Day 25

October 28, 2021:

I had a nightmare of wandering through the gridlike streets of New York, desperately trying to find a public restroom. In my dream, I never did find one, but was too polite to just piss off the side of a bridge. Instead, my bladder burst. At that thought, I woke up, and urgently had to take a piss. I got up and went to the bathroom to relieve myself. Fun how things like that penetrate through to your subconscious, even in sleep. It was 4:40 am. I tried to go back to bed. My left arm was pretty sore from the booster shot, so it was tough.

I did get some more sleep though. At around 6:45 am, my alarm went off, so I got up again. I had set the alarm because Hunor said he would need to leave for work around 7 or 7:20 am. I didn’t want to be in his way, so I packed my stuff and stood ready, waiting for him to finish eating breakfast. He offered me some, but I wasn’t really in the mood, just sipping another glass of orange juice. I told him that a kind family over in Brooklyn had responded to my Warmshowers request, so I wouldn’t need to spend another night. When he was ready, he held the doors open for me to walk my bike out, then patiently waited as I gingerly walked my bike down the stairs, easing the wheels forward while clutching the breaks. I got down, then Hunor followed with his own bike. We cycled to Journal Square together. Where he got on the subway, I decided I’d take the ferry.

It was a cold morning. Not cold enough to form frost from breath, but cold enough to penetrate the jacket. I kind of felt under the weather too. I was tired, but wasn’t sure if that was fatigue as a side effect of the vaccine booster, or if I just hadn’t gotten enough sleep. I had a few sniffles, and the back of my throat hurt a little, but my throat wasn’t altogether sore. I had a slight headache, but nothing that bad. In fact, it occurred to me that these very symptoms line up pretty well with a mild case of covid, so I got a little worried. The thought troubled me, since I really can’t afford the hotels in New York, but I didn’t want to put my host family in Brooklyn in jeopardy, and felt I had a moral duty to get myself tested. I figured I’d find a walk-in rapid test clinic later. The specter of feeling sick in New York (AGAIN) haunted me a little, since my last trip to NY was made much worse by having gotten sick before.

I followed Newark Ave and Christopher Columbus Dr to the Hudson River waterfront. There was a small boardwalk that jutted out into the river that had benches and a few umbrellas. The sun had not fully risen behind the skyline, but the backdrop was illuminated. The World Trade Center is featured prominently, and the city gleamed like a forest of glass, steel, and concrete. I tried to imagine what the city would have looked like with the twin towers, which was pretty easy from all the photographs I’ve seen. I also tried to imagine Sully landing a plane on the river. Badass.

It was cold. Have I said that already? I sat on a metal bench, heat leaching from my body. I didn’t quite shiver, but I bunched my jacket and held it close, making sure it was fully zipped up. It was surprising. Low 50 degree F weather doesn’t usually have this effect on me. I wondered if I was legitimately cold or maybe had a fever. My forehead felt fine, but I didn’t have a thermometer to really test myself. I looked around for a café and decided to go to Gregory’s rather than the Starbucks next door. I got myself a large hot chocolate and a walnut cranberry scone. The scone was fantastic, the hot chocolate, not so much. Who messes up hot chocolate?! I was thankful for the hot water nevertheless, and it warmed me from within. I was careful not to burn my tongue. While at the coffee shop, I left my bike outside, unlocked. I watched it like a hawk, ready and willing to dash outside and stop anyone who might try to grab it. In the rising sun, it was framed well by two pillars with a brilliant view of the city in the background, so I took a picture.

I made my way to the ferry terminal and found a small building where I purchased a ticket. I picked one-way to Manhattan, and had to pay a little extra for my bike. Total fare came out to something like $8, but that’s worth the hassle of trying to lift my heavy bicycle over turnstiles and up/down stairs at the subway. Hunor told me this morning that the trick for that was to leave my bike by the emergency exit door, scan my metrocard and go through, then open the door as if leaving and pull my bike through. It seemed like a PITA, so I looked forward to the ferry ride.

I had hoped I would be able to bring my bike inside the ferry itself and hold onto it. The ferry employees instead instructed me to place my front tire in a small white restraining device. There looked to be two pieces of rubber within it that would latch onto my tire, gently holding it in. I wasn’t convinced. The weight of my bags might cause issues. In hindsight, I should have made a bigger deal of requesting just bringing my bike inside. Instead, I found a seat by a window near the bike so I could watch it during the crossing. Bad choice. I kind of wish now I didn’t know what happened. The water was choppy, not so much from wind as from the other ferries. So instead of small spiky waves, there were huge, low frequency waves. Several of these huge waves hit the ferry as we crossed. My bike wobbled from side to side, the tire flexing under the weight. I was concerned it might permanently deform the tire. The bike fell down, though the wheel still looked secure. Another big wave washed past. It looked as if the bike might slide right off the ferry into the water. It shifted towards the edge. I broke out a sweat. By the time the ferry docked up, I was just happy it didn’t end up in the water. The bike was fully loose from the restraining column, on its side. I glared at the ferry employee who had assured me it would be fine, then carefully wheeled it off. Surprisingly, the front wheel seemed fine – though upon further inspection later, there was in fact a slight wobble.

