Eighty Blocks in Three Hours

A couple of weeks ago, my sister was part of the Five Borough Bike Tour. She didn't make it to the end. The friend that she was riding with wiped out and she went to the hospital with her. She was given an armband and told to pick up the bike any time Monday through Friday 11am-5pm. That's when she works, so she asked me if I would be willing and able to get it for her. Of course, I will take any opportunity to go into the City, so I said yes.

Today, I had an opportunity to take a day off work, so I took it. Around 3pm, I realized I could go over and pick up Charity's bike. Danny and I jumped on a train, and went to 103rd Street. We got to the intersection of 103rd and Amsterdam Ave. On one corner stood a deli; across Amsterdam, a hostel. The other two corners were equally void of any indication of a bike storage facility. I called Charity and left a message, asking if she had an address. While I waited for her callback, I looked up the block toward 104th, and there it was. Gleaming in the sun, like a Grail it sat. A bike shop! I walked into the store, and explained why I was there. I told them I wanted to pick up the bike that belonged to this armband. They said they knew of the bike tour, but did not recognize the claim ticket I showed them. They then told me there was a police precinct down the street that might know something.

Danny and I walked to the 24th precinct three blocks away. It was almost like the TV shows-green glazed brick walls, reminiscent of the boy's locker room in grade school, a gate just inside the door, and an officer seated at a desk on a low dais to the left. The only thing missing from the scenes on TV was an officer walking a prostitute thru the room. I walked thru the gate, and up to the desk. After several minutes, I got the attention of an officer, and explained the situation. He went back and looked in another room. When he came out, he said they had only one bike, silver, and it had been involved in a car accident and was all mangled. Knowing this wasn't the right bike, I thanked him and left.

We decided to walk down Columbus Avenue from 100th Street as far as we could before giving up and taking the subway home. We walked about ten blocks south, to around 91st Street, and turned off Columbus Ave toward Central Park West. The tree lined street was not something I would expect in a jungle of concrete, but was very serene. The tree tops met overhead, creating a tunnel of green of sorts. We walked down CPW for about two blocks before turning back to Columbus Ave. A few blocks further, we saw a couple of semi trucks with cables running everywhere. I looked down that street and saw a gaggle of people going up and down the steps of a brownstone half way down the block. I wanted to see what was going on, so we went down and watched for a little while. Unable to get any information, we went back to Columbus. Just as we got to the corner a lady walked by and I asked her what they were filming. She said it was a TV show, but she couldn't remember which one, so I asked a guy at the semi truck on Columbus. He said it was a new AMC TV show called Rubicon. I didn't see any stars or any actual filming, but it was kind of neat to see a production going on.

Further down Columbus Ave, we came upon Lincoln Center. I remembered reading about a new fountain that had been installed, so we went up to the plaza to see it. It was designed by the same people who designed the fountain at the Bellagio in Las Vegas, so I thought it would be spectacular. It was a nice fountain, but more interesting, it was opening night for the Spring season of the Ballet. Limos pulled up and beautiful people got out, joining the large crowd of black-tie patrons already assembled. I don't think I saw any stars, but I will keep an eye out in the society pages.

We continued our trek, and arrived at Columbus Circle at the Time-Warner Center. Looking down a street, we saw a large group of people outside of a building, so of course, we went to see what the excitement was all about. Within just a couple of seconds, someone walked out, waved, and got into a car. I saw only the back of her head, but Danny had gotten a little closer. I asked him who it was, and he said it was Sarah Jessica Parker. I saw a star today! As far as I'm concerned, the back of her head counts.

Continuing south on Eighth Avenue, we walked from 59th Street to 34th Street where we got on a train and headed home. We didn't get to pick up the bike, but it was a beautiful day for a nice, long walk.

One Night at Splash

When I drink, it's not to savor the flavor or enjoy the bouquet. I drink to get tipsy. Never drunk, only tipsy. Well, there was that one time when I stood up after having a few drinks, and kept right on going...back down all the way to the floor. My sister turned around to make sure I was behind her just in time to see me standing up a second time. And the other time when I...oh, whatever, I've been drunk a time or two. But, I digress.

One night last summer, I was at a club in the city called Splash. I was doing shots of Petron because I could afford them. After two or three shots at home, a train ride into the City, and two or three more to keep the buzz, anything could happen. And it probably would.

After throwing back a couple drinks, slamming the glass on the bar, and using my training wheels, I bounced my way on to the dance floor. I will be the first to admit that I can't dance-I bounce. I tried taking a friend's advice several years ago to improve my moves. She and I were the only ones on the dance floor, and she was trying to get me to start with the rhythm, feeling it with my feet Then, moving my shoulders freely and lastly, my hips. After 10-15 minutes of lesson, we gave up and went back to the bar. The night at Splash was no different, but I didn't care because I had had several shots of tequila.

I danced by myself for a while, then looked down. The darkness of the club with only the occasional lights flashing, combined with Petron coursing through my veins straight to by head caused me to notice something. I'll be damned if there wasn't a dollar bill lying on the floor, just over there. I bounced toward the bill and incorporated a move that would allow me to pick it up. I snatched the bill off the floor and put it in my pocket. Satisfied that the night couldn't end too badly-after all, I had just found money-I continued dancing by myself. I glanced down at the floor again and saw another dollar! Someone was very irresponsible to let all this money fall out of their pockets, but that wasn't my concern. I picked up the next dollar, and the next. By the end of the night, I had found no less than four dollars, and I was convinced that one was a five.

When the night ended, I made my way to the train station to go back to New Jersey. I got home, undressed, and collapsed on the bed. The next morning, with very little memory of the night before, I got up and got ready for work.

Later that day, I got home and looked at the cup where I keep my spare change. I could not figure out why there was broken glass in the cup and then I remembered the night before. I looked for the bills, and only found broken glass and beer labels. Yes, I was picking up broken glass, other peoples' receipts, and empty cigarette boxes. But it was a fun night!