From the bridge, I planned to short-cut the course to Checkpoint
3, then to CP7, then to the finish, getting some pix of fast street
riding along the way.
Out on the bridge, I was out of touch with the start
line. Several riders sliced through the bridge traffic at 1, slick
and fast but not full throttle. I suspected they were just heading
out to checkpoints, but I took off for CP3 anyway, just in case.
Ah, Da Bronx! Traffic jammed between El pillars on Jerome,
salsa music blasting, interrupted by the rumble of trains over your
head. But something is missing these days - the characteristic ripe
dumpster smell I'll never forget from riding here in the '80s. Maybe
it's just me, eh?
CP3 was faithfully manned, but he was invisible, hunkered
down in the shade of a sickly street tree. I looked around the area
and picked the likeliest suspect:
He was busy chatting up the two cuties in the car. "Hey,
are you the checkpoint?"
"Huh?"
No, he wasn't, but he got a big kick out of what was
going on when I told him. Then he fired his stereo up til the ground
shook, and followed the chicks out of the parking lot.
I found Ethan under the tree. He was in touch with the
start, and gave me the scoop. We kept each other entertained while
we waited. When he got the word, I took off, setting up on Kazmiroff
across from the Botanical Garden. In no time riders were zipping by,
low-level flying.
I followed some riders into CP3, where Ethan was desperately
trying to speed 'em en route:
From there the route went south through the heart of
the Bronx. I took off east, on Pelham Parkway, to the Hutch, aiming
for CP7 at the cinema. But these guys are fast - I was still southbound
on the Hutch at Westchester Avenue when I was passed by two riders
sprinting north for CP8.
I kept going south toward the cinema, but so many riders
flew by, I turned around to hit CP8 before I was totally dusted.
I blew the CP, but at Pelham Bay Park a pair of picnickers
passed me, looking a bit shell-shocked. I knew I was on the right
track. Then fate dealt a low card to the riders coming behind me:
A big greasy oil barge was wallowing down Eastchester
Bay and the drawbridge barricades came down, bells ringing. The air
was ringing with wails and curses, too.
Those old tubs take their sweet time, never mind a growing
crowd of amped-up bikers piling up at the barricades. Two rode up
yelling, "Blues Brothers! Blues Brothers!" But it was too
late to jump the barge. They just had to wait.
Fast riders usually suck at waiting, and so it was here.
They started slithering under the first barricade, coming up to the
second, wondering how long they'd have to wait and how wide a gap
they could jump with a running start.
But the bridge was manned, or trolled. A little old
guy came out of the tower and told 'em all he'd leave the bridge open
til they got back where they belonged. Was he bluffing? They bet not,
and retreated, still wondering about that Blues Brothers stunt. I'm
betting next year some riders'll make that part of their pre-run.
In due time, the bridge closed, and the riders were
off like shot off a shovel, heading for CP9 on City Island.
It was nice fast riding through Pelham Bay Park. I set
up on the bridge, and saw a rider discussing energy policy with a
concerned motorist:
From there it was the home stretch to Orchard Beach,
fast, but with occasional traffic:
As always, all parties studiously obeyed the traffic
rules, and there were no fatalities.
The last CP was a party with music and hot food. I hung
out yakking for a while, but a call back to my campsite on Long Island
got me rolling again.
I saw a big tom turkey with a 6-inch beard on the ride
out, and I highly recommend the trail northeast into Pelham. Coming
out of the woods was like riding into another world:
It was a great day of fast riding and good times. I
might even ride the next one. Have fun - joe@gazette9.com