From the ferry terminal, I rode towards the World Trade Center. I stopped at the 9/11 Memorial, walking my bike along the sidewalk, looking down into the pools and at the thousands of names. I swear I’ve been here before, but it must have been under construction at the time. It was impactful. The memorial is well-done. The pools lie in the footprint of where each of the towers once stood. They are surprisingly small.

My next stop was City Hall Park, in the lower center of Manhattan. It was a nice park with some nice benches. I needed a seat. The headache and fatigue were killing me. In hindsight, I should probably have taken a Tylenol, which I have with me in my first aid kit, but I stuck through it. After a bit, I got up and looked around. I saw a small bike shop on the other side of the street, and figured I could ask their advice for the bike box. Turned out they were just a bicycle rental company for tourists. I promptly left, not evening bothering to speak to anyone.

I decided to walk over the Brooklyn Bridge. I wanted the classic tourist experience, and didn’t think I’d have the stamina to cycle all the way across in the bike lane in my fatigued state. Walking would allow me to take all the time I could possibly need. It’s a beautiful bridge and it provides fantastic views of the city. Workers were doing some renovations to each of the towers. I was tempted to ask if they had a restroom I could use there, and I remembered my dream in which I had considered pissing off the side of the bridge. The thought was appealing, but I figured the folks down below wouldn’t think the same way.

I took Atlantic and 5th Aves deeper into Brooklyn, ultimately reaching Prospect Park. Thankfully, I found a portapotty within the park by the northern entrance. I looked at the bushes around the park, wondering if I might be able to hide my bags there so I could use the subway to get around with my bike alone. I figured if I could find some especially deep, thick foliage, I could hide the bags underneath and use my bike lock to secure them to a tree. That’d be risky, but might allow me to more easily explore more of the city via the subway. I couldn’t find bushes dense enough to give me any sort of confidence. I’d have to think of another idea. I found a grassy spot under a tree to rest. The ground was a bit damp, but I made it work.

While cycling, I was warm enough. But every time I stopped for more than twenty minutes, I’d quickly get cold. I sucked on a Ricola cough drop. They taste way better than the Halls cough drops. I think the Ricola ones have a more lasting effect, but that the Hall ones are stronger, albeit shorter lasting. I didn’t need to cough, but the drops helped me relax and clear out my sniffles. The cold got me moving again. All I wanted was another hot chocolate. I found a Yemenese café called Zatar on 8th Ave. It had a narrow covered terrace that I wheeled my bike into. I would have preferred indoor seating, but the restaurant wasn’t arranged in that way. I ordered a hot chocolate (#2) and Eggs Baladi, which were scrambled eggs with tomato, red onion, cilantro, and peppers served with pita. It was great. The hot chocolate served there was much better than the one I had gotten at Gregory’s, and reminded me of one I’d make at home from chocolate powder on a stove. Some of the chocolate powder hadn’t been fully mixed in, but I didn’t mind much.

From Zatar I went back into Prospect Park and cycled to its southern corner. Feeling legitimately ill, I searched for a walk-in rapid test clinic, and went to the one on Fort Hamilton. There was a security guard there too, and he let me bring my bike into the test site. I went in, provided insurance information, ID, and CDC card. Then I went to another window where a nurse in full PPE had me lower my mask beneath my nose and swabbed my nostrils. She didn’t stick it way up there, so I really don’t understand all the complaints. She said if the rapid test came back negative, that they’d also submit it for a PCR test to confirm the result. Unfortunately, I’d still need to take the PCR test tomorrow, since this one would just miss the ’72 hours prior to arrival to Ireland’ window.

I left the test site feeling I’d acted responsibly and done the right thing. I needed to get moving again or I’d just get cold… again. Mama suggested I go to Howard Beach and check out the Russian neighborhood there. It was just… really far away. Ten miles one way? That’s a lot. Mama irritatingly reminded me that the subway goes right there. Great, except I have my bike and it’s fully loaded with bags.

All I wanted to do was lie in a hot bath. I was reminded of the hot springs Palmer took me to in Ouray, CO, in 2019. I recall having been immensely skeptical of the ‘spa experience,’ what with their ‘essential minerals’ and whatnot. I remember having given Palmer a huge eyeroll before we went in. The water there had been seethingly hot, almost to the point of burning my skin when I got in. Much like the cold rivers Mama likes to swim in in the summer, I had to ease myself in because the water had been just that hot. I found that even once in, I had to lie perfectly still. If even a single muscle twitched, my nerves would once again be sensitive to the heat. But it was a good experience. It was that experience I wanted again now, as fatigued and cold as I was. I searched the area for springs and spas I might be able to visit, but they were all both too far away and well out of my price range.

