The 777 in north-west Brooklyn was a checkpoint alleycat, with a twist - insteading of knocking off the checkpoints in some order, the riders each got a manifest with a few CPs. They had to knock those off, and return to Race HQ at CP1 for their next manifest. They'd get 4 manifests in all. The closer CPs would be hit more than once - those more distant, like CP 3, only once.
It's got to be mighty complicated to set up and manage, but it gets maximum mileage out of the minimum checkpoints, and it scatters riders to the four winds - no pack raising eyebrows in the hood.
Here's an overall map of the course:
CPs 4 and 7 are off this map, south and southeast. The grids are a mile square.
Race headquarters, CP1, was at the mouth of Newtown Creek where it enters the East River. It's a city playground nestled between a junkyard and a gigantic sewage sludge holding tank.
The triangle east of the sludge tank is another playground, nice and shady, lined with benches under the trees.
The first riders rolled in around 11 and took to the shade in the triangle, hanging their fixies up on the fence and grabbing a bench.
The schedule: registration from 11 to 12, the alleycat to begin at 1 p.m. sharp. Needless to say this was a pipedream, but I didn't hear anybody complaining - most had a lot of homework to do to find their way around an unfamiliar area at speed. They were hunched up studying street maps and the checkpoint list.
The sound of people scratching their heads could give you a headache.
Of course riders kept straggling in long after 1, but the more the merrier. By the time registration closed, there were about 30 cats ready to roll, along with a gaggle of friends, spectators, and other athletic supporters.
Bikes were lined up against the fence outside CP1, and the riders' initial manifests were stuck anywhere they'd stick.
Then, last rites, and a Le Mans-style running start:
I took off south along the waterfront, a block behind a pack of riders who were flying like birds on the wing.
Most of the riders were on fixies - elegant bikes, stripped, light, and efficient. They're limited in what they can do, but on city streets they can maintain a fast cruising speed. With strong riders, they fly. I felt like my heavy rough-road touring bike was dragging an anchor along behind.
Adding to my confusion in an unfamiliar place, somebody'd swiped almost all the signs off the cross streets heading to the river. I tried ducking west, toward the river, to go south on West Street (confused yet?), but got dead-ended in one block. This is why I'm just along to take pictures.
I was headed for CP2, Grand Street beach on the river, a few blocks north of the Williamsburg Bridge.
I skipped the furthest CPs - 3, 4, and 7 - but did a lap around the others. 5 was King Kog:
CP6, "Pit Stop", was an ominous anonymous doorway on Grand Street. CP8 was Cooper Park, where I found 2 citizens asking the checkpoint why all those mad riders were so desperate to see him:
From 8 to 9 was a ride north, to Greenpoint Avenue, northeast across the bridge over Newtown Creek, to a quiet little corner of Calvary Cemetery in Queens:
The checkpoint staff decided to hop the fence and get on the side of the angels. After Brooklyn traffic, it looked mighty peaceful in there - a nice resting place. But outside those iron bars, it was still a hot, hard-riding alleycat. R.ace I.n P.rogress.
Back at Race HQ, CP1, riders were coming in for their next manifests.
Four manifests each, and I'm guessing they averaged 10 miles per. The miles add up fast, but the riders were still flying. Two hours in, I headed back to Grand Street beach and watched 'em go by.
Still streaking, and still smiling.
At 6, I headed back to the finish at CP1. They'd done a day's work in three hours, and looked ready for refreshments.
Who was quickest that day? Beats me. I haven't seen any results yet, and with the complexity of tracking all those manifests, it may be a while. Check mess magazine and see what they say. Have fun - joe@gazette9.com
