Archive for September, 2007
So here I am six hours later sitting on an express train home. A lot has happened in these past six hours, actually not a lot, but enough to warrant that comment. Actually there was a lot of sitting, walking, web surfing and more walking. Not too far from my typical Monday, minus the excessive walking part. Not to get too far off track, but one thing about this walking thing. There is definitely something about urban areas that makes one want to walk more. Well me at least. I don’t know what it is. Actually I do know what it is. I’m too cheap to pay for a cab. But by walking, you get such a better feel for the area you are in, from the architecture to the people around you. As I have mentioned earlier, I love people watching. Forget the Biggest Loser, just head down to East Village and you are guaranteed to be more entertained. Then for an encore, head down through China Town into the financial district. You won’t see a larger distinction from one part of a city to the next. It’s like there’s an invisible wall. Once you pass through it you are transported to another dimension. Absolute chaos, to controlled euphoria.
Now back to the original subject, the motorcycles. So I expertly navigate myself from Metro North onto the 6 train which should drop me off right onto Canal Street, four blocks from where bike #1 is. But alas, this is me we’re talking about, so it can’t go this smoothly. In case you didn’t catch the headlines this morning, Iranian President Mahmoud Ahmadinejah (I actually forgot his name, so I just banged on the keyboard to get something that looked close) is in NY for a cozy little visit and to give a speech at Columbia University today. So of course they need to shut down the Canal Street station. So I get off two stops earlier, Bleeker Street and hoof it down to Canal. This is part 1 of the walking. Turns out, it’s quite a distance to where I was headed to on Canal. Not a big deal, I actually really enjoyed the walk there (yes I know Maria, you were right). So I get there and phone the owner to let him know I was outside.
Now as the owner of the bike has a name that I had difficulty understanding on the phone due to a heavy French accent, we’re going to refer to him as Frenchie. Frenchie meets me outside on the street and introduces himself (missed the name again). He comes down looking exactly as all of us stereotyping Americans assume a French man to look. Lean, long flowing hair to his shoulders, precision stubble beard, and the loose linen shirt and pants to perfect the too cool look. Oh and did I mention the slippers?
We walk down the street to where the bike was parked. Now this is one of the main reasons that I didn’t want to buy a city bike. The abuse it gets from sitting on the curb of Manhattan for years. First thing you see is the seat is completely dried out and cracked. Now in my opinion, the seat and tank are the two most tell tale parts of a bike of whether it was taken care of or not. Even the most neglectful of owners will typically keep these two parts in good condition. After a complete look over of the bike, I decided the money wasn’t worth it. As nice of a guy Frenchie was, his bike just wasn’t destined to join me on my journey.
To be Continued…
As it has been quite a bit since my last update, somewhere around a week if I had to guess, I have much to discuss. The reason for me not knowing the exact time of my last post is that I am currently travelling into the city (Manhattan) via Metro North railways to look at a couple of motorcycles for my trip.
I began my motorcycle search a few months ago with a different mindset than I have today. I initially had wanted to ride through Europe on a vintage Moto Guzzi motorcycle. An early 70’s Ambassador to be exact. After watching such movies as The Motorcycle Diaries, I was captured by the romance and appeal of riding an old classic warhorse through the medieval towns of Italy and the rest of old Europe. Well about a month ago I found one that I thought would be perfect. So I grabbed my cousin Jimmy, who is a certified V twin mechanic, and headed up to Northern Connecticut. Long story short, after spending the entire Saturday stuck in traffic, we find a bike that is not suitable for my journey. The amount of time and money that it would have taken to get this bike up to par, was far too high for me to consider. Forgetting the fact that this thing was beautiful, we hop back into the car and drive back home minus a bike.
(Man, I just can’t wait to be one of those annoying foreigners sitting on the train talking way too loudly, making it extremely difficult for any decent human being to type away their life story)
However, the trip was not as much of a waste of time as I had previously imagined. During the ride home, my cousin did an excellent job convincing me that I was making a mistake with pursuing this type of bike. However cool it might be to ride an old classic through the streets of Europe, it just wasn’t practical. He then spent the rest of the time convincing me that I shouldn’t look at any other bike than a BMW for this trip. Pretty surprising advice for a kid that works in a custom chopper shop, so surprising that I felt like I had no choice but to listen.
