Monday, December 31, 2007
A GWB w/ Merit
Riverside Drive. I mean, Riverside Park Path. On my final day of apt/cat-sitting for Du & Ojijo, I got in a great run along here, remaining (more or less) Hudson-side for the duration. Or until I found my way up to the bridge, which proved no small feat (again).
Riverside Park is a narrow four-mile strip (72nd to 125th) between the Hudson and curvy Riverside Drive, designed by the Central Park guy, Olmsted. All sorts of vegetation, monuments, quaint walking bridges and tunnels, rec facilities... lot goin' on.
GWB from my starting point. I think I zoomed in here, though, so it probably looked farther.
North River Sanitation Plant.
Closer...
Harlem, near Fairway Market. The trail was under construction, I think, so I had to re-route for a bit. Unexpected combination of industry, blue-collar pubs, and country club-variety cafes near the water. I guess I'm never up here, though, so wouldn't take much to surprise.
[insert pic]
Once back on the path, I experienced maybe my first 'wait, you say I'm in Manhattan?' moment. Obviously things had become a little tricky, causing me to skirt and dart and otherwise chance my way around.
Same crumbling point on the path. I edged down a slick hill of rock to get closer to this.
Beneath. Now, to get on it.
So close, yet so many roads, lanes, ramps...
On it. It was mid-afternoon, though it looks closer to dusk in this image. That's Jersey over yonder, downtown Manhattan to the left... Of all I've enjoyed in the last three years, this view (second time) is one of my absolute favorites. It's just so sweeping--and rare, given the little time I've spent up this way. I loved being able to pick out what must've been the Statue of Liberty--barely visible, the tiniest of lines--from so far north. And the ESB, closer but still so negligible looking. Just as mesmerizing was the appearance of the water--the slight shifts in current, the wavy, sparkling track of sunlight... This bridge's side rails are none too high, which you do your best to forget.
From Jerz.
Back homeward.
I haven't pinned down exactly what it is, and I probably won't, but since moving here my love affair hasn't dimmed at all. Maybe on some level I associate bridges w/ taking risks, yet w/ the assurance that substantial support is provided. Then there's the head-hurting beauty of such enormity, such painstaking craftsmanship...
Very much zoomed in on.
From down below, you don't realize how twisty the shoreline is. It is.
Another hit to the heart.
Shifting waters, shifting roads...
Washington Heights, somewhere around 178th. I took the train back to the UWS from here, catching said train from a station I'd seen once before (similar running route, I believe, like two point five years ago). It was precisely tube-like, reminding me of a) London's Underground, and b) those canisters you'd use at drive-thru banking centers back in the day. Rats make themselves right at home at this station, judging by the way a big fat one hung out on the platform and stared up at me for a good five seconds. (Happening upon this, I had to share. Apologies.*)
WH.
*Please accept this gentle poem [kooser.pdf] as compensation for any ratty and/or bloody dreams that befall you.
Monday, December 17, 2007
Choked Up
The running's going well these days, largely because I'm bribing myself off Park Slope's 4th & 5th avenues, dangling promises of exotic new scenery. I don't know, I was more adventuresome for a time there, making trips out to Brighton & Manhattan beaches, Sheepshead Bay, Coney... Of course, that was back when I was running more than 10 miles per stint, making it easier to reach more distant pockets, but still--even just five miles will get one out pretty far in Brooklyn, and if you double that distance, all the further/better. Ten miles out (versus five out/five back) does require reliance on the subway to get back to one's starting point, but on a leisurely Sunday, I've generally got the time to spare. Especially if I'm procrastinating--then I have all the time in the world.
Anyway, this is just what I did last Sunday (not yesterday; yesterday I shied away from the out-of-doors' nastiness in favor of daylong pajamas, a few achingly good books, Lucinda Williams, and my most challenging-simple-as-it-appears cupcake recipe to date). I'd always meant to take Flatbush Avenue in a southeasterly way, and this particular nine-miler seemed like the perfect opportunity. I had music w/ me this time, as I sometimes do when I'm having a hard time scraping myself off the couch/chair/floor, and I let a violin and a pretty voice carry me along 5th, then Flatbush, where I remained for the entire duration of the run. Running downhill for the stretch of FB that goes past the Brooklyn Museum, the newly revamped Brooklyn Public Library (where I was offered a copywriting job several months back, though I'm sure I didn't mention it here), and the botanic gardens, I looked up at the bare, nubby branches reaching high across the sidewalk, slowed down a little, took a long breath, and felt pretty alright. I think I knew it was going to be a good run.
It was a very good run. Because Flatbush Ave. is the main thoroughfare through Brooklyn, going all the way from the Manhattan Bridge to Jamaica Bay, I passed through several neighborhoods/sections: Ditmas Park, Flatbush, East Flatbush (sortof), Midwood (sortof), Flatlands, Marine Park, Bergen Beach... FB was originally an Indian trail, in the late 1920s straightened to its current form (though there are still remnant streets in the grid, recalling the past). You see some great old homes lining parts of it, and a few buildings in particular stood out. This one's pretty grand (such visible age), and several mighty churches and synagogues popped up en route.
I loved Flatbush--embarrassingly, it was my first real look at it--for its energy (lots of foot traffic), its storefronts and building facades (all sorts of color & architectural detail), the intoxicating smells drifting out of so many West Indian restaurants... I almost lost my footing/ran into people a few times, distracted as I was by all the stimuli.
Then there's a lengthy stretch connecting Flatbush and Marine Park that's pretty sedate, w/ parts looking plain forgotten. Hardly a bad thing, but there's little retail presence for a ways, and when the avenue broadens from four lanes to eight (w/ a median) in the vicinity of King's Plaza (retail presence heightening momentarily), the experience turned foreign and strange. The day was dim, w/ clouds swirling low, and there something uncanny, almost eerie. I never would've called this "Brooklyn," and when my eyes settled on a sight straight out of some quaint marina town (the sailboats and breezy housing of, turned out, Bergen Beach), then Nick's Lobster, I kindof fell in love all over again w/ my borough. Amazing. Technically I should've turned back at this point, knowing full-well there'd already be a certain amount of walking involved in reaching the nearest train station (this area's known for subway inaccessibility; buses only), but I figured I'd take it just a bit further, curious to see what lie up ahead.
It was a park--a really big one from what I could tell (and have since confirmed). I saw a golf course, birds, long green hills... I missed the salt marshes that are apparently there for the seeing (neat history), but I'll surely return at some (warmer) point.
While I didn't know this at the time, I later learned that I was steps from being in Queens. As in, the Rockaways. A convenient pedestrian bridge away. The prospect! Looks like a chilly winter beach run isn't far off...
Anyway, I slowed to a walk, reversing direction. A Dunkin' Donuts coffee and a 25-minute trek later and I was on the 2: safe, warm, Slopebound.
For as long as I live here, I'll never leave Brooklyn. Here's a map.
