Firsts and Lasts

I'm learning. Today I learned more lessons than I think one day should allow. Yet, in a bizarre, glass-half-full kinda way, it was a fantastic day.

Today began in Port Chester, approximately forty miles north of the city. That's where Jacob's studio is. I made my way there last night, crashed, and went right to work this morning. Following my day of office organizing, I decided it was time to get my bike into the city. It had been chilling in Port Chester since the summer let out. So I biked to the train station and wheeled my eco-friendly mode of transportation onto the train.

I was sitting peacefully next to my bike when the conductor came by. "And you have your bike permit as well correct?" he asked as he punched my ticket. I gave a nervous giggle as if to say 'Haha, nice one.' But he continued to stare at me. "Wait, are you serious?" I said. "Yes, you need a permit to transport a bicycle on any public transit." I explained that I was a newbie to New York and this was my first time attempting to get a bike into the city. This conductor was the kind of person I can get along with in the world. The kind that doesn't try to make trouble for people. "Well, when you get to Grand Central make sure you get yourself one if you want to take it on the subways." He was a live and let live individual.

Unfortunately his fellow conductor wasn't such a person. A few minutes after he continued down the car, another conductor came by. This one was on a "I-have-little-power-in-my-life-so-what-little-power-I-do-have-I-am-going-to-exercise-while-I-can" power trip. I don't like these kind of people. But I tolerate them and act as civil as I can with them.

"Who's bike is this? It's blocking the aisle," he said (even though it was well out of the way). I told him it was mine. "Where's your bike permit?" he said hastily. I explained that I just talked to the other conductor about this, it's my first time, yadda yadda. "Well, get one, it's illegal to travel without one." He then stormed off down the subway car. His ego boosted for the day because he got to yell at someone.

That was the first and last time I will take a bike on the Metro North Rail.

Upon arriving at Grand Central, I decided not to go to the information desk and get a permit. I didn't feel like paying for one, even though I didn't know and still don't know the cost. However, it's the whole principle. Why should I pay extra? Some people's luggage on that train took up more room than my bike. I figured I'd try my luck and bike from Grand Central to Bushwick.

That's the route. Only 7.4 miles. It most certainly did not feel like 7.4 miles, more like 20. Wasn't that bad till I got to the Williamsburg Bridge. I never thought that incline was going to end. While I'm pedaling as hard as my jean-constricted pants will let me, I'm getting passed by the intense road bikers who probably ride that journey twice daily. Now that I think of it, I was so hellbent on getting across that bridge that I didn't even stop to enjoy the view from it's peak. Once I got to that peak though, it was an easy coast down, so easy that it was hard to keep control.

I made it over in one piece and now had to make my way through what I thought was going to be an easy journey through Williamsburg to Bushwick. Take a look at the map. It's not that hard. Sadly, it is that hard when you're a moron and take a few wrong turns. Then before you know it you're getting pulled over by a van full of NY Police Officers.

My first time biking in the city and I'm getting nailed by the NYPD. Apparently, you are not allowed to ride a bike on any city sidewalks. I had an inkling that was the case, since no one else was riding a bike on the sidewalk, but I figured it was more of a strong suggestion. Nope, it's a law.

An officer gets out of the passenger door and asks for my ID. He barely takes a look at it and then passes it to the other 5 cops sitting in the back of this large van. I suspect they were all in training. Each took a look at my driver's license, discussing it amongst themselves. Presumably a training on how to identify fakes. As they all perused my picture, I again played the newbie to NYC explaining this is my first time riding a bike in the city.

It seemed such a minor infraction that it wasn't even worth showing the rookies how to fill out one of the tickets. The last guy to look at my license asked, "Green Bay huh? You a Packer's fan?" "I kinda have to be,"I replied as the instructor cop handed me back my ID telling me they'd let me off with a warning this time.

That was the first and (hopefully) last encounter I'll have with the NYPD.

I got home just in time to shovel down some food before I met a friend for a drink. We guzzled that drink and made our way to the Williamsburg, where we stopped for another drink at a wonderful establishment that serves all there beverages in styrofoam cups. Which makes it extremely convenient for carrying alcohol out on the street. It just so happen that a few representative for a rum called Sailor Jerry. Had quite a few rum & cokes against my better judgement. After all, how great can that rum be. The guy is a sailor. Many ranks below Captain Morgan and Admiral Nelson.

That was the first and last time I will drink Sailor Jerry...that is, unless it's free again.

We were good and toasty for a DJ set with Calvin Harris at the Williamsburg Music Hall. Long story short, great show, great dancing. However today, my body is sore in ways previously not thought imaginable. My legs and back kill from both an intense NY bike ride and a night of intense dancing. Oh and chalk my neck up for dance related soreness too. And my ears are still ringing.

That was the first and last time I bike across NY before I go to an all night dance concert.

And that'll be the last time I go to a concert without ear plugs. I need my musicianly trained ears to last me a while.

Lessons well learned I guessed.