Central Park: Part I

For the first time after living in New York City for more than thirty-three years, I had my first taste of cycling in Central Park this evening.

Originally, the plan was to get out of bed at six this morning and do what I ended up doing this evening, but when that damn alarm clock starting beeping, I thought, “I ain’t going anywhere right now, especially on a bicycle.” Instead of carrying the bike down four flights of stairs and getting in some exercise before a long day in the office, I reset the alarm and jumped right back to sleep.

As much as I’m beginning to love the idea of waking up and cycling to start the day, sleep will win that morning battle and pull me back into bed every time, so starting tomorrow, the plan is to simply cycle in the evening unless my eyes decide to open prior to seven-thirty in the morning, which is a statistical improbability.

Tonight, arriving home around six-thirty, I decided, “If I couldn’t get it done earlier, why not go out and take the new bike for a spin?” And that’s exactly what I did. Five minutes after leaving the apartment, I reached 79th Street and 5th Avenue, found my way to Park Drive, and began pedaling. Before long, I reached the treacherous uphill near the north end of the park and as my thighs began to burn, I realized that this was the hill of which everyone had previously warned me. During the first lap, I thought, “That was bad, but it wasn’t that bad.”

Regardless, I kept pedaling, wondering where the hell in the world I was as I must have missed most of the exit signs indicating which area of the park I had reached. It wasn’t until I spotted a sign for West 67th Street did I realize I was already heading south. Go ahead and call me an idiot, although I had a difficult time gauging direction while spinning around Park Drive.

Once I reached East 72nd Street, I figured I’d go ahead and give the park another go, which was when the long, tortuous uphill became a lot more long and tortuous. When my legs and lungs began to burn, I kept repeating to myself, “Just keep pedaling. Just keep pedaling, loser.”

Despite the pain, I truly enjoyed the ride in the park. There are so many other cyclists and joggers and pedestrians about that there’s always something or someone to look at. To a certain degree, there’s a motivational aspect of having at least twenty serious cyclists pass you as if you’re standing still. There’s something motivational to glancing up and spotting tremendous leg and calf muscles pumping pedals as they speed by. No one likes getting passed, especially me, so even though I suck, I’m already looking forward to tomorrow’s ride.