Sunday Rides

I can’t remember when, but years ago—or long ago as the literary vein would muse—I found the ideas of Sunday’s in the park to be romantic and the dream. As for the park, I’m not going to lie ... Central Park it is.  Leisurely strolls, bike rides, and perhaps runs always struck me as the ideal, epitome to a weekend’s end. Of course, to be blunt and a snob, scores of other New Yorkers find it the same.

Today, I—with those New Yorkers and tourists from the four corners of the globe—found my source of vitamin D and sensory delights within the former pig boiling grounds and Native Lands. Perhaps Frederick Law Olmsted’s crown jewel of his parks, the rush of the city, the pace of life, and endless streams of people typically find a kinder, more peaceful balance within the bricked interior. Of course, not all people know how to—oh I don’t know—look both ways and cross the paths properly, but overall it’s pretty hard to remain beaten and angry when making your own breeze as your literally roll past skyscrapers, the ponds, the grassy knolls, and the ball fields that seemingly spring from nowhere.  There’s more than the whimsical charm of Audrey Hepburn riding a bicycle in Roman Holiday.  Instead, it’s charm, whimsy, and release. You might be in running pants prepared for sweat and a workout, but you’ll see others in flowy dresses on bikes with baskets—more dreamy Paris imagery than Hepburn on days like today with the leaves almost changing and a perfect balance of temperature and sunshine—and the whimsical humor of men on bikes tall enough to reach the sky. 

Lovers will pass by. 

You’ll forget, for a moment, about the horrors of the past week, month, and year.
That's the Sunday I've long dreamed of, and sometimes made come true.  Today, as the last Benlysta infusion has faded (and I'm a week from my next one), I headed out worse for the wear with an extra nerve blocker and an extra pain controller to boot.  This weekend has been packed with busy crowds, as the market was crazy packed on Saturday and in Whole Foods the amount of insanity over the last figs and grapes was absurd.  The past month or so, I've been making a concerted effort to reclaim things I've loved and needed as centers of my being per se.  My bi-weekly trips to the market for fruits and veggies from my favorite coop upstate, my favorite wine (Chateau Renaissance) and chats with Patrice, the owner, and now a local favorite of NY whiskey (Breuckelen Distilling) are more than the reclaiming of fall and changing of seasons.  Aside from the fact that the guys at BD and I chatted, and shared our disdain of another whiskey guy at the market who is--well--a jerk, and I had about two shots of whiskey (making me happy)...  What? After last week, I'm surprised I wasn't more buzzed than that at the market.  Those crowds, though, filled Central Park today too.

In a city of millions, it would be nice if chumps would learn to look at cross lights before trolling across.  Just saying.  Beyond that, my miles in the park, round and round, hurt like hell, required the use of an inhaler, and I had to push my bike for about two minutes (up a bend) at one point.  Yet, as these things go, my mind released and I remembered back to my husband refusing Citibikes, to buy bikes, or anything along the sorts.  We rent bikes the first Labor Day we were married, in VA Beach.  After that, it was like pulling teeth without novocaine.  As I rolled through the skyscrapers and trees still lush with green, and the throngs of people on an early Fall day, I thought of how simple it is that I do these things now.  Yes, there are days I would rather have come company, but these days solo is pretty good too.  The goods from the market, to the Citibike membership I bought myself, it all balances out.

There still aren't enough hours in the day, and there are never enough days in the week . . . but, little things make it all more manageable.