About a Dozen Lifeguards With A Long Orange Rope
My front tire dropped into what felt like hell, which caused my phone to fly off the mount and smack onto the cement. Part of me wished it had shattered, so I’d spend less time doomscrolling about the current state of the country. Alas, I retrieved the device from the pavement, relieved that it was fine. I looked up to see Ian on the opposite side of the intersection. I adjusted myself and pedaled toward him. My front tire felt uncomfortably one with the earth.
This was my second flat tire in a month. Weeks earlier, I hit a different pothole in Sunnyside, Queens. I stood there completely useless when my friend SK came to the rescue. He used a CO2 can to inflate a borrowed double-patched tube, which got me home safely. I didn’t enjoy standing there, waiting for others to spring to action. I told SK I would take it upon myself to learn bike maintenance. I felt inspired to take the steps necessary, so I would have the proper supplies and knowledge to handle this kind of situation on my own in the future.
Here I was, three weeks later, and I hadn’t done any of that. To be fair, I didn’t think it would happen again that quickly. I sent SK a text, “Ur not gonna believe what happened to my front tire.” He replied that he would help, but he just laid down. I thought that was a beautiful response. I hadn’t reached out to him seeking help. I reached out because I wanted to share the absurdity of the situation. I had been biking in New York City for five years without any flats, and then got two within the same month. I was honestly amused by the idea that SK would ever be at my beck and call. If I were in a jam, he would be there. If I ever needed assistance, a bat-signal would appear in the sky and he would spring into action. Instead of the Batman logo, it would be his Omnium cargo bike. Fortunately, I was close to home this time. I pushed my road bike for about a mile before I reached home, covered in a beachy, sun-burnt film.
That morning, I felt morbidly exhausted because my cat, Marty, decided 4 A.M. would be a lovely time to walk across my chest and slap box me with his paws until I fed him. It was three hours of falling asleep, being woken up, trying to reckon with an animal that pre-sunrise is not breakfast time, and falling back asleep. Eventually, I caved. At the foot of my bed sat this stupid little guy, meowing as if his life depended on it. Groaning, I got up, made my way to the kitchen, and served the little asshole his tuna fish in gravy.
I yawned my way to Prospect Park South for Aasif’s first Bike N’ Brew lead. I felt proud of Aasif for leading his first ride. I’m not sure if he needs me to be proud of him, but I was. In Winter, Aasif led a series of small “Doughnut Rides,” where we would bike around the city and collect doughnuts from various shops along the way. I’m not getting paid to say this, but Fan Fan Doughnuts in Bed Stuy changed the trajectory of my life. When I bit into the Nutella-stuffed pastry, I saw God. Anyway, it was great to see Aasif climb the corporate ladder of our little bike ride club.
It was a breathtakingly gorgeous day, and the energy was great. Another friend who came to support Aasif was Jess. I had not seen her for a while since she recently returned from a two-month-long European vacation. Needing a caffeine fix, she ordered an iced coffee from a nearby McDonald’s near the meeting spot for the ride. What she got was a hot coffee with a few ice cubes dropped over the top. This pissed me off and damn near ruined my morning.
The route took us from Prospect Park, down Bedford Ave, east on the Shore Parkway Greenway, and over the Marine Park Bridge onto Rockaway Beach. During the ride, I noticed my friend Ian whom I hadn’t seen in a few months. I met Ian in the Summer of 2024 as a free agent on a rec league softball team in McCarren Park. One day, while perusing Strava, I saw his name under the “Who to Follow” section. I learned we shared two hobbies in common, softball and cycling. During the Summer 2024 softball season, I invited the team to my birthday picnic in Prospect Park. Plenty of friends showed up, but Ian was the only one from the softball team. It takes a special kind of person to show up to a birthday party for a person that you’ve known for just over a month.
The ride to Rockaway Beach was an easy 15 miles that ended at the amphitheater. Aasif and a few others planned to press on to Long Beach and up toward Queens, opting for a longer ride. I, a rational and not insane person, chose to stay at Rockaway and enjoy one of the last beach days of Summer.
As we locked our bikes up on the boardwalk, I introduced Ian and Jess. We made our way over to Red Hook Lobster Pound, where we bought overpriced burgers. Jess talked about her European travels and explained how she couldn’t make a Spokes Stack logo for me because she ran into tech issues overseas. I ended up using the design created by Ted, a cyclist and friend I’ve known since middle school.
I caught Ian up on what Spokes Stack is. In May, I found out that my day job is being offshored at the end of the year. Writing has always been a passion of mine and a skill I’ve utilized throughout my career. In an effort to expand my writing portfolio, I knew I needed to showcase my ability. The problem was, I didn’t know what to write about. One night, as I was struggling to fall asleep and had endorphins flowing following a social ride, I thought, “What if I wrote about something that I love?”
Spokes Stack is a blog focused on the people in the New York City cycling community. It’s allowed me to sit down with fellow cyclists and hear them talk about things they’re passionate about. So far, I’ve interviewed a long-distance bikepacker, a racing team founder, and a few more casual cyclists. I’ve written eight articles, and it’s been a gratifying experience thus far.