I decided instead to go to Brighton Beach. Still ten miles round trip, but that’s only half the distance. About an hour after leaving the test site, my results were ready. The results were surprisingly unclear, and I had to read the small text to find that Sars Cov2 was *not indicated.* Come on, guys, I’d like a nice big green caps-locked ‘NEGATIVE’ next time! I sent my host family a message that I’d tested negative, but explained that I wasn’t feeling perfectly fine. They thanked me for the heads-up.

I followed Ocean Ave to the marina, then found back roads which took me to the beach. I was surprised by how much sand there was. It’s a real beach! I was also able to find another public restroom there. On the boardwalk, I found a shepherd that looked a lot like Sam, though it wasn’t entirely black, didn’t have hair nearly as long, and had a slightly narrower face. Still a cute dog, and one of the most similar I have ever seen. Sam was such a good, loyal dog. I miss him.

I wheeled my bike onto the beach, then pushed it across the sand until I found a nice spot close to the water. I saw the Coney Island amusement park about a mile down the beach. Not something I’m interested in, except if they might have a carameled apple. I didn’t bother to go look. I rested on the beach, enjoying the fine sand. It put me in a better mood, and I was able to forget for a little while that I felt sick. Until I got cold. Then I got up again, pushing my bike back to the boardwalk. I needed to get moving again to stay warm.

On the way back, I followed Ocean Parkway, which is much nicer than Ocean Ave. It has a paved bike path in the median that let me much more quickly cycle back up into Brooklyn. The stop lights of Ocean Ave, by comparison, had made the five miles to the beach feel like an eternity. I told my host family that I’d arrive around 5:30 – 6:00 pm, and I actually came a bit early. I was worn out and wanted rest inside. Yes, it was early, but I was exhausted.

I walked up the brick steps to the house, leaning my bicycle against a railing. Looking in, I could see Ella moving around the kitchen. The doorbell was inoperative, so I used the metal knocker to give the door a good whack. Weird as this is, I really don’t know how to properly use the metal knockers. I guess I should have used it to make nice clicking noises, but instead I just lifted it and let go, and it made one resounding knock. Ella approached the foyer, opened two doors, and eyed me. “Ah, you must be Benjamin!” she said, in a Dutch accent. “Yes!” I asked where I could leave my bike, and she walked out to show me the garage. She moved some of the other bicycles stored there so I’d have space to lean mine against a shelf, thus providing room for Janthomas to park his as well when he got home from work. 

We then went back to the living room, and I asked if I should take off my shoes. She said it wasn’t an issue. Ella led me downstairs. Apparently the entire lower story is unused. It used to be their son’s bedroom, but he moved out to the Netherlands for college just this year. The entire downstairs area would thus be my space to use. There were several rooms, including a bedroom, living room, bathroom, and laundry room and closet. They also said I could stay for the next three days until my flight, despite the fact I had only requested one, so as not to be too much of a burden. They reasoned that since they weren’t using the space, they wouldn’t mind the company. And they were aware just how hard it is to find accommodation in New York. I thanked them for their generosity.

After seeing my living quarters for the next few says, I put my things on the couch in the downstairs living room. I used the restroom, then took a shower. I watched the dirt and grease wash out of my hair, and soon felt much better. The water was hot, and that suited me. I went back upstairs to talk with Ella about my trip and drink chilled lemonade when Janthomas got home. He entered through the front in full sleek bike clothing and gear. He quickly introduced himself and shook my hand, then went into the back rooms to shower and clean up himself.

Later, the three of us gathered around the dining room table for dinner. Ella had prepared pasta made with three different varieties of tomatoes served with lettuce. I especially liked the sundried tomatoes, as their chewy texture gave the vegetarian meal a meaty quality. It was great.

Over dinner, we talked about trips, jobs, and other plans. Janthomas works for the literal United Nations, under the Development Program. I was very impressed, and asked him questions ranging from policy to diplomacy. It was pretty high-level though, so while I came away with a general understanding of the type of work he does, I really don’t know any of the specifics. But it explains why they’ve lived in so many countries around the world, including Syria, Iraq, and Palestine. It takes guts to go places like that, especially when it means bringing the family along with.

After dinner, I retired downstairs. I snuggled in my blanket, then decided I actually would take a bath. I returned to the bathroom, filling the tub with steaming hot water and relished a deeply relaxing half hour or so. The water cooled over time though, and by the time I got out, it was only lukewarm. Still, it was satisfying. I didn’t have the energy to work my blog, so I just popped another cough drop and went to bed.