You're joining me well into my commute at this point. If you live in New York this is old news, but for the rest of you Brooklyn is the land of double parking. During alternate-side parking it is perfectly acceptable to leave your car double parked for hours at a time. When coupled with a dumpster this can make for some serious traffic back-ups. (And there's always a dumpster--if every time a bell rings an angel gets his wings, then every time a Subaru beeps a Park Sloper renovates his brownstone.) When the patented rush-hour trash pickup takes place, nobody's going anywhere.
But if there's one thing we New Yorkers pride ourselves on, it's never being outdone. That's why we've recently introduced triple parking. It's the Enormous Omelet Sandwich of parking.
Pardon the pun, but there's a delicious irony in the fact that many of the trucks that try to kill you in New York are delivering organic food. Here outside the Park Slope Food Co-Op, giant idling rigs are the norm--especially during rush hour. Coupled with the fire house right next-door and the impatient traffic trying to get around the trucks, this usually makes for some interesting shenanigans. (I'm cowering in a tree with the rest of the squirrels.) Why don't I choose a street with a bike lane instead? Because the bike lanes are full of double parkers.
And when the undernourished co-op volunteers finish slowly unloading that first truck with their weak and spindly arms, the fun continues. There's a hummus truck waiting in the wings.
As I've mentioned before, lately the city is covered in skid marks. Why? Because brakes are for losers. One popular spot to lay down a skid is the entrance/exit to the Brooklyn Bridge on the Brooklyn side. Note how the skidders practice their art along the white line. Mad skilz are in evidence.
A little further along the Brooklyn Bridge bike path. Always comforting to see skid marks at a pedestrian crossing. I guess the blood cleans up better than the rubber.
The run-in to that pedestrian crossing. If you're on foot take comfort in the fact that many of the cyclists approaching you do not have any brakes. (By the way, Fat Cyclist, if you're reading I passed a woman running in one of your jerseys shortly after this. Sorry I didn't get a photo.)
But the real fun begins in Manhattan. Here, Floyd Landis has a better chance of being cleared than a bike lane does. Here's an unmanned FedEx truck parked square in the middle of the bike lane just over the Brooklyn Bridge. Note the ample curbside parking of which the driver chose not to avail himself. He was probably afraid of getting blocked in by a UPS truck.
Here's two more bike lane subletters a little further along. Note the official plate. Yes, it's official--you're an idiot.
I asked him to smile but he didn't. The shot didn't come out anyway.
The guy in front of him just hid begind his B-pillar when I asked him to smile. (Wait--is that a bicycle I see reflected in the forest green paint?)
These moronic cubicle monkeys spent what seemed like an eternity getting into and out of this cab. "Hey, why wait until we get to the office? Let's have ourselves a conference right here in the bike lane."
I took this shot moments before as I passed, the doors flapping in traffic frantically like the fins of a tropical fish out of water.
Mmm! Sweet, refreshing Snapple. Sure, I'll gladly share my bike lane with deliciousness, thanks for asking.Anyway, thanks for riding along. I'll be fine from here on my own. Can't wait to do it again tonight in the dark.