A New York Adventure

There's nothing like bicycling buzzed in Manhattan in the middle of the night until

I had a crash and I think my bike is totaled. It was mostly my fault.

I left the party in Harlem at 2 am with a nice buzz and biked down the West Side bike path. I zoomed by two boys giving and receiving head near the Christopher St. pier. I smiled. Gentrification hasn’t killed cruising.

I turned East on King St. There was a restaurant shed right at the corner of the Avenue of the Americas blocking my view. There was no traffic. But as I crossed the shed a delivery guy on an E-bike suddenly appeared almost on top of me. He was going fast.

His face was frozen in terror illuminated by his headlight and he screamed. I pumped the pedals hard but it wasn't enough. He slammed into me.

We splayed on the asphalt like a crime scene in the streetlight. We both groaned. "What the fuck," he yelled. I had crossed despite the red light. "You were going really fast," I yelled back.

I ached in a dozen places and was dripping sweat and blood. We slowly picked ourselves up. "My bike is broken," he yelled. It wasn't. His headlight was falling off and the bracket to hold his phone was busted. But the bike looked okay. E-bikes are heavy duty.

I wasn't so fortunate. My back wheel was potato chipped and a gear shifter was bent. I limped across the street dragging my bike. He was busy on the phone. Another delivery guy showed up a few minutes later. They consulted, they ignored me.

I was more than a mile from home and it was 3 am. I dragged the bike, carried it on my shoulder, and tried rolling it on the undamaged front wheel while lifting the back wheel. I was also lugging a pannier with heavy locks. No method really worked. I thought about abandoning the bike.

Finally I remembered the time that the punk crashed his bike near the end of a century ride and bent his back wheel badly. A sweep crew came by. One of them stomped his wheel into a nearly circular shape, refitted it to the frame and the punk was able to ride the last ten miles though with no rear brakes.

I did the same. I stomped my wheel as late-night wanderers tried to act like they didn’t notice anything amiss. An essential New York rule is the weirder the scene you chance upon in the wee hours, the more indifferent you should be. I eventually bent the wheel nearly back into a circle, enough so it would catch and roll every ten yards or so making progress easier. I made it home and through force of will made it up four flights of stairs.

My eyes were red and burning from sweat. I took a cold shower and washed off the grease and blood. I stung where I could see blood and stung in places that I couldn't see. It felt good.

I popped a seltzer, popped an ibuprofen, and ate a PB&J.

My left hand hurt, which took the brunt of the spill, as did my right calf and thigh. I slept good. I will probably be sore for a week.

I am fortunate. The only real damage was the bike. Maybe it can be repaired. I'll stop by Frank’s bike shop, who has been repairing my bikes since the 90s, and see what he says. I was planning to bike out to the Rockaways today, which is 20 miles each way. At Fort Tilden, where concrete bunkers forming a coastal defense against a Nazi invasion remain, I jump into the frigid ocean and then bike back home. It’s one of my favorite parts about New York.

As I walked home I thought about the incel tech bros infesting the city. They live in the Matrix. They are cocooned in their pods with Grubhub delivering their nutrients to survive. I don't understand why they want to live here. I have nephews who are incel tech bros. They are boring, scared of women, and don't do anything. The only reason a delivery guy would be flying down the street at 3 am is because some Amazon brogrammer needed a Chipotle burrito to sustain his 30-hour coding marathon. The tech bros are killing New York.

But New York surprises you. The student protests for Gaza were an absolute delight. The food and history tours I have been leading every week are wonderful. I enjoyed the open-air passion of the Christopher Street boys. The city is full of interesting people, events, random moments, and comrades.

There is nothing like biking around Manhattan in the middle of the night fueled by beer, having a crash and walking away mostly unscathed. I am not saying it was fun or I would want to do it again. But it was exciting.

You may think I am crazy. I am a New Yorker.