The bike I’m looking to buy
So here I am, over a month since this sound advice, going to look at a pair of Beemers on the southern tip of Manhattan. This is far from the first BMW that I have looked at. I’ve gotten comfortable enough with these super dependable bikes that I can pretend I know what I’m talking about while discussing them. Which is probably a dangerous thing. Wish me luck…
The problem lies not with lack of content, but a favorable starting point. I relate it to song lyrics. If asked on the spot to begin singing a particular familiar song from its beginning, I struggle almost to the point of seeming to not know the song. BUT with the first verse given as a starting point, you would’ve thought I wrote the song myself. Perhaps it’s indicative of my already procrastinating nature? Maybe I’ll look it up tomorrow.
Well guess that’s it for today.
So far I’ve written three different opening lines for this post. Why? Because I am sitting in the Peekskill Coffee House attempting to get some much needed writing done and there are distractions EVERYWHERE. Music in the background, some sort of festival outside, people conversing all around me and then there’s one of my favorite pastimes, people watching. Not exactly a good recipe for writing about your deepest feelings regarding a major life change. But then again, I better get used to it.
See I started out about two hours ago at one of my favorite local hiding spots, Black Rock. It’s a small park sitting on the little known Croton River in my home town where you are almost always guaranteed to be alone. There might be the occasional old couple on the other side wasting the afternoon away with a fishing line in the water, or a father taking his young daughter and puppy pal for a walk, but that’s about it. Quiet, tranquil and every other idealistic word to describe a wonderful writing environment. And there’s even a weak WiFi signal for me to leach onto. Bonus.
But alas, all good things must come to an end. As I was underdressed for the brisk end-of-summer breeze, I was forced to vacate earlier than anticipated. So I headed to a local coffee shop to grab some (free) internet access and a cup of (overpriced) caffeine. And now, here I am staring at a blank screen trying ever so hard to come up with some enlightening thoughts to inspire me to start typing furiously. Which lead us all here.
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Yup, still nothing. However, I must say how much I like the new trendy coffee house culture. As I sit here being all yuppie-like with my shiny black laptop and my iced latte, I look around at the other patrons around me. The family of three playing monopoly in the middle of the store as comfortably as if they were sitting in their very own living room. The gentleman in the corner working away on his laptop whilst listening to some tunes. The tortured artist scribbling away at her ragged edged pad. Are we all here trying to get away from our daily lives? A place where we can relax and do the little things that we have trouble doing while at home? Or is that just me?
Alright, time to attempt once again the task I originally came here for.
Two weeks. Yes a full two weeks and we have survived thus far. I am referring to our lives in a box of course. Actually the box part has been the easiest. The room has turned itself into an extremely efficient and orderly environment and I’d have to say, feeling like home. And I can’t speak well enough about our hosts. For the few moments a week that we actually all see each other, they have been overly gracious. I almost feel like I need to leave a tip on the dresser. Who would’ve thought that four busy, work oriented adults could simply coexist in one house that has just one shower? Not I. Of course this blog is all from my point of view. Who knows what they’re writing about us in theirs…
The most difficult part of this transition has been my relationship with Maria. As I have mentioned earlier, I am going through a pretty heavy selfish phase. I see it a lot in my day to day life, but hadn’t noticed it as much with us. But apparently it’s there and she has not exactly been shy about telling me about it. See the problem is this: I’m tired, overwhelmed and stressed. When I’m not working I’m working on Bluu. When I’m not working on Bluu I’m preparing for my trip (i.e. researching the best banks for money conversion/withdrawal fees, how I’ll get around, finding a bike that’s reliable and not over budget etc). And while I’m doing any one of these things, I’m constantly thinking about the others. My head feels like it’s going to explode. Or fall off, whichever draws more sympathy.
So did you notice anything? I just mentioned all of the things that are going on in my life and not one mention of Maria. Yeah well she noticed that too. I guess it could be attributed to a mixture of taking her and our relationship for granted and the fact that I am bogged down with everything new going in my life right now that she is getting pushed aside. And it doesn’t hurt that during all of this she is as stressed as I and expects me to help deal with her problems as well as mine. Which under normal circumstances is not a big deal, it’s just that right now I have enough of my own.
Well I don’t have a clue as to what I’m going to do about it. Tomorrow we are going to be going across the river to go apple picking at this awesome little vineyard called Warwick Valley Winery. I highly recommend it to anyone because on top of the apple picking, they produce their own hard ciders, wines and have a brick oven pizzeria inside. Sure honey, let’s go ‘apple picking’. (I’ll be drunk within a half hour) But at least we should have plenty of time to make sure that we find time with each other during this stressful period of our lives. Not to mention plenty of apple ammo if we don’t.
Where this post was wrtitten.