I don’t know how to rest.
A friend told me in February I “live life on Hard Mode,” an apt description of how I approach, well, everything. I don’t know how not to. I always wish to learn or do better. Every day without improvement or a lesson learned is a failure, which itself is a failed premise, but one that makes up for lost time.
I had a week off coming up, so instead of loafing about in a bath or on the beach, I opt for a challenge: a single speed bike, fresh off craigslist. Something to wake me up between Midtown and the Upper West Side. The city is flat, save for ample hills, steep bridges, and the occasional punishing walkway. (21st St in Brooklyn is and has always been a motherfucker.) I ride on high gears most of the time with 30 pounds of unnecessary cargo, so I could (probably) hang.
One good deal on craigslist and I meet the guy in front of Essex Market in the LES. Caller ID says he’s a 76-year-old man named William — something I assume everyone purports to be on craigslist, but I confirm in person. We’re both leery of each other: me pointing to a nearby building where “a friend is,” and him stepping away from me as I step forward. I shove random trinkets in his hands as collateral hold and I bike around an empty lot twice, biking back to give him $190 and fuck off with his bike. Two blocks and I feel the looseness of the front brake. Fifteen more and I’m flying up the Brooklyn Bridge to the mother borough, stopping 1/3 of the way as three teens try to figure out how to do a three-point turn on a major chokepoint with their ebikes. I make it to the other side, knees adjusted, drenched in sweat from our spring heatwave and a penchant for “black athletic jeans” at all times of the year.
At home and I pass out on the living room couch. When I wake, I tell myself I’ll try once around Prospect Park and maybe I’ll get close to my record on The Most Punishing Hill in New York City. Perhaps I’ll beat it one day. At 7pm, the wind comes with the dusk and biking outside becomes tolerable once more. I bike down E. 18th towards the park, round the bend, and up the Hill. Strava later tells me that I bested any previous efforts by at least 13 seconds.
Going fast never appealed to me. Safely remaining in control did. Trying to manage balance while shooting down the steep Prospect Park Southwest hill on the other side of the park at a Strava-determined 25 miles an hour terrifies me. (Ditto the same speed down the Manhattan Bridge the following day.) After fixing the brake and raising the seat, I’ll find a way to manage.