Steve strapped the bikes on the Subaru at 8:00 am. We had an early appointment at the local hospital to vaccinate Ian. How much are things better now that towns, private businesses, and hospitals have taken over from the state? Much better.
When that mission was accomplished, we drove over the George Washington Bridge into my old neighborhood of Washington Heights. I lived there for 14 years before heading back to Jersey, so I know every crack in the sidewalk. And it’s also a home to Lin Manuel Miranda, who still lives down the block. We’ll watch Into the Heights as soon as it’s available.
After a quick coffee and croissant, we walked our bikes to a path that runs between the West Side Highway and the Hudson River.
For non-locals, Manhattan is basically a 14-mile, penis-shaped island. Going north-south is the West Side Highway, which was built with honest graft around the turn of the century. On the other side is the FDR drive or the East Side Highway. We hate the FDR Drive, because we live in New Jersey and hate the Mets. That’s how things work. But I do have rather fond memories of driving along that highway with our old manual Toyota and getting Dukes of Hazzard air as I hit potholes at just the right speed.
Today, we biked down from 181st Street to 96st Street and back. Ten miles, which hurt like the devil because I’m pathetically out of shape from the fucking pandemic. Running regime starts tomorrow.
On the way, we passed by Toilet Park on 145th. It’s a poop refinery that politicians parked in the neighborhood where Steve lived before marrying me. Politicians promised locals that the sewage wouldn’t smell, and they would put a park and a restaurant there. “Um, yes, waiter. I’ll take the chili, please.” PS. It stinks.
We capped out the trip with happy hour and brunch at our favorite pub – Le Chiele.