Street meat.

The days are exhausting. The New York City way is all about being on the go, though, so I just “grab a slice”, fold it, and keep rolling. Cyclehawk begins taking pick-up calls at 8 A.M. about two and half hours after dispatchers Kid and Bobby leave the Bronx and enter the mass transit maze into the city. The subway delivers them about ten steps from 303 West 42nd Street, CycleHawk’s Times Square Headquarters. Meanwhile the riders, who are spread all over the Bronx, Harlem, Queens and Brooklyn, are gearing up for whatever the streets have in store for them. The Veteran riders are all on call in the City at 8 A.M. ready to go, long over the rookie drama that can hinder any casual workday. By rookie drama I mean, waking up to flat tires, dead radio batteries, dirty bikes, no clean shorts and sometimes just not waking up at all. Some of the vets even have families and 8 full hours of sleep under their belts! The Williamsburg and Manhattan bridges are loaded with messengers commuting to work in the morning hours. It’s easy to spot a messenger from the bike-commuting crowd. Even though the hipster trend these days closely emulates the messenger getup, the messengers will show a true bonded comfort level in utilitarian cycling gear and, depending on what the of the week and weather conditions, a haggard yet still pretty efficient, pedaling style. Lotta ins, lotta outs, really.

These holiday weekends make starting the work week very difficult. Last night I was in bed by one or so and I set my alarm for 7:30. This would leave plenty of time to go through a very bike racer-esque morning routine. One might even say it borders on ritualistic dependency. That alarm did not go off. Or, it went off and I didn’t hear it. Or, the computer that is my phone/alarm clock froze, like they do. Whatever it did, I didn’t hear it and slept until 8;45, 15 minutes before I should be at the foot of the Brooklyn Bridge. The Manhattan side! All I heard as I woke from my evening of restoration was the sound of my Nextel radio’s alert beep. Beep, beep, beep! Beep, beep, beep! I pressed the answer button and said, “good morning”, trying not to sound like I just woke up. Kid’s voice came over the radio and said, “ Pro, I need you in the city ASAP! Hurry up, ok, we’re busy and I’m short handed”. Ah, shit. “Ok”, I said and started gathering everything I needed, which in the winter is many layers, so many layers. I was still focusing on coming out of sleep completely while also trying not to forget things like gloves, pens, radio etc… And the basement I live in is so hot since it’s right by the boiler room. I end up putting all my gear on and immediately overheating from the heat and the dehydration of morning. It’s tough to judge what to wear sometimes. I’m always asking my self, “Do I really need this jacket?” Getting out of the house always leaves me overheating and winded after climbing two sets of narrow stairways with a huge courier bag, bike and faghetaboutit chain lock wrapped around my waist. I made it out a couple minutes after nine this morning after mainlining an Aloa Loa fizzing vitamin mix. No food. Hell, back in the day this was how the pro bike racers trained. It’s still the classic way to do a morning ride. It kick starts the metabolism and clears the liver! One of my first runs of the day was to 770 Broadway to pick up an offices mail and deliver it to the uptown office. The receptionist’s desk had a frickin’ bowl of candy on it the size of a bully’s candy bag after a night of beating up little kids for their candy on Halloween. The bowl was blooming with little individually wrapped, toxic, diabetes-bites. I had nothing in my stomach at this point. Nothing! The health-buzz from the Aloa Loa had long warn off and left me with that clean, anxious feeling of having earned something… Something bad. Just one. No! I can’t, I won’t, I… have no control. The guy behind the desk had to go in a back room to get the package and left me all alone with fake chocolate and other terribly crunchy and sweet things. I found my self putting piece by piece in my pocket like I was saving it for when things got really bad. The rest I just ate on the spot, justify every poisonous gluttonous bite. It goes right inline with my theory on donuts. They are best are best allotted occasionally in modest amounts rather than avoided entirely because once a dog tastes blood it goes insane! Only bad things come from this. Mimi knows. I’m still learning, always with the learning. My stomach was not happy when I left that place. Later in the day when I was back I noticed starbursts had appeared in the jar, so I had a serving of fruit. There is this public health service ad in the subway that reads: “When you don’t eat breakfast, you’re not all there”. Usually I would look at that and be like, “Oh, for the love, like people haven’t figured that out! “.

For Lunch I had a Halal chicken sandwich at one of those street food carts in the city. So good! It’s crazy how those guys pile these huge piles of meat in the corner the grill in prep for the lunch hour rush. It’s kind of creepy. “Careful you don’t get sick. They don’t call it street meat for nothin’!”, say’s Squid.

My bike is a pile right now and that’s pretty normal for this time of year. I always have ambitions of being one of those people who keep their stuff nice. I think I just ride harder than everyone else. The fixed gear is a beautiful thing when it’s snowy and icy on the streets. Not having a brake in that stuff actually makes sense since ‘gearing down with your legs is the best way to have any traction at all. Avoiding drainage grates and sewer covers is a general must. They are slicker than god even when dry. Speaking of NYC sewers, they are so key to the aesthetic of this city. Their steamy exhaust makes riding through any cross street into a cool scene from batman.

Coffee Cake toaster @ Cyclehawk.