. There were people there. They laughed at Dome Lady. Dome Lady laughed. They laughed at the bird shit. But not mean. Everybody drank water. Mapray bunged the bags.

Jack Rabbit thought we were going the wrong way. We followed Mapray. The bridge was down. Took the free Golden Coach across the bridge to Broad Channel McDonald's' parking lot. Dome lady took some pictures. Manray bunged the bags.

Jack Rabbit yelled make a left. I yelled follow Mapray asshole. Mapray went left. We went left. We road on the boardwalk. The map said no bikes on Rockaway Beach Boardwalk. We said fuck the map.

Stopped at the grease pit. Jack Rabbit brought out the plate of corporate bar food. Cliff is a good man. It was devoured. Cliff finds my gum under the plate. We still want more. I borrow $20 from Cliff.

Cheezeburger, cheezedog, cheeze fries, cheeze coke, cheeze beer, cheeze cheeze. Mapray Bunged the bags. I said fuck. I said I left my bag at the grease pit.

We headed West. On the conrete sidewalk. Dome Lady pointed out the Empire State Building. We were on the 34th St extension. Jack Rabbit took off like a jack rabbit. He took a left into a bush. We followed Jack Rabbit. It was not a bush. It was a concrete path. It looked post-apocalyptic. It looked cool.

That was the road to the Hidden Beach at Jacob Ris.

Dome lady and I wore our suits. Jack Rabbit and Manray were like flashdancers. Manray said he hated gyms. I said why. He said he had athletes dick. He said athletes dick is when your dick touches an athletes dick and becomes a long black dick. He has some fucked up ideas about gyms.

We swam at the hidden beach. The water was incredible. I said a prayer for Michael Phelps so that he might obtain his eighth Olympic gold medal. Dome lady did the Australian crawl. We discussed survival strategies.

When you are in a riptide, do not swim towards shore. Swim parallel to the shore until you are out of the riptide. Then swim towards shore. Fat people float better. Become fat.

We raced back to the shore. I was a God. Manray offered sunblock. Cliff offered plums. Dome lady offered to take a picture. I offered dental floss. Nobody wanted to floss.

To reduce the public aversion to dental floss I made a garbage bag kite using dental floss as the kite string. It flew aproximately three and a half feet above ground. Manray bunged the bags.

Dome Lady wrote a song for Manray:

(Bootsy Collins)
Put the back
Pack
On the rack
Put the back pack on the rack

(Backing girl chorus)
Do that bungee thang
and make the thang twange

(Bootsy Collins)
Put the back
Pack
On the rack
Put the back pack on the rack

Manray couldn't outrun his top gear. Manray outran my top gear. I stopped at the best water fountain in Prospect Park. The best water fountain anywhere. The water was cool. The water was free. The water was America.

Dome Lady and Jack Rabbit were picking their teeth at the plaza. I still don't know how they got their first. It was a good ride.

Fixie Pretensions

Tonight after a dose of Fassbinder's Berlin Alexanderplatz, I looked over the collapsible furniture at my latest symptom. A Panasonic DX2000 that was a little worse for wear. Not a great bike by any means but from crank to seat post it is a whopping 28" and the stem tube is about 11 1/2". It looks like a normal bike that has been put on the rack and still did not talk. It has a gangly extra foot of vertical-ity. It is larger than the Pursuit left up in Maine, itself a gigantic specimen. A bear could leap through the frame lit on fire and not singe a hair.

It was a quarter to eleven and I said to myself, I have to take it out for real spin. This was earlier than the time of night I actually acquired the bike from a 300 lbs ogre of a man named Juliolindo. I liken his appearance to the Ettercap that can be found in the Advanced Dungeons and Dragon's Fiend Folio page 35. I believe it was his strategy to arrive as late as possible, when wits are befuddled and sleep beckons, his special attack. Juliolindo, who answered all of my hesitations with irrelevant asides such has "I have a K2. a 2 lbs bike." He might still have been riding his K2 as his girth obscured so much posterior space.

I had taken the rear wheel off of the DX2000 for closer inspection and as I pulled the frame from the rack, it decided to lay on it's side. This was unfortunate for my downstairs neighbor has entered into a overt war of cool aggression with me, as a result of unavoidable bumps and bangs that are caused by one as clumsy as I. As expected Andreas appeared like a jack-in-the-box. He is my Albanian-in-a -box, ready to spring at any fallen book, glass or shoe. Though subdued in his expressions, as English is not yet a second language for him, he made clear his intention of reporting me to the sound police so that I might be exiled from his heavens.

Fuck you Andreas, because you do not know what real noise is. So besides a real flavor test, I have extra stress to work off. I am also giving my new bike diapers a dry run. I bought them today in preparation for Saturday's century to Montauk and they feel as if I have passed smooth firm latex into briefs. Outside, I struggle to raise the seat post 2" and climb on. Would you God damn believe it, it is still to low, I need to add another inch, but will do so later, then I immediately notice something...

Bikes are everywhere, as I ride towards the Boulevard of Death, I see three stream by me. I shag right back to Greenpoint Ave and see two more. They are everywhere, Down 43rd Ave towards the Chrysler building there are two more. I decide two things, bikes are like bats tonight, and I need to pick a gear and stick with it. I am big chain ring and second to highest. I then follow my commute route as I continue to see bikes all around me. I head towards the 59th street bridge and head up, and like drips from a faucet, bike after bike, mostly out of darkness come flying by as I huff up the Queens side. All quiet but for the click of coasting wheels and wind in hair, and of course the suppressed sound of car traffic on the bridge, which is in fact glaringly loud.

A hint of the future, a world of bikes, car traffic will be replaced by bike traffic, but for now it is exciting and modern, as they all race each other to the bottom of the bridge, ten of them, twenty of them, one right after the other and I am one of them. As I make it to the top, I am won. The stiffness of the frame, where my wrists, knees, elbows are balancing out nicely up that hill, with no crouching. The components are shit, it has stem shifters, the dérailleur is somewhat bent...this is it, this is the bike I will immediately begin converting to a fixed gear, so I too can belong to the night...

Now all I need is your help.