There is, however, anxiety that comes with my current employment situation. Spokes Stack has allowed me to do something I’m passionate about, but I haven’t seen the fruit of my labor. There’s no way to tell at this point if it will help me in my career. It’s hard to gauge what success looks like. In a capitalistic society, it’s difficult to look at all the free labor and fully believe it’s worth all of the effort.
On the other hand, it’s very gratifying to see that people are reading it. It’s also amazing that people want to be interviewed. The honest truth is that I don’t know what this will bring. I need to let the uncertainty be exciting, rather than something that deters me from continuing. For most of my life, I’ve been run by anxiety. I’m working on not falling victim to it in this particular situation. I’ve historically feared taking big leaps because, what if I fall? But then one must also think, what if I fly?
So, I told all of this to Ian and Jess in a very long, self-indulgent monologue before finishing my overpriced burger and heading toward the beach. Since it was hurricane season, the seas were angry. Several onlookers stood on the shore as about a dozen lifeguards with a long orange rope attempted a rescue. With my small stature, it was difficult to see over the heads of the fine beach patrons surrounding the lifeguards as the mission was seemingly complete. Neither Jess nor Ian could see the person pulled out of the water. Unable to identify the potential drowning victim, Ian surmised perhaps it was a training exercise. He asked a nearby lifeguard if that had been the case. The lifeguard effectively told Ian, “Nope. That guy was drowning for realsies.” Moments later, I saw a guy in a wetsuit being interviewed on the beach by a television news team. Apparently, he was the man who almost drowned. It was insane to me that he went from nearly dying to having a microphone shoved in his face in a matter of minutes. They would ask, “So, drowning?” and what would he say other than, “I know, right?”
The rest of the afternoon was spent mainly digging a big hole. When I’m at the beach, I cannot resist the male urge to dig a big hole. Beyond that, I chatted with some pals and drank some beer. I continued to bear my soul about my job situation to anybody who would listen. The victim of my rambling at that point of the day was Duncan, who had been the sweep for the ride. He recalled that I worked in television. “You told me about it at the end of a ride last year,” he said. I often forget that people listen to me when I speak.
A little while later, I was talking about how I recently went to Rockaway for my girlfriend's birthday when Simon, another cyclist, chimed in with, “The one who said no to breaking up, right?” He reminded me that I once told him about the time early in my relationship when I tried to end things, and my now long-term girlfriend responded with, “No, and you’re coming to my pride picnic.” This was the second time in an hour that I was taken aback by the fact that people pay attention to me. It felt nice knowing that people care to listen to what I say. This has also been true regarding posting on Substack. I largely feel like I’m yelling into an abyss. It feels good to know that this abyss is filled with pals.
Eventually, a man named David, who lives on a boat, asked us if we wanted to go to Connolly’s for a piña colada. Unable to say no to a frozen beverage, I agreed. I sat down outside of Connolly’s Bar and shared a meaningful conversation with Kwasi, another member of the Bike N’ Brew crew. He told me he has been focusing a lot more on his physical health as he has aged. It made me wonder what I should focus on as I approach 30. I think one of the things I’ve been trying to do is be more present. As the end date of my job gets closer, I’m trying to focus less on how scary it will be. Instead, I’ve been trying to enjoy my summer. I’m not certain I’m doing a good job of that based on the fact that I cannot stop blabbing about how scared I am to anyone who will listen. On the other hand, why would I torture myself by fearing the uncertain future when I’m quite literally spending a beautiful day at the beach surrounded by incredible people? In February, when you can’t even leave the house without three layers and a coat, I will regret using this time to worry, instead of fully embracing how beautiful it is.
I rode back toward Brooklyn with Ian and Jess. We went over the Cross Bay Bridge and traveled west past Shirley Chisholm Park. In the distance, I noticed a bunch of kites filling up the sky. We stopped at Plumb Beach for a water refill. I ran over to the beach and stared in awe as I watched dozens of kitesurfers shred across the bay. I felt a sense of wonder as I saw this whole community of people enjoy a hobby I hadn’t even known existed a few moments earlier.
Whether it’s those kitesurfers or the cyclists I spent a day with at the beach, community is such a beautiful thing. It feels special to share such a fun hobby with so many people, but beyond that, it’s incredible having the opportunity to get to know and be known by these people. Even when my future feels very uncertain and things aren’t going how I expected, I feel lucky to share these moments with these people. It’s a blessing to feel so supported in so many different ways. Even when it feels like I’m drowning, there are always about a dozen lifeguards with a long orange rope.
The final leg of the day’s journey was up Ocean Parkway, where we would each split off toward home. We shared personal stories about our respective summers. Jess said she doesn’t know what the future holds for her. I told her, “Things always have a way of working out, but never the way you think they will.” I really do have a way of telling people the advice I should be telling myself.
As the sun was almost fully set, Jess turned east toward home. Ian and I pressed on. With just under a mile left, I followed behind him. I noticed Ian swerve to the right, and before I could wonder why, my front tire dipped into what felt like hell. I knew exactly who to text.
excellent reflections - learning to live in uncertainty is a very necessary muscle to build for peace in this life!