When I got to the southern terminus of the island of Manhattan, I took a ten-minute break and took in the scenery. A fire boat went by. The Staten Island Ferry. A police boat. Mothers and nannies rolling babies in their carriages. The sea air. The cool breeze. It was an overcast summer day. I took a bunch of deep breaths, and re-mounted the bike, heading north.
This time my legs were looking to open up, let's get some speed, but for the first section of the trip we shared the road with walkers and runners, so that meant slow going. Finally, I turned a corner, now we had our own path, just for bikes, so I opened up. There's the speed! My legs said Okay Dave we remember how to do this! Let's go! Let's Go!! Let's GO!!!
Finally as I approached Christopher St, the major bike path into the Village, I could see the light was flashing red on West St. Rather than wait, I gunned it, and made it across the street. I cruised up the hill, and at the first red light I collapsed. My legs said "Ohhhh kaaaaay, let's go slow from here." And we did.